“Peek, you have a claim upon me henceforth. At present I’ve but little money with me, but what I have you must take.” “Not a penny, sir! You’ll need it more than I. Mr. Vance and Mr. Winslow have supplied me with ten times as much as I shall require.” Onslow said no more. For the first time in his life he felt that a negro could be a gentleman and his equal. “Peek,” said he, “you may refuse my money, but you must not refuse my friendship and respect. Promise me you will seek me if I can ever aid you. Nay, promise me you will visit me when you can.” “That I do cheerfully, sir. Here we are close by the steam-tug.” Peek pulled up the horses, and he and Onslow jumped to the ground. The door was opened, and those inside got out. The detective, who was the principal man of his order in New Orleans (Myers himself), and whose mortification at being overreached by a non-professional person was extreme, made a desperate effort to escape. Vance was ready for it. He simply twisted the lasso till Myers cried out with pain and promised to submit. Then pitching him on board the steam-tug, Vance left him under the guard of Kenrick and the Captain. Winslow followed them on board; and Vance, turning to Peek, said: “Now, Peek, drive for dear life, and take back your horses. Our danger is almost over; but yours is just beginning.” “Never fear for me, Mr. Vance. I could leave the horses and run, in case of need. Do not forget the telegraph wires.” “Well thought of, Peek! Farewell!” They interchanged a quick, strong grasp of the hand, and Peek jumped on the box and drove off. Vance saw a telegraph-pole close by, the wires of which communicated with the forts on the river below. Climbing to the top of it, he took from his pocket a knife, having a file on one of its blades, and in half a minute severed the wire, then tied it by a string to the pole so that the place of the disconnection might not be at once discovered. The next moment he cast off the hawser and leaped on board the tug. Everything was in readiness. Captain Payson was in his glory. The pipes began to snort steam, the engines to move, and the little tug staggered off into the river. Hardly were they ten rods from the levee, however, when a carriage drove up, and a man issued from it who cried: “Boat ahoy! Stop that boat! Every man of you shall be hung if you don’t stop that boat.” Captain Payson took up his speaking-trumpet, and replied: “Come and stop it yourself, you blasted bawler!” “By order of the Confederate authorities I call on you to stop that boat,” screamed the officer. “The Confederate authorities may go to hell!” returned old Payson. The retort of the officer was lost in the mingled uproar of winds and waves. Confounded at the steam-tug’s defiance, the officer, O’Gorman by name, stood for a minute gesticulating and calling out wildly, and then, re-entering the carriage, told the driver to make his best speed to Number 17 Diana Street.