As he spoke there was a puff of white smoke from the fort, followed by the scream of a shot which passed ahead of them. Then came another puff of smoke, and a hole appeared in their brown sail. After this the fort did not fire again, for the gunners found no time to load their pieces, only some soldiers who were armed with arquebuses began to shoot as the boat swept past within a few yards of them. Heedless of their bullets, Hans the pilot rose to his feet again, for such work as was before him could not be done by a man lying on his back. By now the large open boat from the fort was within two hundred yards of them, and, driven by the gathering gale, the _Swallow_ rushed towards it with the speed of a dart. Foy and Martin crawled from the hatchway and lay down near the steersman under the shelter of the little bulwarks, watching the enemy’s boat, which was in midstream just where the channel was narrowest, and on the hither side of the broken water of the bar. “See,” said Foy, “they are throwing out anchors fore and aft. Is there room to go past them?” “No,” answered Hans, “the water is too shallow under the bank, and they know it. Bring me a burning brand.” Foy crept forward, and returned with the fire. “Now light the slow-match, master.” Foy opened his blue eyes and a cold shiver went down his back. Then he set his teeth and obeyed. Martin looked at Hans, muttering, “Good for a young one!” Hans nodded and said, “Have no fear. Till that match burns to the level of the deck we are safe. Now, mates, hold fast. I can’t go past that boat, so I am going through her. We may sink on the other side, though I am sure that the fire will reach the powder first. In that case you can swim for it if you like, but I shall go with the _Swallow_.” “I will think about it when the time comes. Oh! that cursed astrologer,” growled Martin, looking back at the pursuing ship, which was not more than seven or eight hundred yards away. Meanwhile the officer in command of the boat, who was armed with a musket, was shouting to them to pull down their sail and surrender; indeed, not until they were within fifty yards of him did he seem to understand their desperate purpose. Then some one in the boat called out: “The devils are going to sink us,” and there was a rush to bow and stern to get up the anchors. Only the officer stood firm, screaming at them like a madman. It was too late; a strong gust of wind caught the _Swallow_, causing her to heel over and sweep down on the boat like a swooping falcon. Hans stood and shifted the tiller ever so little, calculating all things with his eye. Foy watched the boat towards which they sprang like a thing alive, and Martin, lying at his side, watched the burning match.