The old Niler was not the man to miss a vessel
alongside in a quiet sea; he sent two round shot clean through him; the
third splintered his bulwark, and swept across his deck.
"His masts! fire at his masts!" roared Dodd to Monk, through his trumpet;
he then got the jib clear, and made what sail he could without taking all
the hands from the guns.
This kept the vessels nearly alongside a few minutes, and the fight was
hot as fire. The pirate now for the first time hoisted his flag. It was
black as ink. His crew yelled as it rose: the Britons, instead of
quailing, cheered with fierce derision: the pirate's wild crew of yellow
Malays, black chinless Papuans, and bronzed Portuguese, served their side
guns, 12-pounders, well and with ferocious cries; the white Britons,
drunk with battle now, naked to the waist, grimed with powder, and
spotted like leopards with blood, their own and their mates', replied
with loud undaunted cheers, and deadly hail of grape from the
quarterdeck; while the master gunner and his mates loading with a
rapidity the mixed races opposed could not rival, hulled the schooner
well between wind and water, and then fired chain shot at her masts, as
ordered, and began to play the mischief with her shrouds and rigging.
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