hat the newspapers did for Lieutenant Cushing.

Of course, the young lieutenant did not know all this, and he felt full
of hope as his boat went up stream without being seen or heard. The
night was very dark and there were no lights on board, and the engines
were new and made no noise.

So he passed the lookout in the river and the sentries on the banks
without an eye seeing him or his boat.

But when he came up to the iron-clad his hopes went down. For there was
the boom of logs so far out that his spar could not reach her.

What was he to do? Should he land at the wharf and take his men on
board, and try to capture her where she lay?

Before he had time to think it was too late for that. A sentry on board
saw the launch and called out:

"Boat ahoy!" There was no answer.

"What boat is that?" Still no answer.

Then came a musket shot, and then a rattle of musketry from the river
bank. A minute after lights flashed out and men came running down the
wharf. The ship's crew tumbled up from below. All was haste and
confusion.

Almost any man would have given it up for lost and run for safety. But
Cushing was not of that kind. It did not take him a second to decide. He
ran the launch out into the stream, turned her round, and dashed at full
speed straight for the boom.

A storm of bullets came from the deck of the _Albemarle_, but he heeded
them no more than if they had been snowflakes. In a minute the bow of
the launch struck the logs.

They were slippery with river slime and the light boat climbed up on
them, driving them down under the water. Over she went, and slid into
the water inside the boom.

Cushing stood in the bow, with the trigger-string in his hand. He
lowered the torpedo under the hull of the iron-clad, lifted it till he
felt it touch her bottom, and then pulled the string.

There came two loud reports. A hundred-pounder gun was being fired from
the ship's side right over his head. Along with it came a dull roar from
under the water. The dynamite torpedo had gone off, tearing a great
hole in the wooden bottom. In a minute the ill-fated _Albemarle_ began
to sink.

The launch was fast inside the boom, and the wave from her torpedo was
rushing over her, carrying her down.

"Surrender," came a voice from above.

"Never! Swim for your lives, men," cried Cushing, and he sprang into the
flowing stream.

Two or three bullets had gone through his clothing, but he was unhurt,
and swam swiftly away