The breeze was lulled by the concussion of the air; and both vessels continued in the same position, and at the same distance for upwards of an hour, pouring in their broadsides, every shot of which was effectual.
“Now, this is what I call a reg’lar set-to. Fire away, my lads,” cried Captain Oughton, rubbing his hands. “A proper rally this. Damn it, but he’s game!”
The wounded mizzen-mast of the Windsor Castle received another shot in the heart of it, which threw it over the side. Every part of her hull proved the severe and well directed fire of the enemy; her sails were as ragged as Jeremy Didler’s pocket-handkerchief; her remaining masts pitted with shot; the bulwarks torn away in several places; the boats on the booms in shivers; rigging cut away fore and aft, and the ends swinging to and fro with the motion of the vessel; her decks in confusion; and some of her guns, from necessity, deserted. Captain Oughton, Newton, and the rest of the officers, continued to encourage the men, giving them assistance in working the guns; and the ship’s company appeared to have fully imbibed the bull-dog spirit of their commander.
The fire of the Windsor Castle had been equally destructive. The vessels had gradually neared each other in the calm; and the height of the Windsor Castle out of the water, in comparison with the corvette, had given her the advantage in sweeping the decks of the enemy. The contending vessels were in this situation, when, for a minute or two, a cessation of firing took place, in consequence of the accumulation of smoke, which had so completely enshrouded them both that they knew not where to direct their guns; and they waited until it should clear away, that the firing might recommence. A light air gradually swept the veil to leeward, and discovered both vessels to each other, at the distance of half a cable’s length. Captain Oughton was with Newton on the poop, and the commander of the French corvette was standing on the hammock nettings of his own vessel. The latter took off his hat, and courteously saluted his adversary. Captain Oughton answered the salutation; and then waving his hat, pointed to the English colours, which had been hoisted at the main; as much as to say, “They never shall come down!” The Frenchman (it was Surcoeuf) did the same to the tricolour, and the action recommenced.
“Well done, my lads!” cried Captain Oughton; “well done! that broadside was a staggerer—right into his ribs. Hurrah now, my hearts of oak! this fellow’s worth fighting. Aim at his foremast—another broadside will floor it. It’s on the reel. Newton, jump forward, and—”
But the order was stopped by a grape-shot, which struck Captain Oughton in the breast. He staggered and fell from the poop to the quarter-deck. Newton leapt down, and went to him. The torrents of blood from his breast at once told the tale: and Newton called to some of the men, that his commander might be taken below.
“Wait a moment, my dear lad,” said Captain Oughton, faintly, and catching his breath at every word; “it’s a finisher—can’t come to time—I die game.” His head fell on his breast, and the blood poured out of his mouth.
Newton directed the body to be taken into the cuddy, that the men might not be dispirited by the sight. He then hastened to the poop, that he might reconnoitre the enemy. He perceived that the corvette had hauled on board his tattered courses, and was standing ahead of them.
“He’s off, sir,” cried one of the quarter-masters.
“I suspect not,” replied Newton, who had his glass to his eye, looking upon the decks of the French vessel. “They are preparing to board, and will be round again in five minutes. Cutlasses and pikes ready—forward, my lads, all of us! We must beat them off!”