It was nearly sunrise before they reached Forts Jackson and St. Philip, thirty-three miles above the Balize. Nothing could yet be seen of the steam-tug; but there was a telltale pillar • of smoke in the distance. "We shall have her!" said Rat

cliff, exultingly.

Following in the trail of the Rebel were numerous sea-gulls whom the storm had driven up the river. The boat now entered that long canal-like section where the great river flows between narrow banks, which, including the swamps behind them, are each not more than two or three hundred yards wide, running out into the Gulf of Mexico. Here and there among the dead reeds and scattered willows a tall white crane might be seen feeding. Over these narrow fringes of swampy land you could see the dark-green waters of the Gulf just beginning to be incarnadined by the rising sun. With the saltwater so near on either side that you could shoot an arrow into it, you saw the river holding its way through the same deep, unbroken channel, keeping unmixed its powerful body of fresh water, except when hurricanes sweep the briny spray over these long ribbons of land into the Mississippi.

Vance had abandoned his original intention of trying the Pass à l'Outre. Having learned from a pilot that the Brooklyn, carrying the Stars and Stripes, was cruising off the Southwest Pass, he resolved to steer in that direction. But when within five miles of the head of the Passes, one of those capricious fogs, not uncommon on the river, came down, shrouding the banks on either side. The Artful Dodger crept along at an abated speed through the sticky vapor. Soon the throb of a steamer close in the rear could be distinctly heard. The Artful had but one gun, and that was a 5-inch rifled one; but it could be run out over her after bulwarks.

All at once the fog lifted, and the sun came out sharp and dazzling, scattering the white banks of vapor. The Rebel might be seen not a third of a mile off. A shot came from her as a signal to the Artful to heave to. Vance ordered the Stars and Stripes to be run up, and the engines to be reversed. The Rebel, as if astounded at the audacity of the act on the part of her contemptible adversary, swayed a little in the current so as to present a good part of her side: Vance saw his oppor

tunity, and, with the quickness of one accustomed to deadshots, decided on his range. The next moment, and before the Rebel could recover herself, he fired, the shock racking every joint in the little tug.

The effect of the shot was speedily visible and audible in the issuing of steam and in cries of suffering on board the Rebel. The boiler had been hit, and she was helpless. Vance fired a second shot, but this time over her, as a summons for surrender. The confederate flag at once disappeared. The next moment a small boat, containing half a dozen persons, put out from the Rebel as if they intended to gain the bank and escape among the low willows and dead reeds of the marshy deposits. But before this could be done, two cutters bearing United States flags, were seen to issue from a diminutive bayou in the neighborhood, and intercept the boat, which was taken in tow by the larger cutter. The Artful Dodger then steamed up to the disabled Rebel and took possession.

At the mouth of the Southwest Pass they met the Brooklyn. Vance went on board, found in the Commodore an old acquaintance, and after recounting the adventures of the last twelve hours, gave up the two steamers for government use. It was then arranged that he and his companions should take passage on board the store-ship Catawba, which was to sail for New York within the hour; while all the persons captured on board the Rebel, together with the detective carried off by Vance, should be detained as prisoners and sent North in an armed steamer, to leave the next day.

"There's one man," said Vance, "his name is Ratcliff, who will try by all possible arts and pleadings to get away. Hold on to him, Commodore, as you would to a detected incendiary. 'Tis all the requital I ask for my little present to Uncle Sam."

"He shall be safe in Fort Lafayette before the month is out," replied the Commodore. "I'll take your word for it,

Vance, that he is n't to be trusted."

"One word more, Commodore. My crew on board the little tug are all good men and true. Old Skipper Payson, whom you see yonder, goes into this fight, not for wages, but for love. He has but one fault!"

"So much the better! We shall all be Abolitionists before this war is ended. 'Tis the only way to end it."

"Good, my Commodore! Such sentiments from men in your position will do as much as rifled cannon for the cause.” "More, Mr. Vance, more! And now duty calls me off. Your men, sir, shall be provided for. Good by."

Vance and the Commodore shook hands and parted. Vance was rowed back to the Artful Dodger. On his way, looking through his opera-glass, he could see Ratcliff in the cutter, gnawing his rage, and looking the incarnation of chagrin.

The Catawba was making her toilet ready for a start. She ,lay at a short distance from the Artful. Vance, Winslow, Kenrick, and Onslow went on board, where the orders of the Commodore had secured for them excellent accommodations. Before noon a northeasterly breeze had sprung up, and they took their leave of the mouths of the Mississippi.

Ratcliff no sooner touched the deck of the Brooklyn, than, conquering with an effort his haughtiness, he took off his hat, and, approaching the Commodore, asked for an interview.

The Commodore was an old weather-beaten sailor, not far from his threescore and ten years. He kept no 66 circumlocution office on board his ship, and as he valued his time, he could not tolerate any tortuous delays in coming to the point. "Commodore," said Ratcliff, "'t is important I should have a few words with you immediately."

"Well, sir, be quick about it."

“Commodore, I have long known you by reputation as a man of honor. I have often heard Commodore Tatnall "The damned old traitor! Well sir?"

"I beg pardon; I supposed you and Tatnall were intimate." "So we were ! Loved him once as my own brother. He and I and Percival have had many a jolly time together. But now, damn him! The man who could trample on the old flag that had protected and honored and enriched him all his life is no better than a beast. So damn him! Don't let me hear his name again."

"I beg pardon, Commodore. you to be a gentleman —”

As I was saying, we know

"Stop! I'm an officer in the United States service.

That's the only capacity I shall allow you to address me in. Your salvy compliments make me sick. What do you want?"

"It's necessary I should return at once to New Orleans." "Indeed! How do you propose to get there?"

"When you hear my story, you'll give me the facilities." "Don't flatter yourself. I shall do no such thing."

"But, Commodore, I came out in pursuit of an unfaithful agent, who was running off with my property."

“Hark you, sir, when you speak in those terms of Simon Winslow, you lie, and deserve the cat."

66

Ratcliff grew purple in the struggle to suppress an outburst of wrath. But, after nearly a minute of silence, he said: Commodore, my wife died only a few hours ago. Her unburied remains lie in my house. Surely you 'll let me return to attend her funeral. You'll not be so cruel as to refuse me." "Pah! Does your dead wife need your care any more than my live wife needs mine? 'Tis your infernal treason keeps me here. Can you count the broken hearts and ruined constitutions you have already made,- the thousands you have sent to untimely graves, in this attempt to carry out your beastly nigger-breeding, slavery-spreading speculation? And now you presume to whine because I'll not let you slip back to hatch more treason, under the pretence that you want to go to a funeral! As if you had n't made funerals enough already in the land! Curse your impudence, sir! Be thankful I don't string you up to the yard-arm. Here, Mr. Buttons, see that this fellow is placed among the prisoners and strictly guarded. I hold you responsible for him, sir!"

The Commodore turned on his heel and left Ratcliff panting with an intolerable fury that he dared not vent. Big drops of perspiration came out on his face. The Midshipman, playfully addressed as Mr. Buttons, was a very stern-looking gentleman, of the name of Adams, who wore on his coat a very conspicuous row of buttons, and whose fourteenth birthday had been celebrated one week before. Motioning to Ratcliff, and frowning imperiously, he stamped his foot and exclaimed, “ Follow me" The slave-lord, with an internal half-smothered groan of rage and despair, saw that there was no help, and obeyed.

N one of the smaller parlors of the White House in Wash

Ington marked appearance. of

them sat leaning back in his tipped chair, with his thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest, and his right ancle resting on his left knee. His figure, though now flaccid and relaxed, would evidently be a tall one if pulled out like the sliding joints of a spy-glass; but gaunt, lean, and ungainly, with harsh angles and stooping shoulders. He was dressed in a suit of black, with a black satin vest, and round his neck a black silk kerchief tied carelessly in a knot, and passing under a shirt-collar turned down and revealing a neck brawny, sinewy, and tanned.

The face that belonged to this figure was in keeping with it, and yet attractive from a certain charm of expression. Nose prominent and assertive; cheek-bones rather obtrusive, and under them the flesh sallow and browned, though partially covered by thick bristling black whiskers; eyes dark and deeply set; mouth and lips large; and crowning all these features a shock of stiff profuse black hair carelessly put aside from his irregularly developed forehead, as if by no other comb than that which he could make of his long lank fingers.

This man was not only the foremost citizen of the Republic, officially considered, but he had a reputation, exaggerated beyond his deserts, for homeliness. By the Rebel press he was frequently spoken of as "the ape" or the "gorilla." From