At daybreak the buccaneers discerned a dark line moving noiselessly over the ridge, and descending into the plain. They knew full well what this meant. Every movement was watched by the ambushed buccaneers. Cautiously the Spaniards advanced. They crossed the prairie, and entered the forest, intending to encircle the tent, which they supposed held the sleeping buccaneers. Suddenly the woods seemed to burst into volcanic flame. The report of the musketry was followed with shout and yell, and the storm of lead swept through the ranks of the Spaniards, striking down scores, either in death or grievously wounded. The buccaneers rushed instantaneously upon their bewildered, staggered, bleeding foe. Montbar seemed animated by demonaical frenzy. He rushed upon the Spaniards in utter recklessness, regardless of their numbers, or of the support he should receive from his comrades. His heavy sabre flashed in all directions, as if wielded by tireless sinews of steel. Soon he was quite in advance of his companions, and was alone in the very thickest of the Spanish squadron. He would inevitably have been cut down, had not the other buccaneers, astonished at his audacity, rushed to his rescue. Montbar’s sword was dripping with blood. He was in a frenzy of joy. Every blow he struck cut down a Spaniard. He exulted in the carnage, and ever after declared that this was the happiest day of his life. One grounded Spaniard clung to his knee begging for mercy. Montbar brought down his sabre upon his head, splitting it from crown to chin, fiercely exclaiming, “I wish that you were the last of this accursed race.” An eye-witness of the battle describes the carnage as horrible. Nearly every Spaniard was destroyed. The victors, all absorbed in their bloody work, stumbled over the dying and the dead, deaf to every cry for mercy. The buccaneers were astonished and delighted by the prowess which Montbar had displayed. They entreated him to remain and become their captain. But a signal gun, fired by his uncle, called him back to the ship. Montbar was placed as captain on board the large ship which his uncle had captured. Many of the pirates eagerly engaged to serve under him. After a sail of eight days these two vessels encountered four Spanish war-ships, each one larger than either of those commanded by Montbar or his uncle. One of the most desperate of naval battles ensued. The elder Montbar was attacked by two of the ships. For three hours they struggled, grappled together, receiving and giving the most terrible broadsides. At last the three sank together in one watery grave. The uncle, it is said, rejoicing to drag the two other ships with him, went down laughing.