Great clouds of spray washed over the bows; waves, each one seeming higher than the last, swept over the forecastle, drenching the sailors as they stood at their quarters. As the broadsides thundered forth the sailors cheered as they saw the damage done by the fire. The vessels were tossed about like corks, now wallowing in the trough of the sea, now and again tossed high on the crest of some gigantic wave. It seemed marvelous that any damage could be done by the broadsides, for at one moment the guns would be pointed at the clouds, and the next submerged beneath the billowy waves. The two boats were well matched, the gunners equally accurate. Before five minutes had passed the main topmast of the _Wasp_ was shot away and hung tangled in the rigging. The topmen, commanded by skillful middies, tried in vain to clear away the wreck. The Britishers cheered, and sang "God Save the King!" The Americans, though getting the worst of the fight, shouted out the chorus of "Yankee Doodle." But when the third broadside fired by the _Frolic_ tore away the _Wasp's_ gaff and main topgallant mast, it looked as though Jones would lose the battle, and have to strike his flag. Not far away the _Lively Bee_ was watching the encounter. The privateer did not wish to interfere unless the _Wasp_ was in actual danger, for Captain Vernon had his eyes on one of the merchantmen, which he hoped to secure as a prize. To an onlooker it appeared that the British had received no damage. The _Frolic_ fired when on the crest of the wave and thus tore away its adversary's rigging, while the _Wasp_ waited until in the trough of the sea. The American's shot was aimed at the hull instead of the rigging. While the fight was raging the two vessels got close together and fouled. Yardarm laid to yardarm, and at that very moment the Americans poured in a terrific broadside. The guns were not half loaded, for so close were the vessels that in loading the rammers were shoved right against the side of the _Frolic_. The men grew almost frantic with excitement. They shouted and sang, they cursed the Britishers, and reviled the Union Jack. The gunners of the _Frolic_ had no time to return the last broadside, for their ship swung around so that her bow lay against the _Wasp's_ quarter. "Give 'em a volley!" cried Captain Jones as he just escaped losing his head from the swinging of the _Frolic's_ bowsprit over the quarterdeck. Not only one, but a second volley was fired, and the deck of the enemy seemed to be swept clean. Then the Americans shouted and cheered. "Let us board her!" they cried. The order was given, and the men swarmed aboard. It was by no means a bloodless encounter, for the contestants fought like demons, and many a brave sailor breathed his last on that heaving deck. But the Britishers could not stem the onrush of Americans, and before long the Union Jack was struck and the _Frolic_ captured.