“Try, sir!” exclaimed Bill; “for the love of heaven do hold it to my mouth. I’ll open it with my teeth!” “I am so fast to this ring-bolt that I cannot turn.” After many efforts, however, Bill succeeded in opening the clasp knife. “Ah! blow me, if we aint a match for them now,” exultingly exclaimed Bill, who, clasping the knife between his bound hands, contrived to saw his cords through, with only one or two slight cuts. In five minutes more, by great exertion, they were both totally freed from their bonds, Bill declaring he could then face a dozen Frenchmen, whilst his master breathed a prayer of thanksgiving. They did not fear death, but to be probably stripped, and cruelly flogged by a set of piratical ruffians, was infinitely worse than death. “Now, keep quiet a few minutes,” said our hero, as Bill stretched his huge frame, to recover his powers, as he declared that he might annihilate every soul remaining on board the lugger. They listened for several moments, but did not hear a single foot pacing the deck above. “Most of them have gone ashore,” whispered the Lieutenant. “Let us look in the lockers, your honour; we may find cutlasses, or pistols.” Opening the lockers with the key they picked up from the floor—to their intense joy, they found the large locker full of cutlasses. Bill almost shrieked for joy as he grasped a brace of them. “Now, your honour, let us burst up the companion, and slice their gizzards.” Cautiously ascending it, as they reached the top, they heard a step pacing the deck, and then our hero heard a voice saying— “Do you see the boats, François?” “No,” returned a voice in the forepart of the vessel. “Sacre diable! how long they are, and here’s a fine breeze and a strong down tide.” “Now, Bill, put your shoulder to the companion, and up with it, there are only a few on board; the rest, I suppose, are ashore with the boats.” “More’s the pity,” growled Bill, as putting his strength to the slide, he sent it into shivers with a loud crash. A volley of oaths from four, or more men, located in various parts of the lugger, saluted the liberated captives as they sprang upon the deck. “Fire the bow-gun, Pierre! fire the gun!” shouted the man near the companion, drawing his cutlass, and, joined by four others with boarding pikes, making a desperate rush at our hero and Bill. But the Frenchmen had to do with two remarkably powerful, active men, both very expert in the use of the cutlass; the man ran, however, with a lighted match, and fired the bow-gun; its loud report echoing from the shore. Our hero’s superior skill soon told upon his adversaries, two of whom fell dead upon the deck; Bill, dashing at three others, they fled; one in his terror threw himself overboard, whilst the remaining two, leaping down the fore-hatch into the fore-cabin, left the victors in complete possession of the Vengeance. “Cut the cable, Bill; cut the cable!” shouted our hero, running to the tiller; “hack it with your cutlass.”