“The ship has sent up these rockets to warn us of our danger,” said Mr Treenail. “What is to be done? Ah, Splinter, we are in a scrape--there they have brought up field-pieces, don’t you hear?” Splinter had heard it as well as his junior officer. “True enough, Treenail; so the sooner we make a dash through the opening the better.” “Agreed.” By some impulse peculiar to British sailors, the men were just about cheering, when their commanding officer’s voice controlled them. “Hark, my brave fellows, silence, as you value your lives.” So away we pulled, the tide being now nearly on the turn, and presently we were so near the opening that we could see the signal lights in the rigging of the sloop of war. All was quiet on the dike. “Thank God, they have retreated after all,” said Mr Treenail. “Whoo--o, whoo--o,” shouted a gruff voice from the shore. “There they are still,” said Splinter. “Marines, stand by, don’t throw away a shot; men, pull like fury. So--give way, my lads, a minute of that strain will shoot us alongside of the old brig--that’s it--hurrah!” “Hurrah!” shouted the men in answer, but his and their exclamations were cut short by a volley of musketry. The fierce mustaches, pale faces, glazed shakoes, blue uniforms, and red epaulets, of the French infantry, glanced for a moment, and then all was dark again. “Fire!” The marines in the three boats returned the salute, and by the flashes we saw three pieces of field. Artillery in the very act of being unlimbered. We could distinctly hear the clash of the mounted artillerymen’s sabres against their horses’ flanks as they rode to the rear, their burnished accoutrements glancing at every sparkle of the musketry. We pulled like fiends, and being the fastest boat, soon headed the launch and cutter, who were returning the enemy’s fire brilliantly, when crack--a six-pound shot drove our boat into staves, and all hands were the next moment squattering in the water. I sank a good bit, I suppose, for when I rose to the surface, half drowned and giddy and confused, and striking out at random, the first thing I recollected was a hard hand being wrung into my neckerchief, while a gruff voice shouted in my ear. “Rendez vous, mon cher”