Around and around swung the sea gladiators and the little fishing boats luffed and tittered on the waves like inquisitive sparrows.
“Bart cannot win!” said several of their skippers. “For he’s outweighted and outnumbered!”
But Bart was fighting like John Paul Jones.
Around and around went the two opponents, guns growling, men cheering, sails slapping and ripping with the chain and solid shot. Again and again Jean Bart endeavored to get a favorable position for boarding and again and again he was forced to tack away by the quick manœuvres of the Dutchman.
“Fire into her rigging!” he now thundered. “Cripple those topsails and I can bring my boat alongside.”
“Crash! Crash! Crash!”
Volley after volley puffed from the side of the rolling Palme. Volley after volley poured its lead and iron into the swaying rigging of the Dutchman, and, with a great roaring, ripping, and smashing, the mizzen topmast came toppling over the lee rail.
A lusty cheer sounded from the deck of the Palme.
“She’s ours!” cried Jean Bart, smiling.
Instantly he spun over the wheel, luffed, and brought his boat upon the starboard quarter of the Dutchman, who was now part helpless. It took but a moment to run alongside, and, in a moment more, the Palme was lashed to the Neptune in a deadly embrace. Smoke rolled from the sides of both contestants and the roar of the guns drowned the shrill cries of the wounded. The Dutchmen were now desperate and their guns were spitting fire in rapid, successive volleys; but many of them were silenced, as the great, brown side of the Palme rubbed its planking against the splintered railing of the shattered Neptune.