“It is too soon,” he said.  “We are impregnable here, and the wind is still too light.  An hour hence, and we will all go together.”

Ithuel grumbled; but his commander heeded it not.  The judgment of the latter had decided right.  The boats were rallying within musket-shot, indifferent to the danger, and it was evident the attack was to be renewed.  To have attempted to escape at such an instant would have been throwing away the great advantage of the ruins, and might have endangered all, without benefiting any one.

In point of fact, Sir Frederick Dashwood had become keenly alive to a sense of the disgrace he was likely to incur, in the event of the ships’ getting round, and robbing him of the credit of capturing the lugger.  The usually apathetic nature of this young man was thoroughly aroused, and, like all who are difficult to excite, he became respectable when his energies were awakened.  The boats were already collected; all the disabled were put into one of them, and ordered off to the ships; and with those that remained arrangements were made to renew the attempt.  It was fortunate that Cuffe had sent an expedition so strong-handed; for notwithstanding the loss, the three launches and the cutters could still muster double the number of the French.

This time, Sir Frederick was willing to listen to counsel.  Winchester, McBean, Griffin, and Strand united in advising that the boats should separate, and make their assaults from different points.  This would prevent the possibility of a recurrence of so concentrated a disaster as that which had already befallen them.  To the Scotchman was assigned the felucca; the Terpsichore’s launch was to assail the lugger; while the two cutters and the heavier boat of the Proserpine were to dash in at the ruins.  Sir Frederick still remained in his own gig, to push for the point that might seem to require his presence.

McBean was the first to fire on this occasion.  He threw a round-shot from his carronade into the felucca, aimed by himself, and directed with care.  It fell upon one of Ithuel’s carronades, broke it into a dozen pieces, knocked down no less than three men, besides injuring others less severely, and actually drove the gun it struck off its slide into the felucca’s hold.  This was a rough commencement, and the result being seen by all hands it greatly encouraged the assailants.  Three hearty English cheers followed, and Ithuel was so far disconcerted as to fire the remaining gun, loaded as before with bullets, at least two minutes too soon.  The sea was thrown into a foam, but not a man in the boats was hurt.  Then the fire became general, gun after gun exploding; the rattling of small-arms filling up the pauses.  The boats came on with steady, strong pulls of the oar, and this too with an impunity that often happens, though difficult to be explained.  Several shot fell among the ruins, knocking the stones about, and for a minute or two all the injury was