Passing to windward of the two frigates, which were named respectively La Gloire and the St. Denis, Captain Ward received a broadside from the latter, without replying to it, until he had crossed her bow within musket range, when he delivered a broadside which raked her from stem to stern. He then wore ship, and, passing between the two, fired his starboard broadside into the Gloire, and, almost immediately after, his port broadside into the St. Denis.
The effect on the two ships was tremendous.
Their sails and rigging were terribly cut up, and several of the yards came rattling down on their decks. The Gloire, in particular, had her rudder damaged. Seeing this, and knowing that in her crippled state she could do him no further damage, Captain Ward passed on, sailed round the stern of the St. Denis, and, when within six yards of her, sent a broadside right in at her cabin windows. Then he ranged alongside and kept up a tremendous fire.
The Frenchmen stuck to their guns admirably, but the British fired quicker. At such close quarters every shot told on both sides. The din and crash of such heavy artillery was terrific; and it soon became almost impossible to see what was going on for smoke.
Up to this point, although many of the men in the Waterwitch had been killed or wounded, only one of those who manned the gun at which Bill Bowls served had been hit.
“It’s too hot to last long,” observed Flinn, as he thrust home a ball and drew out the ramrod; “run her out, boys.”
The men obeyed, and were in the act of pulling at the tackle, when a shot from the enemy struck the gun on the muzzle, tore it from its fastenings, and hurled it to the other side of the deck.
Strange to say, only one of the men who worked it was hurt by the gun; but in its passage across the deck it knocked down and killed three men, and jammed one of the guns on the other side in such a way that it became for a time unserviceable. Ben Bolter and his comrades were making desperate efforts to clear the wreck, when they heard a shout on deck for the boarders. The bowsprit of the Waterwitch had by that time been shot away; her rigging was dreadfully cut up, and her wheel smashed; and Captain Ward felt that, if the St. Denis were to get away, he could not pursue her. He therefore resolved to board.
“Come along, lads,” cried Tom Riggles, on hearing the order; “let’s jine ’em.”
He seized his cutlass as he spoke, and dashed towards the ladder, followed by Bowls, Bolter, Flinn, and others; but it was so crowded with men carrying the wounded down to the cockpit that they had to pause at the foot.