The Rival Sharp-Shooters.
About half-past four o'clock, on the succeeding morning, just after
Frank had come off watch, and was dozing in his berth, he was awakened
by a loud crash. Starting up, he discovered his looking-glass in
fragments, and the pieces scattered about over the floor. While he was
wondering what could have been the cause of the accident, he happened to
discover that the bulk-head behind the looking-glass was splintered,
which looked very much as though it had been done by a musket-shot; and,
at the same instant, he heard a shrill whistle, with which he was
perfectly familiar. He also heard a rustling in the bunk above him, and
Mr. Williams, his room-mate, sprang suddenly upon the floor,
exclaiming:
"My goodness, Mr. Nelson! the rebels are shooting at _us_."
"I see they are," answered Frank, coolly, as he slowly arose from his
berth and commenced drawing on his pants; "just see our looking-glass!
But where are you going?" he asked, finding that his room-mate was
frantically gathering up his clothing.
"I'm going to get below as soon as I can," was the answer. "Don't you
know that this room isn't iron-clad?"
"Yes, I know that. But what's your hurry?"
Mr. Williams did not stop to reply, but, having collected all his
clothing, opened the door and sprang out on deck. One bound carried him
to the gangway that led to the main-deck, and in a moment more he had
disappeared. Frank was laughing heartily at the comical figure his timid
room-mate had cut, when another shot came crashing through the
bulk-head, and lodged in the mattress in the berth above him, showing
how narrow had been Mr. Williams's escape. This made him think that he
also had better be getting below. He waited, however, until he was
entirely dressed, and then walked slowly out on the quarter-deck, and
took refuge behind the wheel-house, intending to make himself acquainted
with the nature of the attack before going below. The officer of the
deck and the quarter-master on watch were the only persons in sight, and
they, too, were standing behind the wheel-house for protection.
"What seems to be the matter, Mr. Martin? Are we likely to have a
brush?"
"O no," answered the latter; "a few rebels have taken possession of the
battery from which we drove them yesterday, and are trying to pick some
of us off. Did you see 'Nuisance' when he came out of his room? He ran
like a streak, but came very near being winged, for a ball struck the
deck not six inches from him."
At this moment the captain appeared, and went into the pilot-house, that
he might investigate matters without running the risk of being struck by
the bullets. He had scarcely closed the door, when a ball carried away
the latch. Had he been a moment later, he would certainly have been
killed.
"A close shave," said he, with a laugh. Then raising one of the windows
of the pilot-house, he shouted, "On deck, there!"
"Ay, ay, sir," answered Mr. Martin.
"Get under cover as quickly as possible; and, Mr. Nelson, see if you can
throw a few shells among those fellows, and drive them out of there."
It was not an easy task to get under cover, for, the moment they showed
themselves, the bullets whistled about them like hail-stones. But, after
dodging from one stanchion to another, using even the sky-lights for
concealment, they succeeded in reaching the main-deck, where they were
safe. Frank ran into the turret, while Mr. Martin and the quarter-master
dived down the hatchway, and ran up into the pilot-house.
"Turn out, you first division, and cast loose that No. 2 gun," shouted
Frank, as he reached the gun-deck, where the crew were still sleeping
soundly in their hammocks. "Turn out lively, lads."
The men at once sprang out of their comfortable beds, and, as soon as
the deck was cleared of the hammocks, the gun was cast loose. A moment
afterward, a hundred-pound shot plunged into the battery, raising a
cloud of dust; but the rebels had seen the flash of the gun in time to
throw themselves behind the embankment and escape.
"On deck, there," shouted the captain, through the trumpet. "That was
very well done. Try them again, and fire a little higher, and a trifle
further to the left."
"Very good, sir," shouted Frank, in reply; and the gun was again
pointed, and another breach was made in the battery, but a loud,
derisive shout was sent back in reply, showing that the shot had been
without effect.
For nearly an hour the fight was kept up, Frank using his gun as rapidly
as possible, and the rebels replying with their bullets, which rattled
harmlessly against the Trenton's iron mail, until the captain, finding
that it was impossible to dislodge them, gave the order to cease firing.
As soon as Frank had seen the gun secured, he left the deck and went
into the ward-room. It was filled with officers, who had been awakened
by the firing, and were engaged in an animated conversation on the
probabilities of having breakfast.
"If the rebels continue to shoot at us, I don't know what you can do,
gentlemen," said the caterer. "You know that the galley is on deck, and
I can't send the cook up there, where he will be in danger of his life.
When you get hungry you will find plenty of hard-tack and pickles in
the paymaster's store-rooms."
"O no," said the executive officer, "I am not going without my
breakfast. There's no danger."
"If you will go on deck, and remain there five minutes," said the
caterer, "I'll agree to cook some breakfast for you."
The proposition was accepted by the executive officer, and the two men
went on deck, and walked toward the galley. They reached it in safety,
when the executive said, triumphantly:
"What do you think now? I told you there was no danger."
A loud crash cut short his words, and a bullet entered the galley, and
glancing from the stove, struck the opposite bulk-head, where it
remained firmly embedded in the wood.
"That will do, I guess," said the executive, hastily retreating toward
the hatchway. "You needn't mind about sending the boys up here to cook
breakfast."
The two officers made the best of their way back to the ward-room, where
they enjoyed a very good meal on some provisions that had been brought
up out of the paymaster's store-rooms. They then went into the
pilot-house to watch the movements of the rebels in the battery. The
latter, finding that their fire was no longer returned, took no
precautions to conceal themselves, but arose to their full height when
they fired their muskets, and even stood on the battery, waving their
hats, as if inviting a shot. Frank watched them until he could stand it
no longer, and then ran down below, to ask the captain's permission to
return the fire.
"Look out there!" exclaimed that gentleman, as Frank entered the cabin.
"The first thing you know"----
He was interrupted by the report of a musket, so loud that it seemed
scarcely a stone's throw distant. A bullet came whistling into one of
the ports, barely missing Frank, and lodged in the captain's pantry,
where a crashing among the crockery told that the ball had not been
altogether thrown away. Another shot followed close after it, but Frank
had dodged behind the bulk-head, and was safe.
The captain was emphatically in a state of siege. His cabin was in the
extreme after-part of the vessel, and in it were two port-holes, which
were open. Two sharp-shooters had taken up a position on the bank, where
they could see into the cabin, and had compelled the captain to leave
the desk where he had been writing, and take refuge behind the
bulk-head. He was taking matters very coolly, however, being stretched
out on a sofa, engaged in reading a newspaper.
"Mr. Nelson," said he, with a laugh, "if many more of you officers enter
this cabin, I shall be a ruined man. Every shot that comes in here goes
slap into that pantry, and I don't suppose I have a whole piece of
crockery left. What did you wish?"
"I came, sir, to ask permission to take one of your Spencer rifles,"
answered Frank. "I believe I can drive those rascals away from there,"
he added, glancing through the port.
"Very well, you may try. But I don't bother my head about them. They
can't shoot through this bulk head, that's certain. However, it makes me
feel rather uncomfortable to know that I can't get out of here without
running the risk of being shot;" and the captain stretched himself on
the sofa again, and resumed his reading.
After considerable dodging, during which two more bullets were lodged
in the captain's pantry, to the no small disgust of that gentleman,
Frank succeeded in securing a rifle and cartridge-box from one of the
racks in the cabin, and concealing himself behind the bulk-head, thrust
his gun carefully out of the port, and waited for a shot.
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.
At dark the firing ceased altogether; and after supper--the only cooked
meal they had during the day--the officers assembled on deck to
enjoy the cool breeze, for the heat below had been almost intolerable.
It was late when they retired, but it is needless to say that those who
had rooms on the quarter-deck slept in the mess-rooms.
The next morning, just as every one had expected, the firing was again
renewed by the rebels in the battery, and it was at once answered by
some of the younger officers of the ship, who cracked away, whether an
enemy was in sight or not. Frank had not been able to get the thought of
that rebel sharp-shooter out of his mind. The audacity he had displayed
in taking up a position so close to the vessel, and the skill with which
he handled his rifle, excited his admiration, and he determined that,
should he again take up the same position, he would renew his attempt
to dislodge him. He, however, took no part in the fight until he came
off watch at noon. He then provided himself with a rifle, and, after
considerable trouble, succeeded in getting into the wheel-house, the
lower part of which, being built of thick timbers, would easily resist a
bullet, and here he settled down, determined to fight his enemy as long
as he had a charge of powder left.
The rebel was in his old position, concealed as usual, and, as the cabin
ports had been closed, he was directing his fire toward the pilot-house.
He was, of course, not aware that Frank had changed his base of
operations; but he did not long remain ignorant of the fact, for the
latter commenced the fight without ceremony.
As nearly every officer on board the vessel was engaged in fighting the
rebels, the one in question could not determine whence the shot came. He
drew back for a moment, and then thrust his head carefully out, to
reconnoiter. Frank, who could fire seven shots without stopping to
reload, was ready for him, and another bullet sped toward the mark, but,
as usual, with no more effect than throwing up a cloud of dust. This
time, however, the rebel saw where it came from, and a moment afterward
a ball was buried in the thick timbers, scarcely an inch from the place
where Frank was cautiously looking out, watching the motions of his
rival.
From his new position, Frank found that the rebel, after he had fired
his gun, was obliged to turn over on his back to reload, and he
determined that, if he could not dislodge him, he would at least put it
out of his power to do any further mischief. So, when the rebel exposed
his arm, as he was in the act of ramming down the charge, he fired at
him again. The latter, ignorant of the fact that his opponent had a
seven-shooter, now redoubled his efforts, and made all haste to reload
his gun; but again did a bullet strike in the bank close beside him, and
cover him with a shower of dust. This seemed to puzzle the rebel, for he
raised his head and gazed intently toward the place where his enemy was
concealed. That move was fatal to him. Scarcely three inches of his head
was exposed; but the bullet went straight to the mark--the rebel rolled
down the bank, and the deadly rifle fell from his hands.