and presently we saw the commodore pulling in among us, in his gig. He
came on board us, and we greeted him with three cheers. While he was on
the quarter-deck, a hot shot struck the upper part of the after-port, cut
all the boarding-pikes adrift from the main-boom, and wounded a man named
Lemuel Bryant, who leaped from his quarters and fell at my feet. His
clothes were all on fire when he fell, and, after putting them out, the
commodore himself ordered me to pass him below. The old man spoke
encouragingly to us, and a little thing took place that drew his attention
to my crew. Two of the trucks of the gun we were fighting had been carried
away, and I determined to shift over its opposite. My crew were five
negroes, strapping fellows, and as strong as jackasses. The gun was called
the Black Joke. Shoving the disabled gun out of the way, these chaps
crossed the deck, unhooked the breechings and gun-tackles, raised the
piece from the deck, and placed it in the vacant port. The commodore
commended us, and called out, "that is quick work, my lads!" In less than
three minutes, I am certain, we were playing on the enemy with the
fresh gun.

As for the old man, he pulled through the fire as coolly as if it were
only a snow-balling scrape, though many a poor fellow lost the number of
his mess in the boats that day. When he left us, we cheered him again. He
had not left us long, before we heard an awful explosion on shore. Stones
as big as my two fists fell on board of us, though nobody was hurt by
them. We cheered, thinking some dire calamity had befallen the enemy. The
firing ceased soon after this explosion, though one English gun held on,
under the bank, for some little time.



Chapter V.