As it chanced to be cloudy weather the darkness became intense, and progress could only be guessed at by the sound of the oars; but these soon told too plainly that the boats of the schooner were overtaking those of the barque.
"Pull with a will, lads," cried the captain; "we can't be more than half a mile from shore; give way, my hearties." "Surely, captain, we can fight them, we've most of us got pistols and cutlasses," said one of the men in a sulky tone.
"Fight them!" cried the captain, "they're four times our number, and every man armed to the teeth.

If ye don't fancy walking the plank or dancing on nothing at the yard-arm, ye'd better pull away and hold your jaw." By this time they could just see the schooner's boats in the dim light, about half-musket range astern.
"Back you' oars," shouted a stern voice in broken English, "or I blow you out de watter in one oder moment,--black-yards!" This order was enforced by a musket shot, which whizzed over the boat within an inch of the captain's head.

The men ceased rowing and the boats of the pirate ranged close up.
"Now then, Martin," whispered Barney O'Flannagan, who sat at the bow oar, "I'm goin' to swim ashore; jist you slip arter me as quiet as ye can." "But the sharks!" suggested Martin.
"Bad luck to them," said Barney as he slipped over the side, "they're welcome to me.

Til take my chance.

They'll find me mortial tough, anyhow.
Come along, lad, look sharp!" Without a moment's hesitation Martin slid over the gunwale into the sea, and, just as the pirate boats grappled with those of the barque, he and Barney found themselves gliding as silently as otters towards the shore.
So quietly had the manoeuvre been accomplished, that the men in their own boat were ignorant of their absence.