From the moment of the general arming, the long gun, which we have already shown to constitute the sole defence of the schooner, was brought nearer to the inshore gang-way, and mounted on its elevated pivot, with its formidable muzzle overtopping and projecting above the low bulwarks, could in an instant be brought to bear on whatever point it might be found advisable to vomit forth its mass of wrath, consisting of grape, cannister, and chain shot.  On this gun indeed, the general expectation much depended, for the crew, composed of sixteen men only, exclusive of petty officers, could hope to make hut a poor resistance, despite of all the resolution they might bring into the contest, against a squadron of well armed boats, unless some very considerable diminution in the numbers and efforts of these latter should be made by “old Sally,” before they actually came to close quarters.  The weakness of the crew was in a great degree attributable to the schooner having been employed as a cartel; a fact which must moreover explain the want of caution, on this occasion, on the part of Gerald, whose reputation for vigilance, in all matters of duty, was universally acknowledged.  It had not occurred to him that the instant he landed his prisoners his vessel ceased to be a cartel, and therefore a fit subject for the enterprize of his enemies, or the probability is, that in the hour in which he had landed them he would again have weighed anchor, and made the best of his way back to Amherstburg.

“Stand by your gun, men—­steady,” whispered the officer, as the noise of many oars immediately abreast, and at a distance of not more than twenty yards, announced that the main effort of their enemies was about to be made in that quarter.  “Depress a little—­there you have her—­now into them—­fire.”

Fiz-z-z-z, and a small pyramid of light rose from the breech of the gun, which sufficed, during the moment it lasted, to discover three boats filled with armed men, advancing immediately opposite, while two others could be seen diverging, apparently one towards the quarter, the other towards the bows of the devoted little vessel.  The crew bent their gaze eagerly over her side, to witness the havoc they expected to ensue among their enemies.  To their surprise and mortification there was no report.  The advancing boats gave three deriding cheers.

“D—­n my eyes, if I didn’t say she would miss fire, from having her breech unkivered last night,” shouted the man who held the match, and who was no other than Tom Fluke.  “Quick, here, give us a picker.”

A picker was handed to him by one, who also held the powder horn for priming.

“Its no use,” he pursued, throwing away the wire, and springing to the deck.  “She’s a spike in the touch-hole, and the devil himself wouldn’t get it out now.”

“A spike!—­what mean you?” eagerly demanded Gerald.

“It’s too true, Mr. Grantham,” said the boatswain, who had flown to examine the touch-hole, “there is a great piece of steel in it, and for all the world like a woman’s bodkin, or some such sort of thing.”