e fleet of the Confederacy moved down through the
blinding vapors of their own fires and boldly attacked the on-coming
hosts. Friend could scarcely be told from foe.

A game little Confederate tug stuck her nose into a fire-ship, pushed it
squarely against Farragut's _Hartford_ and slipped between his guns in
the smoke and flame unharmed. The Flagship ran aground. Her sailors
bravely stuck to their post and from their pumps threw a deluge of water
on the flames and extinguished them. The engines of the _Hartford_,
working with all their might, pulled her off the shore under her own
steam. The _Louisiana_, the new gunboat of the Confederacy, had been
pressed into service with but two of her guns working--but she was of
little use and became unmanageable.

Captain Kennon, the gallant Confederate commander of the _Governor
Moore_, found that the bow of his ship interfered with the aim of his
gunners.

"Lower your muzzle and blow the bow of your ship away!"

The big gun dipped its black mouth and blew the bow of his own ship to
splinters and through the opening poured shot after shot into the
Federal fleet. Kennon fired his last shot at point-blank range, turned
the broken nose of his ship ashore and blew her up.

For an hour and a half the two desperate foes wrestled with each other
amid flame and smoke and darkness. As the first blush of dawn mantled
the eastern sky the conflict slowly died away.

Three of Farragut's gunboats had been driven back and one sunk, but his
fleet had done the immortal deed. Battered and riddled with shots, they
had passed the forts successfully. As the sun rose on the beautiful
spring morning he lifted his battle flags and steamed up the river.

New Orleans, the commercial capital of the South, the largest export
city of the world, lay on the horizon in silent shimmering beauty, a
priceless treasure, at his mercy.

Speechless crowds of thousands thronged the streets. The small garrison
had been withdrawn and the city left to its fate. The marines stood
statue-like before the City Hall, their bayonets glittering in the
sunlight. Not a breath of wind stirred. In dead, ominous silence the
flag of the South was lowered from its staff and the flag of the Union
raised in its old place.

There was one man among the thousands who saw this flag with a cry of
joy. Judge Roger Barton, Jr., had braved the scorn of his neighbors
through good report and evil report, holding their respect by the she