“If you will only sit down and compose yourself, my young friend, I will go on with the play. There are greater glories to come than any I have yet described, I can tell you!” said the rebel captain. “Yes, go on with the play!” said Justin, throwing himself into his chair, but averting his face from the captain. “The curtain rises on Act 3rd, Scene 1st. There is another grand spectacular scene! Again the whole depth of the stage; the full strength of the company; pyrotechnics—dazzling effects! In a word The Battle of Manassas! The great Federal army under General McDowell—the Great Confederate army under General Beauregard. Tremendous engagement! Terrific fighting! Total rout of the Federals! Complete triumph of the Confederates! Grand tableau!” Here the captain paused, helped himself to another bumper of the old Otard, swallowed it at a gulp, closed his eyes, and leaned back in his chair. “Go on,” said Justin, scarcely able to speak for the strong emotion that nearly choked his voice. “That’s all. I have finished the bottle, and I have finished the tale; or, rather, all I have to tell. When the curtain dropped on that scene I left the theatre of war, at least in regard to the military branch of action. In short, I received letters of marque from the Confederate Government, authorizing me to cruise in quest of Federal prizes, and I took the command of the privateer _Sea Scourge_. I have already taken a few Federal merchant ships; but after appropriating their cargoes and money chests, was obliged unfortunately to scuttle and sink them. Hadn’t enough men to spare, you see, to man them and send them home.” “And their unfortunate crew?” groaned Justin. “It was a pity,” said the drunken captain, sleepily, “but I had to sink them with their ships! Hadn’t men enough to guard them!” “And now?” “Now I am cruising about in these latitudes, lying in wait for returning East Indiamen, which are always rich prizes and easy prey, being without guns.” “And so!” exclaimed Justin, no longer able to restrain himself, but bounding to his feet, and seizing the rebel captain by the throat, and shaking him violently—“and so I have been harboring no less a miscreant than a licensed pirate, who takes advantage of his letters of marque and makes war—not upon men-of-war, but upon defenseless merchantmen—seizing their cargoes, murdering their crews, and scuttling their ships!” “It was a mil—lil—litary necessity, commodore!” spluttered the wretch, gasping and choking in the viselike grasp of the furious young athlete. “Your instant execution is a moral necessity, miscreant!” thundered Justin, shaking him by the throat as though he would have shaken his sinful soul from his brutal body. “Justin! Justin! forbear! would you murder the villain at your own board!” frantically exclaimed Britomarte, starting up and seizing the arm of the young man. “Would you murder him before my eyes!”