"I came on deck about half-past seven," he said, "and beheld a scene it would be impossible ever to forget.
"All the ship's masts were gone, and as she had no sails to steady her, she was rolling like a log in the trough of the sea."
"Were many killed and wounded?" asked Captain Hull.
"The crew were busy throwing the dead overboard," answered Orne; "the decks were covered with blood, and looked more like a ship's slaughter house. The cockpit is filled with wounded men."
It was hard to feel pleasure at such a report, and yet the patriotism of Hull could scarcely repress a cheer. But he asked Orne one other question:
"How are the survivors acting?"
"Badly—utterly demoralized. Some of the petty officers got at the liquor and gave it out to the men. Many are drunk, and what with their ribald songs, the noise and confusion, the groans of the dying, it is like a perfect hell, sir."
"Were such a thing as defeat to happen to the Constitution," said Hull, "I would with my own hand shoot the first man who touched liquor."
The captain walked the deck uneasily for a few moments.
"Tempest!" he called, and there being no answer, he turned to one of his boys. "Tell Mr. Tempest I want to speak with him."