But we were not to be allowed to have matters all our own way very much longer, for while we were reloading the long gun a jet of flame, followed by a puff of white smoke, like a little wad of white cotton wool, suddenly leaped from the brigantine's stern port, and a 9-pound shot came whistling overhead, neatly bringing down our fore topgallant-mast, with all attached, on its way.
