The deck of the Frenchman was now plainly visible to those an board the Tweed—a dense mass of men were seen—but they seemed clustered thickest near the fore-chains; from which place old Bill thought they intended to board.
"I'll cut you out of that, anyhow," exclaimed he, with glee. "I'll show you that a smack can be fought as well as a cursed French privateer, any day." So saying, he gave orders to ease off the sheets; and, keeping the vessel away, he made it appear to the Frenchman as if he had discovered him for the first time to be an enemy, and was endeavouring to escape. The Frenchman took the bait, and, making more sail, pursued him, under a press of canvass; and, as old Bill expected, came rapidly up with him, and was now within pistol-shot, when Bill suddenly shifted his helm, and hauled his wind right across the privateer's bows.
"Now, my boys," shouted the old tar, "blaze away!" when the men, who were eager for the order, burst open the ports, and poured a rattling broadside into her. The smoke which ensued hid everything from the sight; but the horrid shriek which arose on board the Frenchman, and the crashing of wood splintered by the shot, gave indications how fearfully the "twelves" had told. The sailors on board the Tweed, were themselves, for a moment, awed by the sight of the work of destruction which they had made; but the voice of their old commander quickly recalled them to their duty; and they again, without a moment's delay, proceeded to load their instruments of death. The smoke had cleared away; but the distance was too great to allow them to perceive the extent of the Frenchman's loss. Escape now appeared possible; but old Bill's blood was up; and though, by carrying on a press of sail, he might have got off, he resolved to give the Frenchman another smell of his powder.
"Cheerily, my lads!" sung out the old man; "keep steady, and we'll give Mr Monseer a hearty breakfast, different from what he expected." So saying, he sung out a few lines of a forecastle ditty, at the top of his voice:—
"They sailed from the Bay of St Peter,
Five hundred and fifty on board;
And we were all ready to meet her—
Conquer or die was the word."
The spirit of their captain seemed contagious; and the crew, one and all, took up the two last lines, and bellowed it out a second time, in full chorus.
"All ready, 'bout ship there?" sung out Bill.
"All ready, sir," shouted the men.
"'Bout there, then!" And, in one moment, the helm was put hard a starboard, and the vessel's head came round to the wind in fine style.
"All's about, there, my boys!—let go the fore-bowline!"