t a light
or sign of life visible. The nerves of each of the brave crew were
strung to the highest tension, when the stillness was broken by the
barking of a dog. The canine, more vigilant than his masters, gave the
alarm, and instantly it seemed as if a hundred dogs were making night
hideous with their signals. Springing to their feet, the sentinels on
shore discerned the strange boat and challenged it. No reply was given;
a second challenge was made, and then a gun was fired. The guards seemed
to spring to life everywhere, more dogs barked, alarm rattles were
sprung, wood was thrown on the fires which flamed up, soldiers seized
their weapons and rushed to their places under the sharp commands of
their officers.

Cushing now called to the engineer to go ahead under full speed. At the
same moment, he cut the towline and ordered the men on the cutter to
return and capture the guard near the _Southfield_. The launch was
tearing through the water straight for the ram, when, for the first
time, Cushing became aware of the boom of logs which inclosed it. His
hope now was that these logs had become so slimy from lying long in the
water that it was possible for the launch to slip over them. With
wonderful coolness, he veered off for a hundred yards, so as to gain
sufficient headway, and then circled around and headed for the ram.

Standing erect at the bow, Cushing held himself ready to use the torpedo
the moment he could do so. A volley was fired, which riddled his coat
and tore off the heel of one of his shoes, but he did not falter. Then
followed the crisp snapping of the primers of the cannon, which showed
the immense guns had missed fire. Had they been discharged, the boat and
every man on it would have been blown to fragments.

"Jump from the ram!" shouted Cushing, as he rushed forward, with the
speed of a racehorse; "we're going to blow you up!"

The howitzer at the front of the launch was fired at that moment, and
then the boat slid over the logs, like a sleigh over the snow, carrying
the men directly in front of the gaping mouth of the 100-pounder
Armstrong.

The critical moment had come, and, crouching forward, Cushing shoved the
torpedo spar under the overhang, and waited till he felt it rise and
bump against the ship's bottom, when he jerked the trigger line. A
muffled, cavernous explosion was heard, the ram tilted partly over, and
an immense geyser spouted upward, filling the launch and swamping it.
The enor