The boats dashed alongside. Langrage and grape and round-shot were discharged at them, and boarding-pikes, muskets, and pistols were seen protruding through the ports ready for their reception. The boats hooked on, and, in spite of all opposition, the British seamen began to climb up the side. Some were driven back and hurled into the boats, wounded, too often mortally; the rest persevered. Again and again the attempt was made, the deck was gained, a desperate hand-to-hand combat began. It could have but one termination, the defeat of the attackers or the attacked. Paul climbed up with the rest of his shipmates. It is surprising that human beings could have faced the bristling mass of weapons which the British seamen had to encounter. Paul followed close behind Reuben, who kept abreast of Mr Noakes. Pistols were fired in their faces, cutlasses were clashing, as the seamen were slashing and cutting and lunging at their opponents. In spite of all opposition the deck was gained; the enemy, however, still fought bravely. Mr Larcom, the second-lieutenant of the Cerberus, fell shot through the head. Several men near him were killed or badly wounded; it seemed likely that after all the boarders would be driven back. Old Noakes saw the danger; there was still plenty of British pluck in him in spite of the pains he took to wash away all feeling; the day must be retrieved. “On, lads, on!” he shouted, throwing himself furiously on the enemy; “follow me! death or victory!”
Again the Frenchmen gave way; at first inch by inch they retreated, then more rapidly, leaving many of their number wounded on the deck. Bruff had faced about and driven the enemy aft; Noakes and Reuben still pushed forward. Paul, following close at their heels with an officer’s sword which he had picked up, observed, fallen on the deck, a man, apparently a lieutenant, whose eye was fixed on Noakes, and whose hand held a pistol; he was taking a steady aim at Noakes’s head. Paul sprang forward, and giving a cut at the man’s arm, the muzzle of the pistol dropping, the contents entered the deck.
“Thanks, boy, you’ve saved my life, I’ll not forget you,” cried Noakes. “On, on, on!”
“Well done, Gerrard, well done!” exclaimed Reuben. “You’ve saved your hide, boy.”
The Frenchmen, finding that all was lost, leaped down the fore-hatchway, most of them singing out for quarter. A few madly and treacherously fired up from below, which so exasperated the seamen, that nearly half of them were killed before their flag was hauled down and the rest overpowered. The frigate was by this time bringing up a breeze to the prize.
“It’s a pity it didn’t come a little sooner; it might have saved the lives of many fine fellows,” observed Bruff, as he glanced round on the blood-stained deck.
“It’s an ill wind that blows no one good,” remarked Noakes, looking at Mr Larcom’s body. “If he had been alive, I shouldn’t have gained my promotion, which I am now pretty sure of for this morning’s work, besides the command of the prize.”
“‘There’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.’ I’ve found it so, and so have you, mate, I suspect,” said Bruff; “yet, old fellow, I hope you’ll get what you deserve.”
There was no jealousy in honest Bruff’s composition. He put his old messmate’s gallantry in so bright a light privately before Captain Walford, that the captain felt himself bound to recommend Noakes for promotion to the Admiralty, and to place him in charge of the prize to take home. She was the Aigle, privateer, mounting sixteen guns, evidently very fast, but very low, with taut masts, square yards, and seemingly very crank. Most of the prisoners were removed, and Mr Noakes got leave to pick a crew. He chose, among others, Reuben Cole and Paul Gerrard. The surgeon advised that Devereux and O’Grady should go home, and Alphonse Montauban was allowed a passage, that he might be exchanged on the first opportunity.
“Be careful of your spars, Noakes,” observed Mr Order, as he looked up at the Aigle’s lofty masts, “remember that you are short-handed.”