Fairhaven herald. [volume] (Fairhaven, Wash.) 1890-????, 1891-03-26

moment We feel shock, aud know that
the inner barge has been struck near the
water line boy round shot.
Good shotP' exclaimed; they've got
cur exact range, Soys."
"Now we're in for it, said Ward
"Ihe fun has begun" remarked the
captain Of the tug.
"rhe ball has opened, quoth Colburn;
and ii had opened with a vengeance.
Every battery soon bl1Zes and thunders.
We are still several miles, by the river,
from the town, which is around the bend,
and which we must double before reaching
it. Then we shall be directly under the
great guns, roaring at US now like gigantic
and maddened lions, and roaring every
second louder and louder.
We are, | feel, utterly powerless. We
cannot fight back as in ordinary battle; we
must stand and take it. This is why mill
tary men call it "A proof Of nerve. The situa.
ton is certainly sensational How can it
be more SOP Bat it is not so exciting as !
had anticipated Is any crisis in our lives
so exciting2 We are under such stern con
troll, necessarily, that we seem to ourselves
strangely, unnaturally calm.
Instead Of every minute lengthening into
an age; instead Of wondering if we can
possibly last five minutes under such fire
of hell, find myself talking quietly to my
journalistic companions, and they TO me,
admiring the grand spectacle, which as
suredly it is, and watching the shells ex-
plode above our heads. Safety is out of
the question; the danger is equal every
where, while a hundred siege guns all
along shore are doing their utmost to blow
our tiny craft into the air.
The whole town seems like an ignited
powder magazine. The din is deafening
The growl Of round shot mingles with the
shrek of shell. The full orbed moon turns
| CHASTITY in the continuous cannon flashes.
| The sulphurous smoke lies on the bosom
of the broad, swirling river, and crawls on
ward by degrees, and is finally swallowed
up in the sultry air We can see, as in a
| lurid vision, the citizens in the street anX-
/ iously looking for the humiliation Of the
| handful Of their hated foes.
One Of them told me afterward that
he had been familiar with many dire
/ full scenes OF the war; but that he had
never seen anything so horrible; that his
blood ran cold; that De pitied US from his
Utmost heart. IL seemed, he said, so bit
terly cruel, so completely hopeless, so
shudderingly forlorn. | have no doubt
that our situation appeared from the shore
more pitiable, more desperate, than it ap-
peared to rs. We never, | presume, fully
realize what we take part in, and we who
shared in the expedition grew measurably
accustomed, in a few minutes, TO our men
acing tragical environment
We have now passed the upper batter
les. We are fairly abreast of the town.
Our little tug, which had begun working
its engines rs soon as we were struck. is
putting Justify away; but the puffs are
audible only at odd moments, between the
stunning noise of the artillery Various
men are wounded by fragments of flying
shell. Wecannot hear their groans, though
incapable Of rendering aid be- we can see
that they are hurt.
We are all helpless in this storm of iron,
in this rage OF flame. We wonder as the
shot and she'll roar, shrek, hiss around IA
that we are not torn to atoms. But still
the tug putfs on. We make little head
way, for the big. clumsy barges clog the
current. We must have been half an hour
under the batteries They are still pound
ing pounding, pounding like mad We
are below the city. In n few minutes more
we shall be ont Of danger. What a salts
faction it will be 10 pass through this hid
eous ordeal! We begin to felicitate our
selves that we shall.
Bang, crash, shriekl A ten-inch shell
has struck the tug, wreckng it, and, ex-
ploding, has thrown the furnace fire on
the barges. The boilers burst. The loose
hay kindles at once, and we are all ablaze.
A number of men are scalded aud wound
ed by dashing wood and iron What
emulation Of disasterl Shot, shell, fire,
steam. Every avenue TO death opened
The tugs burn like finder The batteries
thunder on rs before though damage has
done its worst; fate played its last baleful
card. Our funeral pyre reddens the trem-
bling sky.
They who survive and are unhurt take
to the water and try to escape Vain
hopel They are captured by the enemy,
who come out in yawls, and drag them in
like huge fish All killed, wounded or
made prisoners. Not one gets away to
tell the tale. ThermopylB is thus sur
passed. There were no dispatches from
hell, before or after breakfast. A Tribune
correspondent, twenty eight years later,
repeats the story, instead, in the clear light
Of the upper world
JUNIUs HENRI BROWNE