“You can get her off if you try, Bracetaut. Throw over everything to lighten her,” was the parting injunction of Captain Butler, and as we pulled away he hauled his ship out of range of the fort. It was rather uncomfortable the way the shells ducked and plunged around us, or burst above our heads, but we pulled away for the prize. Our boat was the last to reach the ship--a first-class iron propeller, of great tonnage, and clipper-built. As the crew of the advanced boat climbed up her sides several crashes made us aware that the fort was turning her guns against the vessel, to deprive us of the plunder. “And hot-shot at that. Listen!” said Bracetaut to me; when the fizzing sound of the plunging hot-shot was plainly distinguishable. Our boat was within a rod of the prize when we perceived the men who had already boarded her jumping hastily over the bulwarks, dropping into their boat, and pushing off, as if something unusual was to pay. One had been left behind. It was the little middy, Jerry Bloom, who now appeared unconcernedly leaning over the side and coolly awaiting the Lieutenant’s orders. “What’s her cargo?” bellowed Bracetaut through his trumpet. “Powder!” sang back the shrill tones of the New World Casabianca, and siz! siz! went the plunging red-hot shot; and crash! crash! they went against the floating magazine with frightful precision. “Jump for your life!” roared the Lieutenant to Jerry. “Back-water, you lubbers! back, for your lives!” We saw the midshipman join his palms over his head and leap from the gunwale of the fated ship. Scarcely had his slender figure cut the brine before a number of sharp reports were heard--then a long, deep, volcanic rumbling, that swelled into a terrific thunder, deafened our ears; a dozen columns of blood-red flame shot up to the stars; and we saw the deck and majestic spars of the doomed blockade-runner spring aloft in fragments! A huge black mass descended with a fearful splash a yard from our bows--the long stern-chaser going to the bottom--the sides of the powder-ship yawned wide open an instant, filled with fire, then disappeared, the flames dying out. The sea was ploughed around us by the falling fragments of deck and spar, and the glorious steamer was no more! VI TWO DAYS WITH MOSBY _An Adventure with Guerillas_ I I was up at reveille. Orders to inspect the camp of dismounted cavalry near Harper’s Ferry had been in my pocket two days, while I awaited an escort through the fifty miles of guerilla-infested country which lay between me and that distant post. This was the day for the regular train, and a thousand wagons were expected to leave Sheridan’s headquarters, on Cedar Creek, at daylight, with a brigade of infantry as guard, and a troop of cavalry as outriders.