By this time they could just see the schooner's boats in the dim light,
about half-musket range astern.

"Back you' oars," shouted a stern voice in broken English, "or I blow you
out de watter in one oder moment,--black-yards!"

This order was enforced by a musket shot, which whizzed over the boat
within an inch of the captain's head. The men ceased rowing and the boats
of the pirate ranged close up.

"Now then, Martin," whispered Barney O'Flannagan, who sat at the bow oar,
"I'm goin' to swim ashore; jist you slip arter me as quiet as ye can."

"But the sharks!" suggested Martin.

"Bad luck to them," said Barney as he slipped over the side, "they're
welcome to me. Til take my chance. They'll find me mortial tough, anyhow.
Come along, lad, look sharp!"

Without a moment's hesitation Martin slid over the gunwale into the sea,
and, just as the pirate boats grappled with those of the barque, he and
Barney found themselves gliding as silently as otters towards the shore.
So quietly had the manoeuvre been accomplished, that the men in their own
boat were ignorant of their absence. In a few minutes they were beyond
the chance of detection.

"Keep close to me, lad," whispered the Irishman. "If we separate in the
darkness we'll niver forgather again. Catch hould o; my shoulder if ye
get blowed, and splutter as much as ye like. They can't hear us now, and
it'll help to frighten the sharks."