"They dursn't go astern," he observed. "'Fraid of fouling their propeller, they be. An' they don't want to cut adrift their gear. We've got 'em fixed, boy." "I hope so," agreed Brandon, fired by the enthusiasm and doggedness of his companion. The drifter's next manoeuvre was to put her helm hard a-port. Hitherto she had been standing in towards the land and was already within a mile and a half of Broken Point. Unless she swung round through at least eight or ten points she would soon be aground in shoal water. But Old Negus had anticipated this change. Directly the Belgian ported helm he ported, with the result that the _Frolic_ took a wide sheer to starboard. Impeded by the drag of her gear and the additional resistance offered by the fishing smack, the _Marie-Celeste_ simply would not answer to her helm. The crew, beginning to realise that they had caught a Tartar, were frantic with rage. "Keep on a-signalling," ordered Old Negus. "Happen you can't see no light ashore?" Brandon had to confess that up to the present his signals were unanswered. Just then the _Marie-Celeste's_ engine-room telegraph bell clanged. After a brief interval her propeller ceased to revolve. Quickly she lost way. The _Frolic_, still holding on, decreased her distance to about fifty yards. "What----?" began the Patrol-leader, but Old Negus held up his hand. "Listen!" he exclaimed. They could hear unmistakable sounds of a boat being swung out from the Belgian drifter. The squeaking of the davits as they were turned outboard, the rattle of the fall-blocks and the clatter of oars being shifted as one of the men fumbled for the plug, told their own tale. "Boy!" exclaimed Old Negus. "Me an' you's going to make a fight for it." "Righto!" agreed Brandon. CHAPTER XVII THE ATTACK ON THE "FROLIC" FRANK BRANDON was surprised at his own coolness. Beyond a peculiar sensation somewhere in the region of his belt he felt calm and collected. Essentially of a peaceable nature, it was the dastardly action of the Belgian fishermen that had roused his ire. He realised that if it came to blows it would be an unequal contest in point of numbers. As far as the _Frolic's_ crew were concerned there could be no retreat should things go badly with them. Quickly Old Negus laid out the weapons for defence--a boathook, a small axe, a hammer and a few stones hurriedly removed from the ballast. Then he dived into the fo'c'sle. "Cocoa's hot," he announced. "We'll see 'ow them Belgians like it. An' I've just a-put the poker in the fire." Then they waited in silence for the approach of the foe. The drifter's boat was lowered. The crew of the _Frolic_ heard the thud of the disengaged lower blocks against the vessel's iron sides. A gutteral order and the oars dropped. Brandon grasped the boathook. "Anglais!" shouted a voice from the _Marie-Celeste's_ boat. "Take in ze anchor an' go' vay, den ve gif you five poun'." No answer.