Now, from away on the port hand, where lay the outline of the Chinese coast, black beneath the moon, came a gentle mist hanging low and thick upon the water. As it gradually enveloped the ship, hiding all but close objects from view, she was kept away three or four points. But, presently, with the haze, what wind there was left her, the sails gave a few ominous flaps, and then hung limply down. At this moment a Chinaman, uttering a loud yell of fright, pointed over the starboard quarter. There, close aboard, loomed up a dark mass almost, high as she was, on a level with the _Sparrowhawk’s_ poop-railing. It was the junk. ‘The het poker, quick!’ shouted the captain. Some one brought it and, unheeding the skipper, dabbed it straightway on the touch-hole of the little cannon pointing directly, as it happened, at the pirate. The powder being damp, fizzed for a minute, and, just as M‘Cracken sung out, ‘More pouther; she’s fluffed ’i the pan!’ with a roar the thing went off. Off and up as well, for it sprung six feet in the air, and descended with a crash into the binnacle. ‘Fetch the ither ane,’ shouted M‘Cracken, ‘an’ gie ’em anither dose i’ the wame. Hear till ’em,’ he continued, as a most extraordinary noise arose from the junk now just abreast of the mizzen-rigging. ‘Hear till ’em scraighin’, the thievin’ heathen pireets. They havena muckle likin’ for sic a med’cin’. It gives them the mirligoes. Pit yer fut on her, Tam Wulson, whiles I send her aff,’ he went on, addressing a sailor, as the other gun was brought over and shipped. ‘Pit yer ain fut on her, captain,’ answered the man. ‘I dinna a’thegither like the notion. She’ll lat oot like ony cuddy, judgin’ frae her mate.’ But the skipper was too excited to argue, and, applying the hot iron, spit—fizzle—bang, and the piece went up, and, this time, clean overboard. A thousand capering madmen were yelling at the top of their voices on board the _Sparrowhawk_; but high and shrill above even that clamour could be heard the screech from the junk at that last discharge. The fog was still thick around the latter, and the ship’s sails being aback, she was making a stern board towards the enemy, to whom M‘Cracken, exulting, determined to administer a _coup de grâce_. ‘Noo then, a’thegither,’ he cried, and the old muskets and the bell-muzzled pistols roared and kicked and sent a leaden shower somewhere, while, amidst an indescribable medley of yells and cheers, the defeated pirate vanished into the mist. Someone cried out that she had sunk. But presently the sound of her sweeps could be heard in the distance. Then the skipper, flushed and elated with victory, snapped his fingers in the second mate’s face, as he exclaimed,—