another tack, stood away in pursuit of the Spanish treasure galleon
in the offing."

What pen could justly describe the fight which followed - how guns
roared and pistols flashed, while the air was full of shouts and
cries and the thundering din of battle; how Scarlet Sam foamed and
stamped and flourished his cutlass; how Timothy Bone piped his
whistle as a bo'sun should? We had already sunk five great galleons
and were hard at work with a sixth, which was evidently in a bad
way, when Scarlet Sam ceased foaming and pointed over my shoulder
with his dripping blade.

"Sail ho!" he cried.

"Where away?" I called back.

"Three points on the weather bow." As he spoke came the sound of
oars, and turning my head, I saw a skiff approaching, sculled by
a man in irreproachable flannels and straw hat.

"Why, it's - it's him!" cried the Imp suddenly. "Heave to, there!"
he bellowed in the voice of Scarlet Sam. "Heave to, or I'll sink
you with a 'murderous broadside!'" Almost with the words, and
before I could prevent him, he gave a sharp tug to the rudder lines;
there was an angry exclamation behind me, a shock, a splintering of
wood, and I found myself face to face with Mr. Selwyn, flushed and
hatless.

"Damn!" said Mr. Selwyn, and proceeded to fish for his hat with the
shaft of his broken oar.