crater of a volcano. Instantly the
well-tarred rigging caught, and the flame ran up the shrouds as a
ladder of fire, and the whole ship was a towering mass of flame. The
little band of men on the "Sumter" looked on the terrific scene with
bated breath. Though they fully believed in the justice of their
cause, they could not look on the destruction they had wrought without
feelings of sadness. It was their first act of war. One of the
officers of the "Sumter" writes: "Few, few on board can forget the
spectacle,--a ship set fire to at sea. It would seem that man was
almost warring with his Maker. Her helpless condition, the red flames
licking the rigging as they climbed aloft, the sparks and pieces of
burning rope taken off by the wind, and flying miles to leeward, the
ghastly glare thrown upon the dark sea as far as the eye could reach,
and then the deathlike stillness of the scene,--all these combined to
place the "Golden Rocket" on the tablet of our memories forever." But
it was not long before the crew of the "Sumter" could fire a vessel,
and sail away indifferently, with hardly a glance at their terrible
handiwork.

The "Sumter" continued on her cruise, with varying fortunes. Sometimes
weeks would pass with no prizes to relieve the tedium of the long
voyage. Occasionally she would run into a neutral port for coal or
water, but most of the time was spent on the open sea. The crew were
kept actively employed with drills and exercises; while the officers,
yawning over their books or games, longed for the welcome cry from the
masthead, "Sail ho!" In September the "Sumter" captured a brig, the
"Joseph Park;" and the boarding officer, on examining the log-book,
found an entry made by her captain on the day of leaving Pernambuco:
"We have a tight, fast vessel, and we don't care for Jeff Davis." The
unlucky captain had holloaed long before he was out of the wood.

The "Joseph Park" was the last prize the tars of the "Sumter" had the
pleasure of "looting" for many days. Up and down the tropic seas the
cruiser travelled, loitering about the paths of ocean commerce to no
avail. Often enough the long-drawn hail of the lookout in the
cross-trees, "Sail ho-o-o-o!" would bring the jackies tumbling up from
the forecastle, and set the officers peering anxiously through their
telescopes. But the sails so sighted proved to be English, French,
Spanish, any thing but American; and life aboard the "Sumter" became
as dull as a fisher's w