It was the turn for Wages and I to take the watch that morning. Now, on the Mississippi River, all we had to do was to keep the boats in the middle of the stream, with a light on deck to guard against steamboats. The old Irishman, the owner of the boats, went down into a small cabin in one of the boats, which he had prepared for himself, and laid down in his berth to sleep. He was much fatigued, but before he went to sleep, Wages proposed to him to take a dram of stewed whiskey punch, hot, which he knew to be a favorite beverage with the Irish. The old man consented, and Wages went to work to prepare it. We being on the alert for any and everything, had the opium ready, and gave his bowl a full charge. He drank it down and praised it as very nice, and retired. We then prepared some punch for ourselves and drank it. We then went to an opposite end of the boats and held a consultation, as to who was to make way with the old man, and it fell to my lot to strike the fatal blow! Oh, God! when I look back, it makes me shudder. Even now it chills the blood in my veins. It was understood that the deed was to be committed at sunrise, precisely, provided there were no boats of any kind near. By the time we had accomplished our consultation, daylight was making its appearance in the east, and I cannot here describe my feelings. Wages and McGrath discovered my embarrassment, and resorted to another potion of hot whiskey punch, which I drank freely. After I had drank, I went into the old man’s cabin, armed with a small hatchet or lathing axe. The old man was fast asleep, lying on his back; I went up on deck and looked to the east, and saw that the sun was just making his appearance; I returned to the little cabin, raised the hatchet and struck the fatal blow in the centre of the forehead, a little above the eyes. It made a full dent in the skull the size of the hammer of the axe. He uttered a kind of suppressed and strangled shriek and in a very few minutes O’Connor was numbered among the dead. Now the next business was to dispose of him. This, however did not take us long, for we had some old cast iron grates, that had belonged to a steamboat and which we used to set our cooking pots on. We took two of them and lashed them well together, stripped off his clothing and left his body naked, and tied a strong rope around his neck, and attached that to the cast iron grates. And oh! the awful scene that ensued! To see a fellow-being who had been one of us so recently; to see his body cast to oblivion, and his soul, then departed, to that “bourne from whence no traveler returns.” Well, or not well it was, I may say. Poor old O’Connor went down with about three hundred pounds of iron attached to him—a little below Wolf Island, not far from Mills’ Point.