"Surrender—the devil!" replied Colburn. "I suppose we will fight them!"
It was very creditable to the determination of our confrère; but, to put it mildly, our fighting facilities just then were somewhat limited.
Taking to a Hay-Bale.
My comrades assisted nearly all wounded and scalded men down the sides of the barge to the water's edge, and placed them carefully upon hay-bales. Remaining there, we had every thing to lose and nothing to gain, and I urged—
"Let us take to the water."
"Oh, yes," my friends replied, "we will after awhile."
Soon, I repeated the suggestion, and they repeated the answer. It was no time to stand upon forms. I jumped into the river—twelve or fifteen feet below the top of our barge. They rolled over a hay-bale for me. I climbed upon it, and found it a surprisingly comfortable means of navigation. At last, free from the instinctive dread of mutilation by splinters, which had constantly haunted me, I now felt that if wounded at all it must, at least, be by a clean shot. The thought was a great relief.
With a dim suspicion—not the ripe and perfect knowledge afterward obtained—that clothing was scarce in the Southern Confederacy, I removed my boots, tied them together with my watch-guard, and fastened them to one of the hoops of the bale. Taking off my coat, I secured it in the same manner.
Overturned by a Shot.
I was about swimming away in a vague, blundering determination not to be captured, when, for the first time in my life, I saw a shot coming toward me. I had always been sceptical on this point. Many persons had averred to me that they could see shots approaching; but remembering that such a missile flying toward a man with a scream and a rush would not quicken his vision, and judging from my own experience, I supposed they must be deceived.