Whatever might have been their intentions, they seemed aware that they were carefully watched, and showed no inclination to create a disturbance.
The greatest efforts were now made to set up the jury-masts. The wind was increasing, and the sea rising every minute. The day also was drawing on, and matters were getting worse and worse; still Captain Waring and his staunch crew worked away undaunted. If they could once get up the jury-masts, a course might be steered either for the Isle of Wight or Plymouth. Sails had been got up from below; the masts were ready to raise, when there came a cry of, “The enemy is standing towards us!”
“We must beat her off, and then go to work again,” cried the captain.
A cheer was the response. The powder-magazine was again opened. The men flew to their guns, and prepared for the expected conflict.
The French ship soon began to fire, the English returning their salute with interest. The round shot, as before, whistled across the deck, killing and wounding several of the crew.
The sky became still more overcast; the lightning darted from the clouds; the thunder rattled, mocked by the roaring of the guns.
Bill saw his shipmates knocked over on every side; but, as soon as one of the crew of a gun was killed, another took his place, or the remainder worked the gun with as much rapidity as before.
The cockpit was soon full of wounded men. Though things were as bad as they could be, the captain had resolved not to yield.
The officers went about the decks encouraging the crew, assuring them that they would speedily beat off the enemy.
Every man, even the idlest, was doing his duty.