All rushed to the deck; the drum beat to quarters. Captain Winslow laid aside his prayer-book, seized his trumpet, ordered the boat about, and headed seaward. The ship was cleared for action and the battery was pivoted to starboard.
Yes, she was coming!
From the western entrance of the safe, little French seaport steamed the long-bodied, low-hulled privateer: her rakish masts bending beneath the spread of canvas: her tall funnel belching sepia smoke. A French iron-clad frigate—the Couronne—accompanied her, flying the pennant of the Commander-of-the-Port. In her wake plodded a tiny fore-and-aft-rigged steamer-yacht: the Deerhound, showing the flag of the Royal Mersey (British) Yacht Club. The frigate—having convoyed the Confederate privateer to the limit of the French waters (three marine miles from the coast)—put down her helm and ploughed back into port. The steam yacht continued on, and remained near the scene of action.
As the Alabama had started upon her dash into the open, Captain Semmes had mounted a gun-carriage, and had cried,
“Officers and Seamen of the Alabama:
“You have at length another opportunity of meeting the enemy—the first that has been presented to you since you sank the Hatteras! In the meantime you have been all over the world, and it is not too much to say that you have destroyed, and driven for protection under neutral flags, one-half of the enemy’s commerce, which, at the beginning of the war, covered every sea. This is an achievement of which you may well be proud, and a grateful country will not be unmindful of it. The name of your ship has become a household word wherever civilization extends! Shall that name be tarnished by defeat? The thing is impossible! Remember that you are in the English Channel, the theatre of so much of the naval glory of our race, and that the eyes of all Europe are, at this moment, upon you. The flag that floats over you is that of a young Republic, which bids defiance to her enemies whenever and wherever found! Show the world that you know how to uphold it! Go to your quarters!”
A wild yell had greeted these stirring expressions.
The shore was black with people, for the word had been passed around that the two sea-warriors were to grapple in deadly embrace. Even a special train had come from Paris to bring the sober townsfolk to Cherbourg, where they could view the contest. They were chattering among themselves, like a flock of magpies.
“Voilà!” said a fair damsel, whose eyes were fairly shining with excitement. “Oh, I hope zat ze beeg gray fellow weel win.”
She meant the Alabama, for the Confederates dressed in that sober color.