They were near enough to be scorched by the flame of it. Down and
across it rent them, as they crouched and fought with each other to
get away and hide. There was no hiding. Before the breath of it
they went down in rows, strewing the deck horribly, mangled, riddled,
blown in miserable pieces.
In a trice, too, the English masts and rigging were swarming with
musketeers and sailors who poured hand-grenades among them like hail,
scattering wounds and death. The Frenchmen no longer thought of
attacking. Such was the panic among officers as well as common men
that they were incapable even of resistance. Scores who were neither
killed nor wounded lay flat on their faces, counterfeiting death and
hoping to find safety.
This carnage lasted, perhaps, for less than five minutes.
_L'Heureuse's_ consort was still near upon a league behind, and the
other four galleys were still busily chasing the merchantmen.
Captain Barker looked and was well content. But he had much work
still before him, and to do it properly he must husband his
ammunition.
He gave the order to board. Forty or fifty men dropped over the
_Merry Maid's_ side, cutlass in mouth, and rushed along the galley's
deck, hewing down all who ventured to oppose them and sparing only
the slaves, who made no resistance.
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