have
less pained his powerful muscles than they now grieved his excellent
heart.
A party of boarders from the enemy had taken possession of the ship.
Willis reported himself to the officer in command, and at his request,
Fritz and Jack, together with the cargo of the pinnace, were conveyed
on board the victorious schooner. Shortly after the _Hoboken_ was
despatched to Bermuda as a prize, with the prisoners, the wounded, and
the dying.
The old tub that had gained this victory was named the _Arzobispo_,
having, as Willis supposed, been captured in the Spanish Main. It was
under the command of Commodore Truncheon, better known in the fleet by
the _soubriquet_ of Old Flyblow.
The _Arzobispo_, though old and clumsy, was a stout-built craft; and
so thick was its hide, that the broadsides of the Yankee had done the
hull no damage to speak of. The superstructure, however, was
completely shattered; the masts and rigging hung like sweeps over the
sides; and, to the unpractised eye, the ship was a complete wreck. A
few days, however, sufficed to put everything to rights again so far
as regards external appearance; but how this impromptu carpentry would
stand a storm was another question.
The commodore was on his way to Europe when he fell in with the
Yankee, and, notwithstanding the disabled condition of the ship, he
resolved to continue his voyage. Some of the officers expostulated
with him on the hazard of crossing the Atlantic in so shaky a trim. He
only got red in the face, and said that he had crossed the
herring-pond hundreds of times in crafts not half so seaworthy. He was
like the
Froggy who would a wooing go,
Whether his mother would let him or no.
The consequences of this defiance of advice were fatal to Old Flyblow;
for, a week or two after his victory, he was pounced upon by the
French corvette, _Boudeuse_, which was fresh, heavily armed, and well
manned. The commodore's jury masts were knocked to pieces by the first
broadside, his flag went by the board, and he was completely at the
enemy's mercy. Willis lent a hand this time with a good will; but it
was of no use, the wreck would not obey the helm, and the corvette
hovered about, firing broadsides, and sending in discharges of
musketry, when and where she liked. It was only when the commodore saw
clearly that there was neither mast nor sail enough to yaw the ship,
that he waved his cocked hat in token of surrender.
Fritz and Jack were still con
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