Her masts and yards prostrate, and hanging in jack-straws; several of her sails ballooning out, as they dragged in the sea, like great lopped tops of foliage.

The black hull and shattered stumps of masts, galled and riddled, looked as if gigantic woodpeckers had been tapping them.
The Drake was the larger ship; more cannon; more men.

Her loss in killed and wounded was far the greater.

Her brave captain and lieutenant were mortally wounded.
The former died as the prize was boarded, the latter two days after.
It was twilight, the weather still severe.

No cannonade, naught that mad man can do, molests the stoical imperturbability of Nature, when Nature chooses to be still.