crews of the pinnace and first and second cutters.
Do not lose a moment. He will show fight, and it may save bloodshed to
overawe him."

The boats were instantly made ready, and in two minutes were pulling
away full of armed men, and led by Morton to the attack of the felucca.

The crew of that vessel did not for some time discover them, and
continued as before urging her on at a rapid rate with their long
sweeps, evidently hoping to escape. The boats, however, gained on them
fast, and in a short time they were seen to lay in their long sweeps,
finding, probably, that escape was hopeless, and to prepare for the
attack. As the boats drew near, Ronald ordered them to separate so as
to board at different parts of the vessel. Her deck was soon crowded
with men, who, from their varied costumes, had a very suspicious
appearance. Some were at their guns, others held cutlasses or pistols
in their hands, threatening to make a stout resistance. One tall old
man in a Spanish dress, with a huge white moustache and a long thin
beard, stood on the companion hatch waving his sword, and with loud
vociferations calling on his men to fight. As the boats got within
hail, Morton rose and ordered the crew of the felucca to throw overboard
their weapons and yield, for they showed no flag which could be hauled
down as a sign of surrender. The answer was a round of grape and
langrage from three guns, and a volley of musketry. The missels flew,
whizzing and whistling close to his head. Happily he was unhurt; but
two of his boat's crew were hit, and the side of the boat riddled in
several places. The British seamen dashed on, and in another instant
were clambering over the low bulwarks of the felucca.

"What are we, who have been fighting with honest Frenchmen all our
lives, to be dared by a set of cut-throats like you? Take that,"
exclaimed Job Truefitt, as he dealt a blow which nearly severed a
pirate's head from his shoulder.

The man fell dead, and Job and the rest springing on, the ruffians gave
way, and many were driven overboard right across the deck, as a flock of
sheep are swept away by a torrent. The old captain defended himself
with all the fierceness of despair. He fought with the feeling that a
rope was about his neck. Ronald at last reached him, and by a dexterous
turn sent his sword flying over the side. The old man drew a pistol,
but before he could fire it, Bob Doull, had sprung up at him, and,
wrenching it