Undismayed by the awful tempest, Foote pushed steadily onward, cool, calm, hopeful and prepared for the worst.
His pilot was a brave man, but under the frightful fire he began to show a nervousness that caught the eye of Foote.

Walking up to him, he placed his hand in a kindly manner on his shoulder and spoke encouragingly to him.

While he was doing so, the poor fellow was torn into pieces by a shot, and the captain himself was badly wounded in the foot by a flying splinter.

Paying no heed to the bleeding member, he limped about the boat, swept by the iron hail, and gave his orders as coolly as before.
But the shot that killed the pilot also smashed the wheel, and the unmanageable boat began drifting down stream.

The tiller ropes of another boat were also cut about the same time, and she also floated helplessly with the current.