It was now half-past seven.  The sun had disappeared twenty minutes ago behind Granite House.  Consequently the Eastern horizon was becoming obscured.  In the meanwhile the brig continued to advance towards Union Bay.  She was now not more than two miles off, and exactly opposite the plateau of Prospect Heights, for after having tacked off Claw Cape, she had drifted towards the north in the current of the rising tide.  One might have said that at this distance she had already entered the vast bay, for a straight line drawn from Claw Cape to Cape Mandible would have rested on her starboard quarter.

Was the brig about to penetrate far into the bay?  That was the first question.  When once in the bay, would she anchor there?  That was the second.  Would she not content herself with only surveying the coast, and stand out to sea again without landing her crew?  They would know this in an hour.  The colonists could do nothing but wait.

Cyrus Harding had not seen the suspected vessel hoist the black flag without deep anxiety.  Was it not a direct menace against the work which he and his companions had till now conducted so successfully?  Had these pirates—­for the sailors of the brig could be nothing else—­already visited the island, since on approaching it they had hoisted their colors.  Had they formerly invaded it, so that certain unaccountable peculiarities might be explained in this way?  Did there exist in the as yet unexplored parts some accomplice ready to enter into communication with them?

To all these questions which he mentally asked himself, Harding knew not what to reply; but he felt that the safety of the colony could not but be seriously threatened by the arrival of the brig.

However, he and his companions were determined to fight to the last gasp.  It would have been very important to know if the pirates were numerous and better armed than the colonists.  But how was this information to he obtained?

Night fell.  The new moon had disappeared.  Profound darkness enveloped the island and the sea.  No light could pierce through the heavy piles of clouds on the horizon.  The wind had died away completely with the twilight.  Not a leaf rustled on the trees, not a ripple murmured on the shore.  Nothing could be seen of the ship, all her lights being extinguished, and if she was still in sight of the island, her whereabouts could not be discovered.

“Well! who knows?” said Pencroft.  “Perhaps that cursed craft will stand off during the night, and we shall see nothing of her at daybreak.”

As if in reply to the sailor’s observation, a bright light flashed in the darkness, and a cannon-shot was heard.

The vessel was still there and had guns on board.

Six seconds elapsed between the flash and the report.

Therefore the brig was about a mile and a quarter from the coast.

At the same time, the chains were heard rattling through the hawse-holes.