prisoner in the grasp of two men, one of whom
wore the "butternut" uniform of the South-
Western army of the Confederates, while the
other was in the light blue garb of the coloured
troops in Federal pay, though his woolly wig
was awry, and the black stain had been partially
rubbed from his white face in the scuffle that
had ensued. The old seaman had fought hard;
his clothes were torn, and he seemed unsubdued
in soul, as he stood gasping for breath and
glaring savagely at Dr. 'Muly Cook, who stood
on the other side of the table, with a revolver in
his hand that looked very like that which I had
seen protruding from the captain's pocket. The
marine officer, whose sword lay broken at his feet,
was powerless in the clutch of two or three rough
guerilla-looking figures, who were binding his
hands with his own belt. The other officers were
either sleeping with their heads upon the table,
or stupidly surveying the scene with the vacant
stare of hopeless intoxication. Mrs. Gregg,
serene amid the confusion, wore a triumphant
smile.

"You all-fired, double-dyed traitor! You
are at the bottom of this! You snatched the
pistol from me, when in a second more I'd
have——Help, help! to arms, on deck there!"
roared Captain Hopkins, as the trampling of
feet and clash of steel overhead suggested to
him the idea that the Mohawk's crew were
rallying to his rescue. But he was disappointed,
for the faces that looked down the
cabin skylight, like those of the group crowding
into the saloon below, were those of armed
men wearing the hated uniform of the South.
As for the storekeeper, he answered the captain's
speech with great coolness.

"Spare your breath, sir," said he, with
contemptuous politeness; "your sailors and marines
will hardly answer to your call. Look at your
officers. They have done justice, it would seem,
to Mrs. Gregg's champagne, and the brandy
that——"

"The liquor was drugged, as I'm a sinner,
wine and brandy too!" exclaimed Hopkins, as
the conviction flashed upon him; "but who are
you, and the cotton, too, what on airth——"

"You'll never sell that cotton at fifty cents a
pound in greenbacks, you won't," said a voice
down the skylight. "Wagh! but I'm most
stifled, lying there under the cover, like a turkey
in a coop. "Twarn't a good time we had of it,
major, I can tell you, pricking holes with our
bowie-knives to get a breath of air. I've most
forgot how to stir my arms, I have, but the
spec warn't bad, after all."

The stratagem was now revealed. Dr. Cook,
the convenient Federal storekeeper, who had
appealed so successfully to the captain's love of
dollars, was no other than Major Norris, C. S.,
one of the most adroit and daring cavalry
officers of General Kirby Smith's army, and
Mrs. Gregg was his wife. The whole scheme
had been contrived for the purpose of capturing
the Mohawk, which was well known to the
numerous and zealous agents of the South as
being on her way to New Orleans, laden with
valuable war material. The sham cotton bales
were really nothing but enormous wicker work
cages covered with packing cloth, and in
which apertures had been made to admit
air to the Confederate soldiers concealed within.
A few of the adventurers had been disguised,
some as boatmen, others as negro troops in
Federal pay, the better to mislead suspicion,
while Major Norris, at no slight risk of
detection, which in this case would have involved
a penalty of death, had undertaken to personate
the part of an unscrupulous civilian in government
employ, and had acted the character so
well as to avert suspicion until the very moment
when he had wrested the revolver from the
astonished commander of the Mohawk. The
papers exhibited, I need hardly say, were
forgeries, while the greater part of the sailors
and marines were found stupified by the effects
of the narcotic with which the wine and brandy
had been drugged, and which Mrs. Norris, alias
Gregg, had conveyed to the crew by the hands
of her faithful coloured maid, Judy, who, as she
boasted, hated the "bobolitionists" as much as
her mistress did. And Judy had rendered
another service, having slyly seized an opportunity
of withdrawing the copper cap from the
sentry's musket, winch certainly prevented
bloodshed.

The affair was not a very tragic one, for the
conquerors made a merciful use of their victory,
and the steersman's wound, which was not mortal,
was the only one inflicted in the hurry of the
capture. The Mohawk, however, was pillaged
and set on fire, after having been stripped of
every scrap of iron or copper, down to her
ring-bolts and rivets, and I believe the stores
she contained were of great use to the
Confederate army in the wild region west of the
Mississippi. As for my own share in the transaction,
the steamer's change of owners proved
fortunate to me, since through the kind offices
of Major Norris I was permitted to pursue my
way, unmolested, through Western Louisiana
and Texas, and, finally embarking at Matamoras,
reached my destination in safety. Captain Hopkins
and the rest were of course made prisoners
of war, but I have no doubt have long since
been exchanged. Of the further fortunes of the
actors in this little drama I know nothing.

NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS,
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," "Copperfield," &c.
Now publishing, PART VI., price 1s., of
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
London: CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.