As a result the
latter gave an order, and in another minute a file of French
bluejackets, each with a case of canned lobster on his shoulder, was
marching towards the door.
Just as they reached it there came a shout and a tramp of heavy feet
from the outside. Then a stern voice cried:
"Halt! What are you doing here, you French beggars? Drop those boxes
and clear out."
As the Frenchmen halted irresolute, their officer, who could not see
what was going on, but imagined that some of the villagers were
blocking the entrance, shouted for them to march on and clear away the
canaille who dared oppose them.
The French bluejackets attempted to obey, but, with their first forward
movement, they were met by an inrush of sturdy British sailors, who
sent them and their burdens crashing to the floor in every direction.
Some of them as they regained their feet drew their cutlasses, while
others fell upon the new-comers with their fists. A pistol shot rang
out, and a British sailor pitched heavily forward. At the same instant
both officers sprang into the melee, beating back their men with the
flat of their swords, and fiercely ordering them to desist from further
fighting.
[Illustration: Others fell on the new-comers with their fists.]
So sharp had been the brief encounter between these hereditary enemies,
that as they sullenly withdrew their clutch from each other's throats a
British sailor remained on the floor striving to staunch the blood that
spurted from a bullet wound in his leg, while near at hand lay a French
bluejacket, as white and motionless as though dead.
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