"Sit down and row!" roared Abel; but his order was needless, for Jack had seated himself on the thwart, thrust out the oars at once, and began to pull; while on opposite sides, Dinny and Abel ran the boat out till they were breast-high in the water, when they gave it a final thrust and began to climb in. By this time they were thirty or forty yards from the dry sand, down which the overseer and his party came running, and stopped at the edge. "Halt! Surrender!" roared the overseer, savagely. There was no reply, but the oars were plied swiftly, and the boat glided over the glassy swell. "Fire!" roared the overseer, raising his piece; and a shower of buckshot came whistling and pattering by them, several of the little bullets striking the boat. "Fire!" roared the overseer again. "Curse you! Why don't you fire!" A scattered volley from half a dozen pieces answered his furious order, and as the little party glanced back, it was to see that those on shore were reloading rapidly, the peculiar noise made by the ramming down of the wads being plainly heard, mingled with the thudding of the ramrods as the charges were driven home. No one spoke in the boat, but Abel and Dinny rapidly got oars over the side and began to pull, the latter having the harder work from the heaving bodies of the two combatants occupying the bottom of the boat, a fact which necessitated his standing up; but all the same he helped the boat vigorously along. "Are ye going to lie down?" said Dinny, as he saw the enemy wade out as far as they could and prepare to fire. "No!" said Abel. "You can." "Divil a bit will I, if you don't," said Dinny, "and good luck to 'em! They've only got big pellets for shooting the pigs, and they won't kill except at close quarthers." Another scattered volley rang echoing out, and thundered along the cliffs, the smoke hiding the enemy from the gaze of those in the boat. "Murther!" yelled Dinny, dropping his oar, but stooping to pick it up again as he shook his hand. "It's gone right through," he continued, as he gazed at a bead of blood oozing from the back of his hand, and another on the other side in the centre of his palm. "I wish I knew the divil who fired that. It feels like one of the overseer's games." "Anyone else hit?" said Abel. "Jack!" "It's nothing--a scratch," said Jack, rowing away with all his might, as the blood began to trickle down from a scored place upon his forehead. "Go on rowing." "Bad luck to 'em! There's so many shot in a charge; it gives 'em such a chance," grumbled Dinny. "But niver mind, Masther Jack. It'll be a bit of a shmart; but losing a dhrop o' blood won't hurt ye." Jack nodded, and tugged away rapidly, reducing the distance between them and the cutter; but they could not get farther from the firing party, who kept up a furious fusillade as they followed along round the side of the little bay, the pellets whistling by the fugitives, and more than one finding a home.