“Engaged,” said the _Kearsarge_, “have--sunk,” and then there came a break in the message. “Destroyer--light--cruiser--” spoke the wireless again, and stopped. “Armored--cruiser,” spoke the wireless again in half an hour. “Port--beam--disabled--withdrawing--pre-dreadnaught--abaft- -starboard--beam--firing--14,000--yards--dreadnaught--port beam--” Again there came an abrupt check to the wireless. To the men on the fleet “somewhere off the Virginia Capes,” and to the men in newspaper offices from ocean to ocean, it was as if they were witnessing the fight. Indeed, the presses had some of it printed and on the streets before the battle-ship’s story was done. “Dreadnaught--” started the wireless again. “17,000--yards--am struck--after--gun--upper--turret--am struck--forward--gun--lower--turret--dismounted--am struck--after--gun--lower--turret--” The air fell silent. It was the last word from the _Kearsarge_. _The Inevitable Order to an Inferior Fleet_ “As a man,” said the Admiral that night to the correspondents who pressed him for an interview, “I am glad that the _Kearsarge_ did it. As Admiral, I can only say that her destruction, old though she was, is a heavy loss to us that would not be balanced even if, besides the ships she sank, she had sunk both the dreadnaughts. We have ordered the fleet to keep itself intact.” “Does that mean that there are to be no raids?” “It cannot be done,” answered the Admiral. “With sufficient machinery, heroism can do great deeds to-day, as ever. Without the machinery, it can only go down, singing.[11] The enemy transports are within an inmost line of great ships. At the margin of their zone of fire is another armored line of dreadnaughts. And the outer cordon is at the margin of that zone of fire. Thus one of our raiding ships would have to break through at least thirty miles, every inch of it under fire from half a dozen ships. It cannot be done. This enemy fleet could be broken only by brute force. To attack in force with our inferior fleet would mean simply that we should smash ourselves against him as unavailingly as if we smashed ourselves full speed ahead against a rocky coast.” “But surely at night our ships can dash in!” insisted the public, reluctant to give up romantic hopes. “Wait--and some night you will see!” Then there came a wireless relayed from the _Conyngham_, biggest and swiftest of the American destroyer divisions. She had circled the whole enemy fleet, flying around it through days and nights at the full speed of her thirty knots. Her message told why there could be no raids at night. There was no night. All the sea, ran the _Conyngham’s_ tale, was lit like a flaming city. The outer cordon played its search-lights far toward each horizon. It played other lights inward, toward its own battle-ships. And the line of battle-ships in turn, kept mighty searchlights, bow and stern, steadily on their transports.