he steel hull the firemen feed the mighty
furnaces to a white heat. It is all the same to them now as when the
monsters are engaged in a death-struggle. The sounds of the discharges,
of the explosion of shells, and the cries of the wounded will be too
distant and muffled to give them an idea of what is going on in the
world above them. The first news will come when the terrible torpedo
explodes against their ship's side, dooming them to a watery grave, or
the merciless ram sinks into its very bowels, or when a heavy shell
penetrates one of the huge boilers, dooming all hands in the terrific
explosion that will follow.

The stranger has altered her course and is steaming in the direction of
the _Kearsarge_. There are her two military masts, but no flag as yet to
show her nationality. Suddenly something flutters from her mast-head. It
is the flag of England! There is no time now to consider what must be
done. The ships are but five miles apart, steaming for each other at
twenty-knots speed. One minute more and the cruisers will be within
battle-range.

The Captain is a man of quick judgment, and his mind is made up in an
instant.

From his point of vantage on the bridge he takes a careful look at the
stranger and then at the drawing he has of her, furnished by the Navy
Department. It is the same vessel; yet why would she be cleared for
action if a British cruiser?

Starboard!

The mighty ship swings around in answer to her helm, and is heading
perpendicularly to the course of the stranger.

Two midshipmen stationed at the range-finders in the tops are pointing
the delicate instruments towards the approaching ship. Dials at each gun
automatically show that the distance is rapidly diminishing. The marines
have taken their rifles to the superstructure-deck, and are crouching
behind a breastwork constructed of closely lashed hammocks. The doctors
have removed their medicines and instruments to the ward-room, and the
long mess-tables are in readiness to receive the dead and wounded. The
chief quartermaster stands ready aft with a spare ensign to hoist over
the ship should his country's flag be shot away.

When the range-finder registers three and a half miles the Captain
orders the forward turret to fire at the stranger. The air is rent
immediately by the blast of the discharge.

The crew wait breathlessly while the shells reach the height of their
trajectories. One strikes the sea short, while the other strikes the