But the next shot was decisive.  Diggle had quietly strolled down to the gun next to Bulger’s.  It had just been reloaded.  He bade the gun captain, in a low tone, to move aside.  Then, with a glance to see that the priming was in order, he took careful sight, and waiting until the grab’s main, mizzen and foremasts opened to view altogether, he applied the match.  The shot sped true, and a second later the grab’s mainmast, with sails and rigging, went by the board.

A wild cheer from the crew of the Good Intent acclaimed the excellent shot.

“By thunder!” said Bulger to Desmond.  “Diggle may be a rogue and a vagabond, but he knows how to train a gun.”

Captain Barker signified his approval by a tremendous mouth-filling oath.  But he was not yet safe.  The second grab was following hard in the wake of the first; and it was plain that the two Indiamen were both somewhat faster than the Good Intent; for during the running fight that had just ended so disastrously for the grab, they had considerably lessened the gap between them and their quarry.  Captain Barker watched them with an expression of fierce determination, but not without anxiety.  If they should come within striking distance it was impossible to withstand successfully their heavier armament and larger crews.  The firing had ceased:  each vessel had crowded on all sail; and the brisk breeze must soon bring pursuer and pursued to a close engagement which could have only one result.

“I may be wrong, but seems to me we’d better say our prayers,” Bulger remarked grimly to his gun crew.

But Desmond, gazing up at the shrouds, said suddenly: 

“The wind’s dropping.  Look!”

It was true.  Before the monsoon sets in in earnest it not unfrequently happens that the wind veers fitfully; a squall is succeeded almost instantaneously by a calm.  So it was now.  In less than an hour all five vessels were becalmed; and when night fell three miles separated the Good Intent from the second grab; the Indiamen lay a mile farther astern; and the damaged vessel was out of sight.

Captain Barker took counsel with his officers.  He expected to be attacked during the night by the united boats of the pursuing fleet.  Under cover of darkness they would be able to creep up close and board the vessel, and the captain knew well that if taken he would be treated as a pirate.  His papers were made out for Philadelphia; he had hoisted Portuguese colors, but the enemy at close quarters could easily see that the Good Intent was British built; he had disabled one of the Company’s vessels; there would be no mercy for him.

He saw no chance of beating off the enemy; they would outnumber him by at least five to one.  Even if the wind sprang up again there was small likelihood of escape.  One or other of the pursuing vessels would almost certainly overhaul him, and hold him until the others came up.

“’Tis a ’tarnal fix,” he said.