_Windsor Castle_ received another shot in the
heart of it, which threw it over the side. Every part of her hull proved
the severe and well-directed fire of the enemy; her sails were as ragged as
Jeremy Didler's pocket-handkerchief; her remaining masts pitted with shot;
the bulwarks torn away in several places; the boats on the booms in
shivers; rigging cut away fore and aft, and the ends swinging to and fro
with the motion of the vessel; her decks in confusion; and some of her
guns, from necessity, deserted. Captain Oughton, Newton, and the rest of
the officers continued to encourage the men, giving them assistance in
working the guns; and the ship's company appeared to have fully imbibed the
bull-dog spirit of their commander.

The fire of the _Windsor Castle_ had been equally destructive. The vessels
had gradually neared each other in the calm; and the height of the _Windsor
Castle_ out of the water, in comparison with the corvette, had given her
the advantage in sweeping the decks of the enemy. The contending vessels
were in this situation, when, for a minute or two, a cessation of firing
took place, in consequence of the accumulation of smoke, which had so
completely enshrouded them both that they knew not where to direct their
guns; and they waited until it should clear away, that the firing might
recommence. A light air gradually swept the veil to leeward, and discovered
both vessels to each other, at the distance of half a cable's length.
Captain Oughton was with Newton on the poop, and the commander of the
French corvette was standing on the hammock nettings of his own vessel. The
latter took off his hat, and courteously saluted his adversary. Captain
Oughton answered the salutation; and then waving his hat, pointed to the
English colours, which had been hoisted at the main; as much as to say,
"They never shall come down!" The Frenchman (it was Surcoeuf) did the same
to the tricolour, and the action recommenced.

"Well done, my lads!" cried Captain Oughton; "well done! that broadside was
a staggerer--right into his ribs. Hurrah now, my hearts of oak! this
fellow's worth fighting. Aim at his foremast--another broadside will floor
it. It's on the reel. Newton, jump forward, and--"

But the order was stopped by a grape-shot, which struck Captain Oughton on
the breast. He staggered and fell off from the poop to the quarter-deck.
Newton leapt down, and went to him. The torrents of blood from his breast
at once told