uage of the
Liverpool _Courrier_: "Down under the French waters, resting on the bed
of the ocean, lies the gallant Alabama, with all her guns aboard, and
some of her brave crew, waiting until the sea yields up its dead."

Mounted on the summit of an old church tower, a photographic artist
obtained a good negative of the contest. An excursion train from Paris
arrived Sunday morning, bringing hundreds of pleasure-seekers who were
unexpectedly favored by the spectacle of a sea-fight. The events of the
day monopolized the conversation of Parisian society for more than a
week.

This grand artillery duel, or Sunday gladiatorial combat, occurred in
the presence of more than fifteen thousand spectators, who upon the
heights of Cherbourg, the breakwater, and rigging of men-of-war,
witnessed "the last of the Alabama." Among them were the captains and
crews of two merchant ships burnt by the daring rover a few days before
her arrival at Cherbourg. Their excitement during the combat was
intense, and their expressions of joy to the victors at the result, such
as only those who had suffered from the depredations of the Alabama
could give utterance to. Many were desirous to go on board the Kearsarge
to participate in the action, but so strictly was the neutrality law
observed, no intercourse was allowed.

The Alabama's wounded were brought on board the Kearsarge for surgical
attendance. Seventy persons, including five officers, were saved by the
boats. The conduct of Dr. Llewellyn, native of Wales, Assistant Surgeon
of the Alabama, deserves mention. He was unremitting in attention to the
wounded during the battle, and after the surrender, superintended their
removal to the Kearsarge, nobly refusing to leave the ship while one
remained. This humane duty performed, with inability to swim, he caused
two empty shell boxes to be attached to his waist, an improvised
life-preserver, and thus prepared leaped overboard. In the hurried
adjustment of the shell boxes, sufficient care was not taken to maintain
the center of gravity, the unfortunate gentleman failed to keep his head
above water, and before aid could be derived from his struggling
comrades, he was dead.

At 3.10 P.M. the Kearsarge anchored in Cherbourg harbor; the wounded
were transferred the same evening to the Hopital de la Marine, and all
the prisoners, officers excepted, were paroled and set on shore before
sunset. The crew of both vessels harmonized after the fight, the
co