Undeterred by the weapons, they rushed on.
“Stop for your life!” cried the master fisherman, highly excited.
“Be reasonable men,” cried the priest, as he also stood up to defend himself.
The men came on;—flash,—a report—and the bullet pierced the foremost one. He fell into the bottom of the cutter, and rolled over the master fisherman’s other man, who had been wrapped in sleep in that part from the very moment that he had got into the cutter.
“Hon!” he groaned and awoke, as the sailor that was shot rolled heavily upon him, when, seeing the blood, he jumped up.
The shrieks of Agnes, the fierce and deep Spanish oaths of the master fisherman at once told him how matters stood. He grasped the first of the sailors that came within his reach, and wrestled with him. Both fell into the bottom of the cutter, and rolled about on the ballast.
The quarrel had now assumed a serious aspect; furious at the death of their comrade, the other sailors rushed to the stern of the cutter. The master fisherman discharged the other pistol: it told, another sailor fell. But the shot was no sooner fired, than one of the two other sailors, closed with the master fisherman. They wrestled: each pressed successively his adversary on the side of the cutter, endeavouring to throw him overboard; but they were well matched: their strength was equal: now, the master fisherman was down, and seemed to be about to be thrown overboard; now he had the sailor down in the same position. Both fought with desperation, and clung with the pertinacity of iron to the side of the vessel. The cutter, having no one to steer it, had flown into the wind, its sails were flapping, and its boom was swinging violently, from one side to the other. The master fisherman was now down; over, over, the sailor was gradually pressing him; his grasp began to relax: he was bending farther towards the water; the sailor raised himself a little, so that he might have a better purchase to strike the final blow: as he did so, the boom swung violently, and struck him on the temple, with a great splash, he fell a yard or two into the water. The master fisherman quickly rose, and went to the assistance of the priest, who had met the attack of the remaining sailor, and was now holding him down in the bottom of the cutter. The master fisherman clutched a stone, and in his passion, was going to dash out the brains of the prostrate sailor.
“Hold!” cried the priest, “no more violence: bring a rope, and let us tie him.”