“There goes a shot, sir,” said Buzzby, pointing towards the piratical schooner, from the side of which a white cloud burst, and a round shot ricochetted over the sea, passing close ahead of the ship.

“Ay, that’s a request for us to lay-to,” said the captain bitterly, “but we won’t.  Keep her away a point.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” sung out the man at the wheel.  A second and a third shot were fired, but passed unheeded, and the captain, fully expecting that the next would be fired into them, ordered the men below.

“We can’t afford to lose a man, Mr. Thompson; send them all down.”

“Please, sir, may I remain?” said Buzzby, touching his hat.

“Obey orders,” answered the captain sternly.  The sailor went below with a sulky fling.

For nearly an hour the two vessels cut through the water before a steady breeze, during which time the fast-sailing schooner gradually overhauled the heavy West Indiaman, until she approached within speaking distance.  Still Captain Ellice paid no attention to her, but stood with compressed lips beside the man at the wheel, gazing alternately at the sails of his vessel and at the windward horizon, where he fancied he saw indications that led him to hope the breeze would fail ere long.

As the schooner drew nearer, a man leaped on the hammock-nettings, and, putting a trumpet to his mouth, sang out lustily, “Ship ahoy! where are you from, and what’s your cargo?”

Captain Ellice made no reply, but ordered four of his men on deck to point one of the stern-chasers.

Again the voice came harshly across the waves, as if in passion, “Heave to, or I’ll sink you.”  At the same moment the black flag was run up to the peak, and a shot passed between the main and fore masts.

“Stand by to point this gun,” said the captain in a subdued voice.

“Ay, ay, sir!”

“Fetch a red-hot iron; luff, luff a little—­a little more steady—­so.”  At the last word there was a puff and a roar, and an iron messenger flew towards the schooner.  The gun had been fired more as a reply of defiance to the pirate than with the hope of doing him any damage; but the shot had been well aimed—­it cut the schooner’s main-sail-yard in two and brought it rattling down on deck.  Instantly the pirate yawed and delivered a broadside; but in the confusion on deck the guns were badly aimed, and none took effect.  The time lost in this manoeuvre, added to the crippled condition of the schooner, enabled the West Indiaman to gain considerably on her antagonist; but the pirate kept up a well-directed fire with his bow-chasers, and many of the shots struck the hull and cut the rigging seriously.  As the sun descended towards the horizon the wind fell gradually, and ceased at length altogether, so that both vessels lay rolling on the swell with their sails flapping idly against the masts.

“They’re a-gittin’ out the boats, sir,” remarked John Buzzby, who, unable to restrain himself any longer, had crept upon deck at the risk of another reprimand; “and, if my eyes be’n’t deceiving me, there’s a sail on the horizon to wind’ard—­leastways, the direction which wos wind’ard afore it fell calm.”