Captain Winslow granted his request.
With less generosity, the victorious Commander could have detained the officers and men, supplied their places with his own sailors, and offered equal aid to the distressed. His generosity was abused. Fullam pulled to the midst of the drowning; rescued several officers; went to the yacht Deerhound, and cast his boat adrift; leaving a number of men struggling in the water.
The Alabama was settling fast.
“All hands overboard!” cried Mr. Kell. “Let every man grab a life-preserver, or a spar.”
As the sailors plunged into the sea, Captain Semmes dropped his sword into the waves and leaped outward, with a life-preserver around his waist. Kell followed, while the Alabama launched her bows high in the air, and—graceful, even in her death throes—plunged stern-foremost into the deep. A sucking eddy of foam, spars, and wreckage marked where once had floated the gallant ship.
Thus sank the terror of the merchantmen—riddled through and through—and no cheer arose as her battered hulk went down in forty-five fathoms of water. Her star had set.
The Deerhound had kept about a mile to windward of the two contestants, but she now steamed towards the mass of living heads, which dotted the surface of the sea. Her two boats were lowered, and Captain Semmes was picked up and taken aboard, with forty others. She then edged to the leeward and steamed rapidly away.
An officer quickly approached Captain Winslow.
“Better fire a shot at the yacht,” he said, saluting. “She’s got Captain Semmes aboard and will run off with him.”
Winslow smiled.