The chase had now approached almost within musket shot, and yet no demonstration of an attack had been made. We could see that the chase was alive with men. From every port, and look-out, and top, a score of faces warned us of a bloody battle. Each man was at his post, determination stamped on his countenance. As I gazed upon this formidable array of numbers, and beheld the comparatively gigantic hull of our adversary, steadily advancing on us, like some portentous monster of the deep, I almost trembled for our victory; but when my eye fell again on the brawny chests, and determined visages of our gallant crew, I felt that nothing but extermination could prevent them from hoisting our own flag above the proud ensign of our foe which now flapped lazily in the breeze. But my reverie—if such it might be called—was cut short by perceiving a sheet of flame rolling along the Englishman’s side, and, while his tall spars reeled backward with the recoil, a shower of shot came hurtling toward us. In an instant the gaff of our mainsail fell; our sails were perforated in various places; and a cannon ball striking us amid-ships, cut through both bulwarks, and laid one poor fellow dead upon the deck. The men started like hounds when they see their prey.
“Stand to your guns—my men!” thundered the captain in this emergency, “let not a shot be fired until I give the word. Bear steadily on your helm, and lay us across their bows.”
The moments that elapsed before this endeavor could be consummated seemed to be protracted into an age. Our gallant fellows could, meanwhile, scarcely be restrained within the bounds of discipline. As shot after shot came whizzing over us, the crew grew more and more restive, casting uneasier glances at our commander at every successive fire. Several of the spars had by this time been wounded, and our hull showed more than one evidence of the foe’s skill in gunnery. At length a shot came tearing through the bulwark but a short distance from where I was stationed, and after knocking the splinters wildly hither and thither, struck a poor fellow at his quarters, and laid him mangled and bleeding across his gun. I ran to him. One of his shipmates had already lifted the man’s head up, and laid it carefully in the lap of a comrade. The face was dreadfully pale—the features unnaturally distorted. Agony, intense and irresistible, was written in every line of the face. The motion, however, revived him, and he opened his eyes with a groan. Unsettled as was their gaze, they took in the anxious group around him. He saw, on every face, the deepest commiseration. His glazing eye lightened for a moment.
“How are you, Jack?” said the shipmate, in whose lap he lay.
The dying man shook his head mournfully.
“Don’t you know me, Jack?” said his messmate. There was no answer. The eyes of the sufferer were closed. “God knows I little thought you were to die thus!” continued his shipmate, with emotion. “For twenty years, in gale and calm, in winter and summer we have sailed together, and now you’re going to part company, without being able even to bid an old messmate farewell,” and he wiped the cold sweat from the dying man’s brow. “Jack, Jack, don’t you know me? Can I do nothing for you?”
The sufferer opened his eyes, and made a gesture as if he wished to be lifted up. His desire was gratified. He looked around eagerly until his eyes fell upon the enemy.
“Bury—me,” he faintly articulated, “after you’ve—hauled—down her flag. And—and Rover,” and his voice, for an instant, became stronger, “send the prize-money to the old woman—and—a—a.” He gasped for breath.
“What?—in God’s name what?” But the senses of the dying man began to wander.
“Speak!—Jack—for the love of God!”