The ships drew near each other.
The sea was rough, the wind high, and both captains were confident that before an hour had passed one ship would have to strike its flag.
When less than sixty yards away, and both running on the starboard tack, the action commenced.
Broadsides were exchanged, the Frolic firing three to the Wasp's two.
Great clouds of spray washed over the bows; waves, each one seeming higher than the last, swept over the forecastle, drenching the sailors as they stood at their quarters.
As the broadsides thundered forth the sailors cheered as they saw the damage done by the fire.
The vessels were tossed about like corks, now wallowing in the trough of the sea, now and again tossed high on the crest of some gigantic wave.
It seemed marvelous that any damage could be done by the broadsides, for at one moment the guns would be pointed at the clouds, and the next submerged beneath the billowy waves.
The two boats were well matched, the gunners equally accurate.
Before five minutes had passed the main topmast of the Wasp was shot away and hung tangled in the rigging.