ely with his glass, and he had informed the
captain that something was in progress there, though he could not tell
what it was.

Christy certainly felt very anxious, and he could not help asking
himself whether or not he was engaged in a foolhardy enterprise in
attacking the fort. His orders related only to the steamer that was
loading in the bay, and he had been warned in his instructions to take
the fort into consideration in his operations. He felt that he had given
proper attention to the fort, inasmuch as he had disabled all its guns.
He might have simply blockaded the entrance to the Pass; but he might
have stayed in the offing a month before she ventured to come out. He
was still willing to believe that he had not overstepped his orders.

"And a quarter three!" cried the leadsman.

"Make the course north-west, Mr. Flint," said Christy, following the
sailing directions with a proper allowance for the tide. "No more
sounding; send the man below. We shall have from three to seven fathoms
of water till we have passed the fort."

The Bronx continued to dart ahead at her best speed, and no sound came
from the fort. It was only a question of minutes now before the steamer
reached a point inside of the island where she could accomplish her
mission by the capture of the Sphinx. The officers remained on deck, but
they were protected by the bulwarks, the masts, and especially under the
shelter of the top-gallant forecastle. Christy had earnestly warned the
second and third lieutenants not to expose themselves needlessly to the
musketry of the fort, and Mr. Flint was discreet enough to need no such
warning.

"Soldiers on the fort, sir!" shouted Vincent, when the Bronx was within
less than a quarter of a mile of the works.

Christy and the first lieutenant sprang from the shelter where they had
been waiting the passage of the fort, and rushed up the steps to the
bridge. The commander of the force on shore, with half a dozen men, was
at work on one of the guns on the barbette; but it was impossible to
make out what they were doing. Then there was a flash, a cloud of
smoke went up, and a shot crashed into the deck directly under the
pilot-house, tearing up the planks, and disappearing in the space below.

"Wheel disabled, sir!" shouted the quartermaster.

"Beat to quarters, Mr. Flint!" said Christy, trying to make out what
mischief had been done by the shot; but he could only see that it had
cut the wheel ropes.

"St