"Schooner ahoy, there!" shouted a voice on the three-master. "Sheer away, there, or you'll strike us. Port your helm! Port, I say!"
No direct answer came back, but he heard a hoarse-toned shout of:—
"All hands shorten sail! Throw that grappling! Throw the other! Haul in! Haul taut! Bring us alongside! Hurrah! We have her! Board!"
So skilfully was it done that there was no great or damaging shock when the two vessels came together. The grapplings held, the American sailors pulled mightily, and before the liner's crew who were below could tumble up to join their comrades on deck there were fifty pikemen swarming over her bulwarks.
"We surrender!" was almost the first loud exclamation of the British skipper. "You're that rebel pirate! Why didn't the Syren catch you!"
"We weren't there to be caught," called back Captain Avery. "The Killarney is ours, Captain Syme!"
"We can't help ourselves! It's the hard fortune of war!" groaned the astounded Briton. "Do your worst!"
"No harm to any of you," replied his captor. "We'll put you and your crew and passengers ashore on the first land we come to. This 'ere ship, though, is bound for New London."
It was a time for little talk and for the swiftest kind of action, while the Belfast liner was made ready for her trip across the Atlantic.
"I'm glad you find she has water and provisions enough, Vine," said his father, a little later. "You may have twenty-five of the rescued men. They are prime fellows. I'd go under easy sail most o' the time. We won't take out a pound o' the cargo here. Make quick work of gettin' away, now! We're pretty nigh ready to cast loose."