On they tore. As they yelled again, _L'Heureuse's_ beak was but
thirty yards from her prey. A few more leaps and it would strike.
"One--two--"
The little man looked back in their faces and smiled.
"Three--four--five--"
He dropped his hand. Quick as lightning Captain Jerry spun the wheel
round. The stern swung sharply off, her sea-way gauged to a nicety.
The next moment the galley flew past. Her beak, missing the stern,
rushed on, tearing great splinters out of the _Merry Maid's_ flank.
Her starboard oars snapped like matchwood, hurling the slaves
backwards on their benches and killing a dozen on the spot. Then she
brought up, helplessly disabled, right under the frigate's side.
And then at length the English cheer rang forth. In an instant the
grappling-irons were out and the frigate held her foe, clasped,
strained close against her ribs, close under her depressed guns.
And at length, too, with a blinding flash and a roar, those English
guns spoke. A minute had done it all. Sixty seconds before the
gallant vessel had lain apparently at the Frenchman's mercy. Now the
Frenchman was fastened inextricably, while the crowd upon deck stood
as much exposed as if the galley were a raft.
Down swept the grape-shot, tearing ghastly passages through them.
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