“Why didn’t you aim higher, Fernando?”

Terrence came back a moment later and, bursting into laughter, said: 

“Begorra! this will interfere with his sedentary habits for a month.  Arrah, me boy, it’s proud o’ ye I am.”

Fernando caught two or three glances thrown at him with expression of revengeful passion.  Half a score of marines were seen coming around the rocks, and Terrence left off laughing.  The three were alone against five times their number.

Fernando felt some one grasp him around the waist and hurry him from the spot, and ten minutes later they were in the boat skimming over the water back toward Baltimore.

“Put on ivery divilish stitch o’ canvas yer tub ’ll carry,” said Terrence to Luff Williams.  “The Johnny Bulls won’t like this a bit, and bad luck to us if they git their hands on us.”

Fernando, now that the nervous strain was over, sank back in the boat, almost completely exhausted.

“Fernando, ye did it illegintly,” said the young Irishman.

“Will he die?”

“Not unless the doctors kill him trying to dig it out.”

“I hope they won’t.”

“What the divil’s the difference?  Before this toime next year, we’ll be shootin’ redcoats for sport.”

“Say, what’s that, shipmate?” drawled out Luff Williams.

“Where?”

“Look ahead.”

“A long boat full o’ British marines!” cried Terrence.  “Boys, I don’t like that.  Mr. Luff Williams, if ye want a whole skin over yer body pull about and sail down the coast like the divil was after ye!”

In less than two minutes’ time their craft was put about and went flying before the wind, under a full stretch of canvas.  The boat impelled by eight stout oarsmen pressed hard in their wake.

“Heave to! heave to!” cried an officer in the pursuing boat.  “Heave to, or we will fire on you!”

“Niver mind him, me frind,” said Terrence to the man at the rudder.  “I’ll tell ye when to lay low.”

They were in long musket shot distance, and Williams assured them that if they could round a headland, they would get a stiffer breeze and outsail their pursuer.

“Are they gaining on us?” Fernando asked.

“Not much, if any,” was the response.

Again the officer in the bow, making a speaking trumpet of his hands, shouted: 

“Heave to, or I swear I’ll fire on you!”

“To the divil with you,” roared Terrence.  “We’ve downed one redcoat in fair light; what more do ye want, bad luck to ye?”

The officer spoke to some one behind him, and a musket was handed him.

Terrence sprang to the stern saying: 

“Now look out! lay low, ye lubbers! the blackguard’s goin’ to shoot!”

The officer raised his musket, and a moment later a puff of smoke issued from the muzzle.

“Down!” cried Terrence.  All laid low, and the next second the report of a musket came on the air, and a bullet dropped in the water, a little to the larboard.