Scotland/Scots > Wilson's tales of the Borders and of Scotland > Volume 3

THE ROTHESAY FISHERMAN'
65
It Y?as the pirate’s boat, which she had dropped during the
partial obscurity I spoke of, intending to board us a-head
herself, while the boat’s crew attacked us astern. It was
fortunate that we happened to hear them—three minutes
more and nothing could have saved us. There was a set
of the most ferocious-looking desperadoes I had ever seeny
armed to the teeth; and the boat (a large one) was crowded
with them. Deadly was the effect of cur fire. Four or
five of the men at the oars were tumbled over on their faces;
but their places were instantly supplied by others, who,
with loud yells for revenge, bent desperately to their oars.
In a few minutes the boat shot up under the mizen-chains,
while the bullets that were raining down upon them from
above only rendered them more desperate. The living
trampled upon the dying and the dead, in their eargerness
to board; and, in a thick swarm, the blood-thirsty scoun¬
drels came yelling over the bulwarks. A sharp and well-
directed fire staggered them for a moment, and sent several
of them to their last account. We now threw aside the
muskets, for cutlasses and tomahawks. Hand to hand,
foot to foot, desperate and deadly was the struggle.
“Down with them, my lads!” shouted Rose. “Hew the
blood-thirsty villains to pieces. No quarter! no quarter!—
show them such mercy as they would show you! ”
Short and bloody was the conflict; several of the pirates
had been killed, the deck was slippery with blood, and the
rest were keeping their ground with difficulty. I had a long
and severe hand-to-hand fight with one of them. We had
each received desperate wounds, when his toot slipped on
the bloody deck. I gave him a severe stroke on the head
with a tomahawk, and, after a deadly struggle on the gang¬
way, tumbled him backwards overboard. The moon shone
bright out at the moment, and fell full upon his face.
Merciful heaven!—my brain reeled, I staggered against a
gun, and became insensible—that face, Mr. Stewart, haunts
Vox. Tl. c