“There agin, when we took the Peacock;—you all knows about that ere action; it was what I calls short and sweet. Fifteen minutes from the first gun, he was cut almost entirely to pieces, his main-mast gone by the board, six feet of water in the hold, and his flag flying in the fore-rigging, as a signal of distress. The sea was running so heavy, as to wash the muzzles of our guns, as we run down. We exchanged broadsides at half pistol shot, and then, as he wore to rake us, we received his other broadside, running him close in upon the starboard quarter, and a drunken sailor never hugged a post closer, nor we did that brig, till we had hammered day-light out of her. A queer thing is war, though, and I can’t say as I was ever satisfied as to its desarts, though I’ve often turned the thing over in my mind in mid-watch since. There was we, what was stowing our round shot into that ere brig, as if she had been short of kenteledge, and doing all we could to sweep, with our grape and cannister, every thing living, from her decks,—there was we, fifteen minutes after, working as hard as we could pull to, to keep her above water, while we saved her wounded, and the prisoners, like as she had been an unfortunate wrack, foundering at sea. But all wouldn’t do—down she went, carrying thirteen of her own wounded, besides some of our own brave lads, as was exerting themselves to save them, and mighty near did Bill Kennedy come to being one of the number, and having a big D marked agin his name, on the purser’s book, at that same time. The moment she showed signals of distress, all our boats was put in requisition to transport the prisoners and wounded to the Hornet. I was in the second cutter, with midshipman C——; he was a little fellow then, tho’ he’s a captain now. Well, we stowed her as full as she could stow, and I was holding on by the boat-hook in the bows, jist ready to push off, when midshipman C——, jumps aboard agin, and runs back to call a couple of the Englishmen, as was squared off at each other, at the foot of the main hatch ladder, settling some old grudge—(for d’ye see, sir, all discypline is over the moment a ship strikes)—he runs back to tell them to clear themselves—for the ship was sinking,—but before he could reach it, she rolls heavily, sways for an instant from side to side, gives a heavy lurch, and then, down she goes head foremost, carrying them fellers as was squared off agin each other, and her own wounded, besides four or five of our own brave lads, right down in the vortex. Our boat spun round and round like a top, for a moment, and then swept clear, but the midshipman barely saved himself, by springing into an empty chest as was floating by, and there he was dancing about in the heavy sea, like a gull in the surf, and it was nigh on two hours afore we picked him up; but the little fellow was jist as cool and unconsarned, as if he was in a canoe on a fish-pond. The next day we opens a subscription, and furnishes