Frank directed his fire upon a pile of cotton-bales, which protected one of the largest guns of the fort; but, as fast as he knocked them down, the rebels would recklessly spring out of the fort and put them up again.  At length Captain Wilson ordered she sharp-shooters to advance five hundred yards nearer the fort.  The rebels soon discovered this, and the cotton-bales were allowed to remain where they had fallen.

In half an hour that part of the fort was completely demolished; and the rebels, being without protection against the sharp-shooters, were obliged to abandon the gun.

While Frank was congratulating himself on the fine shooting he had done, and wondering why the troops were not ordered to charge, he was startled by the rapid report of muskets behind him.  Three of his men fell dead where they had stood; and Frank turned just in time to see a party of rebels issuing from the woods.  They came on with loud yells; and one of them, who appeared to be the leader, called out: 

“Surrender, now, you infernal Yankees.  Shoot down the first one who resists or attempts to escape,” he added, turning to his men.  “Stand to your guns, my lads!” shouted Captain Wilson.  “Don’t give ground an inch.”

The sailors, always accustomed to obedience, gathered around their officers, and poured a murderous fire upon the advancing enemy, from their revolvers.  The rebels, who were greatly superior in numbers, returned the fire, and the captain fell, mortally wounded.  But the sailors stubbornly stood their ground, until the rebels closed up about them, and Frank saw that escape was impossible.  But he fought like a young tiger, and determined that he would die before he would surrender; for even death was preferable to a long confinement in a Southern prison.

“Drop that pistol!” exclaimed a rebel, pointing his rifle directly at Frank’s head, “or I’ll blow your brains out.”

“Blow away!” exclaimed Frank, seizing the rebel’s rifle, with a quick movement, and firing his revolver full in his face; “I’ll never surrender as long as I have strength left to stand on my feet.  Give it to ’em, lads!”

The next moment Frank was prostrated by a severe blow on the head from the butt of a musket, and the sailors, finding that both their officers were gone, lost all heart, and threw down their weapons.

The rebels had scarcely time to collect their prisoners and retreat, when the troops, who had heard the noise of the conflict, and started to the rescue, arrived.  But they were too late; for in less than half an hour Frank and his men were safe in the fort, and confined under guard.

CHAPTER XII.

The Escape.

Frank, as may be supposed, was not at all pleased with the prospect before him.  He had often heard escaped prisoners relate sad stories of the treatment they had received while in the hands of the rebels; and, as he knew that they cherished an especial hatred toward gun-boatmen, he could not hope to fare very well.