‘Blast me!’ cried the Cockney, ‘but these Sydney ducks are hatched out in the wrong nest,’ as he received a kick in the face from Big Head while the latter was struggling under a thwart and using both hands and feet to defend himself against the loyal portion of the barge’s crew. This melee had lasted some time, during which the pistol of Monteagle had passed into the hands of the big Irishman, who falling a second time from the effects of a chance blow dealt by his accomplice in the skiff, pointed the weapon at Monteagle as he fell, and pulled the trigger. The charge took effect on the youth; everything grew suddenly dark around him, and he fell senseless into the bottom of the boat. The battle, however, was still waged with relentless fury on both sides. The robber, cheered by the hope of final victory, now sprang from his skiff into the barge, and stamping on the head of Monteagle as he lay insensible under the thwarts, he used his oar, now broken into a convenient shape and size, about the heads of his enemies. To say that blood flowed, would be nothing new, as there was scarcely a man in the boat who had not received a wound already; but now heads and arms were broken; sometimes Big Head and the Irishman were both down at a time, and then victory seemed certain to the loyal party; then the former would be up again and fighting desperately. But three men against eight or nine could not hold out forever, and the big Irishman, at length, reeled and sank, overcome by fatigue and loss of blood. Big Head was then silenced by a rap on the skull with a tiller, and after a most desperate resistance, the robber himself was bound hand and foot. The crew then sat down to take breath, and next proceeded to wash the blood from their faces. On their way to the shore they were met by another boat that had put off to their assistance, and in her was recognized Mr. Vandewater, one of the firm that had been robbed. ‘Where’s Monteagle?’ was the first inquiry of this gentleman as the two boats met. The boat’s crew started and looked about them, discovered the youth lying senseless in the bottom of the boat. Smarting under their own wounds, and hot with the late contest, they had entirely forgotten the lad who led the charge. ‘Oh!’ said the Cockney, binding a handkerchief about his scarred head, ‘I had like to have forgotten him, sir. It was he that first got hold of the barge—I was the one that saw the thief take the safe—I gave the first alarm, sir.’ Mr. Vandewater by this time held the head of young Monteagle on his knee, and was examining into his condition, but, looking up a moment, he replied to the Cockney, ‘And the safe, where is it?’ ‘There, now,’ ejaculated the robber as he wiped the bloody foam from his mouth against his shoulder, ‘what a fool I was that I didn’t cast the d— thing into the drink, God! they’ll get it.’