the order from the flag-ship.

Commodore Davis believed in fighting on full stomachs. Hot coffee,
bread, and beef were carried round to the men.

The Rebel fleet watched us awhile. The crowd upon the shore increased.
Perhaps they thought the Yankees did not dare to fight. At length the
Rebel fleet began to move up-stream.

"Round to; head down-stream; keep in line with the flag-ship," was the
order which we on board the Jessie Benton carried to each boat of the
line. We returned, and took our position between the Benton and
Carondelet.

I stood on the top of the tug, beside the pilot-house. Stand with me
there, and behold the scene. The sun is an hour high, and its bright
rays lie in a broad line of silver light upon the eddying stream. You
look down the river to the city, and behold the housetops, the windows,
the levee, crowded with men, women, and children. The flag of the
Confederacy floats defiantly. The Rebel fleet is moving slowly towards
us. A dense cloud of smoke rolls up from the chimneys of the steamers,
and floats over the city.

There is a flash, a puff from the Little Rebel, a sound of something
unseen in the air, and a column of water is thrown up a mile behind us.
A second shot, from the Beauregard, falls beside the Benton. A third,
from the Price, aimed at the Carondelet, misses by a foot or two, and
dashes up the water between the Jessie Benton and the flag-ship. It is a
sixty-four-pounder. If it had struck us, our boat would have been
splintered to kindlings in an instant.

Commodore Montgomery sees that the boats of the Federal fleet have their
iron-plated bows up-stream. He comes up rapidly, to crush them at the
stern, where there are no iron plates. A signal goes up from the Benton,
and the broadsides begin to turn towards the enemy. The crowd upon the
levee think that the Federal boats are retreating, and hurrah for
Commodore Montgomery.

There has been profound silence on board the Union gunboats. The men are
waiting for the word. It comes.

"Open fire, and take close quarters."

The Cairo begins. A ten-inch shot screams through the air, and skips
along the water towards the Little Rebel. Another, from the St. Louis. A
third, from the Louisville. Another, from the Carondelet, and lastly,
from the Benton. The gunners crouch beside their guns, to track the
shot. Some are too high, some too low. There is an answering roar from
all the Rebel boats. The air is full of indescribable noises.