I can't make out the colours, but I don't think they're English." "They're not English, yer honor," Tim said confidently, "or they would soon make an end of them varmint that's tormenting them." The scene, as the boats approached, was very exciting.

The three ships were pouring their broadsides, without intermission, into the pirate fleet.

This consisted of vessels of all sizes, from the Jupitre and Restoration, down to large rowing galleys.

Although many were sunk, and more greatly damaged by the fire of the Dutch, they swarmed round the great ships with wonderful tenacity; and, while the larger vessels fought their guns against those of the men-of-war, the smaller ones kept close to them, avoiding as much as possible their formidable broadsides, but keeping up a perpetual musketry fire at their bulwarks and tops, throwing stink pots, and shooting burning arrows through the ports; and getting alongside under the muzzles of the guns, and trying to climb up into the ports.
The four newly arrived craft joined in the fray.
"This is mighty unpleasant, yer honor," Tim said, as a shot from one of the Dutch men-of-war struck the craft they were in, crashing a hole through her bulwarks, and laying five or six of her crew upon the deck, killed or wounded by the splinters.

"Here we are, in the middle of a fight in which we've no consarn whatever, and which is carried on without asking our will or pleasure; and we are as likely to be killed by a Christian shot, as these hathen niggers.
"Hear them yell, yer honor.