clear of the point, was
careening over and gliding rapidly along, with a pleasant breeze astern.

Just then the captain came forward, looking black as thunder, taking no
notice of the boys, but giving a few sharp orders to the men to stand by
ready to take advantage of the first puff of wind.

"We're not going below, are we?" whispered Mike.

"No; I want to see what's done," said Vince.

"Then you like fighting before breakfast better than I do," said the
cook. "Look, there goes her colours, and she'll send a shot across the
_Shark's_ bows directly. We shall get it next."

He had hardly spoken before there was a white puff of smoke from the
cutter, and before the report came echoing from the towering rocks of
the Crag the boys saw the water splash up twice from somewhere near the
schooner's bows, while within half a minute another shot was fired
across the lugger's course, as she glided slowly along with the swift
current, which was drawing them nearer the Crag.

"Bad job for us as old Daygo arn't here," said the cook.

"Why?" asked Vince.

The man laughed.

"Why, if he were aboard and the wind came up, he'd run the _Marie_ in
among the rocks."

"And into the pool?" said Vince eagerly.

"Not likely, my lad. No, he'd manoeuvre her right in, and lead the
revenoos after us, till the cutter was stuck on one of the fang rocks,
and leave her there, perhaps for good. Bound to say the skipper wishes
Master Daygo was here."

Vince looked round, and thought of the fierce currents and sunken rocks,
which a sailing boat might pass over in safety, but which would be fatal
to a vessel of the cutter's size.

Just then the cook laughed, and the boys looked at him inquiringly.

"They think we are lying to on account o' their guns," said the man;
"but only wait till we ketch the wind."

"Do you think they know these vessels are--"

"Smugglers?" said the cook, for Vince had not finished the sentence.
"Ay, they know fast enough, and they think they're in luck, and have
dropped upon a strong dose of prize money; but they don't know old
Jarks."

"Will he fight?" said Mike excitedly. "Is these pokers getting
red-hot?" said the man, grinning. "Ay, he'll fight. He's a Frenchy,
but he's got the fighting stuff in him. 'Course he'll run. He don't
want to fight, but if that cutter makes him, he will. My! I wish the
wind would come."

But though the cutter came merrily along, hardly a puff reached the
smugglers, an