on shore in turn open fire on
her. The sea fog hangs like a shroud over and between us and the land,
which looms up mysteriously, stretching its gray length along the
western horizon. Spots of fire bursting from the midst of it, tear
through the fog cloud right at us. It seems, in its vast, vague
undefinedness, rather an old-time dragon, with mouth spouting fire and
thunder, than harmless earth. The smoke of our own guns settles around
us; our ears ring with our own firing: the excitement of the moment is
intense. The jets of flame seem to spout right at one, and the
inclination to dodge becomes very strong. The Daylight has stopped
firing: what is the matter? The fog lifts slightly, and as the flagship
advances to join in the fight, we see that the Daylight is moving back
to reload and let her pass in, which she does, entering the circle of
the rebel fire, between us and them. She finds it out quickly, for their
guns are brought to bear on her, and the balls strike the water
frightfully near. She turns, but, as she leaves the fiery circle,
delivers, one after the other, a whole broadside of guns, followed by
the Penobscot, who too gives them a few iron pills.

From six to eight A. M., the vessels gather in a cluster at
safe distance from the land, and the commanders of the different vessels
repair on board the flagship to consult what next shall be done.
Meanwhile the spyglass shows crowds of rebels along the shore, and great
efforts seem to be making to get the steamer off. Puffs of steam and
clouds of black smoke from her chimneys show that she is blowing off
steam, firing up, and pushing hard against the shore. Now her paddle
wheels are working; her stern is afloat. Again and again it is reported,
'She's getting herself off the beach; she'll soon be off!' but it does
not appear to hasten the powers that be, who apparently have decided
that, as it will not be high tide till nearly one P. M., she is
safely aground till then.

Finally, after long delay, it is decided that all hands shall be piped
to breakfast, and we go in for a regular fight afterward. So the
boatswain blows his whistle, and each man goes to his mess. Breakfast is
leisurely gone through with, and then the drum beats all to quarters.
And now it looks like serious work. Men gather round their guns eager
for battle, and the surgeon stands ready, instruments before him, for
whatever may come. But hardly are they ready for the fight, when the
rebel steam