Stepping over smoldering ruins and through passages filled with dead and wounded men, over whose bodies the water splashed and gurgled, the admiral at last reached his post below the armored deck. To this spot were brought the reports from the fire-control stationed at the rear mast and from the last active stations. It was a mournful picture that the admiral received here of the condition of the _Connecticut_. The dull din of battle, the crashing and rumbling of the hostile shells, the suffocating smoke which penetrated even here below, the rhythmic groaning of the engine and the noise of the pumps were united here into an uncanny symphony. The ventilators had to be closed, as they sent down biting smoke from the burning deck instead of fresh air. The nerves of the officers and crews were in a state of fearful tension; they had reached the point where nothing matters and where destruction is looked forward to as a deliverance. Who was that beside the admiral who said something about the white flag, to him, the head of the squadron, to the man who had been intrusted with the honor of the Stars and Stripes? It was only a severely wounded petty-officer murmuring to himself in the wild delirium of fever. For God's sake, anything but that! The admiral turned around sharply and called into the tube leading to the stern turret: "Watch over the flag; it must not be struck!" No one answered--dead iron, dead metal, not a human sound could be heard in that steel tomb. And now some of the electric lights suddenly went out. "I won't die here in this smoky steel box," said the admiral to himself; "I won't drown here like a mouse in a trap." There was nothing more to be done down here anyway, for most of the connections had been cut off, and so Admiral Perry turned over the command of the _Connecticut_ to a young lieutenant with the words: "Keep them firing as long as you can." Then murmuring softly to himself, "It's of no use anyhow," he crept through a narrow bulkhead-opening to a stairway and groped his way up step by step. Suddenly he touched something soft and warm; it groaned loudly. Heavens! it was a sailor who had dragged his shattered limbs into this corner. "Poor fellow," said the admiral, and climbed up, solitary and alone, to the deck of his lost ship. The din of battle sounded louder and louder, and at last he reached the deck beneath the rear bridge. A badly wounded signalman was leaning against a bit of railing that had remained standing, staring at the admiral with vacant eyes. "Are the signal-halyards still clear?" asked Perry. "Yes," answered the man feebly. "Then signal at once: Three cheers for the United States!" The little colored flags flew up to the yardarm like lightning, and it grew quiet on the _Connecticut_.