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and send over a boat. The crew were distinctly seen flourishing their cutlasses, and the gunners ramming and pointing their guns. She carried three guns, sup posed to be rifled cannon.

Then the St. Lawrence threw up her ports, and disclosed a whole broadside of cannon, with the gunners at the breech of the guns, holding lighted fuses, and directly the broad decks were filled with seamen in blue jackets, armed with muskets, who sprung into the shrouds, and ran out on the yards, laying prone in the maintop, on the bowsprit, in the forecastle, and at every point where aim could be taken with advantage. In a word, the ugly merchantman was metamorphosed into a bristling war ship, with a man at every point, and a broadside of cannon looking into the eyes of the pirates.

The latter, taken aback, recoiled a moment; but, before they had time for action, even for thought, the guns belched forth iron and fire, splintering the masts, cutting the rigging and sails as with knives, breaking the spars and the booms, and literally carving the schooner into pieces, and opening gulfs into which the waters rushed as through sluices, filling the hold, and admonishing the Rebels that their sole hopes of life lay in the ship's boat, or in wrestling with the sea.

The fire still continued, and the water was full of drift-wood. Many of the men jumped overboard, and the rest, launching the life-boat, jumped in, and held up a white handkerchief as a sign of surrender.

The St. Lawrence still continued the fire with small arms, but, directing their aim at the hulk, and not at the small boat, the crew, excepting four men, were not injured. In ten minutes from the firing of her first

gun, the vessel swayed heavily, and went under, carry. ing down four men.

The officers of the St. Lawrence now discovered the life-boat and the flag of humiliation. They dropped a boat and made out to the Rebels, and finally passed them on board ship, where they were ironed as fast as received, and securely confined below.

In the engagement the St. Lawrence received two shots, one in the foresail, the other in the quarter-deck. She transferred her prisoners, thirty-seven in number, to the Flag, on Sunday morning, and they were at once taken to Philadelphia, where they were confined in the Moyamensing prison to await the action of the proper authorities.

These pirates were mostly Irishmen by birth, poorly dressed, and appeared to have no regular uniform. As far as appearances were concerned, they were admirably

fitted for their nefarious business.

The Petrel was formerly the United States revenue cutter Wm. Aiken, and was surrendered in Charleston harbor by her commander, on the 27th of December, 1860.

STORY XIX.

DEATH OF GENERAL LYON, AT THE BATTLE OF WILSON'S CREEK, AUGUST 10th, 1861.

GENERAL LYON had already received two wounds and had his horse shot under him, but immediately mounted another and continued giving orders.

The First Iowa, under Lieutenant-Colonel Merritt,

and part of the Kansas troops, were ordered to take the place of the First Missouri, who were almost exhausted, from over two hours severe fighting, and were in danger of being overpowered by a fourth body of fresh troops, now brought against them.

The Iowans and Kansans marched to the front with a firm tread, in excellent order, and, fighting like tigers, saved our army from overwhelming defeat. General Lyon saw and highly commended their indomitable bravery.

General Lyon now desired the men to prepare to make a bayonet charge immediately after their next fire; when the Iowans at once offered to go, and asked for a leader. There was no time to designate a leader; the enemy were advancing in force. "I will lead you! Come on, brave men!" exclaimed Lyon, placing himself in the van of the Iowans, and General Sweeney leading the Kansas troops.

The enemy advanced, discharged their pieces, and then retired before the destructive fire of our men. At this time, the brave General Lyon fell. He was immediately placed in an ambulance, to be carried to Springfield. General Sweeney being at the same time disabled by a shot in his right leg, the command devolved upon Major Sturgis.

The battle having commenced in front before six o'clock in the morning, and continued with but little intermission until eleven o'clock, and the enemy being finally driven from the field; Major Sturgis, upon learning that Captain Totten's cannon ammunition was nearly expended, ordered the ambulances, laden with wounded officers and soldiers, to move toward Spring. field; Lieutenant Dubois' battery having been sent back,

to the hill, at the north of the valley, to protect the retreat, in case the enemy should return.

The remnant of our brave army, though victorious in battle, then commenced returning to Springfield, in face of an enemy greatly superior in numbers, who were, however, so terribly whipped, as to be unable to make any attempt to follow.

This was one of the bloodiest battles on record. General Lyon's force was 5,200 men, while that of the enemy, as ascertained from their captured muster-rolls, was 23,000. Our loss was 223 killed, 721 wounded, and 291 missing. The Rebel loss was much greater. The remains of General Lyon were placed in a metallic coffin, and in charge of his relatives and friends, accompanied by a military escort, were transported to Eastport, Conn., the place of his nativity, where they were interred with military honors and marked demonstrations of public regard.

Thus, in the prime of life, closed the career of one of the bravest and noblest men that ever devoted his life and energies to our country's service.

A wail on the wind,

From the far Western border:

Our nation is stricken

In grief and disorder!

A hero hath fallen!

The tidings how solemn !

Facing the foeman,

At the head of his column !

Brave Iowas called

For a hero to lead 'em,

To again front the battle

For the Union and freedom.

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Mid the din of the battle,
And moans of the dying!

Thick o'er the battle-field,
Carnage is scattered!
Hundreds of heroes lie

Mangled and shattered!

Death sends his messenger,
Heavy and leaden,
Again Lyon's heart's blood

His armor doth redden!

He falleth, while flieth

Base traitors before him:

A victor he dieth,

And glory waves o'er him.

A wail on the wind

From the far Western border:

Our nation is stricken

In grief and disorder!

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