CHAPTER XI.
A PERILOUS MOMENT.
The scene on the gun deck of the "Yankee" at that moment would have made an eloquent subject for the brush of a Meissonier.

It was the deck of a warship in battle, and the spectacle enacted was accompanied, by an orchestra of the mighty guns of a fleet in action.
Imagine a compartment of steel, a compartment filled with smoke that surged and eddied as the ship lunged forward or rolled upon a heavy swell.
Imagine scattered about in this pungent vapor many groups of men, men half-naked, perspiring; their glistening bodies smeared and stained with the grime of conflict.
Imagine in the centre of one of these groups a wicked, menacing gun--a five-inch breechloader, its long, lean barrel raised shoulder-high upon the apex of a conical gun-mount, near the base of which are significant wooden cases, some empty and others filled with elongated, formidable cartridges; and pails of black, dirty water ascum with powder; and other objects each significant of war.
Imagine these things, and then understand that this gun, made to be turned against an enemy, has now turned against its workers.

In the bore, pent in by the polished breechblock, is a cartridge which has failed in its duty.

It is apparently defective.
The tide of battle is surging on; other ships of the bombarding fleet are still pouring their shot and shell upon the grim array of forts ashore; other guns of this ship are pursuing their duty with savage energy.

But this gun is silent.
The men wax impatient.