"Chris'en--George--King! Chris'en--George--King! Chris'en--George--King!"
Here they are!

Who were they? The barbarous Pirates, scum of all nations, headed by
such men as the hideous little Portuguese monkey, and the one-eyed
English convict with the gash across his face, that ought to have gashed
his wicked head off? The worst men in the world picked out from the
worst, to do the cruellest and most atrocious deeds that ever stained it?
The howling, murdering, black-flag waving, mad, and drunken crowd of
devils that had overcome us by numbers and by treachery? No. These were
English men in English boats--good blue-jackets and red-coats--marines
that I knew myself, and sailors that knew our seamen! At the helm of the
first boat, Captain Carton, eager and steady. At the helm of the second
boat, Captain Maryon, brave and bold. At the helm of the third boat, an
old seaman, with determination carved into his watchful face, like the
figure-head of a ship. Every man doubly and trebly armed from head to
foot. Every man lying-to at his work, with a will that had all his heart
and soul in it. Every man looking out for any trace of friend or enemy,
and burning to be the first to do good or avenge evil. Every man with
his face on fire when he saw me, his countryman who had been taken
prisoner, and hailed me with a cheer, as Captain Carton's boat ran in and
took me on board.

I reported, "All escaped, sir! All well, all safe, all here!"

God bless me--and God bless them--what a cheer! It turned me weak, as I
was passed on from hand to hand to the stern of the boat: every hand
patting me or grasping me in some way or other, in the moment of my going
by.