zzle to muzzle. Then they crashed together and the _Wasp's_ jib-boom
was thrust between the _Frolic's_ masts. In this position the British
decks were raked by a murderous fire as Jacob Jones trumpeted the order,
"Boarders away!" Jack Lang, a sailor from New Jersey, scrambled out on
the bowsprit, cutlass in his fist, without waiting to see if his
comrades were with him, and dropped to the forecastle of the _Frolic_.
Lieutenant Biddle tried it by jumping on the bulwark and climbing to the
other ship as they crashed together on the next heave of the sea, but a
doughty midshipman, seeking a handy purchase, grabbed him by the coat
tails and they fell back upon their own deck. Another attempt and Biddle
joined Jack Lang by way of the bowsprit. These two thus captured the
_Frolic_, for as they dashed aft the only living men on deck were the
undaunted sailor at the wheel and three officers, including Captain
Whinyates and Lieutenant Wintle, who were so severely wounded that they
could not stand without support. They tottered forward and surrendered
their swords, and Lieutenant Biddle then leaped into the rigging and
hauled the British ensign down.

Of the _Frolic's_ crew of one hundred and ten men only twenty were
unhurt, and these had fled below to escape the dreadful fire from the
_Wasp_. The gun deck was strewn with bodies, and the waves which broke
over the ship swirled them to and fro, the dead and the wounded
together. Not an officer had escaped death or injury. The _Wasp_ was
more or less of a tangle aloft but her hull was sound and only five of
her men had been killed and five wounded. No sailors could have fought
more bravely than Captain Whinyates and his British crew, but they had
been overwhelmed in three-quarters of an hour by greater skill,
coolness, and judgment.

No sea battle of the war was more brilliant than this, but Captain Jacob
Jones was delayed in sailing home to receive the plaudits due him. His
prize crew was aboard the _Frolic_, cleaning up the horrid mess and
fitting the beaten ship for the voyage to Charleston, and the _Wasp_ was
standing by when there loomed in sight a towering three-decker--a
British ship of the line--the _Poictiers_. The _Wasp_ shook out her
sails to make a run for it, but they had been cut to ribbons and she was
soon overhauled. Now an eighteen-gun ship could not argue with a
majestic seventy-four. Captain Jacob Jones submitted with as much grace
as he could muster, and _Wasp_