In five minutes the distant vessel loomed up into clearer vision. The Stars and Stripes were there sure enough. Sweeping down upon them, the tightly built little craft was full of fight and bent upon the offensive.
"She's plucky to attack us," exclaimed the captain, "with the odds in guns and ship room in our favor."
"Yes, but look at her speed. How she scoots through the water!"
"There! She's tacking again," muttered the captain. "When her larboard-side heaves to, we'll take time by the forelock and open fire. Be ready, men!"
In another minute the American vessel gracefully swept around, setting every sail in good position for the conflict. Then the captain signalled for a round from the larboard guns. Instantly the big cannon bellowed forth their messenger of death. But it was none too soon, for at the same moment smoke issued from the bow of the frigate, and a twenty pound ball plunged through the ranks on the deck of the North King, shattering one of the boats to pieces.
"A good shot," said the captain quietly, as his men carried off a dead seaman and a couple of wounded soldiers.
"Her name's the Delaware," said Sir George, who was using his glass.
"We've hit her," ejaculated the captain. "There's a hole in her forecastle and her bowsprit's gone. Give her the rest of the larboard guns."
That the Delaware was injured was evident, for although continuing to fire, she tacked again and put on full sail to increase the distance between herself and the British ship.
A fierce yell rang out from the men. The order for chase was given and, wild with enthusiasm, every stitch of canvas was put on in hope of overtaking the retreating Delaware. The sun shone overhead among white-cap clouds, and the sea was tossing big waves and foamy jets over the sides of the ships; while at brief intervals one or other continued to belch out its thunder and its shot.