and the favour of the wind, gave her an advantage which good fortune
helped to justify.

As she drew in upon the action, she gave herself up to great danger; she
was coming in upon the rear of the French ships, and was subject to
fierce attack. To the French she seemed like a fugitive warrior
returning to his camp just when he was most needed, as was indeed the
case. Two of her shots settled one of the enemy's vessels; and before
the others could converge upon her, she had crawled slowly up against the
off side of the French admiral's ship, which was closely engaged with the
Beatitude, the British flagship, on the other side.

The canister, chain-shot, and langrel of the French foe had caused much
injury to the Ariadne, and her canvas was in a sore plight. Fifty of her
seamen had been killed, and a hundred and fifty were wounded by the time
she reached the starboard side of the Aquitaine. She would have lost
many more were it not that her onset demoralized the French gunners,
while the cheers of the British sailors aboard the Beatitude gave
confidence to their mutineer comrades.

On his own deck, Dyck watched the progress of the battle with the joy of
a natural fighter. He had carried the thing to an almost impossible
success. There had only been this in his favour, that his was an
unexpected entrance--a fact which had been worth another ship at least.
He saw his boarders struggle for the Aquitaine. He saw them discharge
their pistols, and then resort to the cutlass and the dagger; and the
marines bringing down their victims from the masts of the French flag-
ship.

Presently he heard the savagely buoyant shouts of the Beatitude men, and