And again, with the fullest force of his lungs, the captain shouted: "Boat ahoy! where are you going?" An indistinct voice replied: "What ship hails? Ahoy there!" "Give me your name," cried Carter, "or I'll fire!" A long laugh was distinctly heard by those on the deck of the _Caroline_, followed by the question: "What ship hails?" "The _Caroline_, of Bristol," answered the captain. "Your name?" "The _Lively Bee_, privateer!" was the daring answer. The merchant captain saw now that he was in danger. His coolness forsook him, and he cursed his officers as though they were to blame. "On deck, all of you!" he shouted. "Make ready to repel boarders!" Gordon took up the cry and repeated it, in tones loud and stentorian, down the hatchway, adding various expletives by way of emphasis. The men came hurrying up the ladders, all excited and angry at being disturbed. They heard the regular dip of the oars, but the fog was too dense for the _Lively Bee_ to be seen. The crew of the _Caroline_, armed with pistols and cutlasses, awaited the enemy. The cannon were of little or no use, for it was only a waste of effort to fire at random, and the _Lively Bee_ was hidden from view. Captain Vernon knew that the _Poietiers_ was very close, and so the less noise made the better. He had said: "Use no pistols if you can help." And the men answered in their cheery way: "Ay, ay, sir!" When the privateer was within a few yards of the English brig her tall spars were for the first time visible. A fusillade of pistol shots rattled through the rigging, but did no serious damage. The privateersmen crouched below the bulwarks of their taut little schooner until her bow passed over the waist of the brig. Then, with a ringing cheer, these daring men sprang up and made a simultaneous leap into the _Caroline's_ rigging. They swarmed to her deck like a crowd of wasps, bent on stinging their victims to death. Cutlasses were vigorously used. The sharp clang of steel was drowned at times by the groans of the wounded, the quick crack of the pistols only seemed like an accompaniment to the clashing of the cutlasses. The Englishmen were driven back, not by weight of numbers, but partly because they were taken unawares, and most of them aroused from slumber. But in prowess the crew of the privateer had also the advantage. They were born fighters, and every blow was given with intent to kill. Captain Carter had fought furiously, but had been wounded fatally by a cutlass blow from John Tempest. Nearly all the crew of the _Caroline_ lay on the deck, with wounds great or small. It was a dismal sight, as the privateersmen moved around with lanterns looking at the faces of the dead and dying. "Can there be any one below?" asked Tempest. "I thought I heard a cry, sir," answered Scarron. "Ay, a woman's cry." "Not likely that same, sir, asking your pardon for being so bold, but women don't go to sea at times like these." "We must search the ship and report."