Chapter XIII: Closing in

Dick, as soon as he had spoken to Carl, ran out of the cabin and took a hasty look over the side of the wreck.

The schooner was now so close that he could see the men on her decks plainly. Some were putting another charge in the small cannon at the bow, while several more were loading a similar cannon whose muzzle swung over the taffrail.

"They're going to keep it up, matey," announced Dick, as Carl stole out to him. "Pretty soon they'll put another shot into us."

"Meppy dey vas drying to shcare us oudt," returned Carl. "Oof Sixdy vants to safe der cargo oof der prig he vouldn't send her to der pottom."

There came another roar, this time from the cannon at the stern of the schooner. A round shot sailed over the top of the charthouse and dropped into the sea, far to leeward, sending up a small geyser of water.

"Ve can shtandt all dot kindt oof shooding dot dey gif us," said Carl.

"They'll not give us that kind right along, mate. I don't think they'll put any shells into us between wind and water, but they'll bang away at the deck houses."

By then the schooner had crossed the stern of the wreck and was making ready to tack about and come up on the other side.

"They're going to put a few shots into us from starboard," hazarded Dick.

"Couldn't ve pick off some oof dose fellers mit der rifles?" queried Carl.

"We could," replied Dick, "but we're not going to. We've got the right of this, now, and if we shot anybody we'd be in the wrong almost as much as Sixty. We'll let the old scoundrel play his hand, and see what it amounts to."

The boys could see that those on the schooner had loaded both guns. Two men stood by ready to fire them, but neither was discharged.

"Vy don'd dey shoot?" asked Carl. "Vat vas dey hanging pack for?"

"Ah!" muttered Dick, "they're getting a couple of boats in the water."

"Vat does dot mean?"

"They're going to close in. Get your rifle, Carl. From the looks of things, mate, we're going to have hot work."

"Ve don'd surrenter?"

"I'm a Britisher, and I don't know the word!" answered Dick.

"Me, neider," said Carl. "I vas American mit a Dutch accent, aber I don'd gif in to dot gang. Led dem shood deir olt headts off."

"Our heads will be the ones they'll try to shoot off."

Rifles in hand, the boys watched the boats as they struck the water. Five men tumbled into each of them, and the men were all armed.

Dick laughed softly.

"We're making them take a lot of trouble, mate," said he.

"Oof ve hat a gun like vat dey got, py shinks, ve vould gif dem as mooch fighdt as dey vanted. Ah, ha! der poats iss shtarting dis vay, und vone iss coming py der front oof der wreck und der odder py der rear end. Now vat you t'ink iss going to habben?"

"We're about at the end of our rope, Carl," said Dick. "Those boats are going to board us under cover of a couple of shots from the big guns. The outlook is getting dark. This way! We'll get down the main hatch into the 'tween decks. After the broadside, we'll come up again and fight off the boats."

It was not a time for words. The gunners on the schooner were preparing to fire, and if Dick and Carl got out of the way they would have to hurry.

The main hatch was open, just as Dick had left it when he had gone down after the rifles. Carl, who was following Dick, had no more than got his feet on the ladder, when there were two smashing reports, coming so close together that they sounded almost as one.

Dick, at the time, was standing on the ladder, up to his knees in water, urging Carl to hurry. The firing drowned his words.

Instantly there was a splintering crash, and the wreck rocked and heaved as though it would break apart. But Dick Ferral was not thinking of the derelict, just then. His every thought was for Carl.

The Dutch boy had pitched forward, the upper part of his body lying half over the hatch coaming.

"Carl!" cried Dick, frantically.

There was no answer. Carl's dangling feet swung backward and forward with the swaying of the wreck.

Dick, his heart in his throat, leaped up the ladder, bounded out on the deck, lifted Carl in his arms and carried him away from the hatch.

There was a smear of red on Carl's forehead, his face was deathly white and his eyes closed.

One of the cannon balls had knocked a hole in the bulwarks of the brig and scattered splinters all over that part of the boat. Carl, undoubtedly, had been struck by one of the flying fragments.

Kneeling at his chum's side, Dick laid a hand on his breast, then felt of his wrist. What he learned reassured him.

Hurrying to the galley he got what was left of a kettle of fresh water, ran back with it, tore a strip from the piece of canvas with which he had signaled the schooner, and began bathing Carl's forehead.

There was an ugly gash in the temple. So far as Dick could discover, however, the splinter had not done any serious damage.

"Here they are!" yelled a hoarse voice. "We've downed one of 'em!"

Dick started up. From forward and aft men were climbing over the derelict's side and rushing toward the main hatch. Quick as a wink he caught up one of the Krag-Jorgensens, placed himself over Carl and brought the gun to his shoulder.

Sixty was bearing down on Dick, and at his back were two swarthy sailors who had the appearance of Mexicans, or Spaniards.

"Sheer off!" shouted Dick, menacingly, pointing the rifle full at Captain Sixty. "Lay a finger on me or my mate and I'll shoot."

There was that in the boy's eyes which told of resolute determination, and Sixty and the others drew to an abrupt halt.

"Put down that gun, you young fool!" ordered Sixty, angrily. "All we wanted was to get on this brig. You've made a fine mess of it, I must say."

"You've got on the brig," returned Dick, steadily, "but you haven't captured us, yet. Leave us alone--that's my advice to you."

"There's a chap on the schooner that's a halfway doctor," said Sixty. "Don't you want him to look after your friend?"

"We're not going on the schooner, Captain Sixty, and I tell you flat that before long you're going to answer for your villainous work of the last few days. What kind of a pirate are you, anyhow?"

"This is my boat," blustered Sixty, "and I've got the right to take her. You was lame in tryin' to keep me off. It was you two that first began usin' guns."

"But it was you that lured us aboard the _Santa Maria_! And it was you that threw Motor Matt off the steamer! Why shouldn't we use guns when we saw you coming for us? You're a lawless scoundrel, and if you had what was coming you'd be swinging from the yardarm of a man-o'-war! I wish there was a Yankee fighting ship in these waters! You'd have short shrift to your deserts, Captain Jim Sixty!"

"It's easy enough to blow," scowled Sixty, "but your talk don't amount to nothin'. I'm on my own deck, and that makes me high cockalorum. Drop that gun, I tell you, before we lay you on the deck alongside your mate."

"Drop me on the deck!" shouted Dick, recklessly. "Keep up your lawlessness, if you dare!"

Dick swerved his eyes a little to get a fleeting glance of the nine men who had boarded the wreck with Sixty.

"What sort of swabs are you?" he cried. "Don't you know the risk you are taking in doing the dirty work for a ruffian like Sixty? He abandoned the brig--left her to her fate--and now the rest of you can pick him up and slant away. I'll stay here with my mate, and take care of him, but we'll neither of us set a foot on your pirate schooner!"

Dick was so wrought up that he would have defied an army if one had been mustered against him. He was hopelessly outnumbered, and there could have been but one result had events been allowed to take their course.

But the unexpected happened, and it happened just then when the brave Ferral, standing over the form of his unconscious chum, was defying Sixty and his men to do their worst.

"Ahoy, the brig!"

The faint hail came from the schooner.

"Ahoy!" roared Sixty, turning and making a trumpet of his hands.

"Look out for the submarine!"

Sixty's hands fell from his lips and he gave a jump for the side of the brig. The rest of the men ran with him. For an instant something like panic laid hold of the entire party.

Dick, thrilled with a wild feeling of hope, rushed for the battered bulwarks of the wreck--and stood there, gasping with astonishment.

Within fifty feet of the brig, bow on, lay the _Grampus_. There was not a sign of life about her, but there she lay, silent, menacing, a thing of power fraught with deadly peril for the lawless men on the wreck.

Sixty, regaining his wits, gave vent to a fierce oath and jerked a musket from the hands of one of the sailors. He fired, but the bullet glanced harmlessly from the rounded steel deck of the submarine.

The next moment the top of the conning tower began lifting slowly.