As the last shot fell astern of the boat and sent up a column of spray, we looked about the cabin and saw that no one had been injured.  A moment later came the announcement from the pilot-house: 

“Captain Gorman is killed!”

I ascended to the hurricane deck, and thence to the pilot-house.  The pilot, with his hat thrown aside and his hair streaming in the wind, stood at his post, carefully guiding the boat on her course.  The body of the captain was lying at his feet.  Another man lay dying, close by the opening in which the wheel revolved.  The floor was covered with blood, splinters, glass, and the fragments of a shattered stove.  One side of the little room was broken in, and the other side was perforated where the projectiles made their exit.

The first gun from the Rebels threw a shell which entered the side of the pilot-house, and struck the captain, who was sitting just behind the pilot.  Death must have been instantaneous.  A moment later, a “spherical-case shot” followed the shell.  It exploded as it struck the wood-work, and a portion of the contents entered the side of the bar-keeper of the boat.  In falling to the floor he fell against the wheel.  The pilot, steering the boat with one hand, pulled the dying man from the wheel with the other, and placed him by the side of the dead captain.

Though, apparently, the pilot was as cool and undisturbed as ever, his face was whiter than usual.  He said the most trying moment of all was soon after the first shots were fired.  Wishing to “round the bend” as speedily as possible, he rang the bell as a signal to the engineer to check the speed of one of the wheels.  The signal was not obeyed, the engineers having fled to places of safety.  He rang the bell once more.  He shouted down the speaking-tube, to enforce compliance with his order.

There was no answer.  The engines were caring for themselves.  The boat must be controlled by the rudder alone.  With a dead man and a dying man at his feet, with the Rebel shot and shell every moment perforating the boat or falling near it, and with no help from those who should control the machinery, he felt that his position was a painful one.

We were out of danger.  An hour later we found the gun-boat Neosho, at anchor, eight miles further up the stream.  Thinking we might again be attacked, the commander of the Neosho offered to convoy us to Red River.  We accepted his offer.  As soon as the Neosho raised sufficient steam to enable her to move, we proceeded on our course.

Order was restored on the Von Phul.  Most of the passengers gathered in little groups, and talked about the recent occurrence.  I returned to my writing, and Colburn gave his attention to a book.  With the gun-boat at our side, no one supposed there was danger of another attack.