How their death-bolts howled and stung! So the battle raged and roared." We were now at the second period of the fight, when success seemed trembling in the scales. The Hartford and her mate had reached about a mile beyond the fort and the same distance in advance of most of the fleet, which were still under the guns of the fort. Had the ram kept on, it could have hardly failed to sink us, as our shot glanced harmlessly from its side, and we were unable, on account of the narrow channel, to move out of its way. But, for some reason, the rebel admiral changed his course, and made for the fleet at the fort. Perhaps the water between us was too shallow, or perhaps he thought us an easy prey for his leisure, and considered it more important to prevent other vessels from getting inside. Whatever the reason, his course was changed, and we were safe. Our greatest annoyance now was from the three rebel gun-boats, particularly from the Selma, which was handled with great ability. Three times Captain Jouett, commanding our light-draught consort, the Metacomet, the fastest vessel in the fleet, requested permission from the Admiral to leave us and tackle the Selma, but the Admiral replied "Wait a little longer." But finally we emerged from the narrow channel into the deep water of the bay, and then the desired order was given. Already men had been stationed with sharp axes, ready to cut the cables which bound the two ships together, and the Admiral had hardly waved his hand to Captain Jouett before the ropes were severed, and, as the crew gave three hearty cheers, the Metacomet darted forward after the Selma. The latter did not care to wait, but endeavored to escape up the bay. A brisk chase ensued, but the Metacomet was too much for her adversary, and, when one of her shots wounded the captain and killed the first lieutenant, a speedy surrender followed, and in half an hour Jouett returned with the saucy little rebel in tow. Meantime, the guns of the Hartford had crippled the Gaines, and she was run aground near Fort Morgan, deserted, and set on fire. The other gun-boat, the Morgan, which had kept at a safe distance during the fight, retreated under the guns of Fort Morgan. And the great ram, after making an unsuccessful effort to sink or injure any of the Union vessels, and after receiving a heavier blow from the Monongahela than it had inflicted, also retired to the fort. The other vessels of the fleet, each with its own special record of bravery, followed the Hartford past the fort and joined us in the bay. The roar of the battle was now over; the fleet came to anchor, and preparations were made to give the hungry men some breakfast. Those of us who had been perched aloft came down on deck, and, as if by a general understanding, the officers of the Hartford who could be spared from immediate duty hastened to the ward-room to ascertain how it had fared with their messmates. One, Ensign Heginbotham, of the Admiral's staff, was mortally wounded. Lieutenant Adams was slightly wounded; all the rest had escaped unhurt. Of the crew, nineteen mangled bodies were lying in a ghastly row on the port side of the deck, and some thirty wounded were being cared for below. The first thought was of wonder and thankfulness that of the eighteen officers of the ward-room but one was fatally hurt. Each had a story of marvelous escapes to tell, and there was a general and hearty hand-shaking, as after a long separation. We were just beginning to feel the reaction following such a season of extreme peril and excitement, when we were brought to our senses by the sharp, penetrating voice of executive officer Kimberly calling all hands to quarters, and a messenger-boy hurried down to us with the word, "The ram is coming." Every man hastened to his post, the writer to the quarter-deck, where the Admiral and fleet-captain were standing. The cause of the new excitement was evident at once. The Tennessee, as if ashamed of her failure, had left the fort and was making at full speed directly for the Hartford, being then perhaps a mile and a half distant. The spectacle was a grand one, and was viewed by the rebel soldiers in both forts, who were now out of range of our guns and lined the walls. Few audiences have ever witnessed so imposing a sight. The great ram came on for a single-handed contest with the fleet. She was believed to be invulnerable, and had powerful double engines by which she could be easily handled, while our monitors were so slowgaited that they were unable to offer any serious obstacle to her approach. Farragut himself seemed to place his chief dependence on his wooden vessels. Doubtless the crowd of Confederate soldiers who watched the fight expected to see the Tennessee sink the Yankee vessels in detail, and the chances wished to order the whole fleet to attack the ram, but to do this by the cumbrous naval code of signaling would occupy some moments of valuable time. It would be necessary first to send up to the mizzen-peak a signal-flag calling the attention of the fleet, and when this was answered (by each vessel sending up and hauling down a flag), a set of signals followed, each flag representing an arbitrary number, the meaning of which was ascertained by consulting the signal-book. The army signal service, on the contrary, consists in telegraphing by motions of a flag to the right and left, and is as rapid and instantaneous as sight, or the electric telegraph. So, while the quartermaster was preparing to send up the flags for the general order, the Admiral desired me to use the army code in starting the fastest and most formidable vessels. This hardly required as many seconds as the other method did minutes, with the advantage of saying precisely what was wanted. For example, the Admiral said: "Order Captain Strong, of the Monongahela, to run down the ram." The nearest approach to the message by naval signal would have been a special one, prepared and entered in the signal books for this occasion, namely: "Destroy the enemy's principal vessel by running her down"; which would have required precious moments to transmit and translate. The Monongahela was lying, with all steam up, on our port quarter, perhaps an eighth of a mile distant. Facing toward her, I made the letter "M," her call, which was instantly responded to by the signal officer on board, for every eye in the fleet was on the flag-ship, waiting for instructions. To send the message: Capt. S.-Run down ram.-Ad. F.," took less than twenty seconds, and before the signal officer had finished acknowledging the message, we could see the Monongahela moving forward, not waiting to raise her anchor, but slipping her cable. The same message followed to Captain Marchand, of the Lackawanna, and to the monitor. Meanwhile, the general signal, "Attack the enemy," had gone up to the peak of the Hartford, and there followed a general slipping of cables and a friendly rivalry to see which could quickest meet the foe. The Monongahela, with her artificial iron prow, was bravely in the lead, and struck the rebel craft amidships at full speed, doing no damage to the ram, but having her own iron prow destroyed and being otherwise injured. Next came 66 the Lackawanna, with a like result. The huge iron frame of the Tennessee scarcely felt the shock, while the wooden bow of the Union ship was badly demoralized. For an instant, the two vessels swung head and stern alongside of each other. In his official cial report, Captain Marchand naïvely remarks: "A few of the enemy were seen through their ports, who were using most opprobrious language. Our marines opened on them with muskets; even a spittoon and a holystone were thrown at them from our deck, which drove them away." The Tennessee fired two shots through her bow, and then kept on for the Hartford. The two flag-ships approached each other bow to bow. The two admirals, Farragut and Buchanan, had entered our navy together as boys, and up to the outbreak of the war had been warm friends.* But now each was hoping for the overthrow of the other, and had Buchanan possessed the grit of Farragut, it is probable that moment would have witnessed the destruction of both vessels. For had the ram struck us square, as it came, bows on, it would have plowed its way half through the Hartford, and, as we sank, we should have carried it to the bottom, unable to extricate itself. But the rebel admiral was not desirous of so much glory, and, just as the two vessels were meeting, the course of the Tennessee was slightly changed, enough to strike us only a glancing blow on the port bow, which left us uninjured, while the two vessels grated past each other. He tried to sink us with a broadside as he went by, but only one of his guns went off, the primers in all the others failing. That gun sent a In a letter to the Hon. Gideon Welles, Secreofficial thanks of the Department and of the Governtary of the Navy, acknowledging the receipt of the ment for the success at Mobile Bay, Farragut writes of Buchanan: "He, though a rebel and traitor to the government that had raised and educated him, and no one knew him better or appreciated his had always been considered one of its ablest officers, capacity more highly than myself, and, I may add, felt more proud of overcoming him in such a contest, if for no other reason than to prove to the world that ramming and sinking a helpless frigate at her anchor is a very different affair from ramming steamers when handled by officers of good capacity." It is worth mentioning, that the officer sent in command of the guard for the captured Tennessee was Captain Heywood, of the marine corps, who was one of the survivors of the frigate Cumberland, sunk by Buchanan in Hampton Roads. Although a modest and unassuming gentleman, Captain Heywood could not resist the opportunity of informing the rebel admiral that they had met before, and that he, at least, was exceedingly glad of the second meeting. shell through the berth-deck, above the water-line, killing five men and wounding eight, the last hostile shot which has ever touched the Hartford. The muzzle of the gun was so close that the powder blackened the ship's side. The Hartford gave the ram a salute from ten heavy guns, each loaded with thirteen pounds of powder and a solid shot, but the balls merely dented her side and bounded into the air. The scene on the Hartford during the moment of contact was of intense excitement. The Admiral coolly stood on the port quarter-rail, holding to the mizzen rigging, from which, at one time, he almost could have jumped to the deck of the ram. Flag-Lieutenant Watson, seeing him in this exposed position, secured him to the rigging by a rope's-end with his own hands; so that during the day he was twice "lashed to the rigging." As the ships came together, Captain Drayton ran to the bow of the Hartford, and, as the ram sheered off to avoid striking a square blow, he shook his lorgnette at it, and exclaimed, "The cowardly rascal; he's afraid of a wooden ship!" The Tennessee now became the target for the whole fleet, all the vessels of which were making toward it, pounding it with shot, and trying to run it down. As the Hartford turned to make for it again, we ran in front of the Lackawanna, which had already turned and was moving under full headway with the same object. She struck us on our starboard side, amidships, crushing half-way through, knocking two port-holes into one, upsetting two Dahlgren guns, and creating general consternation. For a time it was thought that we must sink, and the cry rang out over the deck: "Save the Admiral! save the Admiral!" The port boats were ordered lowered, and in their haste some of the sailors cut the "falls" and two of the cutters dropped into the water wrong side up, and floated astern. But the Admiral, nearly as cool as ever, sprang into the starboard mizzen-rigging, looked over the side of the ship, and, finding there was still a few inches to spare above the water's edge, instantly ordered the ship ahead again at full speed, after the ram. The unfortunate Lackawanna, which had struck the ram a second blow, was making for her once more, and, singularly enough, again came up on our starboard side, and another collision seemed imminent. And now the Admiral became a trifle excited. He had no idea of whipping the rebels to be himself sunk by a friend. "Can you say, 'For God's sake' by signal ?" he inquired. "Yes, sir," was the reply. "Then say to the Lackawanna, ' For God's sake get out of our way and anchor!"" In my haste to send the message, I brought the end of my signal flag-staff down with considerable violence upon the head of the Admiral, who was standing nearer than I thought, causing him to wince perceptibly, but I could not apologize until I finished signaling. It was a hasty message, for the fault was as much with the Hartford as with the Lackawanna, each being too eager to reach the enemy, and it turned out all right, by a fortunate accident, that Captain Marchand never received it. The army signal officer on the Lackawanna, Lieutenant Myron Adams (now pastor of Plymouth Congregational Church, in Rochester, N. Y.), had taken his station in the foretop, and, just as he received the first five words, the wind flirted the large United States flag at the mast-head around him, so that he was unable to read the remainder of the message. As he had found himself a target for the muskets of the marines on the ram, he concluded that the message was a personal one, directing him to "get out" of the top, and acted accordingly. The remainder of the story is soon told. The ram was unable to strike a single one of the Union vessels, while the concentration of fire upon it tore away everything except the solid iron. First, the rebel flagstaff fell; then the smoke-stack was shot away, and finally a well-placed shot from the monitor Chickasaw broke the rudderchain, so that the great ram would no longer mind the helm, and she lay like a huge monster at bay. Already a fifteen-inch solid shot from the Manhattan had crushed through the iron armor and let the daylight into her, and finally a shell exploded in one of her port-holes, and a fragment seriously wounded the rebel admiral. And then, up through the iron grating of her deck came a staff, bearing a white flag. The firing ceased, and from vessel after vessel of the victorious fleet rang out such cheers as are seldom heard and never forgotten-cheers which meant victory after a hard and very doubtful struggle. And, as the cheering ceased, a dim echo seem to come from below, where the wounded and dying, knowing the day was at last won, joined in the shouts of triumph, rejoiced that their sacrifice would not be in vain. So ended the fight. A LOBSTERMAN'S HOME AND IMPLEMENTS. the ordinary aspect of those taken in winter shows that their habits at this time differ little from what they are at any other. The migratory impulse seizes upon all about the same moment, and they come in in regular columns, the stronger members in the front, the weaker in the rear; and though there is hardly a more quarrelsome animal, whether at large or in a state of captivity, than the lobster, they postpone, for the time, the manifestation of their habitual temper. A straight line of sea-coast furnishes but a limited area of feeding-ground for the lobster, even should it contain the desirable kind of food. The bottom in such a coast gradually shelves for a moderate distance, but presently drops off into deep soundings. An indented coast is much more advantageous. So great a stretch of shoals and shallows as exists along the north-east of New England, from Yarmouth in Maine to Cape Sable, the lower point of Nova Scotia, will hardly be found elsewhere. It presents an endless series of promontories which have barely escaped being islands, and islands. which have barely escaped being promontories. With the innumerable resulting bays, coves, sounds, estuaries, and straits, hardly does the water deepen from one shore before it shoals again to another. As a consequence, the Maine coast has become the best lobster-fishing ground in the world, and the industry of taking and introducing the lobster into commerce has extended to great proportions. The awkward crustacean, when snared, is either sent fresh to market in smacks containing wells, or he is boiled at some central establishment, and sent in open crates, or, finally, he is put up in hermetically sealed cans. The first two processes continue all the year round, but a law of the State of Maine prohibits the canning of lobsters except between the first of March and the first of August. There are various theories about their unsuitableness for this purpose after August first. It does not seem to be quite clear whether the law is for the protection of the purchaser, to whom the flesh is said to be at times poisonous, or of the lobster, to prevent its too rapid destruction by indefatigable pursuit. The typical lobsterman lives at the bottom of a charming and remote cove. The |