“The Yankee are running away,” cried a voice. “They can rob defenceless people, but they won’t stand and fight.”
“What’s the matter wid them?” growled Longsword as he watched the Ranger. “Sure our ship can beat that fellow wid ease.”
“And she’s going to do it,” cried Ethan. “Look there. She only stood out for sea-room.”
Sure enough the American vessel now wore around and opened fire; from that distance the puffs of smoke from her sides could be seen long before the reports were heard; and when they did come, they were dull and sullen and ominous.
“Hello,” cried one of the men on the beach, “that Yankee can shoot a bit.”
At the first fire the Thunderer’s bowsprit hung limply, her foresails trailing in the sea; a clutter of spars and a broken topmast hung over the deck, and the rent canvas flapped helplessly and wrapped itself about the masts and shrouds.
The Ranger then stood in to take up a more effective position; but the skipper of the British frigate seemed to already have more than enough of the fight; and making what sail he could he quickly scuttled back in the direction from which he had come. The Englishmen were much wrought up over this defeat; but Ethan and Longsword were well pleased.
“She came out like a conqueror,” said the lad, “and she went back like a hen caught in a shower of rain.”
“You keep quiet,” growled one of the men. “You’ll have all the trouble you can attend to in a few moments without making more for yourself.”
“I and my companion are to be treated as prisoners of war, I suppose,” said Ethan.