midshipman standing at his side, and said gayly, "Well, we have
whipped that ship, at any rate." A flash from the bow of the
Englishman followed; and he added, "No: there she is again." The
midshipman turned to reply, and saw Howell stretched dead at his feet,
killed by the last shot of the battle.

[Illustration: The "President" tries to escape.]

The enemy was now helpless, and it would have been easy enough for the
"President" to choose her position and compel her adversary to strike;
but the presence of two more Englishmen, rapidly coming up astern,
forced the Americans to abandon their prey and continue their flight.
It was then late in the evening, and the night was dark and starless.
Every light was extinguished on the American frigate, in the hope that
by so doing she might slip away under cover of the night. But the
British lookouts were sharp-eyed; and by eleven o'clock two frigates
had closed in on the crippled ship, and a third was rapidly coming up
astern. All were pouring in rapid broadsides, and the dark waters were
lighted up like a fiery sea by the ceaseless flashing of the guns.
Thus surrounded and overpowered, there remained open to the Americans
no course but to surrender; and at eleven o'clock at night the
"President" made signal that she had struck. Her fate, like that of
the "Chesapeake," had accorded with the superstitious sailors' notion
that she was an unlucky ship. In the long running fight, neither the
Americans nor the British had escaped without severe loss. On the
"President" were twenty-four killed and fifty-six wounded; the first,
second, and third lieutenants being among the slain. The "Endymion"
had eleven men killed and fourteen wounded. The two frigates were
ordered to proceed to Bermuda; but the "President's" bad luck seemed
to follow her, for on the way she encountered a terrific gale, by
which her masts were carried away, and her timbers so strained that
all the upper-deck guns had to be thrown overboard to save the ship.

The loss of the "President," at the very mouth of the New York Harbor,
was certainly a most inauspicious opening for the naval operations of
1815. The people of New York and Philadelphia, to whom had come
neither the news of peace nor of the glorious success of the American
arms at New Orleans, were plunged into despondency. "Now that Great
Britain is at peace with Europe," thought they, "she can exert all her
power in the task of subjugating America;" and m