at 8.30 that night, february 17, 1864, the little torpedo boat, after having successfully passed the monitors and ironclads anchored just out of range of fort sumter, and inside the shoals at the harbor mouth, was stopped about a mile from the outer entrance of the main ship channel, where her quarry had been reported as lying quietly at anchor at nightfall. success had attended the efforts of her devoted crew so far. by lacy's command the david was stopped in order to give a little rest, a breathing space, before the last dash at their prey, to the weary seamen who had driven her steadily on since leaving the wharf.

the night was calm and very still. the hatch covers were thrown back, the tired men thrust their heads into the cool, sweet air, so refreshing after the closeness of their badly ventilated vessel, and wetted their fevered, exhausted bodies with the stimulating water of the bay. the artillery officer took advantage of the opportunity to make a careful reëxamination of the torpedo, and lacy was greatly relieved when he reported that he had everything in good working order, so far as he was able to judge. the young commander of the expedition was the more anxious for success because of the previous failures of similar endeavors. after a ten-minute rest he gave the order to get under way.

"men," he said coolly, "you know the history of this boat. there's a chance, ay, more than a chance, that none of us will ever come back from this expedition. you knew all that when you volunteered. if we do get out alive, our country will reward us. if we do not, she will not forget us. shake hands, now. good-by, and god bless you. put every pound of muscle you have into that crank when we get within one hundred yards of the frigate, and jump the boat into her. i'll give the signal. i want to strike her hard."

"ay, ay, sir," replied the seamen as cheerfully as if there was only a frolic before them. "we'll do our best. good-by, and god bless you, sir. we're proud to serve under you whatever comes."

"thank you. all ready with the torpedo, captain?"

"yes, major lacy."

"good! down everybody, now! clap to the hatch covers and start the cranks. easy at first, and when i give the word—hard!"

he seized the spokes of the steering wheel in his steady hands as he spoke. back of him, to relieve him in case of accident, stood captain carlson, the artillery officer. the heavy planks were drawn over the open hatch, locked, and bolted. silently the men manned the cranks. the little engine of destruction gathered way. it was pitch dark, and very close and hot. there was no sound in the shell save the slight creaking of the cranks and the deep breathing of the crew as they toiled over them.

forward by the wheel there was a glass hood, which permitted the men who steered to direct the course of the boat. as the sinister sea demon stole through the waters, lacy caught a sudden glimpse at last of the spars of a heavy ship at anchor before him. the night had cleared somewhat, and although there was no moon, the stars gave sufficient light for him to see the black tracery of masts and yards lifting themselves above the horizon.

how still the looming ship lay. there was scarcely sea enough to tremble the top-hamper of the unsuspecting man-of-war. a faint film of smoke falling lazily from her funnel in the quiet air, with her riding and side-lights, were the only signs of life about her. no more peaceful-looking object floated over the ocean apparently.

"it would be a pity," reflected the man at the wheel for an instant, "to strike her so." but the thought vanished so soon as it had been formulated. his heart leaped in his breast like the hound when he launches himself in that last spring which hurls him on his quarry. another moment—a few more seconds—

"that will be our game," whispered lacy to the artillery captain, in a voice in which his feelings spoke.

"yes."

they were slowly approaching nearer. the bearings of the cranks and screws had been well oiled, and the david slipped through the water without a sound. she was so nearly submerged that she scarcely rippled the surface of the sea. there was no white line of foam to betray her movement through the black water. it was almost impossible for any one to detect the approach of the silent terror. there was nothing showing above water except the flat hatch cover, and that to an unpractised eye looked much like a drifting plank.

yet there were sharp eyes on the ship, and no negligent watch was kept either. when the david was perhaps two hundred feet away, she was seen. the steadiness of her movement proclaimed a thing intelligently driven.

a sharp, sudden cry from the forecastle ahead of them rang through the night. it was so loud and so fraught with alarm that it came in a muffled note to the men in the depths of the torpedo boat. a bugle call rang out, a drum was beaten. the erstwhile silent ship was filled with tumult and clamor.

"they have seen us!" said lacy. "ahead!" he cried, hoarsely. "hard!"

at the same instant the chain cable of the vessel was slipped, bells jangled in her depths, the mighty engines clanked into sudden motion, the screws revolved, and she began slowly to drive astern. but it was too late, the sea devil was too near to be balked of the prey. the men at the cranks of the david, working with superhuman energy, fairly hurled the torpedo boat upon the doomed ship. lacy had time for a single upward glance—his last look at anything! the black railing towering above his head was swarming with men. flashes of light punctured the darkness. bullets pattered like rain on the iron. one or two tore through the flimsy shell. a jet of water struck him in the face.

the next second there was a terrific concussion. the torpedo struck the ship just forward the mainmast and exploded, tearing a great hole in the side, extending far below the water-line. in the blaze of light that followed, the men in the david cheered wildly, and the next moment blackness overwhelmed them.

on the frigate there was the wildest confusion as the sleeping men below came swarming up on deck. some of them never succeeded in reaching the hatchways and were drowned where they slept. some were killed by the explosion. the officers, however, quickly restored order, and as a last resort ordered the surviving men into the rigging, for the water where she lay was shallow, and there they could find safety.

the ship was hopelessly lost. indeed, she began to sink so soon as the torpedo exploded. the water poured into her vitals, and soon the crash of exploding boilers and the hiss of escaping steam added their quota to the confusion.

some of the cooler among the officers and men lingered on the decks, small arms in hand, searching the sea on every hand, until the decks were awash. they were looking and hoping for a chance at the boat which had caused them such a terrible disaster, but they never saw her. she had disappeared.

signals had been burned instantly on the shattered ship. far up and down the line the lights of moving vessels burning answering signals showed that they were alert to render assistance. boats, ships' cutters, dashed alongside to render help, and they, too, sought the torpedo boat, but in vain. she was not to be found.

at the same time the ships of the fleet did not move from their appointed stations, and when the blockade-runners came dashing down through the swash channel in the hope that the vessels usually stationed there would be withdrawn in the excitement, they were met by a deadly fire from the rifled guns, which rendered it impossible for them to proceed. they turned tail and fled. two of them succeeded in returning to the harbor. one of them never came back. she was set on fire and burned by the shells of the ships. the monitors and ironclads joined in the battle, the forts returned the fire, and the quiet night was filled with the noise of roaring cannon and exploding shell.

lacy's had been a gallant and heroic attempt. it had succeeded as to the blowing up of a federal warship, but it had failed otherwise. by a singular freak of fortune the blow had not fallen upon the vessel for which it had been intended. after dark the fine new sloop-of-war housatonic had replaced the wabash off the main ship channel, and she had suffered instead of the flagship.

although when day broke she was sought for again, nothing more was seen of the david. at least not then. with the explosion of the torpedo she had vanished from the face of the waters. for a long time general beauregard and the people in charleston waited for tidings of her, but it was not until the war was over and the housatonic was raised that the mystery was solved. they found the torpedo boat with her nose pointed toward the hole she had torn in the side of the ship, about a hundred feet away from the wrecked sloop-of-war. she had been riddled with bullets and shattered by the explosion of her own torpedo. she was, of course, filled with water, and in her, at their stations, they found the bodies of her devoted crew, lacy with his hand on the wheel.

nothing in life had so become lacy as the ending of it. it is a proverb that the good men do lies buried with them, the evil is long remembered. it was not so in his case, at any rate, for men forgot everything but the dauntless heroism with which he had laid down his life for his country, and assured his fame.

and, after all, he was not to be pitied for that he died the death of his choice.