The ship quivered with the shock, and so large was the ball that I could distinctly trace its flight. It fell short a few yards. "So, so," muttered the captain. "The next will do its work." He was right. The next ball struck the rails that ran round the poop, carried away the binnacle, and raked the upper deck from stern to stem. I could see it quite plainly with the glass. "Hurrah!" shouted some of the crew. "Silence, you babies," growled the captain; "time enough to crow when our work's done." The men who had cheered fell back abashed. I noticed that they were chiefly the younger men of the crew, whose countenances were not yet utterly unhumanised by crime. "Load." "Ready." "Fire!" Again the huge iron mass sprang from the cannon's mouth, and rushed along its deadly track. It struck the top of a wave, and bounding up passed through the sails and cordage of the Russian, cutting one or two of the lighter spars, and also the main topsail halyards, which caused the yard to come rattling down, and rendered the sail useless. Seeing this, the pirate captain ordered sail to be reduced in order to keep at a sufficient distance astern to render the guns of the chase useless. Every shot from our gun now told with terrible effect. We could see the splinters fly as every ball entered the ship's stern, or swept her deck, or crashed through her rigging. Presently she turned her broadside to us. "She don't mean to waste her ammunition, surely," remarked the captain, with a sneer. She did not mean to do so. She evidently meant to turn the tables by bearing suddenly down on us, and, if possible, give us a broadside before we could get out of range. The captain saw the intention instantly, and thwarted it. "Up your helm! Square the yards! Look alive there!" We fell off, and were soon running before the wind, with the swivel gun thundering over our stern, as it had formerly thundered over our bows. The Russian fired a broadside, and lay-to. Every ball fell short of us. We also lay-to, and now the fire was kept up steadily. The ship's fate was sealed. Those on board evidently thought so, for the colours which had hitherto been flying from the mast were presently lowered. Upon this we ceased firing, and ranged up alongside. "Oh! you've had enough, have you?" cried our captain. "Perhaps you'll condescend to let your captain and papers come aboard _now_." The Russian did not reply, but a boat was lowered. It was evident they meant to obey. "Here, you boy," cried our captain, as he paced the deck, awaiting their arrival. "Here's a letter for you." "A letter, sir!" I exclaimed, stepping forward, and touching my cap. "Ay, your father gave it to me just afore we set sail. He told me not to give it to you until you'd seen a little rough work. You've seen some now, I think," (he accompanied this remark with a horrible leer), "so there's the letter. Go below and read it. I'll want you in half an hour for some still rougher work."