_La Gierusalemme_ forged ahead and lay across her bows, which the Maltese grappled fast; and the brave cavalier who commanded leaped upon her bowsprit at the head of his boarders. A yell burst from the pirates as the red flag of death floated from the _Gierusalemme_; whose guns, crammed to the muzzle with round shot and grape, were once more poured into her: the tremendous fury of the broadside, sweeping through from stem to stern, killed one-half of her fighting men, and struck consternation to the souls of the rest. The moment of deliverance was at hand. On came the boarders like a torrent; when a cry of "fire!" arrested the faculties of all, and Petronio, the demon-monk, leaped up the hatchway with a flaming match: he had fired the ship. "Throw her off—cut the grapplings—man the main-deck guns—fill the fore-yard! Bravissimo, St. John for Malta!" cried Castelermo, as his boarders scrambled back to the corvette, and their foes fought like fiends at the grapnels, that all might perish together. But the Maltese passed from their reach, backed their mainyard, and once more their broadside belched forth destruction on the sinking _Crescent_. Three hours had the combat lasted: the setting sun was now gilding the Tunisian hills and the Isle of Giamour. The corsair was soon enveloped in a cloud of murky vapour, which rolled away to leeward; and Lancelloti, after throwing all his wounded overboard, prepared to abandon the wreck. Concealed by the smoke, the crew crowded into their remaining boats and fled. O, signor, imagine my situation then! Laura—if she yet lived—and myself, were alone in the corsair; which reeled every instant as the heavy shot of the corvette pierced her. I heard a shriek from the cabin—another: it died away—O, frightful! The corsair was now a mass of flame. I might have saved Laura had I been free, but ironed hand and foot to the accursed deck—a victim, helpless as herself—I could only rave and pray; until exhausted by the terrible emotions which wrung my soul, and half-stifled by the heat and smoke, I lay motionless in a state of stupefaction and misery. As from an ocean hell, the hot flames burst through every hatch and port: all became red around me—my heart panted, my eyes were bursting in their sockets. I saw the masts and yards blazing and rocking above me; I heard the "vivas" of the Maltese, and the report of the corsair’s guns exploding, as they successively became heated by the roaring and scorching flame. "Now—I am gone—I am dying—God receive me!" The deck yielded beneath, and I expected to sink to the bottom of the flaming hold: but my fate was changed. At that moment the magazine blew up—a whirlwind of sparks burst on every side, the crackling deck parted beneath me, and I found myself struggling in the ocean: the corsair sank, hissing and roaring, and nearly drawing into her vortex the planks to which I was chained. The bitter briny water rushed in at every pore, and I became insensible.