Almost as gratifying as the sight of the old flag flying in triumph, was the exhibition of our naval power in the river before us.  The larger part of the great North Atlantic squadron, which had done such excellent service in the reduction of the defenses of Wilmington, was lying at anchor, with their hundreds of huge guns yawning as if ardent for more great forts to beat down, more vessels to sink, more heavy artillery to crush, more Rebels to conquer.  It seemed as if there were cannon enough there to blow the whole Confederacy into kingdom-come.  All was life and animation around the fleet.  On the decks the officers were pacing up and down.  One on each vessel carried a long telescope, with which he almost constantly swept the horizon.  Numberless small boats, each rowed by neatly-uniformed men, and carrying a flag in the stern, darted hither and thither, carrying officers on errands of duty or pleasure.  It was such a scene as enabled me to realize in a measure, the descriptions I had read of the pomp and circumstance of naval warfare.

While we were standing, contemplating all the interesting sights within view, a small steamer, about the size of a canal-boat, and carrying several bright brass guns, ran swiftly and noiselessly up to the dock near by, and a young, pale-faced officer, slender in build and nervous in manner, stepped ashore.  Some of the blue jackets who were talking to us looked at him and the vessel with the greatest expression of interest, and said: 

“Hello! there’s the ‘Monticello’ and Lieutenant Cushing.”

This, then, was the naval boy hero, with whose exploits the whole country was ringing.  Our sailor friends proceeded to tell us of his achievements, of which they were justly proud.  They told us of his perilous scouts and his hairbreadth escapes, of his wonderful audacity and still more wonderful success—­of his capture of Towns with a handful of sailors, and the destruction of valuable stores, etc.  I felt very sorry that the man was not a cavalry commander.  There he would have had full scope for his peculiar genius.  He had come prominently into notice in the preceding Autumn, when he had, by one of the most daring performances narrated in naval history, destroyed the formidable ram “Albermarle.”  This vessel had been constructed by the Rebels on the Roanoke River, and had done them very good service, first by assisting to reduce the forts and capture the garrison at Plymouth, N. C., and afterward in some minor engagements.  In October, 1864, she was lying at Plymouth.  Around her was a boom of logs to prevent sudden approaches of boats or vessels from our fleet.  Cushing, who was then barely twenty-one, resolved to attempt her destruction.  He fitted up a steam launch with a long spar to which he attached a torpedo.  On the night of October 27th, with thirteen companions, he ran quietly up the Sound and was not discovered until his boat struck the boom, when a terrific fire was opened upon him.