The five hours must pass at last, and the vessel which first floated would win the day.
The five hours did pass, and the Henry floated, and Bonnet swore louder and more fiercely than before.

He roared to his men to fire and to fight, no matter whether they were still aground or not, and with many oaths he vowed that if any one of them showed but a sign of weakening he would cut him down upon the spot.

But the hairy scoundrels who made up the crew of the Royal James had no idea of lying there with their ship on its side, while two other ships--for the Sea Nymph was now afloat--should sail around them, rake their decks, and shatter them to pieces.

So the crew consulted together, despite their captain's roars and oaths, and many of them counselled surrender.

Their vessel was much farther inshore than the two others, and no matter what happened afterward they preferred to live longer than fifteen or twenty minutes.
But Bonnet quailed not before fate, before the enemy, or before his crew; if he heard another word of surrender he would fire the magazine and blow the ship to the sky with every man in it.