“Does the law about being in sight apply to the boats or to the ships, the day, Captain Lyon?”

“To the boats, man; or who the de’il do you think would sairve in them!  It’s a pitiful affair, altogether, as it has turned out; the honor being little more than the profit, I opine; and yet ’twill never do to let old Scotia lag astairn, in a hand-to-hand battle, Ye’ll remember; we have a name for coming to the claymore; and so do yer best, every mither’s son o’ ye.”

McBean grunted assent, and went about his work as methodically as if it were a sum in algebra.  The second lieutenant of the Terpsichore was a young Irishman, with a sweet, musical voice; and, as the boats left the ships, he was with difficulty kept in the line, straining to move ahead, with his face on a grin, and his cheers stimulating the men to undue or unreasonable efforts.  Such is an outline of the English materials on this occasion; both parties being now ready for the struggle.  If we add that it was already past two, and that all hands began to feel some anxiety on the score of the wind, which might soon be expected, the preliminary picture is sufficiently sketched.

Sir Frederick Dashwood had formed his line about a mile within the rocks, with one launch in the centre, and one on each extremity.  That in the centre was commanded by O’Leary, his own second lieutenant; that on the left of his force by McBean, and the one on its right by Winchester.  O’Leary was tanked by Griffin and Clinch, in the Proserpine’s cutters, while the intervals were filled by the remaining boats.  The captain kept moving about in his own gig, giving his directions, somewhat confusedly, beyond a question; yet with a cheerfulness and indifference of air that aided in keeping alive the general gaite de coeur, When all was ready, he gave the signal to advance, pulling, for the first half mile, chivalrously in advance of the line, with his own gig.

Raoul had noted the smallest movement of the enemy with a glass, and with grave attention.  Nothing escaped his jealous watchfulness; and he saw that Sir Frederick had made a capital error in the outset.  Had he strengthened his centre, by putting all his carronades in the same battery, as it might be, the chances for success would have been doubled; but, by dividing them, he so far weakened their effect as to render it certain no one of the three French batteries could be wholly crippled by their fire.  This, of course, left the difficult task to the English of pushing up to their hand-to-hand work, under the embarrassment of receiving constant discharges of grape and canister.