“What ship is that?” The reply was immediately returned: “It is the American Continental ship Ranger. We are waiting for you. The sun is but little more than an hour from setting. It is therefore time to begin.” The Drake was astern of the Ranger. Jones ordered the helm up, and as his vessel rounded to, discharged a full broadside into the thronged decks of the Drake. The iron storm crashed through timbers and bones and quivering nerves with terrible destruction. But the spirit of war can never arrest its energies to compassionate its victims. The guns of the Drake were loaded and shotted, and the gunners stood, with lighted torches, at their posts. Instantly the fire was returned, while the dead were left in their blood, and the wounded were hurried to the cockpit, to writhe beneath the cuttings of the surgeon’s knife. Thus, for an hour and four minutes, the dreadful conflict continued. The thunders of the exploding guns, booming over the waves, echoed along the shores of England, Scotland, and Ireland. The British Government dreamed not that its feeble colonies could do anything more than present a brief and totally unavailing resistance behind frail ramparts, suddenly thrown up, three thousand miles away, on the other side of the Atlantic. And yet here were those colonies putting forth energies which were burning ships in England’s home harbors, and bombarding her frigates in her own Channel. At the close of an hour and four minutes of as obstinate a naval battle as could be fought, the Drake dropped her flag and cried for quarter. Her fore and main-topsail yards were both cut away, and hung down on the cap. The top-gallant yard and mizzen gaff were also torn from their fastenings and were dangling against the mast. The first flag had been shot away. They had raised a second. That also had fallen before the incessant storm of iron hail, and was draggling in the water. Her masts and yards were all more or less shattered, while the main-mast was so seriously wounded as to be in danger of falling. The jib was shot away, and, held by the cordage, was floating on the waves. The hull was pierced in many places, shivered and splintered by the balls. Upon entering the captured ship an appalling spectacle met the eye. A hundred and ninety men had crowded it, in the full assurance of victory. Of these, forty-two were either killed or wounded. A musket-ball had pierced the brain of the captain, and he lay weltering in blood, silent in death. The first lieutenant had also been struck by a mortal wound, and was in death’s convulsions.