It was no easy matter to clear the ships, so firmly had the Wolf’s anchor hooked on through the Thesbe’s port. It was at last, however, freed. Scarcely had the two ships separated, than down came the Thesbe’s foremast, narrowly escaping falling across the bows of the Wolf.
In an action lasting the best part of six hours, the Wolf herself had suffered severe damage. The third lieutenant, the second lieutenant of marines, a midshipman, and ten seamen were killed, and nearly fifty officers and men wounded.
She had lost her mizzenmast, and her other masts and several of her yards were injured. Her sails and rigging were cut to pieces. So numerous were the shot-holes in her hull, that the carpenter and his mates were unable to stop them until she had three and a half feet of water in her hold. A portion of her diminished crew was sent to the pumps, while every officer, man and boy, was employed in fishing the masts and spars, knotting and splicing the rigging, and shifting the sails. The two ships lay close together, drifting with the tide. The prize was won, but it was a question whether she would be kept. They were close in with the French coast; and should any other of the enemy’s ships be in the neighbourhood, it was certain that they would be sent to look after the combatants. Mr Jager and his prize crew had work enough to do to keep the Thesbe afloat, to heave the dead overboard, to attend to the wounded. The surgeons laboured away all night in amputating arms and legs, and binding up the limbs of those most injured. Not only was the cockpit crowded, but every cabin was full of wounded men. The greater part of the prisoners were of course removed on board the Wolf, but a few were retained to assist in working the pumps and attending to the wounded.
While the carpenters were engaged in stopping the shot-holes—through which the water was rushing with a rapidity sufficient in a short time to carry the prize to the bottom—it was impossible to attempt repairing other damages.
When morning broke, a shattered, blood-stained hull lay floating, with her victor watching near her. An anxious look-out was kept for any sail which might appear. Should a single frigate be seen, Captain Moubray and his officers resolved to fight their ship and defend their prize to the last.
No one thought of resting. Mr Bitts piped his call, until, as Paddy Logan observed, “it seemed mighty curious that he had any wind left in his body.”
The frigate’s crew laboured on, until many were ready to drop with fatigue. All knew that not a moment was to be lost. Another contingency might occur, besides the appearance of an enemy of superior force; a northerly gale might spring up, and drive the disabled frigates on the French coast. Happily, the masts of the Wolf were secured, the rigging repaired, and fresh sails bent, and the wind coming from the southward, she took her prize in tow, and shaped a course across the channel for Plymouth.