"They only went in to find out who was there," began Comly, "the _Wilmington_, _Hudson_, and _Winslow_. The last, being of least draught, ran ahead, and got within range of some hidden batteries before she discovered them. She was turning to go out when they opened fire. In a minute the little ship was riddled by shot and shell. Her commander was wounded, her steering-gear had gone wrong, her engines were crippled, and she lay helpless. The _Hudson_ ran up to tow her out of range, and poor old Bagley had just sung out for them to heave him a line, as the situation was getting rather too warm for comfort, when a bursting shell instantly killed him, together with four of the crew. In spite of the hot fire, the _Hudson_ ran a line and brought out what was left of the _Winslow_ and her company; but you'd better believe the little craft was a mighty sad-looking wreck. Hello! What's that?" A string of colored signal-lights had flashed out for a moment directly ahead of the _Speedy_, and then disappeared. The strangest thing about them was that they had been shown just above the surface of the water, instead of from a masthead, as would usually be the case on a war-ship. The _Speedy_ had been slipping quietly along, showing her regular side lights, which, as she was of low freeboard, must also have appeared close to the water from a short distance, and might have been mistaken for a signal. Now she quickly displayed the night-signal of the American blockading fleet, as well as her own private number, but no answer came to either. By the time the _Speedy's_ crew were at quarters it was evident, from muffled sounds borne down the wind, that the stranger was a steamer in full retreat. "Give her a blank shot," ordered Captain Boldwood, and the words had barely left his mouth before the forward six-pounder gun had roared out its summons to halt; but the stranger paid no heed. A solid shot, well elevated, had as little effect. By this time the despatch-boat was rushing ahead at full speed in the direction the unknown steamer was supposed to have taken. Suddenly her search-light, sweeping the black waters with a broad arc of silver, disclosed a shadowy bulk moving swiftly at right angles to the course they were taking, and heading for a beacon blaze that had sprung up on the starboard or in-shore hand. "Port your helm!" cried Captain Boldwood. "Mr. Comly, try to disable her. Make every shot tell if possible." Again and again the six-pounder hurled its messenger of destruction, but apparently without effect.