“Now, your honour, let us burst up the companion, and slice their gizzards.”
Cautiously ascending it, as they reached the top, they heard a step pacing the deck, and then our hero heard a voice saying—
“Do you see the boats, François?”
“No,” returned a voice in the forepart of the vessel. “Sacre diable! how long they are, and here’s a fine breeze and a strong down tide.”
“Now, Bill, put your shoulder to the companion, and up with it, there are only a few on board; the rest, I suppose, are ashore with the boats.”
“More’s the pity,” growled Bill, as putting his strength to the slide, he sent it into shivers with a loud crash. A volley of oaths from four, or more men, located in various parts of the lugger, saluted the liberated captives as they sprang upon the deck.
“Fire the bow-gun, Pierre! fire the gun!” shouted the man near the companion, drawing his cutlass, and, joined by four others with boarding pikes, making a desperate rush at our hero and Bill. But the Frenchmen had to do with two remarkably powerful, active men, both very expert in the use of the cutlass; the man ran, however, with a lighted match, and fired the bow-gun; its loud report echoing from the shore. Our hero’s superior skill soon told upon his adversaries, two of whom fell dead upon the deck; Bill, dashing at three others, they fled; one in his terror threw himself overboard, whilst the remaining two, leaping down the fore-hatch into the fore-cabin, left the victors in complete possession of the Vengeance.
“Cut the cable, Bill; cut the cable!” shouted our hero, running to the tiller; “hack it with your cutlass.”
Bill stumbled upon an axe, and with a single blow severed the cable, when instantaneously the lugger, in the strong tide and wind, swung round. By great good fortune, and the carelessness of those on shore, drinking and carousing, the only craft that could have pursued them with a chance of success had just taken the ground, and was hard and fast, when the men, alarmed by the sound of the bow-gun, rushed down to their boats. It was a dark night, with a strong land wind, and a fast ebb tide. Lieutenant Thornton could hear the splash of oars in boats passing; so lashing the heavy tiller amidship, he hastened forward to see if he and Bill could run up the immense fore-lug. There was a Spanish windlass attached to the mast; so taking a turn of the haulyards, they put their whole strength to it, and ran it up, perspiring with the effort. Making fast the sheet-blocks, our hero ran aft, just as the foremost boat, finding they began to lose ground, the moment the lug filled, fired their muskets into the lugger, but with no further result than knocking a few splinters out of the bulwarks.
“I wish I could give you a dose of grape, you beggars!” exclaimed Bill, shaking his clenched hand at the boats, now dropping astern fast.