“Something will happen within the next half hour,” said one of the Englishmen who stood near. “His Majesty’s frigate Thunderer is going to have a word to say in this matter pretty soon.” “An English ship!” cried both captives. “Ay, and a smart craft, too, with plenty of guns and men. She’s been lying further up behind the headland; but we’ve sent word and she’s coming down.” As the man spoke there came the deep boom of a gun; the Ranger, with her sails filled, went flying seaward; from around the headland swept the huge, dark hull and towering sail spread of a British ship-of-war, a column of white smoke arising from her bow. “The Yankee are running away,” cried a voice. “They can rob defenceless people, but they won’t stand and fight.” “What’s the matter wid them?” growled Longsword as he watched the Ranger. “Sure our ship can beat that fellow wid ease.” “And she’s going to do it,” cried Ethan. “Look there. She only stood out for sea-room.” Sure enough the American vessel now wore around and opened fire; from that distance the puffs of smoke from her sides could be seen long before the reports were heard; and when they did come, they were dull and sullen and ominous. “Hello,” cried one of the men on the beach, “that Yankee can shoot a bit.” At the first fire the Thunderer’s bowsprit hung limply, her foresails trailing in the sea; a clutter of spars and a broken topmast hung over the deck, and the rent canvas flapped helplessly and wrapped itself about the masts and shrouds. The Ranger then stood in to take up a more effective position; but the skipper of the British frigate seemed to already have more than enough of the fight; and making what sail he could he quickly scuttled back in the direction from which he had come. The Englishmen were much wrought up over this defeat; but Ethan and Longsword were well pleased. “She came out like a conqueror,” said the lad, “and she went back like a hen caught in a shower of rain.” “You keep quiet,” growled one of the men. “You’ll have all the trouble you can attend to in a few moments without making more for yourself.” “I and my companion are to be treated as prisoners of war, I suppose,” said Ethan. “You are to be treated just as this gentleman sees fit,” answered the man. As he spoke, he pointed to a newcomer who came sauntering coolly along, his eyes turned seaward upon the Ranger, which was dressing her yards and about to put to sea. “Danvers!” exclaimed Ethan, instantly recognizing the jetty hair and the remarkable pallor. The man turned and darted a swift, searching look at the boy as the cry reached his ears. Then his face lighted up in triumph and he laughed in a short, sharp way that bespoke malicious satisfaction.