“Father,” asked Ronald, as he stood by Morton’s side on the forecastle, “will the Frenchman try to escape us?”
“No fear of that, he would not have come out at first if he had intended to play us that trick,” was the answer. “He has made one slight mistake, though; he fancies that he is going to take us; and it’s my firm belief that we are going to take him.”
“I hope so, father,” answered Ronald. “I would sooner die than be taken by a Frenchman.”
“That is the right spirit, my boy,” exclaimed Rolf, warmly. “But little fear of what will happen—our captain is not a man to throw away a chance of victory.”
While they were speaking, the “Thisbe” was rapidly coming up with the enemy; and as her guns could be brought to bear they were fired in quick succession—the French frigate returning them with right good will, though as her shot flew high, the “Thisbe’s” masts and spars suffered more than her hull, and few of her men had hitherto been hit.
Morton looked anxiously aloft. “It will be a bad job if they go,” he muttered to himself. He then sent Ronald aft to ascertain the condition of the main and mizenmast, which he believed had been struck.
His son soon returned with a very bad report. The masts were already badly wounded.
Soon after this the “Thisbe” got within musket-shot of the starboard quarter of her opponent; and the marines opened their fire, while the firing of the great guns became warmer than ever.
Captain Courtney had never, for a moment, taken his eye off the French ship, that he might watch for the least indication of any manoeuvre she might be about to perform. Suddenly he exclaimed, “Up with the helm!—square away the after yards!”
Quickly the manoeuvre was executed, though only just in time to prevent the enemy who wore the instant before, from crossing the “Thisbe’s” bows, and pouring in a raking fire. The two frigates now ran on before the wind, closely engaged, broadside to broadside. Fast came the round shot, crashing on board. Splinters from the torn bulwarks were flying about, from aloft some rattling blocks and shattered spars; while showers of bullets were raining down death and wounds in every direction.