black as a Mother Carey's chicken. She had ports as if for guns; andthough there was no answering signal, she was seen to alter her courseand bear down on the _Snowbird_.
"She's too like a hawk to be honest," said McBain, "and too big for usto fight. We'll try how she can sail; keep her away, Stevenson."
The _Snowbird_ began to pay off, but not before a white puff of smokewas seen rising from the stranger's bows. Next moment down the windcame a cannon's roar, and a shot ricocheted past the bows of the yacht.
"Ha! ha! ha!" shrieked little Magnus, "yon's the answering signal--ha!ha! ha!"
At the same moment down went the flag of distress, and up went the blackflag that pirates like to display when they really mean mischief.Something else went up at the same time, namely, Captain McBain'sHighland blood. This is no figure of speech; you could have seen prideand anger mantling in his cheek and glancing like fire from his eye.
"The black flag, indeed!" he growled; "only cowards hoist it; they thinkit startles their would-be prey, like the hiss a cat or a goose emits,or the images and figures idiot savages carry in their battle-van. Theywill not frighten us. Stevenson, load the six-pounder Armstrong. Luckywe took that little tool with us. Tell Ap to see to the small arms.We'll show them the metal we're made of ere we surrender the _Snowbird_.Stand by tacks and sheets, we'll put her before the wind. A sternchase is a long chase; we may give her the slip after nightfall."
There was a cheeriness in McBain's voice as he spoke, that communicateditself to all hands fore and aft. There was no bombast about thecaptain, mind you, no vulgar jingoism. He merely meant to hold his own,even if he had to fight for it.
All sail was set that the _Snowbird_ could carry, both below and aloft,an example that was speedily followed by the pirate, for pirate sheseemed, from her bunting, to even brag in being, and so the chase beganin earnest. The stranger fired once or twice only, but the shotsfalling short she gave it up, and concentrated all her attention inendeavouring to get within reach.
For the next hour there was silence on board the _Snowbird_, except forsome brief words of command given in quiet quick tones, and just asspeedily obeyed. Rory, Ralph, and Allan were clustered astern, watchingthe pirate. This was a kind of danger to which they had never dreamedthey would be exposed; yet still the confidence they had in brave, coolMcBain banished all fear from their hearts.
But the captain's anxiety was extreme, and his eyes roved incessantlyfrom the _Snowbird_ to the vessel in chase, not without many a glance atthe fast-declining sun.
"Are we quite prepared?" he asked Stevenson.
"All ready, sir," was the reply, with an uneasy glance astern, "but Ithink she is coming up, sir, hand over hand and now she is actuallysetting stunsails."
"Then God help us, Stevenson, for that chap is bound to win the battleif he can only win the race."
The stunsails set by the stranger, however, were no sooner set than theywere blown away, booms and all.
"Hullo?" cried the captain, "that is providential. Now Stevenson, getthe Armstrong aft."
This was soon accomplished.
"Here, Magnus Green," cried McBain, "come on you're the best shot in theship. Many a harpoon gun I've seen you fire. Pepper away at thatpirate till you're tired. Cripple her if you can. It's our onlychance."
The fire was briskly returned from the bows of the pirate, and it wassoon evident that she was getting nearer and nearer to them, for theshots went over the _Snowbird_, and some even pierced the sails, proofpositive that it was not her intention to sink but to capture thebeautiful yacht.
The captain whistled low to himself.
"This is awkward," he muttered, gloomily. He was gazing aloft,wondering if he could do nothing else to keep clear of the pirate untilnightfall, when a shout behind him, followed by a ringing cheer from allhands, made him turn hastily round. Old man Magnus was capering aroundthe quarter-deck wild with glee, rushing hither and thither, onlyreturning every moment to pat the little Armstrong, as though it were aliving thing.
"He! he! he!" he cried, "I've done it, I've done it."
He had indeed done it. The stranger's foremast had gone by the board,mast and sails and rigging lay about her forepart in dire confusion,burying guns and gunners.
"Glorious old Magnus!" shouted McBain, rubbing his hands with glee."Now, Stevenson, ready about."
The yacht came round like a bird, and sailing wonderfully close to thewind, began rapidly to near the smitten pirate. Presently it was "readyabout" again on the other tack, and all the while never a shot came fromthe foe, but the dastardly flag still floated sullenly aloft.
Ten men were stationed in the weather bow of the _Snowbird_ with rifles,their orders being to fire wherever they saw a head.
"Now then, Magnus," cried McBain, "fifty guineas are yours if you'llsplinter the enemy's mainmast. I want to let her have two jury masts torig instead of one." McBain carried the _Snowbird_ cruelly near to thepirate, dangerously near too, for presently there was an answering fireof small arms, and two men fell wounded.
Crang! went the Armstrong. Faithfully and well had Magnus done hiswork, and down went the pirate's other mast.
"We'll leave her the mizen," said McBain; "down with the helm."
His voice was almost drowned in that deafening shout of victory. EvenOscar the Saint Bernard and the wiry wee Skye felt bound to join it, andPeter the steward rushed below for his bagpipes.
And when the moon rose that night and shone quietly down on the waters,the _Snowbird_ was bravely holding on her course, and the discomfitedpirate was far away.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
CONTAINING A STRANGE, STRANGE STORY, TOLD BY THE SNUGGERY FIRE.
"It never rains but it pours," said McBain, entering the saloon rubbinghis hands, and smiling as he seated himself at the breakfast-table."Steward, I hope it is beefsteak this morning, with boiled eggs tofollow, for I declare to you honestly I don't think I ever felt half sohungry in my born days before! Bravo, steward! bravo, Peter! Bethankful, boys, for all His mercies, and fall to?"
"One would think, captain," said Ralph, "that you had got good news thismorning."
"Why, it makes one laugh just to look at you," said Rory.
"Laugh away, lad?" said McBain; "laugh and grow fat, but eat as well,boys! And why haven't you been on deck, eh?"
"Overslept ourselves," observed Allan; "Well, no wonder! You're young,and the excitement of the past few days has been great: even I have feltit. But to-day, my boys, there isn't a pirate in sight; the wind hasgone back to the south-east, and in five more days, if it holds we'll beon shore shooting the denizens of the scented pine forests of thefarthest north lands of America."
Our heroes were soon on deck, the _Snowbird_ was bounding along before abeautiful breeze, with all her fair-weather sails set and nicelytrimmed. Every one on board seemed joyful; the laugh and the joke wereheard from the second officer's cabin, and the men in the forecastlewere trolling a song.
That same evening a very happy group were assembled around a bright firein the cosy snuggery. They were our heroes three, squatted or recliningon mats before the stove, not sitting on chairs--certainly not, theyknew a trick worth two of that. The captain occupied a rocking-chair,as became his dignity; Oscar the Saint Bernard's nose was turnedstovewards; and Rory was making a pillow of him. Oscar was eyeing thecheerful blaze, but every other eye was directed upon wee weazen-facedMagnus Green, the mysterious little stranger that McBain had picked upin Lerwick, and who had done them such noble service in crippling thepirate. He was seated on a camp-stool in the corner.
"Now, Magnus!" cried McBain, "we're all waiting for your yarn."
"Jan Jansen, then," said Magnus, after a moment's pause or two--"JanJansen, gentlemen, was first mate of a merchant brig, as neat and tighta little craft as ever sailed the seas. He had been in her, man andboy, for nearly twenty years--in the same ship and with the samecaptain. This captain was a Dane, but he hailed and he sailed from alittle town in Shetland.
And dearly did this sailor captain love hisprofession; he was never really at home except when afloat on thebillowy ocean, when he was as happy as the sea-birds.
"Many a long and prosperous voyage he had made to distant lands, andnever as yet had misfortune--apart from the usual ups and downs of asailor's life--befallen him. He had a wife--ay, and a family. Beforethe latter had increased the skipper's wife had used to sail with herhusband, but latterly she had stayed at home. And now that she could nolonger share his perils, all she could do--and that wasn't little,either--was to pray for him, and teach his dear children to do solikewise. But she thought that if her