erfect storm of shot and shell
was sent into them from the towering sides of the three-decker. Men
fell on all sides before they had an opportunity of firing a shot; again
and again the crushing shower of metal came; spars and masts fell; the
rigging was cut up terribly, and in a short time the _Majestic_ would
certainly have been sunk had she not fortunately managed to swing clear.
A moment afterwards Captain Westcott, finding himself close alongside
the _Heureux_--the ninth ship of the enemy's line--gave the word to open
fire, and Bill Bowls had at last the satisfaction of being allowed to
apply a light to the touch-hole of his gun. Seventy-four men had for
some time past felt their fingers itching with an almost irresistible
desire to do this, and now upwards of thirty of them were allowed to
gratify their wish. Instantly the good ship received a shock that
caused her to quiver from the trucks to the keel, as her broadside went
crashing into the _Heureux_.

No longer was there impatient inaction on board the _Majestic_, for not
only did the _Heureux_ reply vigorously, but the _Tonnant_--the eighth
of the enemy's line--opened fire on their other side. The _Majestic_
therefore fought on both sides. Throughout the whole ship the stalwart,
half-naked men heaved at the huge guns. Everywhere, from stem to stern,
was exhibited in full swing the active processes of sponging out,
passing along powder and ball, ramming home the charges, running out,
working the handspikes, stepping aside to avoid the recoil--and the
whole operation of working the guns, as only British seamen know how to
work them! All this was done in the midst of smoke, flame, crashing
shot, and flying splinters, while the decks were slippery with human
blood, and strewn with dead men, from amongst whom the wounded were
raised as tenderly as the desperate circumstances in which they were
placed would admit of, and carried below. Many of those who were thus
raised never reached the cockpit, but again fell, along with those who
bore them.

One of the men at the gun where Bill Bowls was at work was in the act of
handing a round shot to Bill, when a ball entered the port-hole and hit
him on the head, scattering his brains over the gun. Bill sprang
forward to catch him in his arms, but slipped on the bloody deck and
fell. That fall saved his life, for at the same moment a musket ball
entered the port and passed close over his head, shattering the arm of