“Many droll sights I’ve seen,
But I wish the wars were over.”
“Now or never,” said Joshua, producing and cocking his pistol. I leaped upon my legs in an instant, and, seizing the weapon, which was a small tool, manufactured for a gentleman’s pocket, by the barrel with my left hand, and this amiable specimen of fraternity by the right, the struggle of an instant ensued. The muzzle of the pistol was close upon my breast when my adversary discharged it. I felt the sharp, hard knock of the ball upon my chest, and the percussion for the moment took away my breath, but my hold upon the villain’s throat was unrelaxed. The gurgling of suffocation became audible to his brutal companion.
“Ods sneckens!” said the brute, “but this ’ere murdered man is throttling my Mister in his death-throe.”
Down at once came his tremendous cudgel upon my arm. I released my grip, and again fell to the earth.
“He’s a dead man,” said Gowles; “run for your life! Mind, Mister, I had neither ’art nor part in this ’ere—”
And they were almost immediately out of sight and out of hearing.
At the report of the pistol, the jolly choristers struck up prestissimo with their feet. They were standing round me just as the retreating feet of my assassins had ceased to resound in the stillness of the darkness.
A voice, which I immediately knew to be that of my old adversary, the master’s mate, Pigtop, accosted me.
“Holloa, shipmate!—fallen foul of a pirate, mayhap—haven’t slipped your wind, ha’ ye, messmate?”
“No; but I believe my arm’s broken, and I have a pistol ball between my ribs.”