We had to undergo the same ordeal as before in the way of being smoked and searched. This time there were no runaways discovered, but there was one on board for all that, who made his appearance, almost squashed to death, after we had been twenty-four hours at sea. We then anchored under Fort Fisher, where we waited until it was dark, after which, when the tide was high enough on the bar, we made a move and were soon rushing out to sea at full speed. There was a considerable swell running, which we always considered a point in our favour. By the way, writing of swells puts me in mind of a certain 'swell' I had on board as passenger on this occasion, who, while in Wilmington, had been talking very big about 'hunting,' which probably he supposed I knew nothing about. He used to give us long narratives of his own exploits in the hunting-field, and expatiated on the excitement of flying over ditches and hedges, while apparently he looked upon blockade-running and its petty risks with sublime contempt. Soon after we crossed the bar on our way out a gentle breeze and swell began to lift the vessel up and down, and this motion he described as 'very like hunting.' Just after he had ventured this remark, a Yankee gun-boat favoured us with a broadside and made a dash to cut us off. This part of the fun, however, my friend did not seem to think at all 'like hunting,' and after having strongly urged me to return to the anchorage under the protecting guns of the fort, he disappeared below, and never talked, to me at least, about hunting again.