ty-ton
fisherman, to slip through.

And they were armed. A shot rang out. Leary looked to see where the ball
struck, but among the endless merging of whitecaps there was no
discovering that. "Not that I care where it hit, blast ye--ye'll never
stop me now--for--hide under the rail you, Tim, with the rest--I'm after
some of you." And he headed the _Ligonier_ straight for the windward
jack, which now he could see was that of the trader Lackford, whose
round-shouldered figure in the bow betrayed him.

"Out of my way!" roared Leary before he realized that he was too far
away to be heard against the whistling squall. "But you'll hear me well
enough soon," he muttered. "And, Tim, so long as you won't hide away,
stand by that old fog-buster, and be sure to have the lanyard long
enough to let you hide behind the forem'st, for there's no telling--the
old antiquity might explode. I don't s'pose she's been shot off this ten
years. When I give the word, now--but wait, wait yet!" For a flying
moment he brought the _Ligonier's_ head into the wind. "Now!"

Boom! It made more noise than a modern six-inch. They could see the
long lead go skipping under the bow of the trader's jack.

"Heave to!" roared Leary, "or the next one goes aboard." No question but
they could hear him now. "Heave her to, I say! Ay, that's right. Load
the old lady again, Tim. And now"--his voice rose high again--"you'd
better all heave to, and stand aside, for this one's bound out, and 'll
come blessed handy to cuttin' in two whatever gets in her way."

And they luffed, twenty-odd sail of them, with six to eight men aboard
each, and stood to attention while the _Ligonier_, with her crew's
inquisitive, grinning faces poked above her rail, came tearing up and
by.

"And now let be your batteries, Tim, and run the ensign to the peak."
Which was done; and passed on in glory did the _Ligonier_, the old
six-pounder adorning one rail, a swish of white foam burying the other,
the colors aloft, and Sam Leary singing war-songs to the wheel. And
perfectly happy would he have been only the snow was thickening and no
Bess in sight. But maybe she had got safely home. Maybe. And just then
came from aloft:

"There's a little white sloop--an' some one in it--at Shark's Fin Ledge
a'most."

"Break out that gaff tops'l, fellows--and you, Tim, go aloft and point
the way--and hurry, afore the snow comes."

"Point the way to what, Sammie?"

"For a little white sloop with a gi