from the pilot-house:

"Captain Gorman is killed!"

I ascended to the hurricane deck, and thence to the pilot-house. The
pilot, with his hat thrown aside and his hair streaming in the wind,
stood at his post, carefully guiding the boat on her course. The body
of the captain was lying at his feet. Another man lay dying, close by
the opening in which the wheel revolved. The floor was covered with
blood, splinters, glass, and the fragments of a shattered stove.
One side of the little room was broken in, and the other side was
perforated where the projectiles made their exit.

The first gun from the Rebels threw a shell which entered the side of
the pilot-house, and struck the captain, who was sitting just behind
the pilot. Death must have been instantaneous. A moment later, a
"spherical-case shot" followed the shell. It exploded as it struck
the wood-work, and a portion of the contents entered the side of the
bar-keeper of the boat. In falling to the floor he fell against the
wheel. The pilot, steering the boat with one hand, pulled the dying
man from the wheel with the other, and placed him by the side of the
dead captain.

Though, apparently, the pilot was as cool and undisturbed as ever, his
face was whiter than usual. He said the most trying moment of all was
soon after the first shots were fired. Wishing to "round the bend" as
speedily as possible, he rang the bell as a signal to the engineer to
check the speed of one of the wheels. The signal was not obeyed, the
engineers having fled to places of safety. He rang the bell once more.
He shouted down the speaking-tube, to enforce compliance with his
order.

There was no answer. The engines were caring for themselves. The boat
must be controlled by the rudder alone. With a dead man and a
dying man at his feet, with the Rebel shot and shell every moment
perforating the boat or falling near it, and with no help from those
who should control the machinery, he felt that his position was a
painful one.

We were out of danger. An hour later we found the gun-boat _Neosho_,
at anchor, eight miles further up the stream. Thinking we might again
be attacked, the commander of the _Neosho_ offered to convoy us to
Red River. We accepted his offer. As soon as the _Neosho_ raised
sufficient steam to enable her to move, we proceeded on our course.

Order was restored on the _Von Phul_. Most of the passengers gathered
in little groups, and talked about the recent occurrence. I r