sudden that Captain Brisac was for a single instant confused; he rallied the next, however, and shouting “Boarders, repel boarders!” put himself at the head of our men.

The French captain led on his boarding party with magnificent dash and resolution, and for the first minute our men were driven irresistibly back. Then came the turn of the tide, the English, maddened at the disgrace of being forced to yield their ground to their hated enemies, recovered themselves, and in their turn pressed the French back again, every inch of the deck being fiercely contested. Captain Brisac and the French captain soon singled each other out, and after a few unavailing efforts succeeded in reaching each other and crossing swords. Our skipper was a slight man of middle height and no very great personal strength, while the Frenchman was a perfect giant; the fight between them therefore was a very unequal one, especially as Captain Brisac possessed but little skill with the sword. A few passes were made without any effect on either side, and then the Frenchman made a downward cut at his antagonist’s head, with such tremendous force that the skipper’s guard was fairly beaten down, and had not his adversary’s cutlass turned its edge he would, in all probability, have been cloven to the chin; as it was, he received a heavy blow on the head with the back of the weapon which partially stunned him, and placed him completely at the French captain’s mercy.

The cutlass was instantly raised to repeat the stroke, when, in an agony of apprehension at the imminent danger which threatened the man who had shown me so much kindness, I drew a pistol from my belt, and, thrusting its muzzle into the Frenchman’s face, pulled the trigger. The man flung up his arms and fell backwards dead, his distorted features, all blood-bespattered, presenting a hideous sight which haunted me for many a day afterwards. The sight of blood is said to madden some animals, and I am sure it maddened me, for, furious with excitement, I forthwith dashed headlong into the thickest of the mêlée, quite regardless of consequences, using with such savage freedom a cutlass which I snatched out of the hand of a wounded man, that the French recoiled on every side with looks of dismay, while our own men, pressing forward with renewed vigour, at length drove the enemy back to their own ship.

“Hurrah, lads! after them!” I exclaimed, far too excited to give a thought to the singularity of a newly-made midshipman presuming to assume the leadership in the presence of his superiors. Our men caught my enthusiasm, responding with a ringing cheer; and after them we went, 

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