a French one she gave her colors to the breeze. They were the Stars and
Stripes of the American Republic. One of the finest of its frigates had
thrown down the gage of battle to as superb a frigate as belonged to the
British navy.

Since all doubt of her nationality was dispelled, one of the American
seamen walked resolutely to Captain Carden, saluted and told him that he
and his companions had no wish to fight the flag of their country. In
reply the officer ordered him back to his station and with notice that
if the request was repeated he would be shot. Sad to say, the sailor
who made his wish known was one of the first killed in battle.

The two ships now began exchanging shots, but the distance was too great
for any damage on either side. A little after 9 o'clock on that bright
sunshiny Sunday morning they were close enough for the wonderful
marksmanship of the American to display itself. The first shot that
found the _Macedonian_ entered through the starboard bulwark and killed
the sergeant of marines. A minute later the mizzen topmast was sundered,
and, cluttered with sails, yards and rigging, it fell into the maintop,
where it hung suspended, liable to fall at any moment and crush those
beneath.

The fire of the American became frightfully destructive. It seemed as if
every shot splintered some part of the rigging or hull and killed and
wounded men right and left. The exasperating feature of this awful
business was that neither Captain Carden nor his aids, who were
directing operations from the quarter deck, could discover any
corresponding damage on the American ship. Her mizzen topgallant mast
had been carried away, but it looked as if all the other shots sent in
her direction sped past without harm. She was wrapped in an immense