All day long the chase continued, and it was not until towards the evening that, from the British ships, it could be discovered that the Frenchmen’s force consisted of no less than twenty-three sail of the line, a fifty-gun ship, three frigates, a lugger, and a cutter. Darkness came on, however, before the British could get up with them; but sharp eyes all night long were eagerly watching their movements, and few on board any of the ships could bring themselves to turn in to their hammocks.
During the night the wind came round to the southward and east, greatly to the satisfaction of all on board the English fleet, and when morning broke the Frenchmen were seen close-hauled under their lee.
“What can them chaps be about now?” asked Will Freeborn of Paul Pringle as they stood near each other before going to their respective stations. “They are not going to sneak away after all, I hope.”
“I’m not quite so sure but that they are going to try it on, though,” answered Paul, eyeing the distant fleet of the French with no friendly eye. “But I’ll tell you what: Admiral Rodney is not the chap to let ’em off so easily. Ah, look! they are tacking again; they see it won’t do. Hurrah! lads, we’ll be at them now before long.”
The cheer was taken up by others, and ran along the decks, and was echoed from ship to ship along the British line. Every preparation was now made for immediate action. The magazines were opened, the powder and shot were got up, the bulkheads had long been down, the small-arms were served out, the men bound their heads with their handkerchiefs, threw off their jackets and shirts, buckled on their cutlasses, and stuck pistols in their belts. Meantime, as it had been arranged, Sam Smatch was sent to look after Billy True Blue, and to carry him down into the hold as soon as the ship was getting within range of the enemy’s fire.
“Let me just have a look at my boy!” exclaimed Will, as Sam brought him out on deck, as he said, to show him the enemy whom he would one day learn to thrash.
Will took the child in his arms, and he gave a glance of affection; then, giving little Billy back to Sam, he urged him not to delay too long in taking him below, and sprang aloft to his post in the top, to be ready to make any alterations that might be required in the sails while the ship was going into action.
Some hours from sunrise passed away, during which time the fleet was slowly approaching the reluctant enemy. It wanted but ten minutes to noon, when the signal flew out from the masthead of the Admiral for the fleet to bear down on the French, each ship to steer for and closely engage the one nearest to her in the enemy’s line. The order was received with a hearty huzza. It was promptly and exactly obeyed. Still, from the lightness of the wind, it was nearly one before the engagement became general. And now along the whole line arose dense volumes of smoke—bright flashes were seen, and the roar of the guns, and the shouts and shrieks of the combatants were heard. Thickly flew the round-shot—the gallant Admiral in the Sandwich was engaged with two big Frenchmen, who seemed to have singled her out for destruction, but right nobly and boldly did she bear the brunt of the action. Shot after shot struck her, many between wind and water, and some in her masts and spars, which in consequence threatened to go overboard. The Terrible, too, was hotly engaged with an opponent worthy of her. What her name was could not be discovered.
“Never mind!” was the cry; “we’ll soon learn when we make her haul down her flag!”
Hotter and hotter grew the action. Many were falling on both sides. Nearly all the English ships had lost both officers and men, killed and wounded; while, especially, they were dreadfully cut up in their rigging. Freeborn had come below to serve a gun.