."

Before the others had well finished laughing at him, it became his turn
to laugh at them. The wind was in the east, and the weather set fair,
and but for the sea-mist the power of the sun would have been enough to
dazzle all beholders. Already this vapour was beginning to clear off,
coiling up in fleecy wisps above the glistening water, but clinging
still to any bluff or cliff it could lay hold on.

"Halloa, Jem! Where be going of now?" shouted one or two voices from the
Oar-stone point, the furthest outlook of the Havenhead hill.

"To see them Frenchy hoppers get a jolly hiding," Jem Prater replied,
without easing his sculls. He was John Prater's nephew, of the "Darling
Arms," and had stopped behind the fishing to see his uncle's monthly
beer in. "You can't see up there, I reckon, the same as I do here.
One English ship have got a job to tackle two Crappos. But, by George!
she'll do it, mates. Good bye, and the Lord defend you!"

He had nobody but his little brother Sam, who was holding the tiller,
to help him, and his uncle's boat (which he had taken without leave)
was neither stout nor handy. But the stir of the battle had fetched him
forth, and he meant to see the whole of it without taking harm. Every
Englishman had a full right to do this, in a case of such French
audacity, and the English sea and air began to give him fair occasion.
For now the sun had swept the mist with a besom of gold wire, widening
every sweep, and throwing brilliant prospect down it. The gentle heave
of the sea flashed forth with the white birds hovering over it, and the
curdles of fugitive vapour glowed like pillars of fire as they floated
off. Then out of the drift appeared three ships, partly shrouded in
their own fog.

The wind was too light for manoeuvring much, and the combatants swung to
their broadsides, having taken the breath of the air away by the fury of
their fire. All three were standing to the north-north-west, under easy
sail, and on the starboard tack, but scarcely holding steerage-way,
and taking little heed of it. Close quarters, closer and closer still,
muzzle to muzzle, and beard to beard, clinched teeth, and hard pounding,
were the order of the day, with the crash of shattered timber and the
cries of dying men. And still the ships came onward, forgetting where
they were, heaving too much iron to have thought of heaving lead, ready
to be shipwrecks, if they could but wreck the enemy.

Between the bulky curls of