Every sail was hoisted, the sweeps got out and, leaving the trader to
jog along in their rear, the four light craft made their way rapidly
along the coast. The firing became heavier and heavier, and as it
became light, three large ships could be seen, about two miles ahead,
surrounded by a host of smaller craft.
"That's a big fight, Mr. Charles," Tim exclaimed. "It reminds me of
three big bulls in a meadow, attacked by a host of little curs."
"It does, Tim; but the curs can bite. What a fire they are keeping up.
But those warships ought to thrash any number of them. Count the
ports, I can see them now."
"The biggest one," Tim said, "has got twenty-five."
"Yes; and the others eighteen and nine. They are two frigates, one of
fifty and the other of thirty-six guns; and a sloop of eighteen. I
can't make out the colours, but I don't think they're English."
"They're not English, yer honor," Tim said confidently, "or they would
soon make an end of them varmint that's tormenting them."
The scene, as the boats approached, was very exciting. The three ships
were pouring their broadsides, without intermission, into the pirate
fleet. This consisted of vessels of all sizes, from the Jupitre and
Restoration, down to large rowing galleys.
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