The fight raged fiercely for two hours. I remember killing the
French Admiral, as we boarded, but on looking around for Briggs,
after the smoke had cleared away, I was intensely amused at
witnessing the following novel sight:--
Briggs had pinned the French captain against the mast with his
cutlass, and was now engaged, with all the hilarity of youth, in
pulling the captain's coat-tails between his legs, in imitation of
a dancing-jack. As the Frenchman lifted his legs and arms, at each
jerk of Briggs's, I could not help participating in the general
mirth.
"You young devil, what are you doing?" said a stifled voice behind
me. I looked up and beheld Captain Boltrope, endeavoring to calm
his stern features, but the twitching around his mouth betrayed his
intense enjoyment of the scene. "Go to the masthead--up with you,
sir!" he repeated sternly to Briggs.
"Very good, sir," said the boy, coolly preparing to mount the
shrouds. "Good by, Johnny Crapaud. Humph!" he added, in a tone
intended for my ear, "a pretty way to treat a hero. The service is
going to the devil!"
I thought so too.
CHAPTER VI.
We were ordered to the West Indies. Although Captain Boltrope's
manner toward me was still severe, and even harsh, I understood
that my name had been favorably mentioned in the despatches.
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