“Avast, master boatswain!” he exclaimed, cutting the rope; “are you not afraid of committing murder, when, at any moment, you may be sent to stand before the Judge of all men?”
The boatswain, with an oath, again seized the man, and, aided by his mates, was forming a noose at the end of a rope, when a shot striking him on the breast sent his mangled body through a wide gap in the bulwarks into the blood-stained ocean. Most of the superior officers had by this time been killed or wounded, the latter being in the hands of the surgeon below.
“What’s to be done?” said Dick, as we were together making our way to the magazine, being ordered down to fetch up more powder. “Surely the captain won’t hold out longer! If I didn’t feel that it was cowardly, I should like to stow myself away below till all is over.”
“To go down with the ship and be drowned,” I observed.
“No, no; let us remain on deck while we can, and take our chance,” said Lancelot. “If the captain fights on until the ship sinks, we may get hold of a plank or spar. The Roundhead seamen will not let us drown, even though they think we are Malignants.”
“Stay for me!” said Dick, as he saw us lifting up our tubs to go on deck again. To say the truth, I suspected that he had been in no hurry to fill his.
Just as we were going up the ladder two thundering broadsides sounded in our ears, and several shot, crashing through the stout planks and scattering splinters in every direction, passed close to our heads, but happily none of us were hit. They were followed by the groans and shrieks of the wounded as they lay struggling on the deck in their agony. Then there came what truly seemed an awful silence. We had naturally stopped midway on the ladder for unwilling slaves as we were, we lacked a motive to expedite our movements.
As we at length gained the upper deck a sound of cheering struck on our ears, but it came from the other ships. I looked up at the peak. The flag was no longer there. On the after-castle lay the captain; he had fallen desperately wounded. Two officers alone remained on their feet, while fore and aft a sickening sight met our view. The ship was a perfect shambles; the dead and dying lay everywhere, the countenances of many distorted with agony; the decks slippery with blood, and covered with blocks, ropes, torn canvas, and shattered spars, while several guns had been dismounted, and every boat knocked to pieces. The master of the mariners, one of the surviving officers, was shouting to the crew to shorten sail.
Throwing our tubs of powder on deck, we gladly ran to obey the order, joined by Martin Shobbrok, who, amid the bloody strife, had escaped unscathed.
Meantime the two victorious frigates had hove to and were lowering their boats, ready to send on board and take possession of their prize.