At that moment a handsome young midshipman was carried past, apparently badly wounded.
“Och!” exclaimed Flinn, in a tone of deep anxiety, “it’s not Mister Cleveland, is it? Ah! don’t say he’s kilt!”
“Not quite,” answered the midshipman, rousing himself, and looking round with flashing eyes as he endeavoured to wave his hand in the air. “I’ll live to fight the French yet.”
The poor boy almost fainted from loss of blood as he spoke; and the Irishman, uttering a wild shout, ran towards the stern, intending to gain the deck by the companion-hatch, and wreak his vengeance on the French. Bill Bowls and Ben Bolter followed him. As they passed the cabin door Bowls said hastily to Bolter, “I say, Ben, here, follow me; I’ll show ye a dodge.”
He ran into the cabin as he spoke and leaped out upon the quarter gallery, which by that time was so close to the quarter of the St. Denis that it was possible to jump from one to the other.
Without a moment’s hesitation he sprang across, dashed in one of the windows, and went head foremost into the enemy’s cabin, followed by Bolter. Finding no one to oppose them there, they rushed upon deck and into the midst of a body of marines who were near the after-hatchway.
“Down with the frog-eaters!” cried Ben Bolter, discharging his pistol in the face of a marine with one hand, and cleaving down another with his cutlass.
The “frog-eaters,” however, were by no means despicable men; for one of them clubbed his musket and therewith hit Ben such a blow on the head that he fell flat on the deck. Seeing this, Bill Bowls bestrode his prostrate comrade, and defended him for a few seconds with the utmost fury.
Captain Ward, who had leaped into the mizzen chains of the enemy, leading the boarders, beheld with amazement two of his own men on the quarter-deck of the St. Denis attacking the enemy in rear. Almost at the same moment he observed the fall of one of them. His men also saw this, and giving an enthusiastic cheer they sprang upon the foe and beat them back. Bill Bowls was borne down in the rush by his friends, but he quickly regained his legs. Ben Bolter also recovered and jumped up. In five minutes more they were masters of the ship—hauled down the colours, and hoisted the Union Jack at the Frenchman’s peak.
During the whole course of this action the Gloire, which had drifted within range, kept up a galling fire of musketry from her tops on the deck of the Waterwitch. Just as the St. Denis was captured, a ball struck Captain Ward on the forehead, and he fell dead without a groan.