Shortly after dark we descried Hatteras light, which we neared about ten o'clock; but the captain would not venture in, and so we had to lay "off and on" till daylight, which was no pleasant job, for "the wind rose and the rain fell," and gave those who selected the deck for their sleeping place (myself among the number), with the assistance of an occasional dash of salt water, a pretty thorough soaking. As soon as it was clear day our craft headed for the "swash," the wind blowing a small gale, the rain coming in squalls as if some fretful genius presided over this unhappy coast, and the waves running in shore like race-horses, spreading their foam in a thin gray mist over the narrow line of sand, which seemed endeavoring almost in vain to keep its back above the water. To our right, and north of the inlet, were the forts taken by Gen. Butler in his first Coast Expedition. Only one of these, Fort Hatteras, is now used. The other has either sunk into the sand or been almost wholly destroyed by the action of the waves. Fort Hatteras is an earthwork, but so admirably situated as to prove an almost impassible barrier to anything but ironclads. Beyond and around the fort on the land or sand side, were a few buildings used for quarters for the garrison and for ordnance stores. Anchored in the Sound, near by, were supply ships, transports, and old hulks; while here and there rows of disconsolate timbers, lifting their dripping heads above the tide, told the fate of many a noble ship of the glorious Expedition of Gen. Burnside. We "hove to" after entering the Sound to deliver the mails for the Fort; and the change from the violent rolling, tossing and pitching was such as to inspire even my old friend the 'colonel' with something of the spirit he was wont to display ere old Neptune changed his tune. After taking a look at the Fort and its surroundings, I turned my eyes to the opposite shore of the inlet, when lo, there stretched out in an almost straight line from the point into the Sound a troop or flock of--what? That was the puzzle to my mind. Were they huge gulls or windbags, cormorants or cranes, devils or dogfish? Fowl, flesh, or fish? I watched them with close attention while asking myself these questions; but ere my cogitations were finished they separated, spread their wings and took flight, apparently, but it seemed strange they did not rise from the surface of the water. They neared us presently, and I made them out to be, instead of birds, small sail-boats. "Love launched a fairy boat," &c. No love for us there, I guess, was my mental comment. "Pilots," I heard some one say. They came fluking towards us, their comparatively large sprit-sails hurrying them along at no contemptible rate of speed. There were about fifteen of them, and it seemed evident all could not get a job from our hazy skipper. "That's Jeff.'s navy," remarked one. "Hooray for the boat that's ahead!" sang out the 'colonel.'