she gave me when I was introduced to her as an
English surgeon who had been captured among
rebels, and was now a paroled prisoner.

"Don't excuse yourself, sir, nor wound the
ears of a loyal lady with remarks on the duty of
common humanity," said Mrs. Gregg, eyeing me
as if I had been a reptile. "I guess humanity
to copperheads and rebel miscreants is often the
worst cruelty to the noblest cause on earth, the
cause of Freedom, sir, if you ever heard the
word. I speak warmly, as the wife of a Union
senator who has borne persecution and plunder
for the sake of our glorious principles—Senator
Titus Gregg, of Spanish Creek."

Mrs. Gregg was a fine dark-eyed woman, of,
perhaps, five-and-thirty, and her dress and
manners were Parisian, but I very much
regretted that she had come on board the boat at
all, for she could speak but on one subject, or
rather she contrived to make all topics bear upon
the civil war, and her ardour seemed contagious.
Before long, captain, lieutenants, and all, save
myself, were launched into a tide of partisan
discussion, and the bitterest tongue of the party
belonged to Dr. Cook, whose abhorrence of the
rebels knew no bounds. But Mrs. Gregg did
not limit her sympathy for the Federation to
words alone. She had some cases of champagne
with her luggage, and also some French brandy,
which were being removed from the cellars of
her country-house to her mansion in New
Orleans, and a good many silver-necked flasks
found their way by supper-time to the state
cabin, while Mrs. Gregg insisted on imparting a
liberal share of the cognac to the crew and
marines,  the gallant defenders of our holy
Union." To this Captain Hopkins demurred.
He had a very few good seamen, drafted from
the regular navy, and whose superior efficiency
and discipline served to leaven the rest, but the
majority of his men were the sweepings of the
New Orleans quays, mixed with lanky untutored
lads from Missouri, who were more at home in
driving a cart than in navigation. He was very
strict with this motley ship's company, and his
master-at-arms, a grim old whale-fisher, kept a
vigilant watch lest spirits should be smuggled on
board, as it was evident that a free supply of
whisky would destroy all subordination among
the crew. However, Mrs. Gregg was bent upon
hospitality towards the "brave fellows" forward,
and the captain, probably computing that a dozen
of Nantz would not produce a very serious
effect when divided among eighty sailors and
marines, grudgingly consented to permit that
number of bottles to be distributed to the
Mohawk's men.

How well I remember that supper in the
gunboat's cabin, the popping of corks, the rattle of
knives and forks, and the flow of champagne
and noisy conversation, which all tended to one
subject, the war! Such bragging and boasting,
such outspoken enthusiasm for the Union, and
such vituperation of the rebels, it had not yet
been my lot to hearken to. Mrs. Gregg had
struck the key-note, and the whole of the party
took up the same strain, in no measured terms.

To hear them, it would have appeared that the
solid earth might be expected to sink beneath
the sea, and the order of nature to be suspended,
should the Secessionists triumph. But of that
then: was little prospect. Indeed, so loudly
were the rebels described as starving, cowardly,
dejected, and conquered, that there really
seemed to be little credit in crushing down
such hordes of hungry wretches. The noisy
talk, and the clatter of glasses and plates, made
my head ache: so, glad of an excuse to leave a
scene that had no interest for me, I slipped
away, and went on deck.

The skylight of the cabin had been raised to
admit air, and through the filmy mosquito-nets
I could see the group around the table. It
struck me, by the flushed faces and vacant
stare of the majority, the young lieutenants', and
the marine officer, that Senator Gregg's wine,
must be very strong indeed. The captain
preferred ration rum, as he said, to all the
grape juice of France, and he, with his tumbler
of cold, grog before him, and the butt-end of a
revolver, from which he never parted, sticking
out of the breast of his navy blue coat, was
sober enough. Dr. Cook, though very talkative,
and in high spirits, seemed more addicted to
waving his glass of creaming amber, and
occasionally proposing toasts to the health of
"Honest Old Abe," "Fighting Joe Hooker,"
and so forth, than to any deep potations. Mrs.
Gregg, though she smiled, and prattled
incessantly, scarcely so much as put the tall glass to
her lips. The subalterns, however, were less
abstemious, and the negro steward and his boy
went busily to and fro, uncorking fresh bottles.

I went aft, and stood beside the taffrail,
under shadow of the wheel-house, where the
careful helmsman was guiding the steamer
down stream. Three or four men, the watch, I
suppose, were on deck, lying down among the
spare sails and cordage, and apparently asleep,
but I saw no officer. Indeed, I fancy that
discipline had been somewhat relaxed for a time,
in consequence of the symposium in the cabin,
and of Captain Hopkins's unusual good humour,
due to his anticipated profits on the cotton. I
could hear the crew, noisy and merry, in the
forecastle, and I easily guessed that Mrs.
Gregg's present of brandy was under discussion.
The twanging of the fiddle and the sound of
a negro song came at intervals from below,
accompanied by clapping of hands and stamping
of feet. Crouched under the bulwarks was a
dark form, that of a woman with a gay Madras
handkerchief tied round her head—Judy, Mrs.
Gregg's negress, who had probably returned
from carrying the brandy to the Mohawk's men,
by her mistress's orders. A ray of moonlight
fell on her face, and I noticed that her white
teeth were glistening forth in a smile, perhaps
of sympathy with the mirth indicated by the
sounds that reached her.

I had drunk but two glasses of the wine that
frothed so freely below, but my temples throbbed
violently, and the blood that coursed through
my veins was hot and fevered. I was glad,