Through the flaming jaws of hell, the fleet, with lungs throbbing with every pound of steam, dashed and passed the forts! Farragut led in the _Hartford_. But his work had only begun. He had scarcely reckoned on the little Confederate fleet. He found them a serious proposition. Suddenly above the flash and roar and the batteries of the forts and over the broadsides of the ships leaped a wall of fire straight into the sky. Slowly but surely the flaming heavens moved down on the attacking fleet lighting the yellow waters with unearthly glare. The Confederates had loosed a fleet of fire ships loaded with pitch pine cargoes. Farragut's lines wavered in the black confusion of rolling clouds of impenetrable smoke, lighted by the glare of leaping flames. The daring little fleet of the Confederacy moved down through the blinding vapors of their own fires and boldly attacked the on-coming hosts. Friend could scarcely be told from foe. A game little Confederate tug stuck her nose into a fire-ship, pushed it squarely against Farragut's _Hartford_ and slipped between his guns in the smoke and flame unharmed. The Flagship ran aground. Her sailors bravely stuck to their post and from their pumps threw a deluge of water on the flames and extinguished them. The engines of the _Hartford_, working with all their might, pulled her off the shore under her own steam. The _Louisiana_, the new gunboat of the Confederacy, had been pressed into service with but two of her guns working--but she was of little use and became unmanageable. Captain Kennon, the gallant Confederate commander of the _Governor Moore_, found that the bow of his ship interfered with the aim of his gunners. "Lower your muzzle and blow the bow of your ship away!" The big gun dipped its black mouth and blew the bow of his own ship to splinters and through the opening poured shot after shot into the Federal fleet. Kennon fired his last shot at point-blank range, turned the broken nose of his ship ashore and blew her up. For an hour and a half the two desperate foes wrestled with each other amid flame and smoke and darkness. As the first blush of dawn mantled the eastern sky the conflict slowly died away. Three of Farragut's gunboats had been driven back and one sunk, but his fleet had done the immortal deed. Battered and riddled with shots, they had passed the forts successfully. As the sun rose on the beautiful spring morning he lifted his battle flags and steamed up the river. New Orleans, the commercial capital of the South, the largest export city of the world, lay on the horizon in silent shimmering beauty, a priceless treasure, at his mercy.