“The French sailors, it seems, so Mr Johnson told me afterwards in a few hurried words of explanation, had ‘got into a fog’ over the falls of the boat they had been sent to lower, and seeing the clumsy way they were setting to work at the job, both Basseterre and Captain Alphonse thoughtlessly left their post to show the men the proper way to do the task ordered. Alas! though, in a second, while the whole lot of them all had their backs turned to the Haytians, these demons, grasping the opportunity in a moment, rushed up on the poop by the port-ladder way, now unguarded!
“Captain Alphonse, hearing the noise of their approach, faced about, fronting his foes like a tiger at bay, and drew his revolver from his belt.
“But, sir, he was too late!
“Ere he could put up his hand to guard himself, for I could see it all in an instant, as I emerged from the companion-hatchway, the giant negro, who had abandoned his pistol for a hand-spike, brought down this fearful weapon with a tremendous thwack on the side of my poor friend’s head with the result you have seen.”
“Aye, faith,” said Garry O’Neil. “It must have been a terrible blow, sure, sor!”
“It was,” replied the colonel grimly. “It knocked him down like a bullock, and then, before I could interfere, the big brute took up Captain Alphonse, all bleeding and senseless as he was, but still breathing, and chucked him into the sea.
“That was the negro’s last act, however; for as he broke into a huge guffaw of triumph over the ghastly deed I fired my revolver, the barrel of which I shoved almost into his mouth and blew his brains out!”
“Hooray!” exclaimed the impulsive Garry O’Neil on hearing this. “Faith, I ounly wish, colonel, I had been there with ye. Begorrah, I’d have made ’em hop at it, sure, I bet, sor!
“After that,” continued the narrator, we had some stiff work for five minutes or so, but by keeping the skylight between us, the continuous fire of our four revolvers at such short range proved too much for them, and we succeeded in driving the blacks off the poop. The whole lot of them retreated back to the forecastle, leaving five of their number dead about the decks, besides half a dozen or so of the others badly wounded; all of us, fortunately, escaping with only a few slight bruises from blows from the Haytian’s clubs and hand-spikes—the only weapons they used.
“All save poor Captain Alphonse, that is; for it was only when the coast was clear of the scoundrels and the poop safe again that I had time to think of him.