“Take fifteen Malouins and board her as we touch, Crawford! Swiftly! I must away to catch the Dering—swiftly, swiftly! Get her into the river if ye can——”
Crawford leaped into the bloody waist, while Iberville’s voice sent some St. Malo seamen to join him. The two ships came staggering and reeling together, and grapnels were flung out. Crawford jumped across the shattered rails, the men trailing after. Somehow all scrambled aboard, the irons were flung off, and the shattered Pelican went lurching away in pursuit of Grimmington and the fleeing Dering.
Here on the prize Crawford stood aghast. The ship was torn to ribbons alow and aloft. He found dying men, blood freezing in pools, screams and curses of wounded resounding. Smithsend came up to him, bitterly enough, and started at Crawford’s English words.
“Your parole, cap’n? Good. I’m to take you into the river if possible.”
“More like into hell,” growled Smithsend. “Rudder’s gone, we’re half full of water, not men enough alive to man a tier of guns——”
As something touched his face, Crawford looked up and saw a drift of white snowflakes breaking down the wind like a silver cloud.
“Run in beside the wreck of your frigate and anchor, and get the pumps to working,” he said, and ordered his men to help the English seamen.
Groping her way, the wounded ship slowly reeled in toward the shallows and dropped anchor, still miles off the land. There was no help to be given the crew of the Hampshire; these had vanished under the icy water, to the last man. Crawford met with no opposition as he took over the ship, for the English were dazed, stunned, unable to realize how they had been beaten and broken by a single ship. Gradually they recovered, fell to work wearily enough, taking up the new fight to save their ship and their lives.
While some patched up the gaping holes below and got the ports closed again, others labored getting the pumps into action. Crawford, seeking for wounded, crawled into the forepeak with a man to hold a lantern. And, as the light was held up, he gazed into the snarling features of Moses Deakin. Astounded, he saw that Deakin was not only in irons, but was half buried under the shot-torn bodies of other men in irons, while a horrible sound of groaning came out of the darkness around. Crawford’s face showing in the lantern-light, a great cry burst from Deakin.
“Crawford! Blood and wounds—be it you or not?”