"They can't win! They can't win!" he exclaimed. "They'd better draw off
before they're sunk!"

"So they had," said Warner sadly. "Boats are at a disadvantage fighting
batteries. The old darky was right when he preferred a train wreck to a
boat wreck, 'ef the train's smashed, thar you are on the solid ground,
but ef the boat blows up, whar is you?' That's sense. The boats are
retiring! It's sad, but it's sense. A boat that steams away will live
to fight another day."

Dick was dejected. He fancied he could hear the cheering of their foes
at what looked like a Union defeat, but he recalled that Grant, the
bulldog, led them. He would never think of retiring, and he was sure to
be ready with some new attempt.

The gunboats drew off to the far western shore and lay there, puffing
smoke defiantly. Their fight with the batteries had lasted five hours
and they had suffered severely. It seemed strange to Dick that none of
them had been sunk, and in fact it was strange. All had been hit many
times, and one had been pierced by nearly fifty shot or shell. Their
killed or wounded were numerous, but their commanders and crews were
still resolute, and ready to go into action whenever General Grant wished.

"Spunky little fellows," said Pennington. "We don't have many boats out
where I live, but I must hand a bunch of laurel to the navy every time."

"And you can bind wreaths around the hair of those navy fellows, too,"
said Warner, "and sing songs in their honor whether they win or lose."

"Now I wonder what's next," said Dick.