For a long moment Mr. Nye studied the oncoming brig, chewing placidly at his quid of tobacco; finally he nodded, albeit unwillingly, whereupon eager hands hasted to uncover, load and haul the gun aft; and there, grovelling upon his knees, spattering blood all round him, Sir Hector trained and sighted the long, deadly piece. “A smoothish sea, Sharkie!” he muttered. “’Tis a fair shot ... if my hand has no’ lost its cunning ... so and so ... a thocht mair eleevation!” “And now, when you’m ready, sir,” said Mr. Nye, blowing upon the fuse he had lighted, “if you’ll stand away I’ll give fire——” “You!” exclaimed Sir Hector fiercely. “You, Sharkie? Man, d’ye ken I’m Hector Lauchlan MacLean o’ Duart? Gi’e’s the match afore I heave ye tae the fushes!” So saying, he snatched the fuse, blew on it, glanced along the piece and gave fire. Smoke, flame, a roar that seemed to shake the _True Believer_ from stem to stern, and then, as the smoke cleared, every man aboard cheered lustily and long as the brig’s fore-topmast was seen to sway, totter and plunge over to leeward in flapping ruin. “O John!” exclaimed Sir Hector, staggering to the rail. “O Johnnie, am I no’ ... juist a ... bonny gunner!” And then Sir John, with Sharkie Nye, ran to catch him as he fell. They carried him below, and there, having bared the gash in mighty forearm, they set about such rough surgery as they might; but to them, swift footed and authoritative, came one who took over the ugly business—one with hands far quicker and more capable than their own, and who, finding all things to her purpose, bade them begone. Reaching the deck, they saw the _Seahorse_ brig, hampered by her wrecked topmast, had brought to; and though her guns still flashed and roared, their shot did no more harm, for the _True Believer_, her damage repaired, was foaming upon her way once more. “Ecod, sir,” murmured Mr. Nye, rubbing at bristly chin, “but for that shot ... ’twas touch an’ go wi’ us for a minute, d’ye see! That shot ... was ... a shot! Aye, a shot as’ll be ’eer’d and talked on all along the coast ... ’tis for us _True Believers_—all on us—to keep tight mouths or some on us may swing. That young ’ooman now ... I be a cautious man by natur’, sir, so what o’ the young ’ooman? Females talk, d’ye see!” “I can promise you that she will not,” answered Sir John, stretching wearied limbs in the grateful sunshine. “You need be under no apprehension on her account.” “And to be sure she’ve a proper masterful, damn-your-eyes way wi’ her, drown’d me if she ain’t!” “Very true, Mr. Nye; you may ha’ noticed she has a chin!” “Aye, aye, sir ... but so ’ave I.” “Very bristly—like mine own, Mr. Nye, while hers is dimpled yet determined.” “And her carries it like any grand lady!” “Exactly what I have thought, Mr. Nye!” “Though I don’t set much store by fe-males, sir, being a bachelor, very determinated, d’ye see!”