However, there was no shot flying as yet, and we stayed on deck.  All sail was once more made, and presently the cutter saw us, tacked, and stood towards us.  Her commander hailed:  “Ho, the brigantine, ahoy!  What schooner is that?”

“Spanish schooner, Caridad,” sung out Williamson.

“Heave-to, and send your boat on board.”

“We have none that will swim, sir.”

“Very well, bring to, and I will send mine.”

We heard the splash of the jolly-boat touching the water; then the measured stroke of the oars, and a voice calling out, “Give way, my lads.”

The character of the vessel we were on board of was now evident; and the bitter reflection that we were, as it were, chained to the stake on board of a pirate, on the eve of a fierce contest with one of our own cruisers, was aggravated by the consideration that a whole boat’s crew would be sacrificed before a shot was fired.

The officer in the boat had no sooner sprung on board than he was caught by two strong hands, gagged, and thrown down the main hatchway.

“Heave,” cried a voice, “and with a will!” and four cold 32-pound shot were hove at once into the boat alongside, which, crashing through her bottom, swamped her in a moment, precipitating the miserable crew into the boiling sea.  Their shrieks rang in my ears as they clung to the oars and some loose planks of the boat.

“Bring up the officer, and take out the gag,” said Williamson.

Poor Malcolm, who had been an old messmate of mine, was now dragged to the gangway, his face bleeding, and heavily ironed, when the blackamoor, clapping a pistol to his head, bade him, as he feared instant death, hail the cutter for another boat.

The young midshipman turned his pale mild countenance upwards as he said firmly, “Never!” The miscreant fired, and he fell dead.

“Fire!” The whole broadside was poured in, and we could hear the shot rattle and tear along the cutter’s deck, and the shrieks and groans of the wounded.

We now ranged alongside, and close action commenced; never do I expect to see such an infernal scene again.  Up to this moment all had been coolness and order on board the pirate; but when the yards locked, the crew broke loose from all control—­they ceased to be men—­they were demons, for they threw their own dead and wounded indiscriminately down the hatchways, to get clear of them.  They had stripped themselves almost naked; and although they fought with the most desperate courage, yelling and cursing, each in his own tongue, yet their very numbers, pent up in a small vessel, were against them.  Amidst the fire and smoke we could see that the deck had become a very shamble; and unless they soon carried the cutter by boarding, it was clear that the coolness and discipline of the service must prevail.  The pirates seemed aware of this themselves, for they now made a desperate attempt at boarding, led on by the black captain.  While the rush forward was being made, by a sudden impulse, Splinter and I, followed by Peter, scrambled from our shelter, and in our haste jumped down, knocking over the man at the wheel.