There was the same ferocious cast of countenance, the same mahogany-brown skin, even the same filthy red handkerchief--now more filthy than ever--bound about his ragged locks, apparently the same broad-brimmed straw hat, in short, every mark of identification; nothing was wanting. This individual dashed from point to point, apparently by a mere effort of his will, encouraging here, chiding there, and helping everywhere. The mere fact of his presence, the mere sound of his voice, appeared to endue the pirates with renewed life and courage, and George speedily saw that there would be little hope of victory until this man could be placed _hors de combat_. He therefore pressed in toward him, plying his cutlass vigorously with one hand, and laying manfully about him with the butt of his empty pistol with the other, and calling upon the fellow by every despicable epithet he could think of to turn and meet him. He had very nearly reached him--there were only some half-a-dozen people between the two--when another voice, that of Bowen, was heard, and the next instant the chief mate, his eyes literally blazing with fury, appeared, forcing his way into the thickest of the throng. With the strength of a madman he seized and dashed aside all who ventured to bar his path, and in a single moment, so it seemed to George, forced himself within reach of his especial enemy. "At last--at last--you bloodthirsty scoundrel--you white-livered coward--you who were not ashamed to strike a chained man--at last we meet again, as I told you we should!--and the time has come for me to pay off part of the debt I owe you--no, you don't,"--skilfully guarding a savage down-stroke from the Spaniard's cutlass, "and take that," he added, launching out a terrific blow with his left fist, catching the Spaniard fairly between the eyes, and felling him to the deck senseless, as neatly as a butcher fells an ox. In another moment George was at Bowen's side, and, placing themselves back to back, these two managed to successfully defend themselves until the crew of the _Virginie_, inspired by their leader's example, had pressed in to their assistance, when the pirates, becoming scattered, were driven irresistibly to opposite ends of the ship, and some were actually driven overboard. Then recognising that they were defeated, and suddenly losing heart, they threw down their weapons, and cried for quarter. But the worst passions of the _Virginia's_ crew were by this time fully aroused; they thought of nothing but the fact that their enemies _were pirates_, men steeped to the lips in crime of the vilest description, and guilty of unnumbered deeds of blood-curdling atrocity, and many of the Spaniards were ruthlessly slaughtered before George and Bowen could induce them to stay their hands. Then, when order and authority were once more restored, heads were counted, and it was found that, out of a crew of over eighty, twenty-three pirates only--their leader included--remained