Slowly--too slowly, the squadron steamed in, the American flag fluttering at every peak until within easy range, when the _Tecumseh_, the leading monitor, hurled two fifteen-inch shot at the fort. There was no reply, and the squadron continued slowly on with the monitors blazing away. The silence of the fort was ominous, for its garrison were waiting for the shortest range; but at 7.7 o’clock, as the head of the squadron drew in to make the turn at the red buoy, the time had come, and a roaring blast of iron hail struck the leading ships. But ominous as the silence of the fort had seemed, the result of their best aim was insignificant, for only one shot did any damage worth mention, and that one killed nearly all of a gun’s crew on the _Hartford_. All the guns of the fleet that would bear were now opened on the fort, grape and canister being chiefly used in order to drive the men from the guns, and so steady was the rain of the small projectiles through the fort’s portholes that the fire there was instantly slackened. [Illustration: T. A. M. Craven. _From a photograph owned by Mr. C. B. Hall._] And then came the Confederate squadron from behind the fort to take a position above the line of torpedoes to help repel the fleet. As the _Tennessee_ opened fire the monitor _Tecumseh_, at the head of the Union line, had her turret turned with portholes from the fort while the guns were loaded. Captain Craven, intent on reaching the _Tennessee_ as quickly as possible, saw that if he had to pass between the red buoy and the fort, his route would be a crooked one, and turning to the pilot at his side in the pilot-house, he said: “It is impossible that the Admiral means us to go inside the buoy; I cannot turn my ship.” He knew that outside the red buoy lay the torpedoes, but saying “starboard” to the man at the wheel, he headed the _Tecumseh_ straight for the Confederate ram. For a few minutes she held her course undisturbed, but as the red buoy was brought abeam, her bow was suddenly lifted out of water, she lurched heavily from side to side, and then down she went bow first, her screw lifted up to view, and with a minute or two of time between the shock and the sinking. A torpedo had ripped open her hull. A few men in the turret climbed out. Craven and Pilot John Collins both started for the opening in the pilot-house, and then Craven drew back and said: “After you, pilot.” But there was no afterward for Tunis Augustus Craven. There was a chance for one, but not for two. “When I reached the uppermost round of the ladder,” said Collins, “the ship dropped from under me.” In all, ninety-two good men went down with their immortal captain.