Iberville let his ship drift on her path, intent on a hand-to-hand fight aboard the Bridgwater Merchant; the grappling-irons were ready, and as they drifted there was silence.
Every eye was strained.

Suddenly a shape sprang out of the grey mist, and the Maid of Provence struck.

There was a crash of timbers as the bows of the Swallow--it was she--were stove in, and then a wild cry.
Instantly she began to sink.

The grappling-irons remained motionless on the Maid of Provence.

Iberville heard a commanding voice, a cheer, and saw a dozen figures jump from the shattered bow towards the bow of his own ship intent on fighting, but all fell short save one.