The Rival Sharp-Shooters.
bout half-past four o'clock, on the succeeding morning, just after Frank had come off watch, and was dozing in his berth, he was awakened by a loud crash. Starting up, he discovered his looking-glass in fragments, and the pieces scattered about over the floor. While he was wondering what could have been the cause of the accident, he happened to discover that the bulk-head behind the looking-glass was splintered, which looked very much as though it had been done by a musket-shot; and, at the same instant, he heard a shrill whistle, with which he was perfectly familiar. He also heard a rustling in the bunk above him, and Mr. Williams, his room-mate, sprang suddenly upon the floor, exclaiming:
"My goodness, Mr. Nelson! the rebels are shooting at us."
"I see they are," answered Frank, coolly, as he slowly arose from his berth and commenced drawing on his pants; "just see our looking-glass! But where are you going?" he asked, finding that his room-mate was frantically gathering up his clothing.
"I'm going to get below as soon as I can," was the answer. "Don't you know that this room isn't iron-clad?"
"Yes, I know that. But what's your hurry?"
Mr. Williams did not stop to reply, but, having collected all his clothing, opened the door and sprang out on deck. One bound carried him to the gangway that led to the main-deck, and in a moment more he had disappeared. Frank was laughing heartily at the comical figure his timid room-mate had cut, when another shot came crashing through the bulk-head, and lodged in the mattress in the berth above him, showing how narrow had been Mr. Williams's escape. This made him think that he also had better be getting below. He waited, however, until he was entirely dressed, and then walked slowly out on the quarter-deck, and took refuge behind the wheel-house, intending to make himself acquainted with the nature of the attack before going below. The officer of the deck and the quarter-master on watch were the only persons in sight, and they, too, were standing behind the wheel-house for protection.
"What seems to be the matter, Mr. Martin? Are we likely to have a brush?"
"O no," answered the latter; "a few rebels have taken possession of the battery from which we drove them yesterday, and are trying to pick some of us off. Did you see 'Nuisance' when he came out of his room? He ran like a streak, but came very near being winged, for a ball struck the deck not six inches from him."
At this moment the captain appeared, and went into the pilot-house, that he might investigate matters without running the risk of being struck by the bullets. He had scarcely closed the door, when a ball carried away the latch. Had he been a moment later, he would certainly have been killed.
"A close shave," said he, with a laugh. Then raising one of the windows of the pilot-house, he shouted, "On deck, there!"
"Ay, ay, sir," answered Mr. Martin.
"Get under cover as quickly as possible; and, Mr. Nelson, see if you can throw a few shells among those fellows, and drive them out of there."
It was not an easy task to get under cover, for, the moment they showed themselves, the bullets whistled about them like hail-stones. But, after dodging from one stanchion to another, using even the sky-lights for concealment, they succeeded in reaching the main-deck, where they were safe. Frank ran into the turret, while Mr. Martin and the quarter-master dived down the hatchway, and ran up into the pilot-house.
"Turn out, you first division, and cast loose that No. 2 gun," shouted Frank, as he reached the gun-deck, where the crew were still sleeping soundly in their hammocks. "Turn out lively, lads."
The men at once sprang out of their comfortable beds, and, as soon as the deck was cleared of the hammocks, the gun was cast loose. A moment afterward, a hundred-pound shot plunged into the battery, raising a cloud of dust; but the rebels had seen the flash of the gun in time to throw themselves behind the embankment and escape.
"On deck, there," shouted the captain, through the trumpet. "That was very well done. Try them again, and fire a little higher, and a trifle further to the left."
"Very good, sir," shouted Frank, in reply; and the gun was again pointed, and another breach was made in the battery, but a loud, derisive shout was sent back in reply, showing that the shot had been without effect.
For nearly an hour the fight was kept up, Frank using his gun as rapidly as possible, and the rebels replying with their bullets, which rattled harmlessly against the Trenton's iron mail, until the captain, finding that it was impossible to dislodge them, gave the order to cease firing.
As soon as Frank had seen the gun secured, he left the deck and went into the ward-room. It was filled with officers, who had been awakened by the firing, and were engaged in an animated conversation on the probabilities of having breakfast.
"If the rebels continue to shoot at us, I don't know what you can do, gentlemen," said the caterer. "You know that the galley is on deck, and I can't send the cook up there, where he will be in danger of his life. When you get hungry you will find plenty of hard-tack and pickles in the paymaster's store-rooms."
"O no," said the executive officer, "I am not going without my breakfast. There's no danger."
"If you will go on deck, and remain there five minutes," said the caterer, "I'll agree to cook some breakfast for you."
The proposition was accepted by the executive officer, and the two men went on deck, and walked toward the galley. They reached it in safety, when the executive said, triumphantly:
"What do you think now? I told you there was no danger."
A loud crash cut short his words, and a bullet entered the galley, and glancing from the stove, struck the opposite bulk-head, where it remained firmly embedded in the wood.
"That will do, I guess," said the executive, hastily retreating toward the hatchway. "You needn't mind about sending the boys up here to cook breakfast."
The two officers made the best of their way back to the ward-room, where they enjoyed a very good meal on some provisions that had been brought up out of the paymaster's store-rooms. They then went into the pilot-house to watch the movements of the rebels in the battery. The latter, finding that their fire was no longer returned, took no precautions to conceal themselves, but arose to their full height when they fired their muskets, and even stood on the battery, waving their hats, as if inviting a shot. Frank watched them until he could stand it no longer, and then ran down below, to ask the captain's permission to return the fire.
"Look out there!" exclaimed that gentleman, as Frank entered the cabin. "The first thing you know"——
He was interrupted by the report of a musket, so loud that it seemed scarcely a stone's throw distant. A bullet came whistling into one of the ports, barely missing Frank, and lodged in the captain's pantry, where a crashing among the crockery told that the ball had not been altogether thrown away. Another shot followed close after it, but Frank had dodged behind the bulk-head, and was safe.
The captain was emphatically in a state of siege. His cabin was in the extreme after-part of the vessel, and in it were two port-holes, which were open. Two sharp-shooters had taken up a position on the bank, where they could see into the cabin, and had compelled the captain to leave the desk where he had been writing, and take refuge behind the bulk-head. He was taking matters very coolly, however, being stretched out on a sofa, engaged in reading a newspaper.
"Mr. Nelson," said he, with a laugh, "if many more of you officers enter this cabin, I shall be a ruined man. Every shot that comes in here goes slap into that pantry, and I don't suppose I have a whole piece of crockery left. What did you wish?"
"I came, sir, to ask permission to take one of your Spencer rifles," answered Frank. "I believe I can drive those rascals away from there," he added, glancing through the port.
"Very well, you may try. But I don't bother my head about them. They can't shoot through this bulk head, that's certain. However, it makes me feel rather uncomfortable to know that I can't get out of here without running the risk of being shot;" and the captain stretched himself on the sofa again, and resumed his reading.
After considerable dodging, during which two more bullets were lodged in the captain's pantry, to the no small disgust of that gentleman, Frank succeeded in securing a rifle and cartridge-box from one of the racks in the cabin, and concealing himself behind the bulk-head, thrust his gun carefully out of the port, and waited for a shot.
The bank was scarcely fifty feet distant, but for a long time not a rebel showed himself, and Frank had about come to the conclusion that they had given up the fight, when he noticed a small gully, scarcely a foot wide, that ran down to the water's edge, and in that gully he saw the top of a head, and afterward discerned a pair of eyes that were looking straight into the port. It was a small mark to shoot at, but Frank had killed squirrels at that distance many a time; so, carefully raising his rifle, he took a quick aim, and fired, confident that there was one rebel less in the world. The ball landed in the bank, and raised a cloud of dust that for a moment concealed the effect of the shot; but it had scarcely cleared away, when a puff of smoke arose from the gully, and another bullet whizzed past Frank's head, and landed among the captain's crockery, showing that the rebel still maintained his position. Frank cautiously looked out, and saw the rebel hastily reloading his gun; but, before he could give him another shot, the deadly rifle was thrust over the bank, in readiness for another trial.
"O, I'm here yet, Yank!" shouted the rebel, as he saw Frank regarding him as if he could scarcely believe his eyes. "I'm here! and you want to keep close, or down comes your meat-house. This 'ere rifle shoots right smart."
As he ceased speaking, Frank again fired at him, but with no better success than before, for the rebel answered the shot, and dodged back into the gully to reload. For two hours this singular contest was maintained, and Frank was both astonished and provoked at his poor workmanship; still he would have continued the fight, had not the rebel coolly announced—"It's grub-time, Yank. We'll try it again this afternoon."
The fellow's impudence was a source of a great deal of merriment on the part of the captain, who laughed heartily at his remarks, and forgot the loss he had sustained in his crockery.
"Captain," said Frank, as soon as he was certain that the rebel had gone, "it's a good time to close those ports now."
"Don't go near them. I won't trust the villains. Tell the officers that they are at liberty to return the fire, but that they must not waste too much ammunition."
Frank went into the ward-room, and, after delivering the captain's order, deposited his gun in the corner. While making a hearty dinner on hard-tack and salt pork, he related the incidents of his fight with the rebel, which was listened to with interest by all the officers present. After finishing his meal he went on deck to get a letter which he had commenced writing to his cousin, intending, as soon as the firing recommenced, to renew the battle. Not a shot had been fired since the rebel left the gully, and when Frank walked across the deck and entered his room, not a rebel was in sight. He took the letter from his trunk, and was preparing to return below, when a bullet crashed through the bulk-head, and, striking his wash-bowl, shivered it into fragments. This seemed to be a signal for a renewal of the fight, for the bullets whistled over the ship in a perfect shower. Frank sprang to his feet, and waited rather impatiently for an opportunity to make his way below; but none offered. As he opened the door of his room, he heard a sharp report, that he could easily distinguish from the rest, accompanied by a familiar whistle, and a bullet, which seemed to come from the stern of the vessel, sped past him, striking the pilot-house, and glancing upward with a loud shriek; at the same instant several more from the battery whistled by, too close for comfort.
It was evident that the rebels had seen him enter his room, and knowing that his only chance for escape was across the deck, had determined to keep him a close prisoner. But why did they not fire through the bulk-head? Perhaps they thought that it, like the rest of the ship, was iron-clad, and preferred waiting for him to come out, rather than to waste their lead. But Frank, who knew that the sides of his room were only thin boards, which could afford him no protection whatever from the bullets of his enemies, was not blessed with the most comfortable thoughts. To go out was almost certain death, for, although he might escape the bullets of the rebels in the battery, there was his rival of the morning in the gully, who handled his rifle with remarkable skill. To remain was hardly less dangerous, for a bullet might at any time enter his room and put an end to his existence.
"Well, I'm in a nice fix," he soliloquized; "I've often heard of treeing bears, raccoons, and other animals, but I never before heard of an officer being treed in his own room, and on board his own ship. I don't like to go out on deck, and have those bullets whizzing by my head and calling me 'cousin;' besides, I shall certainly be shot, for there's that fellow in the gully, and I know he's an excellent marksman. I've got to stay here for awhile, that's evident. If I ever get out, I'll make somebody sweat for this. I wish I had my gun; but, as I am here unarmed, I must find some kind of a protection." So saying, he snatched the mattresses from the beds, and, lying on the floor, placed one on each side of him as a barricade. He remained in this position until almost night, the bullets all the while shrieking over the deck, and making music most unpleasant to his ears. At length the firing began to slacken, and Frank determined to make another effort to get below. It was not a long distance to the gangway that led to the main-deck, but there was that fellow in the gully who still maintained the fight, as an occasional crash in the pantry proved, and Frank had a wholesome fear of him. He resolved, however, to make the attempt, and, waiting until the rebel had fired his gun, he threw open the door, when a few hasty steps carried him below. He heard a loud shout as he ran, and knew that the rebel had seen him.
At dark the firing ceased altogether; and after supper—the only cooked meal they had had during the day—the officers assembled on deck to enjoy the cool breeze, for the heat below had been almost intolerable. It was late when they retired, but it is needless to say that those who had rooms on the quarter-deck slept in the mess-rooms.
The next morning, just as every one had expected, the firing was again renewed by the rebels in the battery, and it was at once answered by some of the younger officers of the ship, who cracked away, whether an enemy was in sight or not. Frank had not been able to get the thought of that rebel sharp-shooter out of his mind. The audacity he had displayed in taking up a position so close to the vessel, and the skill with which he handled his rifle, excited his admiration, and he determined that, should he again take up the same position, he would renew his attempt to dislodge him. He, however, took no part in the fight until he came off watch at noon. He then provided himself with a rifle, and, after considerable trouble, succeeded in getting into the wheel-house, the lower part of which, being built of thick timbers, would easily resist a bullet, and here he settled down, determined to fight his enemy as long as he had a charge of powder left.
The rebel was in his old position, concealed as usual, and, as the cabin ports had been closed, he was directing his fire toward the pilot-house. He was, of course, not aware that Frank had changed his base of operations; but he did not long remain ignorant of the fact, for the latter commenced the fight without ceremony.
As nearly every officer on board the vessel was engaged in fighting the rebels, the one in question could not determine whence the shot came. He drew back for a moment, and then thrust his head carefully out, to reconnoiter. Frank, who could fire seven shots without stopping to reload, was ready for him, and another bullet sped toward the mark, but, as usual, with no more effect than throwing up a cloud of dust. This time, however, the rebel saw where it came from, and a moment afterward a ball was buried in the thick timbers, scarcely an inch from the place where Frank was cautiously looking out, watching the motions of his rival.
From his new position, Frank found that the rebel, after he had fired his gun, was obliged to turn over on his back to reload, and he determined that, if he could not dislodge him, he would at least put it out of his power to do any further mischief. So, when the rebel exposed his arm, as he was in the act of ramming down the charge, he fired at him again. The latter, ignorant of the fact that his opponent had a seven-shooter, now redoubled his efforts, and made all haste to reload his gun; but again did a bullet strike in the bank close beside him, and cover him with a shower of dust. This seemed to puzzle the rebel, for he raised his head and gazed intently toward the place where his enemy was concealed. That move was fatal to him. Scarcely three inches of his head was exposed; but the bullet went straight to the mark—the rebel rolled down the bank, and the deadly rifle fell from his hands.