It was well he had given this order, for the men were about to burst into a shout. One of them dropped his oar, and was roundly reprimanded for it. But now a multitude of sounds came from the direction of the fighting-vessels. Groans and orders, cries and firing, and above them all the comments from close about me, that in my ignorance I did not exactly understand.
"Old Johnny Bull's missed stays," roared Mr. Spencer, laughing. "It's the sword-fish and the whale. Stab her again, Captain Temple, stab her again!"
A distinct broadside was heard, and then a cheer, followed by a confused roaring, with high treble shrieks, like a countertenor's note in a chorus.
"Bleed, bleed, bleed," muttered the man next to me.
"That was our cheer," gurgled the cockswain, sawing to and fro in his narrow little box; but no sooner had he spoken than a crash louder and brighter colored than any of the rest ripped out.
"The frigate's broadside!" gasped Mr. Spencer.
All was silence now.
"Heaven help us, they've sunk her!" the Lieutenant said, hoarsely.
No sound for full five minutes.
Three or four shots now, and then silence again. It appeared to me that the fog had lessened. A fine drizzle was falling; and we could see the outlines of a vessel not a quarter of a mile away from us.