“‘Heave the topmast from the board,
And our ship for action clear;
By the cannon and the sword
We will die or conquer here.
To your posts, my faithful tars!
Mind your rigging, guns, and spars!’
Ay, ay, sir! coming, sir!”—this to Mr. Stacy, the sailing master, who called out sharply, “Quartermaster!”
Just as Bill had foreseen, the order was passed to clear for action without the drumbeat. The guns were made ready to run out, but kept covered, and the portlids were not raised. The breeze was fresh, and the Ranger was enabled to carry all her canvas. She kept warily outside the harbor, on and off the wind, until about ten o’clock at night, when she stood boldly in, to bring up athwart hawse the Drake, intending to grapple and fight it out.
Everything was in readiness, as the ship stole silently in through the misty darkness of a moonless night. Stacy, the sailing master, brought her safely within a cable’s length of the Drake’s quarter. But the anchor was let go too soon, and, instead of laying aboard the Drake, she drifted about half a cable’s length off. In an instant the mistake was realized. Without a moment’s hesitation Captain Jones gave orders to cut the cable, and the Ranger passed directly astern of the Drake, under her stern chasers. No alarm was given on the war-ship; a muttered growl from the lookout on the after quarter informed them that they had better “keep off” with their lubberly craft, which Paul Jones promptly did, intending to return on the next tack. But the wind, which had been squally for several days, now suddenly rose in a fierce gust, and he was compelled to beat out of the harbor. The gust increased to a furious gale, and it took all of Captain Jones’s skill to get sea room enough for safety. The night grew pitch dark, and it was midnight before they weathered the lighthouse point, where the warning light shone dimly over the tempestuous sea and upon the laboring ship. The gale continued all the next day, but the Ranger had found a lee on the south coast, where she awaited the abatement.
“Never mind, my brave boys,” said Paul Jones to his men when they were driving out of the harbor. “That ship shall yet be ours. We can cut and come again.”