allo, there, Sambo!" sung out Porter, "how long will it take this
cotton to burn up?"

"Two day, massa," responded the contraband; "p'raps tree."

That ended the debate. "Ring the bell to go ahead fast," said the
admiral to the pilot; and away went the flotilla at full speed,
plunging into the smoke and fire. It was a hot experience for the
sailors. The heavy iron-clads made but slow progress, and were
scorched and blistered with the heat. The ports were all shut down,
and the crews called to fire-quarters, buckets in hand. To remain on
deck, was impossible. Porter and his captain made the trial, but had
hardly entered the smoke when the scorching heat drove both into the
shelter of an iron-covered deck-house. The pilot standing at the wheel
seized a flag, and, wrapping it about his face and body, was able to
stay at his post. As the flames grew hotter, the sailors below opened
the main hatch, and, thrusting up a hose, deluged the deck with floods
of water. So, without a man in sight, the huge iron ship moved along
between the walls of flame. Suddenly came an enormous crash. The
gunboat shivered, and for a moment stood still; then, gathering
headway, moved on again, though with much ominous grating beneath her
keel. Soon after she passed out of the smoke and heat, and all hands
rushed on deck for a whiff of the fresh, cool air. Their first thought
was of the cause of the collision; and, looking eagerly astern, they
saw a heavy bridge, about fifty feet of which had been demolished by
the tremendous power of the ram. This gave Porter a hint as to the
force he had at his command; and thereafter bridges were rammed as a
matter of course whenever they impeded the progress of the iron-clads.
The astonishment of the people along the shore may well be imagined.

The great and formidable obstacles that stood in the path of the
squadron were, as a rule, overcome by the exertion of the great powers
of the steam-driven, iron-plated vessels; but at last there came a
check, that, though it seemed at first insignificant, terminated the
sylvan manoeuvres of the iron-clad navy. After running the gantlet of
the burning cotton, butting down trees, and smashing through bridges,
the column entered a stretch of smooth water that seemed to promise
fair and unobstructed sailing. But toward the end of this expanse of
water a kind of green scum was evident, extending right across the
bayou, from bank to bank. Porter's keen eye caught sight of