One round shot tore a great hole through the mainsail, as it went shrieking by. Gary himself, aided by Rucker, got ready one of the two guns wherewith the Wanderer was equipped and soon returned their fire, though no effect was manifest.
The cruiser must have been informed of the character of the slaver, or she would not have attempted to cripple her so persistently. Duff, after eating, returned to the quarter-deck, where he watched with folded arms the rather unskillful efforts to handle the long twelve pounder pointed sternwards from the Wanderer's waist. At each discharge a chorus of cries from the hold reminded him of their living cargo, deepening still more his disgust at the nature of the venture into which he had been inveigled.
The breeze began to freshen and whip somewhat to the southwest. Duff went forward to where Gary and Rucker were trying to sight the loaded gun.
"Shall I have the sheets trimmed, Captain Gary," he asked.
Gary surveyed the mate from head to foot with cool insolence. Then he stamped his foot.
"You shall either go before the mast as a common sailor, or you can remain a prisoner in your stateroom during my pleasure. If I gave you your deserts, I'd have you clapped in irons."
"As a sailor you would probably put me in irons for again refusing to fire, should you order me to; so I will go to the cabin. Take notice, however, Captain Gary, I protest against your treatment. To fire on an American man-of-war under these circumstances is piracy, and I submit that no captain has a right to issue such orders to true American seamen."
Gary's fury was such that he laid hold of one of the cutlasses in the rack at the foot of the mainmast, but the screech of a shot and the crash of a splintered topsail boom, diverted his attention.
Duff, laying aside his own weapon, descended to the cabin.
"Up with you!" shouted the captain. "Lay out along the fo's'l gaff there. Lively now!"