you sank the _Hatteras_! In
the meantime you have been all over the world, and it is not too much
to say that you have destroyed, and driven for protection under
neutral flags, one-half of the enemy's commerce, which, at the
beginning of the war, covered every sea. This is an achievement of
which you may well be proud, and a grateful country will not be
unmindful of it. The name of your ship has become a household word
wherever civilization extends! Shall that name be tarnished by defeat?
The thing is impossible! Remember that you are in the English Channel,
the theatre of so much of the naval glory of our race, and that the
eyes of all Europe are, at this moment, upon you. The flag that floats
over you is that of a young Republic, which bids defiance to her
enemies whenever and wherever found! Show the world that you know how
to uphold it! Go to your quarters!"

A wild yell had greeted these stirring expressions.

The shore was black with people, for the word had been passed around
that the two sea-warriors were to grapple in deadly embrace. Even a
special train had come from Paris to bring the sober townsfolk to
Cherbourg, where they could view the contest. They were chattering
among themselves, like a flock of magpies.

"Voila!" said a fair damsel, whose eyes were fairly shining with
excitement. "Oh, I hope zat ze beeg gray fellow weel win."

She meant the _Alabama_, for the Confederates dressed in that sober
color.

"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
private