For two long hours the "Lawrence" now sustains an unequal contest, receiving the concentrated fire of nearly the whole of the enemy's squadron. The rigging is cut, the sails are torn to shreds, one by one the spars are shattered or fall upon the deck. Gun after gun is dismounted, and fearful is the slaughter of officers and men. The wounded are taken below so fast that the surgeon can barely serve them, hurriedly amputating a leg or an arm, one after another, and binding up as best he may the bleeding wounds. Cannon-shot enter the quarters for the wounded, striking men whose limbs have just been taken off by the surgeon's knife. The first lieutenant, Yarnall, wounded in the forehead and the neck, his face streaming with blood, continues to fight his guns until his men are killed, and sending to the commodore for more, is answered that there are no more to give him. The second lieutenant, Dulany Forrest, standing beside Perry, receives a spent grape-shot in the breast which throws him to the deck. A gun captain whom Perry has addressed to give a word of caution is just about to fire, when a cannon-ball passes through his body and he falls without a groan at the commodore's feet. Brooks the marine officer, a dashing young lieutenant, is making a smiling response to Perry's cheerful words, when a heavy shot crushes his thigh and throws him across the deck. In an agony of pain he implores the commodore to shoot him dead and put him out of misery. All the guns but one are now dismounted, but this one still keeps up its fire; for the commodore, with the brave purser Hambleton, and Chaplain Breese, aided by two or three men, are working it themselves. At last the purser falls, his shoulder shattered by a grape-shot. Presently this gun, too,--the last one,--is disabled, and the "Lawrence" cannot fire a shot. There are less than a score of sound men left on board.