'west course.

After three-quarters of an hour of this kind of sailing they were close
to the group of islands, and sighting a passage to the northward, swung
over on the other tack. A rough beat to starboard brought them into the
gap. Though they crossed a grim, black shoal at the narrowest part, Job
did not shorten sail, but steered straight on as fast as the wind would
take him. And at length they came clear of the headland and saw a great
stretch of open sea to the southwestward with a faint, white dot of sail
at its farthest edge.

At the sight a hearty cheer went up from the seamen, clustered along the
port rail. A lean, wind-browned man with keen black eyes came aft to the
tiller where Jeremy and Tom stood with the Captain. It was Isaiah
Hawkes, Job's first mate, himself a Maine coast man. "It's all clear
sailin' ahead, sir," he said. "No more reefs or islands 'twixt this an'
Cape Cod, if they follow the course they're on."

The _Tiger_ hung with fluttering canvas in the wind's eye for a second
or two, then settled away on the port tack with a bang of her main
boom.

"Here, Isaiah, take the tiller," said Job, at length. "Hold her as she
is--two points to windward of the other sloop. You'll want to set an
extra lookout tonight," he continued. "We shan't be able to keep 'em in
sight at this distance, if they've sighted us, which most likely they
have. I'm going up to have a look at 'Long Poll' now."

Accompanied by the two boys, he made his way along the steeply canted
deck of the plunging schooner to the breach of the swivel-gun at the
bow.

"Ever seen this gal afore, Jeremy?" asked Job, shouting to make himself
heard above the hiss and thunder of the water under the forefoot. "She's
the old gun we had aboard the _Queen_. Stede Bonnet never had a piece
like this. Cast in Bristol, she was, in '94. There's the letters that
tells it." And he patted the bright breach lovingly, sighting along the
brazen barrel, and swinging the nose from right to left till he brought
the gun to bear squarely on the white speck that was the pirate sloop,
still hull-down in the sea ahead. "Come morning, Polly, my gal," he
chuckled, "we'll let you talk to 'em."

As he spoke, the fiery disk of the sun was slipping into the ocean
across the starboard bow. With sunset the breeze lightened perceptibly,
and Job ordered the reefs shaken out of the fore and mainsails and an
extra jib set. Then he and the boys, who, although they had quar