During the War between the States, on the 24th of August, 1864, the writer was captured after bombardment for five hours while serving as purser of the Confederate steamer _Lilian_, engaged in running the Federal blockade off Wilmington, N.C., and made a prisoner of war. Subsequently he escaped to Halifax, Nova Scotia, and reported to a prominent citizen of that town who was acting as the Confederate States representative. He was one of the most popular Southern sympathizers; a man of fine presence, good business qualifications, courteous and amiable to a degree. He was trusted by all, and he acted as banker for nearly every Southerner who came his way. Halifax was then the center of large Confederate interests. Several Confederate war steamers were there, among them the _Chickamauga_ and the _Tallahassee_. It was the rendezvous of blockade runners who had escaped from confinement or who had been discharged after detention by the Federals for several months. K---- was attentive to all of them. When the war ended K---- suddenly disappeared with the cash entrusted to him by confiding Confederates. Several years after, there was a great explosion upon the dock where a German mail steamer was loading for sea which produced a sensation throughout the world. An infernal machine intended to wreck the liner had prematurely exploded on the quay and killed and maimed a large number of persons, among whom was the shipper, under an assumed name. This man, mortally wounded, was eagerly questioned by the police as to his diabolical plans and his accomplices; the only clue they obtained from his incoherent ravings was an intimation that he had been connected in some way with the Confederacy, and strangely enough he said something about Captain Maffitt and my ship the _Lilian_. The authorities took photographs of him, which were imperfect because of the reclining position of the dying man. Further investigation after his death revealed one of the most fiendish plots in commercial history; large shipments of bogus goods had been made by the liner, and heavily insured by this stranger, who had designed a clock machine intended, it was said, to explode three days after the sailing of the steamer, and sink her with all on board. For many months the secret service detectives were working on this case; at length one of them came to Wilmington and questioned me about the man, whose picture was exhibited. Neither I nor any of the pilots at Smithville could identify him, although his face was strangely familiar to me. The detective went away, but returned in a few weeks and asked me if I had known a man named K----. "Yes," I at once replied, "and he was the author of this awful crime." Such proved to be the case. It was the old story of depraved associates and the downward road to ruin. TO THE RESCUE.