Several days later Captain Winslow went ash.o.r.e and paid a visit to the United States Commercial Agent.

"That beastly pirate will not fight," he thought. "All she wants to do is to run away."

Imagine how his eyes shone when he was handed the following epistle!

"C.S.S. _Alabama_, CHERBOURG, June 14th, 1864.

"To A. BONFILS, Esqr., Cherbourg;

"SIR:--I hear that you were informed by the United States Consul that the _Kearsarge_ was to come to this port solely for the prisoners landed by me, and that she was to depart in twenty-four hours. I desire you to say to the U. S. Consul that my intention is to fight the _Kearsarge_ as soon as I can make the necessary arrangements. I hope these will not detain me more than until to-morrow evening, or after the morrow morning at furthest. I beg she will not depart before I am ready to go out.

"I have the honor to be, very respectfully,

"Your obedient servant,

"R. SEMMES, Captain."

"Ha! Ha!" chuckled Winslow. "We're in for it, now. Hurray!" and he hastened back to his ship to spread the glad tidings.

"My boys!" said he to his crew. "It is probable that the two ships will engage on parallel lines, and, if defeated, the _Alabama_ will seek for neutral waters. It is necessary, therefore, that we begin this action several miles from the break-water. The _Alabama_ must believe that she can win, or she would not fight us, for, if we sink her, she cannot be replaced by the Confederate Government. As for ourselves, let us never give up, and--if we sink--let us go down with the flag flying!"

"Hear! Hear!" cried all. "We're with you, Captain. Never give up the ship!"

"Clean decks, boys!" continued brave Winslow. "Get everything ship-shape for the coming affair, for we're in for as tight a little fight as e'er you entered upon."

Preparations were immediately made for battle, but no _Alabama_ appeared.

Thursday pa.s.sed; Friday came; the _Kearsarge_ waited in the channel with ports down; guns pivoted to starboard; the whole battery loaded; and sh.e.l.l, grape, and canister ready to use in any method of attack or defence,--but no _Alabama_ appeared. A French pilot-boat drifted near, and the black-eyed skipper cried out,

"You fellers look out for ze _Alabama_. She take in much coal. Whew!

She take much of ze captured stuff ash.o.r.e. Whew! She scrub ze deck.

Whew! She put ze sailors to ze business of sharpening ze cutla.s.s and ze dirk. Whew! You look out for ze great privateer! Whew!"

Captain Winslow only smiled.

"Zey have ze big feast," continued the Frenchman. "Zey dr-e-e-nk ze wine. Zey stan' on ze chairs and zey say, 'We will seenk ze Yankee dog.' Ta donc! Zey call you ze dog!"

And still Captain Winslow smiled. But, next day, his smile turned to a frown.

It was Sunday, the nineteenth day of June. The weather was beautiful; the atmosphere was somewhat hazy; the wind was light; and there was little sea. At ten o'clock the _Kearsarge_ was drifting near a buoy about three miles eastward from the entrance of Cherbourg break-water.

Her decks had been newly holy-stoned; the bra.s.s work had been cleaned; the guns polished, and the crew had on their Sunday clothes. They had been inspected, and dismissed--in order to attend divine service.

At 1.20 a cry rang out:

"She comes!"

The bell was tolling for prayers.

"The _Alabama_! The _Alabama_! She's moving, and heading straight for us!"

All rushed to the deck; the drum beat to quarters. Captain Winslow laid aside his prayer-book, seized his trumpet, ordered the boat about, and headed seaward. The ship was cleared for action and the battery was pivoted to starboard.

Yes, she was coming!

From the western entrance of the safe, little French seaport steamed the long-bodied, low-hulled privateer: her rakish masts bending beneath the spread of canvas: her tall funnel belching sepia smoke. A French iron-clad frigate--the _Couronne_--accompanied her, flying the pennant of the Commander-of-the-Port. In her wake plodded a tiny fore-and-aft-rigged steamer-yacht: the _Deerhound_, showing the flag of the Royal Mersey (British) Yacht Club. The frigate--having convoyed the Confederate privateer to the limit of the French waters (three marine miles from the coast)--put down her helm and ploughed back into port. The steam yacht continued on, and remained near the scene of action.

As the _Alabama_ had started upon her dash into the open, Captain Semmes had mounted a gun-carriage, and had cried,

"Officers and Seamen of the _Alabama_:

"You have at length another opportunity of meeting the enemy--the first that has been presented to you since you sank the _Hatteras_! In the meantime you have been all over the world, and it is not too much to say that you have destroyed, and driven for protection under neutral flags, one-half of the enemy's commerce, which, at the beginning of the war, covered every sea. This is an achievement of which you may well be proud, and a grateful country will not be unmindful of it. The name of your ship has become a household word wherever civilization extends! Shall that name be tarnished by defeat?

The thing is impossible! Remember that you are in the English Channel, the theatre of so much of the naval glory of our race, and that the eyes of all Europe are, at this moment, upon you. The flag that floats over you is that of a young Republic, which bids defiance to her enemies whenever and wherever found! Show the world that you know how to uphold it! Go to your quarters!"

A wild yell had greeted these stirring expressions.

The sh.o.r.e was black with people, for the word had been pa.s.sed around that the two sea-warriors were to grapple in deadly embrace. Even a special train had come from Paris to bring the sober townsfolk to Cherbourg, where they could view the contest. They were chattering among themselves, like a flock of magpies.

"Voila!" said a fair damsel, whose eyes were fairly shining with excitement. "Oh, I hope zat ze beeg gray fellow weel win."

She meant the _Alabama_, for the Confederates dressed in that sober color.

"Zis ees ze naval Waterloo!" whispered a veteran of the Crimean War.

It was 10.50 o'clock. The _Kearsarge_ had been steaming out to sea, but now she wheeled. She was seven miles from sh.o.r.e and one and one-quarter miles from her opponent. She steered directly for her, as if to ram her and crush through her side. The _Alabama_ sheered off and presented her starboard battery. The _Kearsarge_ came on, rapidly, and--at 10.57 was about eighteen hundred yards from her enemy--then--_Crash! Roar!_ A broadside thundered from the Confederate privateer, while the solid shot screamed through the rigging of the Yankee man-of-war.

On! On! came Captain Winslow's gallant craft, while a second and a third broadside crashed into her. The rigging tore and swayed, but she was little injured. She was now within nine hundred yards.

"Sheer! Sheer!" cried the Union Commander.

The _Kearsarge_ spun off and broke her long silence with the starboard battery. _Crash! Roar!_ the sh.e.l.ls pounded around the great privateer, and, with a full head of steam, the corsair of the Southern Confederacy swept onward. _Crash! Roar!_ she answered with sh.e.l.l, and the bursting iron shivered the foremast of her doughty opponent.

Captain Winslow was fearful that the enemy would make for the sh.o.r.e, so he spun over his helm to port in the endeavor to run under the _Alabama_'s stern and rake her. But she sheered off, kept her broadside to him, and pounded away like a pugilist. The ships were a quarter of a mile (440 yards) away from each other. They were circling around in a wide arc, plugging away as fast as they could load. The spectators cheered, for it was as good a show as they had ever witnessed.

"Eet ees fine!" said the veteran of the Crimea. "Eet remin' me of ze battaile at Balaklava!"

Suddenly a wild cheer rose from the deck of the United States cruiser.

A shot had struck the spanker-gaff on the enemy and her ensign had come down on the run.

"Hurray!" shouted the seamen. "That means we'll win, sure!"

The fallen ensign re-appeared at the mizzen, while firing from the _Alabama_ became rapid and wild. The gunners of the _Kearsarge_ had been cautioned against shooting without direct aim, and had been told to point their heavy guns below, rather than above the water-line.

Captain Winslow was busy with his orders.

"Clear the enemy's deck with the light guns!" he shouted. "Sink the Confederate with the heavy iron!"

Cheer succeeded cheer from his sailors. Caps were thrown into the air, or overboard. Jackets were tossed aside. Now, certain of victory, the men were shouting wildly, as each projectile took effect.