Retribution (part II) Battle joined

Whistles shrilled and broadsides thundered,
every cannon to a tee.
Wave crests backs were broken
from the weight of iron free.

The French two-decker shuddered,
her waterline shot through.
Her mizzen gone, the deck awash,
timber and rigging flew.

"Stop yer vents, sponge out, reload,"
the gun crews captains drilled.
"It's an extra tot for the first gun out,
we'll drink to French blood spilled."

The sea beside the two-decker boiled,
as cannon shot tore asunder.
From beakhead to her taffrail,
grapeshot seemed to plunder.

The Frigate swept passed the Frenchie,
her course altered not one degree.
They'd make their last shot count,
on an uproll of the sea.

For the Frenchmens deck; it was hell on earth,
littered with the dead.
And for those with eyes to witness,
they saw the scuppers running red.