No one paid any heed to the boat, which drew nearer and nearer from the fact that it was gliding across the bay right in the schooner's course. In fact, every eye was directed at the gunboat, which came steadily on without hurry, as if her commander felt that he was perfectly certain of his prize, while what went on upon her deck was plainly visible through the glass, the boys noting in turn that her heavy gun was manned and ready to bring them to whensoever the gunboat captain pleased to make her speak. "Oh, Fitz!" groaned Poole. "It does seem so hard. I did think we were going to do it now." "Well, I can't help being sorry for you," said the middy. "Yes, it does seem hard, though I suppose I oughtn't to speak like this. I say, though, look at those stupid niggers in that boat! Why don't they get out of the way? We shall run them down." "Murder! Yes," cried Poole, and pulling out his knife he ran to one of the life-buoys to cut it free; but ere he could reach it there was a sharp crack as the schooner seemed to glide right over the fishing-boat, the tall white lateen sail disappeared, and Fitz ran to the side, expecting to see those who manned the slight craft struggling in the water. To his surprise, though, he saw that a dark-complexioned man was holding on with a boat-hook, boat and trailing sail were being carried onward by the schooner, and another man was climbing over the port bulwark. What followed passed very quietly. The man gained the deck and ran aft to where the captain and mate were hurrying to meet him. There was a quick passing of something white, and then the man almost glided over the bulwarks again into the boat, which fell astern, and those who manned her began to hoist the long lateen sail once more. "A message from the shore," whispered Poole excitedly, as he saw his father step into the shelter of one of the boats swinging from the davits, to screen himself from any observant glass on the gunboat's deck, and there he rapidly tore open a packet and scanned the message that it contained. "Oh, I should like to know what it says," whispered Poole, "but I mustn't ask him. It's lucky to be old Burgess," he continued, for the captain walked slowly to his chief officer, who stood sulkily apart as if not paying the slightest heed to what was going on. The skipper stood speaking to him for about a minute, and the lad saw the heavy-looking mate give a short nod of the head and then turn his eyes upwards towards the white spread sails as they still glided on through the orange glow. _Boom_--_thud_! and Fitz literally jumped; the report, and its echo from the mountain-backed shore, was so sudden and unexpected. "Blank shot," said Poole, looking at the white smoke curling up from one of the man-of-war's small guns. "Order to heave-to," said Fitz; "and you will have to, or a ball will come skipping along next."