So she was hauled up, cleaned, launched, and christened the Beginning; with a spare topmast from the Duke as a mast, and an odd mizzen-topsail altered for a sail. Four swivel-guns were mounted upon her deck, and, as she pounded out of the bay, loud cheers greeted her from the decks of the Duchess, which was loafing outside, watching for a merchantman to capture and pillage.
Next morn two sails were sighted, and both Duke and Duchess hastened to make another haul. As they neared them, one was seen to be a stout cruiser from Lima; the other a French-built barque from Panama; richly laden, it was thought.
“Broadsides for both,” ordered Woodes Rogers. “Broadsides and good treatment when the white flag flutters aloft.”
As the Duchess chased the Lima boat, the Duke neared the Frenchman and spanked a shot at her from a bow-gun. The sea ran high and she did not wish to get too close and board, because it would be easier to send her men in pinnaces.
“They’re afraid!” cried the Captain of the Duke. “We can take ’em with no exertion.” But he was like many an Englishman: despised his foe only to find him a valiant one.
Piling into four boats, the men from the Duke, fully armed, rowed swiftly towards the rolling Frenchman. They approached to within twenty yards. Then
Crash! Crash! Rattle! Crash!
A sheet of flame burst from her sides; muskets and pistols spoke; cannon spat grape and cannister; the Englishmen were frightfully cut up.
“On! On!” shouted young John Rogers—a brother of Woodes—as he waved his cutlass aloft to enliven the sailors. But it was his last cry. A bullet struck him in the forehead, and he fell into the sea without a murmur.
Crash! Crash!