“There!” exclaimed Baptiste Gaudet, the skipper, pointing to William Thornton, who with Saunders alone was making a desperate attempt to drive back a boat’s crew boarding over the starboard quarter, whilst Sir Sidney was repelling the troops in the boats, “Sacre tonnerre! that’s the man who shot my brother-in-law. Don’t kill him; drag him down, and that fellow with him.” But our hero and Saunders were not so easily dragged down; a furious fight ensued, and several of the crew of the Vengeance were struck to the deck. Just as Sir Sidney surrendered, they were overpowered and at last disarmed, dragged down the companion stairs by the legs, and kicked brutally; they were then strongly bound hand and foot to ring bolts on the cabin-floor, and then Captain Gaudet left them, swearing savagely he would make them remember him before he had done with them. Whilst this was occurring, Sir Sidney Smith and the midshipman, Westly Wright, were forcibly thrust into the boats alongside with the rest of the men. The former repeatedly asked after William Thornton, but the men only insulted him; they were at once carried ashore and landed at Havre. Sir Sidney and Wright were marched to Rouen, and thence to Paris. This occurrence, however, is history, and has nothing to do with our future narrative; we return to our hero and his faithful follower, Bill Saunders. Though severely bruised, and with one or two sharp cutlass wounds, William Thornton and Bill Saunders felt little the worse, experiencing more indignation at the treatment they had received than pain from their injuries. The cabin, on the floor of which our hero and his fellow-captive were stretched, was large and commodious, but perfectly dark, with the exception of a faint light through some bulls’ eyes, a tarpaulin having been thrown over the skylight. “Do these villains mean to murder us, sir?” asked Bill Saunders, after a fierce and vain effort to free himself. “I cannot understand why they should treat your honour in this way.” “I cannot exactly understand it myself, Bill,” replied William Thornton. “I soon recognised the skipper of this infernal lugger, that has brought such misfortune upon us and our Commander, as the instigator of this attack upon us, for I heard him say, ‘Pull them down, don’t kill them;’ so to cut our throats is not their intention, or they would have done so at once.” “I’m blessed, your honour, if I did not also see the same black-looking rascal I stuck my pike into once before; I thought I had settled his hash then, and I’m blowed if he aint turned up again. I expect if we don’t get the use of our fins they will cut our windpipes, after they gives us a dose of torture; not that what we are enjoying now is pleasant by any means.” “No,” returned our hero, “it’s not pleasant to be trussed up like barn-door fowls. I wonder what they have done with our Commander and the rest of our comrades.”