easily see the black hulls of the war-ships to right and left of us, in hailing distance, as we sped on under every pound of steam through the outer line, and soon through the inner line of blockaders. Their distinctness was startling as we hastened past them, not knowing at what moment they might detect us and open fire with their big guns. One reason the slight noise produced by our engines was not heard on board these warships was, that their machinery made much more noise than ours, and they were obliged to keep their engines in motion, to be ready at any moment to give chase.

Twice we thought our time had come. As we rushed near one dark man-of-war, a bright lantern was suddenly displayed over her side towards us. We at first took this for a signal of detection, and expected a shot to follow. But none came. Soon, to our left there was a flash and the boom of a distant gun. But no ball passed near us, and we concluded it was meant for some one else. In the midst of this we heard the muffled bark of our dog below, true to his instinct.

When at last we crossed the bar, a large launch full of Federal seamen lay there on guard. Captain Maffit, who was on the watch, called out, "Hard aport! Run her down!" wishing our steamer to sink the launch, if possible.

But they were too quick with their oars, and we rushed by them harmlessly. As we passed them an order came from one of our ship's officers:

"Look out for musketry! Lie down!" All dropped at the word, but no volley was sent into us, though it was not expected that they would lose such an opportunity. So soon as we had left them astern, they signaled with Roman candles to the blockading fleet, informing them, as we concluded, of our success. For we were safe then, and cast anchor under the protecting guns of Fort Fisher about midnight.

The relief and rejoicing on the "Lillian" may be imagined, but cannot be adequately described. By the time our officers had communicated with Fort Fisher, and we had received and read the daily papers, giving

details of the desperate fighting between Generals Grant and Lee the day before at Cold Harbor, we heard a lively rush of water near us, and there came our consort, the "Clio," and she, too, uninjured. Leaving the Bermudas an hour before us, she arrived only three hours later. She had been chased over Frying Pan Shoals after dark. The flash we saw south of us, while we were running in, was from a shot fired at her. It passed harmlessly across her deck, and soon she followed in our wake.

None felt much like sleeping that night. It was a time of general congratulation and enthusiasm. Two most valuable cargoes made safe in one night! On inquiry, we learned it was not exaggerating to say that at least nineteen out of twenty blockade running steamers did come in safely at Wilmington. Not so, however, with those going out. A much larger proportion of the outward bound vessels were captured. This we accounted for at the time by the scarcity and value of the cotton with which they were loaded. It seemed to incite the blockaders to more vigilance and success. It was, also, perhaps, easier to detect steamers going through a narrow channel to sea, than those coming in from the broad ocean.

No one enjoyed the excitement and success of that night more than Captain Maffit. He was usually sedate and undemonstrative, but his expression of enthusiasm that night was memorable, and furnished great amusement, into which he entered as fully as any

one.

He had retired just before the "Clio" arrived. But when he heard that she, too, was in safely, he sprang out of his stateroom in his night "rig," drew from under the table a large hand organ, which he had brought in as a present for a friend, and there stood the hero of the "Florida," grinding out a lively tune with a vim that added no little to the general hilarity of the occasion.

How beautiful did the green banks of Cape Fear River appear next morning, as we steamed slowly towards Wilmington, and gratefully remembered that we were once more safe in Dixie, after all the hazards of battle and wounds, prison and escape, a seavoyage, and running the blockade.

J. W. A. Wright.

THE incident I am about to relate happened during the early days of the California gold excitement, when miners' laws held supreme sway in the mines, and the courts of Judge Lynch were the frequent resorts for justice.

I had strolled over one evening to the cabin of my nearest neighbor, Cyrus Thorne, or "Uncle Cy," as he was generally called, to have a quiet chat with him, before retiring for the night. The old man had come amongst us but a few months before, but had in that time endeared himself to us all by his kind heart and gentle ways. The roughest and most unmanageable men in our camp soon came to respect him, from the very fact that he took no part in their wild amusements. As a peacemaker, he was a decided success, and many a dispute amongst the miners which might have led to bloodshed had been peaceably adjusted by being left to him for arbitration.

All we knew of his early history was from the few hints he had himself given us. Educated for the law, he had, after a short season, retired from its practice. The reason for this, we had cause to infer, was his extreme abhorrence for anything even remotely approaching the boundaries of falsehood or deceit. His almost morbid sensitiveness on this point was ridiculed by some; others looked upon him as a religious enthusiast; but all were agreed in this, that any statement he made was thus at once placed beyond all manner of dispute or doubt.

He was too old to labor successfully at mining, but his little garden, carefully tended, brought him in many a dollar; while the poultry he kept, which at that time laid golden eggs in good earnest, made up to him enough to supply all his modest wants.

As we sat quietly talking, several pistol shots came echoing up from the gulch below us, near the town. We hardly gave this a passing thought, such fusillades being of

common occurrence; but when, a little later, the deep silence that surrounded us was broken by the thrilling sound of seven slow, solemn strokes on our alarmı bell, repeated over and over after each short interval, all listlessness and apathy on our part instantly vanished, for all who heard that measured ringing knew too well its import. As far as its vibrations reached they carried the story of some great crime committed, and of swift retribution to follow at the hands of the Vigilantes, who were being summoned to council by this signal.

An hour later I was seated apart from the crowd, gazing almost entranced upon the most impressive scene I had ever witnessed. Seated upon the ground before me, with uncovered heads, were some three or four hundred men, rough, uncouth characters many of them, waiting, orderly and silent, to see the just penalty of his crime inflicted upon yon poor wretch who stood bound in their midst, and who had been taken red-handed, as it were. Everything was to be done decently and in order. One of their number had been selected to act as judge; a jury had been empanelled, and, as the judge remarked, “the prisoner was to have a show for his life according to law "--though what that show was, the dangling noose from the high flume near by too plainly foretold. No impatience at the slowness of the proceedings was manifested by the crowd, for all fears of interruption had been removed by attending to the telegraph line that connected us with the county seat, the only point from which a rescuing party could come.

The case, briefly summed up, stood thus: A cabin near the edge of the town had for some weeks been occupied by three suspicious characters, about whom but little was known. They were evidently night-hawks, as no smoke was ever seen issuing from their chimney until long after the noon hour, and the men, though often seen coming

from their cabin at night, held themselves aloof from all their neighbors. A cutting affray had occurred the night before in one of the gambling houses of the town, and the proprietor of the house had sworn out a warrant for the arrest of one of the occupants of this cabin, as the aggressor. Our consta ble was away on other business, and did not return until after nightfall; then, on approaching the cabin to serve the warrant, he was shot dead by one of its inmates, who escaped in the darkness. While active search was being made for him, a secret watch was put upon the cabin, as a kind of forlorn hope, which was unexpectedly rewarded by the arrest of the prisoner, who had been caught stealing cautiously in, bareheaded, pistol in hand, and evidently under great excitement.

He had been roughly handled and well nigh dispatched before the trial had been decided upon, and hardly seemed conscious of the nature of the proceedings against him while they were progressing. We all felt there was no hope for him; if not guilty of the crime, he was at least an accomplice, and the camp would feel safer if he was put out of the way and his cabin given to the flames. It was only after the evidence was all in that he found his voice, and then, in tones that it seemed to me must carry conviction to the hearts of some of his hearers, he exclaimed: "Gentlemen, as true as there is a God in heaven, I am innocent of all knowledge of this murder!"

The next moment I saw Uncle Cy making his way through the throng towards the judge, and after a few whispered words with him, retracing his steps. The judge arose, and said that he had been reminded by a question just asked him, that he had committee the oversight of not appointing any counsel for the prisoner, and as he ought to have some one as a mere matter of form, and couldn't have a better man than Uncle Cy, he would appoint him.

The old man, much excited, and apparently laboring under great embarrassment, pleaded earnestly to be excused, saying, finally, that his previous knowledge of the prisoner might prevent him from defending him as he should.

This hint was immediately caught at by the crowd, who were eager to obtain all the evidence they could against the fellow, as a fuller justification for the course they had already fully determined on; and so, in a few minutes, Uncle Cy, with a willingness that completely surprised and shocked me, was giving his evidence against him, which, though fastening no specific crime upon him, proved him to be a worthless character, and a bad man to have around.

While mining on a little stream near Auburn, the previous summer, he first met this man, who went there by the name of "Shaky Jim," from a kind of palsy he had; he took pity on him, and tried in various ways to befriend him; got suitable work for him several times; let him stay in the cabin with them for a while, and supplied him with money frequently; but his kindness was all thrown away. His partners warned him that Jim was only getting the lay of the land in order to rob them. Events seemed to prove the truth of this; their cabin was twice robbed during their absence, their dog shut up in it giving no alarm. They also found their sluices were being systematically robbed, though all attempts to catch the thief were unavailing. About this time Jim quit coming near them, but was well supplied with funds from some source, which he squandered at the gambling tables and saloons.

As Uncle Cy gave his evidence, it was plain that the feeling of revenge had complete possession of him, possibly because the officer killed had been his particular friend. His very nature seemed to have been changed by the cry for blood that was in the air, and it was painful to see how he dwelt upon each little detail that was likely to tell against poor Jim. He had at least proved to the crowd that he was in perfect unison with them, and they rejoiced thereat, for they felt that with Uncle Cy on their side, they would have full warrant for all they did.

"There is one thing, however," he continued, "connected with this murder, that I don't rightly understand: Jim used to be as keen as a steel trap, and cover up all his tracks; that he should walk right into the