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