en, fluent. The very element
which sustains the combatants, yields at the stroke of a feather. One
wind and one tide at one time operate upon all who here engage. This
simplicity renders a battle between two men-of-war, with their huge
white wings, more akin to the Miltonic contests of archangels than to
_the comparatively squalid_ tussles of earth.

As the ships neared, a hazy darkness overspread the water. The moon was
not yet risen. Objects were perceived with difficulty. Borne by a soft
moist breeze over gentle waves, they came within pistol-shot. Owing to
the obscurity, and the known neighborhood of other vessels, the Serapis
was uncertain who the Richard was. Through the dim mist each ship loomed
forth to the other vast, but indistinct, as the ghost of Morven. Sounds
of the trampling of resolute men echoed from either hull, whose tight
decks dully resounded like drum-heads in a funeral march.

The Serapis hailed. She was answered by a broadside. For half an hour
the combatants deliberately manoeuvred, continually changing their
position, but always within shot fire. The. Serapis--the better sailer
of the two--kept critically circling the Richard, making lounging
advances now and then, and as suddenly steering off; hate causing her to
act not unlike a wheeling cock about a hen, when stirred by the contrary
passion. Meantime, though within easy speaking distance, no further
syllable was exchanged; but an incessant cannonade was kept up.

At this point, a third party, the Scarborough, drew near, seemingly
desirous of giving assistance to her consort. But thick smoke was now
added to the night's natural obscurity. The Scarborough imperfectly
discerned two ships, and plainly saw the common fire they made; but
which was which, she could not tell. Eager to befriend the Serapis, she
durst not fire a gun, lest she might unwittingly act the part of a foe.
As when a hawk and a crow are clawing and beaking high in the air, a
second crow flying near, will seek to join the battle, but finding no
fair chance to engage, at last flies away to the woods; just so did the
Scarborough now. Prudence dictated the step; because several chance
shot--from which of the combatants could not be known--had already
struck the Scarborough. So, unwilling uselessly to expose herself, off
went for the present this baffled and ineffectual friend.

Not long after, an invisible hand came and set down a great yellow lamp
in the east. The hand reache