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 him, a fierce gladness flamed in him. He was happy, more passionately happy than he had ever been before. Yet he was perfectly aware that the end was near. He would never have believed that any ship or any crew could stand such punishment; and he knew that it could last only a little longer.

From the Merry Amy another broadside roared, and this time, whether by design or accident, the shot went high. From aloft came a loud crack and a great spar hung dangling, the sail that it had supported flapping loosely.

Falcon bellowed an order. To Lachlan it meant little, but he saw that men left the guns and leaped to the ropes. Suddenly Falcon threw his weight on the wheel and the brig swung to port, turning directly away from the Merry Amy, racing, with the wind behind her, straight for that distant purple line of trees which marked the coast.

There was still spirit enough in what was left of that battered crew for another cheer, and they cheered and Lachlan cheered with them. Yet he at least knew—for Falcon had told him—that they were going now to destruction almost as certain as that which in another half-hour Lowther's guns would have dealt.

Ahead and plainly visible was a gap in the far-off line of woods—Edisto Inlet. It seemed a broad, fair opening and behind it was safety; but minutes ago Falcon had informed Lachlan very calmly that there was one chance in a hundred of winning through.