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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
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