Lord Camelford and Lieutenant Peterson were unhappily at variance; and, perhaps to mortify his rival, Lord Camelford ordered Mr. Peterson to take the watch upon the very evening that a gay ball was to be given at Blacks Point to the naval officers. Unfortunately Lieutenant Peterson entertained the idea that as he was in command of the _ship_ “Perdrix,” in the absence of Commodore Fahie, he was superior officer to Lord Camelford, who only commanded a sloop; and, in consequence of this false impression, he positively refused to obey his lordship’s orders. The disastrous evening approached, and the lieutenant retired to his quarters above the capstan-house, in order to dress for the festive party. Arming himself with a pair of loaded pistols, and telling his boat’s crew to attend him, Lord Camelford quitted his retirement, and stationed himself directly between the capstan house and the guard house, (now called the commissioner’s house,) and there waited the approach of Mr. Peterson, whom he had already summoned to attend him. Upon the unfortunate young officer making his appearance, accompanied by some of his friends, his lordship again commanded him to take charge of the watch for the evening—the command was again refused—when, taking one of the pistols from his bosom, Lord Camelford immediately fired, and the ball passing through the breast of the brave, but inconsiderate lieutenant, he fell a corpse upon the ground, the deadly stream welling from the wound, and staining, as it flowed, the gay ball-dress which he wore. No sooner did the well-aimed weapon do its work, than, drawing the other from its resting-place, his lordship turned to the second lieutenant of the “Perdrix,” and pointing it at him, asked if he would obey his orders, or meet the same punishment as Mr. Peterson? Life is sweet! The second in command saw his friend stretched at his feet with the red blood gurgling around him, and fearing the same fate, he obeyed Lord Camelford, and took the watch. Oh, duty! what a stern goddess thou art! or else how much art thou belied, for the deed was laid to thy charge. He disobeyed his superior officer, and in the midst of health, of buoyant feelings, and without, perhaps, time to think of a _hereafter_, he was to _die_. I can never more pass those sunken anchors which mark the tragic spot, without thinking of the mournful fate of this self-deceived mutineer, poor Lieutenant Peterson, or fancying I can see him in his death throes, stretched upon that sandy ground by the hand of him who had been once his friend.