While we were fretting over the delay a small deep-water vessel came into port, after a record-breaking voyage from New York. The ship was called plain “Chapman.” Historians have seen fit to name it the “J. M. Chapman,” for what reason I am not aware. Probably it was a case of what literary folk are pleased to call “poetic license.” At any rate, we considered it a serviceable craft, in default of a steam vessel. We purchased the Chapman from her owners at a reasonable price, as it was winter and an outbound cargo was not obtainable at that season of the year. Our plans might as well be explained fully here. We proposed to sail the Chapman to some islands off the coast of Mexico, transform her into a fighting craft, proceed to Manzanillo, exhibit our letters of marque and my captain’s commission in the Confederate navy and then lie in wait for the first Pacific Mail liner that entered the harbor, capture her--peacefully if possible, forcibly if we must. All of this was in line with instructions. Then we proposed to equip the captured liner as a privateer and figured to intercept two more eastbound Pacific Mail steamers before the world knew what was happening, in those days of slow-traveling news. After that we proposed to let events very much take their own course. It was a wild, desperate undertaking at the best, but we were all of an age that takes little stock of risks. Having our ship, other details followed rapidly enough. We purchased two cannons throwing a 12-pound shot. This was arranged by a Mexican friend of mine, acting through a well-known business firm, which was entirely ignorant of the nature of the transaction. In the same way, we bought shells and solid shot and a large quantity of ammunition. In those days of adventure it was no uncommon matter for corporations or even private persons to purchase armament on a considerable scale, without comment. Often remote investments had to be protected not only with armed men but also with a show of artillery. Our Mexican friend merely had to say that he needed the military supplies to guard a mining property in his own country. As a matter of fact, he never knew what the war material was intended for--just took it for granted that he was doing something in the line of accommodation. Also we bought a large assortment of small arms, rifles, revolvers and cutlasses. Everything was heavily boxed and marked “machinery.” We laid in, also, to avoid suspicion, a small line of general goods of a kind salable in a Mexican port, and an extra supply of provisions. We engaged an ordinary crew of able seamen and without much difficulty selected twenty picked men--all from the South, of proved and desperate courage. These were to constitute our working force. They were not known to each other, did not even know the nature of the service--further than that it meant fighting and plenty of it--somewhere in Mexico.