After the fleet has been left well astern, the boyish commander orders the engines stopped, and calls the men around him.
“Boys,” he says, “I’m going to tell you my plan, so that you may work it out, if possible, in case anything happens to me when we get under fire. As soon as I make out the ship and get my bearings, I’m going to put on a full head of steam, and jump the launch over the logs that surround her on the water side. Once over the spars, it will be only a few feet between us and the hull; so we must have the torpedo ready to push under the water against her side as soon as we get near enough. On the dock that she is moored to they have a couple of howitzers and a company of sharp-shooters to help guard the approach from sea, and on board they are sure to be prepared to give us a warm welcome. I will keep the wheel until we are over the logs, then I will handle the torpedo, so see that it is clear for me. But if I should fall, try to carry out my plan, then jump overboard, dive under the logs, swim across the river, and make your way down along the bank until you get abreast of the fleet, where you can signal. That is all, except to strip yourselves for a swim. Do you understand?”
“Ay, ay, sir, we understand,” comes the answer from the handful of heroes.
The little wheel under the stern of the launch turns over slowly and noiselessly as eager, anxious eyes peer ahead into the night.
Suddenly a huge blot is made out a little on the port bow, and a moment later it shapes itself into the outlines of a dock with a great vessel lying alongside.
Out of the gloom rings the challenge, “Boat ahoy!”
While the echo of the last word trembles, Cushing orders, fiercely: “Give it to her! Steady, boys!”
The engineer opens wide the valve, and throws the wild pressure of a full head of steam into the cylinder. The launch jumps forward in time to escape a shower of iron hail that ploughs into her white wake.
Before the guns can be pointed anew a long, narrow barrier washing level with the water shows a few feet ahead.
A sheet of flame from the rifle-barrels on the dock and ship, so close to the open boat that it scorches the air in the faces of the crew, makes vivid for an instant the onrushing destroyer. One of the blue-jackets throws his arms up, and falls face downward in the cockpit just as the stem of the launch strikes the log.