"Ugh! Whoo-oop!" he yelled, as his lanyard touched the priming of his gun. "Now see! Ole chief take 'em aft!"
"I wish he'd do as well for one end of her as he did for the other," muttered the captain.
"He's done it, sir!" exclaimed Guert, for he had borrowed the captain's telescope.
"That Indian's a gunner!" said Groot, with emphasis. "I never saw one to beat him. I've seen pretty good marksmen, too."
The peculiar accuracy of eye born in or acquired by the old red man was a disastrous gift for the British revenue brig. Almost too far aft did the shot hit her, but in it went, and all her rudder gear was useless in a second of time. She could no longer answer her wheel, and began to lurch about at the mercy of wind and wave.
Fierce indeed were the execrations of her helpless officers and crew. All their courage and seamanship were of no use, now. Their guns might as well have been made of wood, and their jaunty brig had become as clumsy and unmanageable as a raft. Moreover, the terrible American was speeding nearer, and only a few minutes went by before there came a loud-voiced demand for her surrender to the—
"United States armed cruiser Noank, Captain Lyme Avery."
"His Britannic Majesty's brig Arran, Lieutenant Tracy. We surrender, of course. You could sink us as we are now. All the luck's yours."
"We'll come alongside," said Avery.
"I wish I had a right to board him when he comes," growled Tracy, as his flag came down. "There'd be some satisfaction in that."