But he was no swordsman; with a few simple passes I disarmed him,
and flinging his sword over the rail I caught him by the neck and
arm and held him fast.
Meanwhile the resistance of his hirelings had been broken. My
sturdy men had forced their way up the steps or climbed up the
pillars, not without loss, and the defenders in the room behind
firing a succession of shots, the buccaneers had scattered to right
and left to escape being taken in front and rear at once. Their
ranks being thus weakened my men pressed upon them with redoubled
vehemence. I caught sight of Joe Punchard in the melee, his red
head a flaming battle signal, wielding an iron belaying pin, every
swing of it leaving the enemy one man the less.
The buccaneer captain, with the furious courage for which the West
Indian freebooters have ever been notable, threw himself wherever
the fight was thickest, striving to stay the rout, with cutlass in
one hand and pistol in the other. He hurled his pistol at Joe, but
he saw the movement and nimbly ducked, to the discomfiture of the
man behind him, who received the weapon full in his chest (Joe
being short) and staggered back in a heap against the rail. Joe was
erect again in time to catch the captain's cutlass on his belaying
pin, which it struck with such force as to be shivered to
splinters. Ere the captain had time to spring back, a half swing
from Joe's formidable weapon caught him on the neck, and he fell
like a bullock under the pole ax.
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