A Pirate of the Caribbees | Page 6

up just in time to see our mizzen-topmast go
sweeping forward into the hollow of the maintopsail, which it split
from head to foot, the mizzen-topgallant mast snapping short off at the
cap as it swooped down upon the maintopsail yard. Two topmen were
swept out of the maintop by the wreckage in its descent, and
terribly--one of them fatally--injured, and there were a few minor
damages, which, however, were quickly repaired. Then, as some hands
sprang aloft to clear away the wreck, our stern-chasers spoke out again,
the one close after the other, and two new holes in the enemy's canvas
testified to the excellent aim of our gunners; but, unfortunately, that
was the extent of the damage, both shots having passed very close to,
but just missed, important spars.
The French displayed very creditable smartness in getting inboard the
flying-jib that we had cut away for them, and by the time that this was
accomplished they had drawn up so close to us that by bearing away a
point or two to port and starboard respectively, both craft were enabled
to bring their whole broadsides to bear upon us, which they
immediately did, taking in their studding-sails, and otherwise reducing
their canvas at the same time, until we were all three under exactly the
same amount of sail--excepting, of course, that we had lost our
mizzen-topsail with all above it, while theirs still stood intact. As for us,
our guns were all trained as far aft as the port-holes would permit, and

as our antagonists ranged up on either quarter, within pistol-shot, each
gun was fired point-blank as it was brought to bear. And now the fight
began in real, grim downright earnest, the crew of each gun loading and
firing as rapidly as possible, while the French poured in their
broadsides with a coolness and precision that extorted our warmest
admiration, despite the disagreeable fact that they were playing havoc
with us fore and aft, one of our guns having been dismounted within
three minutes of the arrival of the enemy alongside us, while the tale of
killed and wounded was growing heavier with every broadside that we
received. But if we were suffering severely we were paying our
punishment back with interest, as we could see by glancing at the hulls
of our antagonists, the sides of which were torn and splintered and
pierced all along the broad white streak that marked the line of
ports,--some of which were knocked two into one,--while their yellow
sides were here and there broadly streaked with crimson as the blood
drained away through their scuppers. It is true they were fighting us
two to one, but, after all, their advantage was more apparent than real,
for, running level with us as they were, they could only fight one of
their batteries, while we were fighting both ours, and our guns--every
one of them double-shotted--were being better and more rapidly served
than theirs.
I will not attempt to describe the fight in detail, for indeed any such
attempt could only result in failure. And as a matter of fact there was
very little to describe. We simply ran dead away to leeward, the three
of us, fighting almost yardarm to yardarm, and exchanging broadsides
as rapidly as the guns could be loaded and run out. After the first ten
minutes of the fight there was little or nothing to be seen, for the wind
was fast dropping again, and the three ships were wrapped in a dense
white pall of smoke that effectually concealed everything that was
going on at a greater distance than some fifty feet from the observer.
The most impressive characteristic of the struggle was noise--the
incessant crash of the guns, the discharge of which set up a continuous
tremor of the ship throughout the entire fabric of her; the rending and
splintering of timber as the enemy's shot tore its way through the
frigate's sides; the shrieks and groans of the wounded and dying, cut
into at frequent intervals by some sharp order from the captain or the

first lieutenant; the curt commands of the captains of the guns: "Stop
the vent! run in! sponge! load! run out!" and so on; the creak of the
tackle blocks, the rumble of the gun carriages, the clatter of handspikes,
the dull thud of the rammers driving home the shot, the rattling volleys
of musketry from the marines on the poop, the occasional rending crash
of a falling spar, and the terrific babble of the Frenchmen on either side
of us, sounding high and clear in the occasional brief intervals when all
the guns happened to be silent together for a moment,--I can only
compare it all to the horrible confusion raging through the disordered
imagination of one in the clutches