"What, d'ye pray, brother? 'Tis excellent well!" Said he, setting a musquetoon ready to hand and glancing at the primings of his pistols. "Pray unceasing, friend, plague the Throne wi' petitions, comrade, and a word or so on behalf of old Resolution ere the battle joins, for there's—"
"I pray God utterly destroy this accursed ship and all aboard her!" I cried.
"And do ye so?" said he, setting the pistols in his belt. "Why, then, 'tis as well you're safe i' your bilboes, amigo, and as to your blasphemous praying, I will offset it wi' prayerful counterblast—Ha, by my deathless soul—what's doing yonder?" he cried, and leant to peer across at the chase, and well he might. For suddenly (and marvellous to behold) this ship that had sailed so heavily seemed to throw off her sluggishness and, taking on new life, to bound forward; her decks, hitherto deserted, grew alive with men who leapt to loose and haul at brace and rope and, coming about, she stood towards us and right athwart our course. So sudden had been this manoeuvre and so wholly unexpected that all men it seemed could but stare in stupefied amaze.
"Ha!" cried Resolution, smiting fist on the rail before him. "Tricked, by hookey! She's been towing a sea anchor! Below there!" he hailed. "Belvedere, ahoy—go about, or she'll rake us—"
And now came Belvedere's voice in fierce and shrill alarm:
"Down wi' your helm—down! Let go weather braces, jump, ye dogs, jump!"
I heard the answering tramp of feet, the rattle and creak of the yards as they swung and a great flapping of canvas as the Happy Despatch came up into the wind; but watching where our adversary bore down upon us, I beheld her six guns suddenly multiplied and (or ever we might bring our broadside to bear) from these gaping muzzles leapt smoke and roaring flame, and we were smitten with a hurricane of shot that swept us from stem to stern.
Dazed, deafened, half-stunned, I crouched in the shelter of the mizzen mast, aware of shrieks and cries and the crash of falling spars, nor moved I for a space; lifting my head at last, I beheld on the littered decks below huddled figures that lay strangely twisted, that writhed or crawled. Then came the hoarse roar of a speaking trumpet and I saw Resolution, his face a smother of blood, where he leaned hard by across the quarter-rail.
"Stand to't, my bullies!" he roared, and his voice had never sounded so jovial. "Clear the guns, baw-cocky boys; 'tis our turn next—but stand by till she comes about—"
From the companion below came one running, eyes wild, mouth agape, and I recognised the man Ford who had been my chief persecutor in the forecastle.