“Keep her to it my lads—pull with a will,” I said, as the boat commanded by the lieutenant dashed on without heeding the hail. “Boats ahoy!” shouted another voice from the brig, and this time the words were in English, “lay on your oars or we’ll fire into you,” and at the same time a score of heads was faintly seen crowding the bulwarks of the vessel. “Dash into her my brave lads!” exclaimed the lieutenant, standing up in the stern-sheets and waving his sword aloft, “another pull and we are up to them.” The men cheered in reply, and, with a jerk that made the ash blades bend like willow wands, we shot up to the sides of the brig. But not unopposed; for almost before the lieutenant had ceased speaking, the dark villains crowding the sides of the brig poured in a rattling fire on us that would have checked men in the pursuit of a less holy object. But the character of the assassins who had taken the brig had now become apparent, and every man of our crew, remembering that agonizing shriek, thirsted to avenge the sufferer. The volley of the pirates was not, however, as deadly as it might have been had they not been taken partially by surprise; and been in consequence, without that preparation to meet us which they otherwise would have shown. Their discharge however—God knows!—was deadly enough. The stroke oarsman, but a few feet in advance of me, fell dead across the thwart. But the other boat, being in advance, suffered far more, for I saw several of the men stagger in their places,—while the lieutenant, springing up like a deer, tumbled headlong into the stern-sheets. He had been shot through the heart. The impetus, however, which the last gigantic stroke of the men had given to the boats sent them onwards to the brig, and we struck her side almost instantaneously with the fall of my superior.