The Privateersman | Page 2

his people fought
with such resolution that after a severe struggle we were obliged to
retreat precipitately into our own vessel, leaving eight or ten of our
shipmates weltering in their blood.
Our captain, who had not boarded with us, was much enraged at our
defeat, stigmatising us as cowards for allowing ourselves to be driven
from a deck upon which we had obtained a footing; he called upon us
to renew the combat, and leading the way he was the first on board of
the vessel, and was engaged hand to hand with the brave French

gentleman who had already made such slaughter among our men.
Brave and expert with his weapon as Captain Weatherall undoubtedly
was, he for once found rather more than a match in his antagonist; he
was slightly wounded, and would, I suspect, have had the worst of this
hand-to-hand conflict, had not the whole of our crew, who had now
gained the deck, and were rushing forward, separated him from his
opponent. Out-numbered and over-matched, the French crew fought
most resolutely, but notwithstanding their exertions, and the gallant
conduct of their leader, we succeeded in driving them back to the
quarter-deck of the vessel. Here the combat was renewed with the
greatest obstinacy, they striving to maintain this their last hold, and we
exerting ourselves to complete our conquest. The Frenchmen could
retreat no further, and our foremost men were impelled against them by
those behind them crowding on to share in the combat. Retreat being
cut off, the French struggled with all the animosity and rage of mingled
hate and despair; while we, infuriated at the obstinate resistance, were
filled with vengeance and a thirst for blood. Wedged into one mass, we
grappled together, for there was no room for fair fighting, seeking each
other's hearts with shortened weapons, struggling and falling together
on the deck, rolling among the dead and the dying, or trodden
underfoot by the others who still maintained the combat with unabated
fury.
Numbers at last prevailed; we had gained a dear-bought victory--we
were masters of the deck, we had struck the colours, and were
recovering our lost breaths after this very severe contest, and thought
ourselves in full possession of the ship; but it proved otherwise. The
first-lieutenant of the privateer and six of us had dashed down the
companion, and were entering the cabin in search of plunder, when we
found opposed to our entrance the gallant French gentleman, supported
by his son, the captain of the vessel, and five of the French sailors;
behind them was the French gentleman's wife, to whose protection they
had devoted themselves. The lieutenant, who headed us, offered them
quarter, but, stung to madness at the prospect of the ruin and of the
captivity which awaited him, the gentleman treated the offer with
contempt, and rushing forward attacked our lieutenant, beating down
his guard, and was just about to pierce him with the lunge which he

made, when I fired my pistol at him to save the life of my officer. The
ball entered his heart, and thus died one of the bravest men I ever
encountered. His son at the same time was felled to the deck with a
pole-axe, when the remainder threw themselves down on the deck and
cried for quarter. So enraged were our men at this renewal of the
combat that it required all the efforts and authority of the lieutenant to
prevent them from completing the massacre by taking the lives of those
who no longer resisted. But who could paint the condition of that
unhappy lady who had stood a witness of the horrid scene--her eyes
blasted with the sight of her husband slain before her face, her only son
groaning on the deck and weltering in his blood; and she left alone,
bereft of all that was dear to her; stripped of the wealth she was that
morning mistress of, now a widow, perhaps childless, a prisoner, a
beggar, and in the hands of lawless ruffians, whose hands were reeking
with her husband's and offspring's blood, at their mercy, and exposed to
every evil which must befall a beautiful and unprotected female from
those who were devoid of all principle, all pity, and all fear! Well
might the frantic creature rush as she did upon our weapons, and seek
that death which would have been a mercy and a blessing. With
difficulty we prevented her from injuring herself, and, after a violent
struggle, nature yielded, and she sank down in a swoon on the body of
her husband, dabbling her clothes and hair in the gore which floated on
the cabin-deck. This scene of misery shocked even the actors in it. Our
sailors, accustomed as they were to blood and rapine, remained silent
and immoveable,