_Connecticut_ and at her mastheads waved the
tattered Stars and Stripes. The few gunners, who had served the guns to
the end, crept out of the turrets and worked their way up over broken
steps. There were fifty-seven of them, all that remained of the proud
squadron. Three cheers for their country came from the parched throats
of these last heroes of the _Connecticut_. "Three cheers for the United
States!" Admiral Perry drew his sword, and "Hurrah" it rang once more
across the water to the ships sailing under the flag which bore the
device of a crimson Rising Sun on a white field. There memories of the
old days of the Samurai knighthood were aroused, and a signal appeared
on the rear top mast of the _Satsuma_, whereupon all six battleships
lowered their flags as a last tribute to a brave enemy.

Then the _Connecticut_ listed heavily to starboard, and the next wave
could not raise the heavy ship, bleeding from a thousand wounds. It sank
and sank, and while Admiral Perry held fast to a bit of railing and
waited with moist eyes for the end, the words of the old "Star-Spangled
Banner," which had been heard more than once in times of storm and
peril, rang out from the deck of the _Connecticut_. Then, with her flag
waving to the last, the admiral's flag-ship sank slowly beneath the
waves, leaving a bloody glow behind her. That was the end.

_Chapter XI_

CAPTAIN WINSTANLEY

Captain Winstanley slowly opened his eyes and stared at the low ceiling
of his cabin on the white oil-paint of which the sunbeams, entering
through the porthole, were painting numerous circles and quivering
reflections. Slowly he began to collect his thoughts. Could it have been
a dream or the raving of delirium? He tried to raise himself on his
narrow bed, but fell back as he felt a sharp pain. There was no mistake
about the pain--that was certainly real. What on earth had happened? He
asked himself this question again and again as he watched the thousands
of circles and quivering lines drawn by the light on the ceiling.

Winstanley stared about him and suddenly started violently. Then it was
all real, a terrible reality? Yes, for there sat his friend Longstreet
of the _Nebraska_ with his back against the wall of the cabin, in a
dripping wet uniform, fast asleep.

"Longstreet!" he called.

His friend awoke and stared at him in astonishment.

"Longstreet, did it all really happen, or have I been dreaming?"

No answer.

"Longstreet," he b