The bank was scarcely fifty feet distant, but for a long time not a rebel showed himself, and Frank had about come to the conclusion that they had given up the fight, when he noticed a small gully, scarcely a foot wide, that ran down to the water's edge, and in that gully he saw the top of a head, and afterward discerned a pair of eyes that were looking straight into the port. It was a small mark to shoot at, but Frank had killed squirrels at that distance many a time; so, carefully raising his rifle, he took a quick aim, and fired, confident that there was one rebel less in the world. The ball landed in the bank, and raised a cloud of dust that for a moment concealed the effect of the shot; but it had scarcely cleared away, when a puff of smoke arose from the gully, and another bullet whizzed past Frank's head, and landed among the captain's crockery, showing that the rebel still maintained his position. Frank cautiously looked out, and saw the rebel hastily reloading his gun; but, before he could give him another shot, the deadly rifle was thrust over the bank, in readiness for another trial.
"O, I'm here yet, Yank!" shouted the rebel, as he saw Frank regarding him as if he could scarcely believe his eyes. "I'm here! and you want to keep close, or down comes your meat-house. This 'ere rifle shoots right smart."
As he ceased speaking, Frank again fired at him, but with no better success than before, for the rebel answered the shot, and dodged back into the gully to reload. For two hours this singular contest was maintained, and Frank was both astonished and provoked at his poor workmanship; still he would have continued the fight, had not the rebel coolly announced—"It's grub-time, Yank. We'll try it again this afternoon."
The fellow's impudence was a source of a great deal of merriment on the part of the captain, who laughed heartily at his remarks, and forgot the loss he had sustained in his crockery.
"Captain," said Frank, as soon as he was certain that the rebel had gone, "it's a good time to close those ports now."
"Don't go near them. I won't trust the villains. Tell the officers that they are at liberty to return the fire, but that they must not waste too much ammunition."
Frank went into the ward-room, and, after delivering the captain's order, deposited his gun in the corner. While making a hearty dinner on hard-tack and salt pork, he related the incidents of his fight with the rebel, which was listened to with interest by all the officers present. After finishing his meal he went on deck to get a letter which he had commenced writing to his cousin, intending, as soon as the firing recommenced, to renew the battle. Not a shot had been fired since the rebel left the gully, and when Frank walked across the deck and entered his room, not a rebel was in sight. He took the letter from his trunk, and was preparing to return below, when a bullet crashed through the bulk-head, and, striking his wash-bowl, shivered it into fragments. This seemed to be a signal for a renewal of the fight, for the bullets whistled over the ship in a perfect shower. Frank sprang to his feet, and waited rather impatiently for an opportunity to make his way below; but none offered. As he opened the door of his room, he heard a sharp report, that he could easily distinguish from the rest, accompanied by a familiar whistle, and a bullet, which seemed to come from the stern of the vessel, sped past him, striking the pilot-house, and glancing upward with a loud shriek; at the same instant several more from the battery whistled by, too close for comfort.
It was evident that the rebels had seen him enter his room, and knowing that his only chance for escape was across the deck, had determined to keep him a close prisoner. But why did they not fire through the bulk-head? Perhaps they thought that it, like the rest of the ship, was iron-clad, and preferred waiting for him to come out, rather than to waste their lead. But Frank, who knew that the sides of his room were only thin boards, which could afford him no protection whatever from the bullets of his enemies, was not blessed with the most comfortable thoughts. To go out was almost certain death, for, although he might escape the bullets of the rebels in the battery, there was his rival of the morning in the gully, who handled his rifle with remarkable skill. To remain was hardly less dangerous, for a bullet might at any time enter his room and put an end to his existence.
"Well, I'm in a nice fix," he soliloquized; "I've often heard of treeing bears, raccoons, and other animals, but I never before heard of an officer being treed in his own room, and on board his own ship. I don't like to go out on deck, and have those bullets whizzing by my head and calling me 'cousin;' besides, I shall certainly be shot, for there's that fellow in the gully, and I know he's an excellent marksman. I've got to stay here for awhile, that's evident. If I ever get out, I'll make somebody sweat for this. I wish I had my gun; but, as I am here unarmed, I must find some kind of a protection." So saying, he snatched the mattresses from the beds, and, lying on the floor, placed one on each side of him as a barricade. He remained in this position until almost night, the bullets all the while shrieking over the deck, and making music most unpleasant to his ears. At length the firing began to slacken, and Frank determined to make another effort to get below. It was not a long distance to the gangway that led to the main-deck, but there was that fellow in the gully who still maintained the fight, as an occasional crash in the pantry proved, and Frank had a wholesome fear of him. He resolved, however, to make the attempt, and, waiting until the rebel had fired his gun, he threw open the door, when a few hasty steps carried him below. He heard a loud shout as he ran, and knew that the rebel had seen him.