Tom was on the point of hesitating, but remembering Sam's previous injunction and his own promise, he did as he was ordered, suddenly changing the boat's course and running her directly toward the British row boat, which was now not a dozen yards away. The speed at which she was going was fearful. The British, seeing the manœuvre, fired, but wildly, and the next moment Sam's great solid hulk of a boat struck the British craft amidships, crushed in her sides, cut her in two, and literally ran over her.
"Now, bring her back to the wind," cried Sam, "and hold your course."
The boat swung around and was flying before the wind again in a second. Boats were rapidly lowered from the war ship to rescue the struggling marines from the water into which Sam had so unceremoniously thrown them.
"Three cheers for our naval victory, and three more for our commodore!" called out Billy Bowlegs, and the response came quickly.
"It's too soon to cheer," said Sam. "We're not out of the scrape yet."
The next moment a puff of smoke showed itself on the side of the war ship and a shower of grape shot whizzed angrily around the boat. A second and a third discharge followed, and then came solid shot, sixty-four pounders, howling like demons over the boys' heads, and plowing the water all around them. Their speed quickly took them out of range, however, and the firing ceased.
They now had time to look about them and estimate damages. None of the solid shot had taken effect, but three of the grape shot had struck the boat, greatly marring her beauty, but doing her no serious damage.
"Are any of you hurt?" asked Sam. All the boys reported themselves well.
"Then make a place for me in the middle of the boat, where I can lie down," replied Sam, "I'm wounded."
"Where?"