The captain said: "We will board her on this side, all together. She is low in the water. Pull in with your boat and secure the watch forward and I will shut the after hatches and companionway. Look out for the forecastle. If her own men are on board, they will be there."
De Courval's heart alone told him of the excitement he felt; but he was cool, tranquil, and of the temperament which rises to fullest competence in an hour of danger. A minute later he was on deck, and moving forward in the silence of the night, came upon the watch. "Hush!" he said; "no noise. Two to each man. They are asleep. There—choke hard and gag. Here, cut up this rope; a good gag." In a moment three scared sailors awoke from dreams of their Breton homes, and were trussed with sailor skill.
"Now, then," he said in French, "a pistol ball for the man who moves. Stay by them, you Jones, and come, the rest of you. Rouse the crew in the forecastle, mate. Call to them. If the answer is in French, let no man up. Don't shoot, if you can help it."
He turned quickly, and, followed by four men, ran aft, hearing wild cries and oaths. A man looking out of a port-hole had seen two boats and the glint of muskets. As the captain swung over the rail, half a dozen men ran up on deck shouting an alarm. The captain struck with the butt of his pistol. A man fell. De Courval grappled with a burly sailor, and falling, rose as the mate hit the guard on the head with a marline-spike. Then an officer fired, and a sailor went down wounded. It was savage enough, but brief, for the American crew and captain released, were now running aft from the forecastle, and the French were tumbled into the companionway and the hatches battened down in haste, but no man killed.
"Get up sail!" cried the captain. "An ax to the cable; she is moored to a buoy. Tumble into the boats, some of you! Get a rope out ahead, and pull her bow round. Now, then, put out the lights, and hurry, too!" As he gave his orders, and men were away up the rigging, shot after shot from the cabin windows drew, as was meant, the attention of the town. Lights were seen moving on the pier, the sound of oars was heard. There was the red flare of signals on shore; cries and oaths came from below and from the shore not far away.
It was too late. The heavy ship, as the cable parted, swung round. The wind being off the land, sail after sail filled, and picking up his boats in haste, the captain stood by the helm, the ship slowly gathering way, while cannon-shots from the batteries fell harmless in her wake.
"Darn the old sea-barrel!" the captain cried. Two boats were after them. "Down! All of you, down!" A dozen musket-balls rattled over them. "Give them a dose, boys!"
"No, no!" cried De Courval. "Shoot over them! Over! Ah, good! Well done!" For at the reply the boats ceased rowing, and, save for a few spent bullets, the affair was ended. The brig, moving more quickly, soon left their pursuers, and guided by lights on the Marie, they presently joined her.
"Now, then," said the captain, "get out a boat!" When one by one the disgusted guard came on deck and in the darkness were put in the boat, their officer asked in French who had been their captors.