Behind him stood Watson, Gates, McKinley, and Brownell, watching the progress of the monitors. The calmness of the scene was sublime. Only an occasional order to the tacklemen, given in a quiet voice by the gun-captains, showed the deadly work ahead. As the “Hartford” drew into range, the admiral walked over to the main rigging and clambered up into the shrouds; and his men below him at the batteries lovingly watched their “old man” as step by step he mounted to get a clearer view. They knew him for a gallant old sea-dog. They had seen him steam past the batteries at Vicksburg and Port Hudson, and they smiled at his sternness at the capture of New Orleans, for they loved him. But at Mobile they learned that he feared nothing above the ocean or under it, if it stood in the way of the cause of his country. At this point Farragut stood a few feet above Jouett, on the wheel-house of the “Metacomet” alongside, and could hail the top above him, where Freeman, his trusty pilot, gave him his soundings and bearings. At length the battle opened. A great puff of white smoke rolled along the water from the turret of the “Tecumseh,” and a yellow cloud of dust above the water-batteries marked where the shot had struck. Fort Morgan immediately replied, and, as the gunners got the range, the angry splash of the shots as they skipped across the water came clearly to the crew of the “Hartford,” who stood at their guns silent and motionless. As the shots rained about them and great white splinters were torn from the nettings and flew across the decks, they only looked up at their admiral, who, leaning slightly forward, was slowly scanning the breastworks. In his face there was no impatience, no irritation, no sign of anxiety, and while he could calmly wait, they could. The courage of the leader was reflected in his men. It was the very perfection of human discipline. Would the order to fire never come? Already a fragment of shell had struck a gun-captain in the breast, and they saw him carried past them, moaning piteously. A shot had struck the foremast, and a jagged splinter from the mainmast flew up and lodged in the rigging below where the admiral stood. They saw him take the glass from his eyes, and, turning towards Captain Drayton, hold up his hand. The guns, already trained, belched forth their iron greeting to the gunboats, and the battle was on in earnest. Calm before, the men were calmer now, and they went about their work as though at target practice. The powder-boys flew like sprites, and the gunners sponged and loaded with rapidity. It was as if each gun and its crew were parts of one mechanism. “Steady, boys, steady. Left tackle a little. So! so!” And then came another broadside, followed by an eager cheer as the enemy were driven away from their water-battery. [Illustration: THE ADMIRAL LASHED TO THE RIGGING]