Unluckily this gave the pursuers some advantage of us.  Looking in our wake, I by and by discerned three smacks in full chase, and perceived that they were steadily overhauling us.  The brig carried a brass gun, and I thought it well to get her ready for use, though I was determined not to fire save in extremity, since the flash would apprise the privateer of our direction and bring her on our track.  But the distance between us and the leading smack grew less and less, and knowing that we dare not allow them to close in upon us (for doubtless their crews vastly outnumbered ours and would overpower us if they got the chance to board), I at length, when our enemy was within about half a cable’s length of us, called to the bosun to fire, aiming to hull her just below water line.

He set his match to the touch hole, and the round shot flew forth.  I could not tell whether the smack was hit or not, but ’twas clear that she had suffered little or no damage, for she came on as fast as ever.  The bosun reloaded in all haste, and fired again when she could not have been above fifty yards distant.  This time I knew the shot had struck her, but she still came on, and as she was now below our line of fire I feared it would come to push of pike after all.  But a moment or two afterwards I rejoiced to see that she was losing way:  our shot had gone home.  The other two smacks overtook her, and then began a dropping fire of musketry from all three.

Clearly it was no longer expedient to hull them merely.  Their speed was so much superior to the brig’s that even if we hit one or other of them they might close in before their pace was much checked by the inrush of water.  Loath as I was to spill blood, I bade the bosun now load the gun with grape, and my qualms were banished when I heard cries of pain, and learned that Runnles and another had been hit by musket shots.  The smack that was leading was coming up directly in our wake.

“Give it her, Bosun!” I cried.

“She shall have it,” he answered, and immediately she was swept by the grape shot from stem to stern, yells and execrations telling that the bosun had not aimed in vain.  She at once paid off before the wind:  ’twas clear the steersman had been hit; and before another man could take his place and bring her head round the smack behind crashed into her.

I had good hope that the chase was now ended, and we might go rejoicing on our way to the white shores of England.  But I was reckoning without Duguay-Trouin.  For a few moments we drew away from our pursuers; but then I saw that the third smack had cleared herself from the one she had run into and was again sailing swiftly in our wake, having apparently suffered no injury.  The bosun had already re-charged the gun with grape, but when he fired, at a range which forbade the possibility of missing, there were only one or two cries instead of the chorus we had heard before.

“Burst me if they be not lying down in the bottom,” said Joe, standing at my side, “and the shot have passed clean over them.”