“Don’t get shot, anyhow, doctor,” said Jack.
“My clear Captain Mackenzie, I’m positively bulletproof.”
Young Murray was in high glee. He put on white gloves for the occasion. MʻHearty left his sword on board, and his coat and hat, and positively entered the boat bareheaded, in his shirt sleeves, and armed with a cutlass.
“Nobody will see me,” he said to Jack.
“I’ll be bound they’ll feel you,” laughed the captain of marines.
This was as pretty a cutting-out action as ever I have heard of.
Feeling sure of their safety, the Frenchmen were careless in their watch. The officers were wining and playing cards down below, when suddenly there was a shout, and a rattle and bump and rush. Hardly had the bugle, that awakened echoes from the walls of the fort, sung out to summon the crew to repel boarders, ere our fine fellows were on board. Stern was the resistance made, however, to the British tars. Big MʻHearty had boarded on the port-bow, and came flailing away aft. He knew nothing of sword-exercise, but simply grasped the cutlass, a huge one, by both hands, and hammered away in old Highland fashion. But a Frenchman fell at every blow.
Murray fought like a little lion, but was knocked under a gun, and lay like a dead thing till all the fight was over, and long after.
Yes, they were victorious.
“Better go back to your cards and wine,” shouted MʻHearty, as he drove the last officer down below.