“Ay,” answered the commander grimly, as he sighted the gun, “and ’twill be hotter still before we are done.”
“They don’t seem to be hulling us with their lower battery as they did some time ago,” said Ethan, who had noted this remarkable fact. Although the ships were within pistol shot of one another and the big guns of the Serapis roared incessantly they seemed to be doing no damage.
“The reason is simple enough,” said the captain coolly, as he took the blazing match from Longsword’s hand. “Dale reports that they have shot six port holes into one on both sides and their balls are passing clear through us without striking.”
As he fired the gun a man sprang upon deck and saluted. It was Richard Dale.
“We are leaking badly, sir,” he said. “They have struck us repeatedly below the water line, and the surgeon has been forced to clear the cock-pit of all the wounded.”
“Have you manned the pumps?”
“Yes, sir.”
Paul Jones gave a quick command. A number of guns were dragged to positions from which they could play upon the British ship. Their roar was growing in volume and steadiness, when suddenly the supply of powder ceased to be handed through the hatches.
Richard Dale and Ethan Carlyle, at Jones’ command, plunged below to learn the cause of this.
“Ammunition for the main deck,” roared Dale in a voice to be heard above the Englishman’s guns.