In the middle of the fight, the party had heard
a great cheer from those working the seaward guns, and they now saw
its cause. The brig had disappeared below the water, and the sailors
were now engaged in a contest with the ship.
The pirates fought their guns well, but they were altogether over
matched by the twenty guns playing upon them from a commanding
position. Already the dhows were hoisting their sails, and one of the
cables of the ship suddenly disappeared in the water, while a number
of men sprang upon the ratlines.
"Fire at the masts," Captain Thompson shouted. "Cripple her if you
can. Let all with muskets and rifles try to keep men out of the
rigging."
The ship was anchored within three hundred yards of the shore, and
although the distance was too great for anything like accurate fire,
several of the men dropped as they ran up the shroud. The sailors
worked their guns with redoubled vigour, and a great shout arose as
the mainmast, wounded in several places, fell over the side.
"Sweep her decks with grape," the captain shouted, "and she's ours.
"Mr. James, take all the men that can be spared from the guns, man the
boats, and make a dash for the ship at once.
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