Still, it was natural to cast some anxious glances up the river, and it was with surprise that I presently saw a canoe descending, which contained Major Strong.

Coming on board, he told me with some excitement that the tug could not possibly be got off, and he wished for orders.
It was no time to consider whether it was not his place to have given orders, instead of going half a mile to seek them.

I was by this time so far exhausted that everything seemed to pass by me as by one in a dream; but I got into a boat, pushed up stream, met presently the John Adams returning, and was informed by the officer in charge of the Connecticut battery that he had abandoned the tug, and--worse news yet--that his guns had been thrown overboard.

It seemed to me then, and has always seemed, that this sacrifice was utterly needless, because, although the captain of the John Adams had refused to risk his vessel by going near enough to receive the guns, he should have been compelled to do so.
Though the thing was done without my knowledge, and beyond my reach, yet, as commander of the expedition, I was technically responsible.
It was hard to blame a lieutenant when his senior had shrunk from a decision, and left him alone; nor was it easy to blame Major Strong, whom I knew to be a man of personal courage though without much decision of character.

He was subsequently tried by court-martial and acquitted, after which he resigned, and was lost at sea on his way home.
The tug, being thus abandoned, must of course be burned to prevent her falling into the enemy's hands.