under the hands of the surgeon;
and, as Newton surveyed his little force, fatigued as they were with
their exertions, black with powder, stained with blood, and reeking with
perspiration, he could not but acknowledge how heavy were the odds
against the attack of a vessel so well manned as the corvette appeared
to be. Newton said but a few words; but they were to the point; and he
had the satisfaction to perceive, as they grasped their cutlasses, that
if their numbers were few and their frames exhausted, their spirit was
as unsubdued as ever.

The corvette had in the meantime run ahead on a wind, about a mile, when
she wore round, and was now standing right on to the _Windsor Castle_,
and had neared to within three cables' lengths. A few minutes were to
decide the point. Her courses were again hauled up, and discovered her
lee fore-rigging, bowsprit, cat-heads, and forecastle, crowded with men
ready for the dash on board, as soon as the vessels should come in
contact Newton stood on one of the forecastle guns surrounded by his
men; not a word was spoken on board of the _Windsor Castle_, as they
watched their advancing enemy. They were within a cable's length of
each other, and Newton could plainly distinguish the features of the
gallant Surcoeuf, who was in advance on the knight-heads, when a puff of
wind, which at any other time would not have occasioned the starting of
a royal sheet, took the sails of the corvette; and her wounded foremast,
laden with men in the lee-rigging, unable to bear the pressure, fell
over the side, carrying with it the maintop-mast, and most of the crew,
who had been standing in the rigging, and leaving the corvette an
encumbered wreck. A loud shout from the forecastle of the _Windsor
Castle_ announced that the English seamen were but too well aware of
their desperate situation, and that they hailed the misfortune of the
Frenchmen as their deliverance.

"Now, my lads, be smart," cried Newton, as he sprang aft to the wheel,
and put up the helm; "man the flying jib-halyards (the jib was under the
forefoot); let go the main-top bowling; square the main-yard. That will
do; she's paying off. Man your guns; half a dozen broadsides, and it's
all our own."

The sun had disappeared below the horizon, and the shades of evening had
set in, before this manoeuvre had been accomplished. Several broadsides
were poured into the corvette, which had the desired effect of crippling
her still more, and