The whole party poured in pursuit. But by the time they reached the shoreward end of the jetty, John Trevanion had been lowered into the first of the privateer’s boats. The second had towed back a number of the craft which Pennycomequick had removed from the shore, the lugger itself, however, with the cobbler and his helpers aboard, still lying in the harbour on the inner side of the reef. Into these boats Delarousse and his men leapt, and pulled off swiftly to the privateer. They had no sooner left the jetty than a puff of smoke issued from one of the vessel’s portholes; there was a roar, and a round shot crashed into the planking, smashing several yards of it, and sending up splinters almost into the eyes of the Squire. "’Tis no good, Trevanion," cried the Vicar. "We shall all be slaughtered if we line up and fire at them. They’ve got your cousin, and we can’t help it." "But they can’t get out of the fairway, and there’s no water on the reef," said the Squire. "If only Mildmay were here!" He was soon to see that he had not reckoned with the seamanship of Jean Delarousse. The first of the boats pulled at full speed towards the fairway, receiving from the deck of the privateer a sounding-line as she passed. From the second boat Delarousse climbed to the deck of his vessel. The pilot crew, having sounded and measured the width of the channel between the fairway and the cliff, signed to their captain that he might proceed. It seemed to Dick impossible that the vessel should win through, and he watched with unstinted admiration the Frenchman’s skilful seamanship. Delarousse ordered the anchor to be tripped, and the vessel moved slowly towards the fairway, close-hauled on the starboard tack. When she reached the rock, she seemed to graze the cliff as she passed into the narrow channel; but with Delarousse himself at the helm she passed safely through. Then, there being a fair wind on her starboard quarter, Delarousse hauled up his courses, mainsail and foresail, and threw his foreyard aback. The check on the ship’s way gave him time to take aboard the boat, which had been moored to the rock, the rest of his crew having already clambered up the side from the other boats. These were then cast adrift; the foreyard filled, and the _Aimable Vertu_ stood out to sea. CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD The Price of Treachery One stride of our magic boots takes us from Polkerran to the creek, five miles away, where another little drama was being enacted.