Galveston set sail upon the sparkling waters
of the Gulf, determined to rob all nations and neither to give quarter
nor to receive it.

But luck was against him. A British sloop-of-war was cruising in the
Mexican Gulf, and, hearing that Lafitte, himself, was at sea, kept a
sharp lookout at the mast-head for the sails of the pirate.

One morning as an officer was sweeping the horizon with his glass he
discovered a long, dark-looking vessel, low in the water: her sails as
white as snow.

"Sail off the port bow," cried he. "It's the Pirate, or else I'm a
landlubber."

As the sloop-of-war could out-sail the corsair, before the wind, she
set her studding-sails and crowded every inch of canvas in chase.
Lafitte soon ascertained the character of his pursuer, and, ordering
the awnings to be furled, set his big square-sail and shot rapidly
through the water. But the breeze freshened and the sloop-of-war
rapidly overhauled the scudding brigantine. In an hour's time she was
within hailing distance and Lafitte was in a fight for his very life.

_Crash!_

A cannon belched from the stern of the pirate and a ball came
dangerously near the bowsprit of the Englishman.

_Crash! Crash!_

Other guns roared out their challenge and the iron fairly hailed upon
the decks of the sloop-of-war; killing and wounding many of the crew.
But--silently and surely--she kept on until within twenty yards of the
racing outlaw.

Now was a deafening roar. A broadside howled above the dancing
spray--it rumbled from the port-holes of the Englishman--cutting the
foremast of the pirate in two; severing the jaws of the main-gaff; and
sending great clods of rigging to the deck. Ten followers of Lafitte
fell prostrate, but the great Frenchman was uninjured.

A crash, a rattle, a rush, and the Englishman ran afoul of the
foe--while--with a wild cheer, her sailors clambered across the
starboard rails; cutlasses in the right hand, pistols in the left,
dirks between their teeth.

"Never give in, men!" cried the King of Barrataria. "You are now with
Lafitte, who, as you have learned, does not know how to surrender."

But the Britishers were in far superior numbers. Backwards--ever
backwards--they drove the desperate crew of the pirate ship. Two
pistol balls struck Lafitte in the side which knocked him to the
planking; a grape-shot broke the bone of his right leg; he was
desperate, dying, and fighting like a tiger. He groaned in the agony
of despair.