“Pull down the colors!” shouted the Captain of the Justina. “We’re done for!”
Down came the ensign of the United States, and the little schooner was luffed so that she stood still. The Alabama ranged up alongside, a boat soon brought a crew of boarders, and, before many moments, she was in the hands of Captain Raphael Semmes and his men.
That evening the Alabama steamed southward, the crew of the Justina was on board, her rich cargo filled the hold, and a black curl of smoke and hissing flames marked where the proud, little merchantman had once bobbed upon the rolling water. Raphael Semmes was happy, for his work of destroying the commerce of the United States Navy had progressed far better than he had hoped.
RAPHAEL SEMMES.
“Men!” cried he, “The cause of the Confederate States of America was never brighter upon the ocean than now. Give three times three for Jeff. Davis—his soldiers and his sailors!”
A rousing cheer rose above the waves, and the proud privateer bounded onward upon her career of destruction and death. The Alabama was in the zenith of her power.
The scene now shifts to the harbor of Cherbourg, upon the western coast of France. The Alabama lay there,—safely swinging at her anchor-chains within the break-water. She had come in to refit, for her bottom was much befouled by a long cruise, which had been successful. Built at Birkenhead, England, for the Confederate States Government, she set sail in August, 1862; and had been down the coast of North and South America; around the Cape of Good Hope to India, and back to the shores of France. Sixty-six vessels had fallen into her clutches, and of these fifty-two had been burned; ten had been released on bond; one had been sold, and one set free. Truly she had had a marvellous trip.