as we looked, the devoted boat was caught between the steamer and the iron-clad,—­a sharp sound of crushing wood was heard,—­thwarts, oars, and splinters flew in air,—­the boat’s crew leaped to the Monitor’s deck.  Death stared us in the face; our iron prow must go through the Rhode Island’s side, and then an end to all.  One awful moment we held our breath,—­then the hawser was cleared,—­the steamer moved off, as it were, step by step, first one, then another, till a ship’s-length lay between us, and then we breathed freely.  But the boat!—­had she gone to the bottom, carrying brave souls with her?  No, there she lay, beating against our iron sides, but still, though bruised and broken, a life-boat to us.

There was no hasty scramble for life when it was found she floated; all held back.  The men kept steadily on at their work of bailing,—­only those leaving, and in the order named, whom the captain bade save themselves.  They descended from the turret to the deck with mingled fear and hope, for the waves tore from side to side, and the coolest head and bravest heart could not guaranty safety.  Some were washed over as they left the turret, and, with a vain clutch at the iron deck, a wild throwing-up of the arms, went down, their death-cry ringing in the ears of their companions.

The boat sometimes held her place by the Monitor’s side, then was dashed hopelessly out of reach, rising and falling on the waves.  A sailor would spring from the deck to reach her, be seen for a moment in mid-air, and then, as she rose, fall into her.  So she gradually filled up; but some poor souls who sought to reach her failed even as they touched her receding sides, and went down.

We had on board a little messenger-boy, the special charge of one of the sailors, and the pet of all; he must inevitably have been lost, but for the care of his adopted father, who, holding him firmly in his arms, escaped as by miracle, being washed overboard, and succeeded in placing him safely in the boat.

The last but one to make the desperate venture was the surgeon; he leaped from the deck, and at the very instant saw the boat being swept away by the merciless sea.  Making one final effort, he threw his body forward as he fell, striking across the boat’s side so violently, it was thought some of his ribs must be broken.  “Haul the Doctor in!” shouted Lieutenant Greene, perhaps remembering how, a little time back, he himself, almost gone down in the unknown sea, had been “hauled in” by a quinine rope flung him by the Doctor.  Stout sailor-arms pulled him in, one more sprang to a place in her, and the boat, now full, pushed off,—­in a sinking condition, it is true, but still bearing hope with her, for she was wood.