in a sinking condition.  He then sent a boat on board, and surrendered the U.S. gunboat, Hatteras, nine guns, Lieutenant-Commander Blake, 140 men.  Boats were immediately lowered and sent to his assistance, when an alarm was given that another steamer was bearing down for us.  The boats were recalled and hoisted up, when it was found to be a false alarm.  The order was given, and the boatswain and his mates piped “All hands out boats to save life;” and soon the prisoners were transferred to our ship—­the officers under guard on the quarter deck, and the men in single irons.  The boats were then hoisted up, the battery run in and secured, and the main brace spliced.  All hands piped down, the enemy’s vessel sunk, and we steaming quietly away by 8.30, all having been done in less than two hours.  In fact, had it not been for our having the prisoners on board, we would have sworn nothing unusual had taken place—­the watch below quietly sleeping in their hammocks.  The conduct of our men was truly commendable.  No flurry, no noise—­all calm and determined.  The coolness displayed by them could not be surpassed by any old veterans—­our chief boatswain’s mate apparently in his glory.  “Sponge!”—­“Load with cartridge!”—­“Shell-fire seconds!”—­“Runout!”—­“Well, down compressors!”—­“Left, traverse!”—­“Well!”—­“Ready!”—­“Fire!”—­“That’s into you!”—­“Damn you! that kills your pig!”—­“That stops your wind!” &c., &c., was uttered as each shot was heard to strike with a crash that nearly deafened you.  The other boatswain’s mate seemed equally to enjoy the affair.  As he got his gun to bear upon the enemy, he would take aim, and banging away, would plug her, exclaiming, as each shot told—­“That’s from the scum of England!”—­“That’s a British pill for you to swallow!” the New York papers having once stated that our men were the “scum of England.”  All other guns were served with equal precision.  We were struck seven times; only one man being hurt during the engagement, and he only received a flesh-wound in the cheek.  One shot struck under the counter, penetrating as far as a timber, then glancing off; a second struck the funnel; a third going through the side across the berth-deck, and into the opposite side; another raising the deuce in the lamp room; the others lodging in the coal-bunkers.  Taking a shell up and examining it, we found it filled with sand instead of powder.  The enemy’s fire was directed chiefly towards our stern, the shots flying pretty quick over the quarter-deck, near to where our Captain was standing.  As they came whizzing over him, he, with his usual coolness, would exclaim—­“Give it to the rascals!”—­“Aim low, men!”—­“Don’t be all night sinking that fellow!” when for all or anything we knew, she might have been an iron-clad or a ram.