Lieutenant-Commanding Harrison had paid his executive the high compliment of allowing him to pilot the vessel, and Perkins took position in the eyes of her, on the topgallant forecastle, while Lieutenant-Commanding Harrison and Captain Bailey stood aft, near the wheel, and all the men except the helmsmen were made to lie flat on the deck until the time came for them to serve the battery.  Prone on the deck at Perkins’s feet, and with his head close down over the bow, was the captain of the forecastle, to watch the channel and give timely warning of anything barring the way that might escape the wider-ranging eye of the intrepid young pilot; and as the Cayuga pressed on, receiving the first shock of the outburst from the forts, what finer subject for the painter, than that lithe young figure standing up in bold and unflinching relief, at the extreme bow of the ship, peering ahead in the morning starlight to pilot her safely on her way, amid the blinding flame and screaming bolts, the hurtle of shot and crash of shell, the explosion and deafening roar of a hundred shotted guns, as the vessel steamed into the jaws of death, leading the fleet into one of the most momentous and memorable conflicts in naval annals.  Nor should cool and phlegmatic Harrison nor grand old Bailey be overlooked, as the constant flashes of the thick exploding shells revealed them standing, calm and grim, at their posts, in readiness to direct the movements of vessel and column, and engage the foe, ashore and afloat; nor the impatient officers and crew, who eagerly waited the order to spring to their guns and make reply to the withering fire pouring in upon them as yet unavenged.

“Noticing,” said Perkins, “that the enemy’s guns were all aimed for midstream, I steered right close under the walls of St. Philip, and although our masts and rigging were badly shot through, the hull was hardly damaged.  After passing the last battery, I looked back for some of our vessels, and my heart jumped into my mouth, when I found I could not see a single one.  I thought they must all have been sunk by the forts.  Looking ahead, I saw eleven of the enemy’s gunboats coming down, upon us, and I supposed we were gone.  Three made a dash to board us, but a charge from our eleven-inch settled one, the Governor Moore.  The ram Manassas just missed us astern, and we soon disposed of the other.  Just then, some of our gunboats came to the assistance of the Cayuga, and all sorts of things happened; it was the wildest excitement all round.  The Varuna fired a broadside into us instead of the enemy.  Another attacked one of our prizes; three had struck to us before any of our ships came up, but when they did come up we all pitched in and sunk eleven vessels in about twenty minutes.”

The brief encounter with the Moore had been very exciting.  The vessels were alongside each other, and both were reloading,—­the guns muzzle to muzzle, and but a few feet apart.  The gun that could fire first would decide the fate of one or the other.  Perkins sprang down, and, taking personal charge of the smoking eleven-inch, put fresh vigor into its loading, and firing the instant the rammer was withdrawn, swept the Moore’s gun from its carriage, and killed or disabled thirteen of its crew.