The doughty seaman turned to his chief executive officer, Mr. Kell.
“Go below, sir,” he shouted, “and see how long the ship can float!”
In a few moments the sailor had returned from his inspection.
“Captain!” cried he, saluting. “She will not stay on the sea for ten minutes.”
The face of the Confederate was ashen, as he answered,
“Then, sir, cease firing, shorten sail, and haul down the colors. It will never do in this Nineteenth Century for us to go down with the decks covered with our gallant wounded!”
As he ceased speaking, a broadside roared from the side of his sinking vessel. The ensign of the Kearsarge had been stopped (rolled up and tied with a piece of twine) and, as a shell crashed through her rigging, a piece hit the flag-halyards—parted them—and unstopped the flag. It unfurled itself gallantly in the breeze, and, as its beautiful striping waved aloft, the sailors upon the deck gave a loud cheer, for this was the omen of Victory.
At this moment, two of the junior officers upon the Alabama swore that they would never surrender, and, in a spirit of mutiny, rushed to the two port guns and opened fire upon the Union vessel.
“He is playing us a trick!” shouted Winslow. “Give him another broadside!”
Again the shot and shell went crashing through the sides of the Confederate cruiser. The Kearsarge was laid across her bows for raking, and, in a position to use grape and canister.