The rapid discharge of eight
guns made the ship tremble, and enveloped her in thick smoke; loud
shrieks and groans were heard from the schooner: the smoke cleared; the
pirate's mainsail hung on deck, his jib-boom was cut off like a carrot
and the sail struggling; his foresail looked lace, lanes of dead and
wounded lay still or writhing on his deck, and his lee scuppers ran blood
into the sea. Dodd squared his yards and bore away.
The ship rushed down the wind, leaving the schooner staggered and all
abroad. But for long; the pirate wore and fired his bow chasers at the
now flying _Agra_, split one of the carronades in two, and killed a
Lascar, and made a hole in the foresail. This done, he hoisted his
mainsail again in a trice, sent his wounded below, flung his dead
overboard, to the horror of their foes, and came after the flying ship,
yawing and firing his bow chasers. The ship was silent. She had no shot
to throw away. Not only did she take these blows like a coward, but all
signs of life disappeared on her, except two men at the wheel and the
captain on the main gangway.
Pages:
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314