Part 88

"Zis ees ze naval Waterloo!" whispered a veteran of the Crimean War.

It was 10.50 o'clock. The Kearsarge had been steaming out to sea, but now she wheeled. She was seven miles from shore and one and one-quarter miles from her opponent. She steered directly for her, as if to ram her and crush through her side. The Alabama sheered off and presented her starboard battery. The Kearsarge came on, rapidly, and--at 10.57 was about eighteen hundred yards from her enemy--then--Crash! Roar! A broadside thundered from the Confederate privateer, while the solid shot screamed through the rigging of the Yankee man-of-war.

On! On! came Captain Winslow's gallant craft, while a second and a third broadside crashed into her. The rigging tore and swayed, but she was little injured. She was now within nine hundred yards.

"Sheer! Sheer!" cried the Union Commander.

The Kearsarge spun off and broke her long silence with the starboard battery. Crash! Roar! the shells pounded around the great privateer, and, with a full head of steam, the corsair of the Southern Confederacy swept onward. Crash! Roar! she answered with shell, and the bursting iron shivered the foremast of her doughty opponent.

Captain Winslow was fearful that the enemy would make for the shore, so he spun over his helm to port in the endeavor to run under the Alabama's stern and rake her. But she sheered off, kept her broadside to him, and pounded away like a pugilist. The ships were a quarter of a mile (440 yards) away from each other. They were circling around in a wide arc, plugging away as fast as they could load. The spectators cheered, for it was as good a show as they had ever witnessed.

"Eet ees fine!" said the veteran of the Crimea. "Eet remin' me of ze battaile at Balaklava!"

Suddenly a wild cheer rose from the deck of the United States cruiser. A shot had struck the spanker-gaff on the enemy and her ensign had come down on the run.

"Hurray!" shouted the seamen. "That means we'll win, sure!"

The fallen ensign re-appeared at the mizzen, while firing from the Alabama became rapid and wild. The gunners of the Kearsarge had been cautioned against shooting without direct aim, and had been told to point their heavy guns below, rather than above the water-line.

Captain Winslow was busy with his orders.

"Clear the enemy's deck with the light guns!" he shouted. "Sink the Confederate with the heavy iron!"

Cheer succeeded cheer from his sailors. Caps were thrown into the air, or overboard. Jackets were tossed aside. Now, certain of victory, the men were shouting wildly, as each projectile took effect.

"That's a good one!"

"Down, boys, down!"

"Give her another like the last!"

"Now--we have her!"

The vessels continued to swing around each other in wide circles, and--at this moment--a sixty-eight pound Blakely shell passed through the starboard bulwarks of the Kearsarge below the main rigging, exploded on the quarter-deck, and wounded three of the crew of the after pivot-gun. The three unfortunate men were speedily taken below, but the act was done so quietly, that--at the termination of the fight--a large number of the crew were unaware that any of their comrades were injured.

Two shots now crashed through the port-holes occupied by the thirty-two pounders; one exploded in the hammock-netting; the other shrieked through the opposite port; yet no one was hurt. Fire blazed from the deck; the alarm calling for fire-quarters was sounded, and the men who had been detailed for this emergency put it out. The rest stayed at the guns.

The eleven-inch shells were doing terrible execution upon the quarter-deck of the Alabama. Three of them crashed into the eight-inch pivot-gun port; the first swept off the forward part of the gun's crew; the second killed one man and wounded several others; the third struck the breast of the gun-carriage and spun around on the deck until one of the men picked it up and threw it overboard. The ship was careening heavily to starboard, while the decks were covered with the dead and dying. A shell plunged into the coal bunker and a dense cloud of coal dust arose. Crippled and torn, the hulking privateer began to settle by the stern. Her guns still spat and growled, and her broadsides were going wild. She was fast weakening.

"Any one who silences that after pivot-gun will get one hundred dollars!" cried Captain Semmes, as he saw the fearful accuracy of its fire.

Crash! a whole broadside from the privateer spat at this particular piece. It was in vain.

Around and around circled the belching Kearsarge. Seven times she had swooped about the weakening gladiator of the sea, and her fire was more and more accurate. She was like a great eagle closing in for a deaththrust. Captain Semmes was in a desperate situation.

"Hoist the fore-trysail and jibs!" he called out above the din of cannon. "Head for the French coast!"

As the sailors scrambled to obey, the Alabama presented her port battery to the Kearsarge. She showed gaping sides and only two guns were bearing.

At this moment the chief engineer came up on the deck of the privateer.

"The fires are all out and the engines will not work!" he reported to Captain Semmes.

The doughty seaman turned to his chief executive officer, Mr. Kell.