As the defeated captain entered the victor's cabin he unclasped his sword from his hip and handed it silently to Captain Hull. The American put it gently back. "No, no, captain; I'll not take a sword from one who knows so well how to use it. But I will trouble you for that hat." Captain Dacres looked perplexed. Hull laughed, as he added: "Have you forgotten our bet made a year ago on the Delaware?" "No, sir; I now recall it. That hat is yours; but it seems to me you want a new pair of breeches more than a hat," and the Englishman pointed to the torn breeches worn by Hull. "Ah, you have noticed my personal casualty; but, Dacres, it was my own doing. Don't write to England and say you inflicted the damage." Tempest, as was expected, had a hard time with the prisoners, who had taken more grog than allowed by the rules of the service. One of the petty officers staggered up to the young officer. "By Jove, younker, I'll have you thrown overboard," he said. A lot of drunken gunners, naked to the waist and armed with cutlasses, cheered him and crowded around Tempest to carry out the threat. The young man never moved! He raised his pistol and leveling it at the head of the officer said: "Give me your sword." The man meekly obeyed. With a sword in one hand, a pistol in the other, he faced the drunken gunners. "The first man who attempts to touch me, dies. Lay down your weapons on the deck." "By St. George, hark to the child!" said one of the men. "Are you afraid? See, I'll take his plaything from him." The man stepped forward, but Tempest was too quick for him, and a well-aimed thrust with the sword placed the man _hors de combat_. "Lay down your weapons," he shouted, as he drew his sword from the dead man's body. The men obeyed sullenly. They had met their master, and knew it. Tempest knew that the prisoners were not to be trusted while any of them were armed. He, however, did not show his distrust, but walked about, giving orders for the removal of all on board the _Guerriere_, together with their effects. A drunken officer, a mere petty official, crept up behind the young privateer, pistol in hand. Tempest suddenly turned, and with a sweep of his sword cut the pistol from the man's hand. But he had struck deeper than he knew at that moment, for with the pistol went the fellow's hand as well. The sword cut had severed his wrist. There was no more opposition, and the last man was in the boat. Only Tempest remained on board the once proud war vessel. He searched every deck, he descended to the cockpit, and when satisfied that not a living creature remained on board he fired the ship in a dozen places. Then he returned to the deck, to see that the boat was several fathoms away. He called, but there was no response; evidently he had not been heard. He signaled for help. In a few moments the flames would reach the magazine.