“It’s that mad Frenchman, Landais,” cried Richard Dale, in a fury. “See, the signal is set,” pointing to the lights on the Richard’s side. “He cannot have mistaken us for the enemy.” The Alliance managed to dismount some guns and do the Richard considerable other damage before she silenced her fire, and hauled off once more. The fire from the Richard’s top had succeeded in clearing the Serapis above board; but her heavy guns on the lower deck were still pounding away in a most murderous fashion. The heavy lashings that Captain Jones had brought into use when the Richard’s bow touched the Serapis some time before were all that saved the former; had the Englishman managed to get free and been able to haul away, she could have sunk the American at her leisure. Under these conditions the battle continued to rage; hour after hour passed and still the bulldog Briton and the dauntless Yankee grappled in their death struggle, the red flare of the guns blazing paths of fire along the still waters of the sea. The pumps were still at work and the prisoners labored in relays; but the Richard sank lower and still lower in the water. Captain Jones was pounding away with two guns at the masts of the Serapis thinking to cripple her in this way and then secure a position in which he could rake her with his main deck battery. As this was proceeding Longsword plucked Dale by the sleeve. “Look there, on the main top.” Dale glanced upward, and saw Ethan Carlyle crawling out upon the yard. He had a ship’s bucket filled to the top with hand grenades; from the spar of the Richard he crept to that of the Serapis; when he reached a position directly over the deck of the British ship he paused and slung his bucket to the spar by a hook. [Illustration: _HE BEGAN TO THROW THE GRENADES_] Then he began to throw the grenades. There were but few men upon the deck of the Englishman, as has been said before, the musketry fire having driven most of them below; the grenades cleared these few away like magic; and then Ethan began to throw his explosives into the hatches. As fate would have it some loose powder upon the lower gun deck of the Serapis caught, and an instant later a sheet of flame went up, followed by the roar of a terrific explosion. A panic seized the crew of the Englishman; they rushed upon the deck throwing down their arms and crying for quarter. Ethan came down the ratlines of the Serapis like a flash, just as Richard Dale swung himself from a broken brace upon the quarter-deck, and the English captain with his own hands hauled down his flag. “Have you struck?” asked the gallant first officer of the Richard. “I have,” answered Captain Pearson. No sooner had the words been spoken than a man with a blood-stained bandage swathed about his head sprang upon deck; he had a sword in his hand and his fierce face was black with powder smoke and smeared with blood. “The officer below inquires if the enemy has surrendered,” he said to Captain Pearson.