"I'm hurted bad, Bill," he said. "But go on and fight; leave me alone; egad, you've whipped 'em." Sure enough, the firing had now slackened. Four or five of the boats had retreated beyond gun shot. _They were all that could do so unaided._ "Cease firing!" ordered Captain Reid, hastening about the deck. "Cease firing here! They have given up. Where is Mr. Johnson?" he roared, pushing his way into a group of men who were about to reload one of the nine-pounders. He had to cuff his way amongst them to make them desist. "Where is Mr. Johnson?" he repeated. "He's wounded, sir." "And Mr. Worth is wounded too, sir," put in another man. "I helped him below myself." As suddenly as the action had begun it had ended. By the light of a lantern Captain Reid glanced at his watch. It was forty minutes since the first gun had been fired. He looked about his decks. Although they were littered with loose running-gear, handspikes, cutlasses, and muskets, at the sight his heart gave a great bound of joy. There were no mangled figures or pools of slippery blood. It seemed hardly possible. But from the wreckage in the water came groans and cries. He looked over the side. There lay, rocking, two broken boats filled with huddled figures, some moving weakly. "Here!" he shouted to some of the men. "Bear a hand; save all we can." It was a sudden transition, this, from taking life to saving it; but the men turned to with a will. In one of the boats twelve dead bodies were found, and but seventeen of her crew had escaped with their lives, and they were all badly wounded. Of the four hundred men who had commenced that bold attack, only one-half returned to the ships unhurt. Reid hurried down into the cockpit. It seemed past believing. _But two of his men, including the brave Williams, had been killed, and but seven wounded!_ This is history. But a sight he saw attracted the Captain's attention. It was Bill Copeland sitting on the deck, with his arms about a pale figure whose head lay in Copeland's lap. The resemblance between the men was striking. "What have we here?" asked Captain Reid. "My brother, sir," Copeland returned. "Your brother!" "Aye, sir; from the _Plantaganet_. He was the only one who got on board of us!" The man spoke with an accent of pride, and the wounded one opened his eyes. "Bill, here, he hauled me on board," he said. When the surgeon found time to attend to Copeland's wounds, he pronounced them not to be of a dangerous character, and the man was soon made comfortable.