At the very moment the man in the crow's-nest sighted the Poietiers, the prize crew was working hard to clear from her decks the dead bodies, wreckage, and tangled mass of rigging, which made navigation impossible.
The sea was rough, the wind heavy.
The Frolic was tossed about in the trough of the sea, a helpless mass.
The lieutenant looked over the billowy waters to see if any help was at hand.
The Wasp had seen the Poietiers almost as soon as she had been sighted by the Frolic.
Captain Jones examined his guns, and found that he had no chance to fight successfully with the new enemy.
Even had the Wasp been fresh and ready for battle, the chances would have been slight, for the British frigate was in every way the superior of the American sloop.
Jones sighed as he ordered the sails to be set for retreat.
It was better to run away than fight under such disadvantages.