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On the deck of the English brig things were moving. A gang of blue-jackets, under the first lieutenant, were heaving in the cable; another gang, under the boatswain, were sending down and stowing away the heavy tackles and careening-gear, tailing out halyards and sheets and coiling down the light-running rigging, while topmen aloft loosed the canvas to bunt-gaskets, ready to drop it at the call from the deck.

The second lieutenant, overseeing this latter, paced the port quarter-deck and answered remarks from Captain Bunce, who paced the sacred starboard side (the brig being at anchor) and occasionally turned his glass on the dilapidated craft down the beach.

“Seems to me, Mr. Shack,” he said across the deck, “that an owner who would send that bark around the Horn, and the master who would take her, ought to be sequestered and cared for, either in an asylum or in jail.”

“Yes, sir, I think so too,” answered the second lieutenant, looking aloft. “Might be an insurance job. Clear away that bunt-gasket on the royal-yard,” he added in a roar.

Captain Bunce–round, rosy, with brilliant mutton-chop whiskers–muttered: “Insurance–wrecked intentionally–no, not here where we are; wouldn’t court investigation by her Majesty’s officers.” He rolled forward, then aft, and looked again through the glass.

“Very large crew–very large,” he said; “very curious, Mr. Shack.”

A hail from the forecastle, announcing that the anchor was short, prevented Mr. Shack’s answering. Captain Bunce waved a deprecatory hand to the first lieutenant, who came aft at once, while Mr. Shack descended to the waist, and the boatswain ascended the forecastle steps to attend to the anchor. The first lieutenant now had charge of the brig, and from the quarter-deck gave his orders to the crew, while Captain Bunce busied himself with his glass and his thoughts.

Fore-and-aft sail was set and head-sheets trimmed down to port, square sails were dropped, sheeted home, and hoisted, foreyards braced to port, the anchor tripped and fished, and the brig paid off from the land-breeze, and, with foreyards swung, steadied down to a course for the entrance.

“Mr. Duncan,” said the captain, “there are fully forty men on that bark’s deck, all dressed alike–all in red shirts and knitted caps–and all dancing around like madmen. Look!” He handed the glass to the first lieutenant, who brought it to bear.

“Strange,” said the officer, after a short scrutiny; “there were only a few showing when we spoke her outside. It looks as though they were all drunk.”

As they drew near, sounds of singing–uproarious discord–reached them, and soon they could see with the naked eye that the men on the bark were wrestling, dancing, and running about.

“Quarters, sir?” inquired Mr. Duncan. “Shall we bring to alongside?”

“Well–no–not yet,” said the captain, hesitatingly; “it’s all right–possibly; yet it is strange. Wait a little.”

They waited, and had sailed down almost abreast of the gray old craft, noticing, as they drew near, an appreciable diminution of the uproar, when a flag arose from the stern of the bark, a dusky flag that straightened out directly toward them, so that it was difficult to make out.

But they soon understood. As they reached a point squarely abreast of the bark, five points of flame burst from her innocent gray sides, five clouds of smoke ascended, and five round shot, coming with the thunder of the guns, hurtled through their rigging. Then they saw the design of the flag, a white skull and cross-bones, and noted another, a black flag too, but pennant-shaped, and showing in rudely painted letters the single word “Swarth,” sailing up to the forepeak.

“Thunder and lightning!” roared Captain Bunce. “Quarters, Mr. Duncan, quarters, and in with the kites. Give it to them. Put about first.”

A youngster of the crew had sprung below and immediately emerged with a drum which, without definite instruction, he hammered vigorously; but before he had begun, men were clearing away guns and manning flying-jib downhaul and royal clue-lines. Others sprang to stations, anticipating all that the sharp voice of the first lieutenant could order. Around came the brig on the other tack and sailed back, receiving another broadside through her rigging and answering with her starboard guns. Then for a time the din was deafening. The brig backed her main-yards and sent broadside after broadside into the hull of the old craft. But it was not until the eighth had gone that Captain Bunce noticed through the smoke that the pirates were not firing. The smoke from the burning canvas port-coverings had deluded him. He ordered a cessation. Fully forty solid shot had torn through that old hull near the water-line, and not a man could now be seen on her deck.