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."

"Ah! it all comes o' that wench that was here on deck
last night," muttered the helmsman, who had succeeded
Sambo on duty the preceding night. "I thought I see her
fiddlin' about the gun, when the chase was made after
the Yankee, although I didn't think to say nothing about
it, when you axed Tom Fluke about Sal's apron."

Whatever conjecture might have arisen with others, there
was no time to think of, much less to discuss it--the
boats were already within a few yards of the vessel.

"Steady, men--silence," commanded Gerald in a low tone:
"Since Sal has failed us, we must depend upon ourselves.
Down beneath the bulwarks, and move not one of you until
they begin to board--then let each man single his enemy
and fire; the cutlass must do the rest."

The order was obeyed. Each moment brought the crisis of
action nearer: the rowers had discontinued their oars,
but the bows of the several boats could be heard obeying
the impetus already given them, and dividing the water
close to the vessel.

"Now then, Sambo," whispered the officer. At that moment
a torch was raised high over the head of the negro and
his master. Its rays fell upon the first of the three