No matter for that. He was there to sink the
Albemarle. The smaller contingency of losing his own life
was a matter to be left for an after-thought.
This decision was reached in a moment's thought. The noise
above them increased. Men were running and shouting, lights
flashing, landsmen, startled by the noise, hurrying to the
river-bank. Without an instant's delay the launch was
wheeled round, steamed rapidly into the stream until a good
offing was gained, turned again, and now drove straight
forward for the Albemarle with all the power of her engines.
As she came near bullets poured like hail across her decks.
One tore off the sole of Cushing's shoe; another went
through the back of his coat; it was perilously close and
hot work. The hail came again:
"What boat is that?"
This time Lieutenant Cushing replied. His reply was not in
words, however, but in a howitzer load of canister which
drove across the Albemarle's deck. The next minute the bow
of the launch struck the logs. As had been expected, the
light craft slid up on their slippery surfaces, forcing
them down into the water. The end of the spar almost touched
the iron hull of the destined victim.
The first rope was loosened. The spar, with its load,
dropped under water. The launch was still gliding onward,
and carrying the spar forward.
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