Firing from his stern guns as he ran, he reached out for the sands until they were but half a mile away, and then once more the treacherous wind shifted, and catching the sails aback, wrapped their torn folds as a shroud about the masts. A hawser was bent to the sheet-anchor, which was then let go. That brought her head around where the long guns would bear, but the hawser broke a minute later, and once more the _Essex_ drifted offshore a helpless target. And then came an explosion below. The ship was on fire, and the men came rushing up on deck, “many with their clothes burning.” The men on deck hastened to rip the burning garments from their shipmates, but some whose clothes were flaming were ordered to “jump overboard and quench the flames.” Smoke was rolling up the hatches, and “many of the crew, and even some of the officers, hearing the order to jump overboard, took it for granted that the fire had reached the magazine, and that the ship was about to blow up; so they leaped into the water, and attempted to reach the shore.” Hope had at last fled from the doomed ship. The decks were strewn with the dead and wounded. There were twenty-one bodies in one pile on the main deck. The long-range shot of the enemy were sinking her. The hold was in flames. The captain called for his lieutenants to ask their opinion of the condition of affairs, and found but one, Lieutenant McKnight, to answer the call. Of the two hundred and fifty-one men who began the fight only seventy-five, including officers and boys, remained on the ship in condition fit for duty. Further effort was useless, “and at 6.20 P.M. the painful order was given to haul down the colors.” At that, Benjamin Hazen, a Groton seaman (who, though painfully wounded, had remained at his post, and at the last had joined in the request to haul down the flag to save the wounded), bade adieu in hearty fashion to those around him, said he had determined never to survive the surrender of the _Essex_, and jumped overboard. He was drowned. In what has been said regarding the handling of the _Phœbe_ there was no desire to cast a slur upon the personal character of Captain Hillyar. He had proved his bravery in previous contests. The point to be made clear is that his superiors had so far learned to respect Yankee prowess that he was under definite order to take no unnecessary risks. He conducted the fight in the only way that insured certain victory. Every fair-minded American will grant what Sir Howard Douglas, in his text-book on gunnery (page 108), claims--that “this action displayed all that can reflect honor on the science and admirable conduct of Captain Hillyar and his crew,” save only so far as he broke his word of honor pledged to Captain Porter. And that is to say that it is admitted that a sneer at the “respectful distance the _Phœbe_ kept” is “a fair acknowledgment of the ability with which Captain Hillyar availed himself of the superiority of his arms.”