reach him; so close to land that any
fleet trying to flank him would come within range of the forts; and left
only one apparent gap that a foe might try to use, a gap in front
of which was a dangerous sunken reef. This was indeed a baited trap.
Finally he put out cables, kedges, anchors, and springs, so that with
the capstan he could turn his vessels and bring either side to bear on
the foe.

All was ready, that morning of September the 11th as the British fleet,
ably handled, swung around the Cumberland Head.

The young commander of the Yankee fleet now kneeled bareheaded with his
crew and prayed to the God of Battles as only those going into battle
pray. The gallant foe came on, and who that knows him doubts that he,
too, raised his heart in reverent prayer? The first broadside from the
British broke open a chicken coop on the Saratoga from which a game-cock
flew, and, perching on a gun, flapped his wings and crowed; so all the
seamen cheered at such a happy omen.

Then followed the fighting, with its bravery and its horrors--its
brutish wickedness broke loose.

Early in the action, the British sloop, Finch, fell into MacDonough's
trap and grounded on the reef.

The British commander was killed, with many of his officers. Still,
the heavy fire of the guns would have given them the victory, but for
MacDonough's foresight in providing for swinging his ships. When one
broadside was entirely out of action, he used his cables, kedges and
springs, and brought the other batteries to bear.

It was one of the most desperate naval fights the world has ever seen.
Of the three hundred men on the British flagship not more than five, we
are told, escaped uninjured; and at the close there was not left on any
one of the eight vessels a mast that could carry sail, or a sail that
could render service. In less than two hours and a half the fight was
won, and the British fleet destroyed.

To the God of Battles each had committed his cause: and the God of
Battles had spoken.

Far away to the southward in the boats were the Vermont troops with
their general and Rolf in the foremost. Every sign of the fight they had
watched as men whose country's fate is being tried.

It was a quarter after eleven when the thunder died away; and the
Vermonters were headed on shore, for a hasty landing, if need be, when
down from the peak of the British flag-ship went the Union Jack, and the
Stars and Stripes was hauled to take its place.

"Tha