The sudden appearance of the gunboat in our waters was a great surprise to our soldiers, as no British vessel had been hereabouts since Washington occupied New York City and Long Island. The gunboat was a part of Admiral Lord Howe’s fleet, just arrived from England, and that day anchored off Cliffton, Staten Island. The British army at once landed on the eastern shore of the island, gladly welcomed by the supporters of British oppression. Along towards the middle of the night the gunboat was seen coming slowly through the Achter Koll, opposite the Singer factory. In the soft moonlit night the craft was plainly distinguishable to our argus-eyed soldiers keeping watch and ward along the shore. As any effort they could make against the ship with their smooth-bore muskets would be innocent, they maintained a painful silence, feeling assured that when it reached the battery our guns would give a good account of themselves. The commander of the vessel, in blissful ignorance of the possession of artillery by the Americans, sailed unconcernedly and tranquilly over the placid waters. Like most British officers at that period of the war, he had profound contempt for American militiamen, whom he did not consider foemen worthy of his steel. Captain Neill, who had been on the _qui vive_ for some time, on learning of the vessel’s approach, impatiently awaited a closer proximity in order that his shots might be fully effective and his welcome to the stranger more hearty, if less hospitable. His guns, ready shotted, were admirably posted close to the water, and matches already lighted by the fire-workers. It was only when the vessel, but slowly making its way through the silver-rippled water, owing to the lightness of the breeze, reached a point directly opposite the redoubt occupied by Captain Neill, that his dogs of war were loosened, and from their brazen throats belched forth sheets of bright red flame, preceded by iron missiles, which swept the deck of the craft, carrying death, destruction and dismay to the hitherto confident and unsuspecting crew. The salvo, like a clap of thunder from a serene sky, awoke echoes, which were followed by a rain of merciless iron, utterly demoralizing the officers and crew, and creating scenes of indescribable confusion and terror. A state of chaos ensued; discipline was thrown to the winds—it was every man for himself. The distracted sailors, finding themselves in a trap and seeing no way of escape save by surrender, deserted the vessel by jumping overboard, at least those who had not been killed or maimed by the well-directed fire of our artillerymen. Those who thus sought safety by springing into the water, endeavored to reach either shore; most of them, however, struck out for the Jersey side on account of its nearness. Some succeeded in gaining the Staten Island shore, but many failed to reach either.