"Jump from the ram!" shouted Cushing, as he rushed forward, with the speed of a racehorse; "we're going to blow you up!"
The howitzer at the front of the launch was fired at that moment, and then the boat slid over the logs, like a sleigh over the snow, carrying the men directly in front of the gaping mouth of the 100-pounder Armstrong.
The critical moment had come, and, crouching forward, Cushing shoved the torpedo spar under the overhang, and waited till he felt it rise and bump against the ship's bottom, when he jerked the trigger line. A muffled, cavernous explosion was heard, the ram tilted partly over, and an immense geyser spouted upward, filling the launch and swamping it. The enormous cannon was discharged, but, aimed directly at the boat, the aim was deflected by the careening of the ram, and the frightful charge passed harmlessly over the heads of the men.
Cushing called to each one to lookout for himself, and leaped as far as he could into the water. There he kicked off his shoes, and dropped his sword and revolver. The incensed Confederates shouted to the Unionists to surrender, and a number did so; but others, including Cushing, continued swimming until in the darkness they passed out of range.
It surpasses comprehension how Cushing escaped. Nearly half his crew had been struck before the launch was submerged, and Paymaster Swan and another man were shot at his side. Cushing, Woodman, and Houghton leaped into the water at the same time and swam in different directions, no one knowing where he would come out. Houghton was a powerful swimmer, and, keeping cool and husbanding his strength, he made shore a short distance below, passed through the enemy's line to the mouth of the river, and escaped unharmed.
Cushing continued swimming for nearly a mile, when hearing a splashing near him he approached and found Woodman in the last stage of exhaustion. Cushing gave him all the help he could, but he himself was worn out, and, despite his efforts, Woodman slipped from his grasp and was drowned. When about to give up Cushing's feet touched bottom and he struggled to shore, where he sank in a collapse, unable to stir until morning. By that time his strength had sufficiently returned to enable him to stagger to a swamp where he threw himself down near a path. A few minutes later, two officers walked by talking earnestly about the sinking of the Albemarle, but the listener could not overhear enough of their conversation to learn whether or not the ram had been destroyed.
Growing stronger, he pushed into the swamp, until he reached a negro's hut. There he made himself known, and was received kindly. Cushing asked the negro to go to Plymouth and find out whether the Albemarle had been harmed. The African departed, and, when he returned at the end of several hours, his arms were filled with food and his eyes protruding.
"Suah as yo's born, marse!" he gasped, "de Albemarle am at de bottom ob de riber!"
Such was the fact, for the exploding torpedo had gouged more than twenty square feet out of the ram abreast of the port quarter, through which the torrent rushed and carried it down in a few minutes. Cushing remained with his dusky friend until night, when he tramped a long way through swamp and wood to where an old skiff rested against the bank of a small stream. Paddling down this to the river, he kept on until he reached the Union vessels, where he was taken on board and welcomed as deserved the hero who had accomplished that which was beyond the ability of the whole fleet.
Before proceeding with our account of the closing military operations of the war, it is proper to record several minor, but important, events.