of surrendering. The
sharpshooters pick off the gunners of the Beauregard, compelling them to
take shelter beneath their casemates.

We who see it hold our breaths. We are unmindful of the explosions
around us. How will it end? Will the Queen sink with all her brave men
on board?

But her consort is at hand, the Monarch, commanded by Captain Ellet,
brother of Colonel Ellet. He was five or ten minutes behind the Queen
in starting, but he has appeared at the right moment. He, too, has
been unmindful of the shot and shell falling around him. He aims
straight as an arrow for the Beauregard. The Beauregard is stiff,
stanch, and strong, but her timbers, planks, knees, and braces are
no more than laths before the powerful stroke of the Monarch. The
sharpshooters pour in their fire. The engineer of the Monarch puts his
force-pumps in play and drenches the decks of the Beauregard with
scalding water. An officer of the Beauregard raises a white cloth upon
a rammer. It is a signal for surrender. The sharpshooters stop firing.
There are the four boats, three of them floating helplessly in the
stream, the water pouring into the hulls, through the splintered
planking.

Captain Ellet saw that the Queen was disabled, and took her in tow to
the Arkansas shore. Prompted by humanity, instead of falling upon the
other vessels of the fleet he took the General Price to the shore.

The Little Rebel was pierced through her hull by a half-dozen shots.
Commodore Montgomery saw that the day was lost. He ran alongside the
Beauregard, and, notwithstanding the vessel had surrendered, took the
crew on board, to escape. But a shot from the Cairo passed through the
boilers. The steam rushed out like the hissing of serpents. The boat was
near the shore, and the crew jumped into the water, climbed the bank,
and fled to the woods. The Cairo gave them a broadside of shells as they
ran.

The Beauregard was fast settling. The Jessie Benton ran alongside. All
had fled save the wounded. There was a pool of blood upon the deck. The
sides of the casemate were stained with crimson drops, yet warm from the
heart of a man who had been killed by a shell.

"Help, quick!" was the cry of Captain Maynadier.

We rushed on board in season to save a wounded officer. The vessel
settled slowly to the bottom.

"I thank you," said the officer, "for saving me from drowning. You are
my enemies, but you have been kinder to me than those whom I called my
friends. One o