Our twenty fighting men, very much down on their luck, were found in a foreward compartment. On our solemn declaration that they were employed only for service in Mexico none were prosecuted and finally all were discharged with a “look out” in the future admonition from the officer in charge. Some effort was made to sweat the four of us. We were cordially invited to step up like men and make a clean breast. All these courtesies were politely declined. We only asked to be advised what we were charged with, and the answer was sufficiently illuminating, “Why, piracy, of course.” We were rather carelessly searched, so far as our persons were concerned. I was allowed to retain a small penknife, but one rather important thing was overlooked. In those days everyone carried a derringer, which looked like a sort of toy pistol, but was really one of the most deadly close-range emergency weapons ever invented by the evil genius of man. Each person had a pet place for keeping his derringer secreted, but handy. For myself, I carried one in a specially prepared pocket inside of the right cuff of my coat. Just a practiced twitch, and I could have it in my hand ready for use in an instant. This, as I said, in some way escaped the notice of my searchers, so though I was a prisoner, I remained fairly well armed. All day long the wires around the world were telling of the great Chapman piracy project, happily nipped in the bud by the efficiency of Uncle Sam’s government. One of the facts that gave it a peculiar interest was because John Bright’s nephew was a participant. The story did not lose anything by age or travel. I had once a book of newspaper clippings relating to the Chapman affair and a dispassionate reading of the more lurid descriptions would have satisfied anyone that Greathouse, Rubery and myself were the most bloodthirsty pirates who ever cut a throat or scuttled a ship. We were taken to Alcatraz and later to the old Broadway jail. Greathouse was released after a few days of confinement on bail furnished by his relative, Mr. Lloyd Tevis. Among the pleasant incidents of our confinement were visits from Lieutenant Tompkins and Quartermaster Judson. Our late enemies became our best friends, brought us all kinds of necessaries and refreshments, including newspapers, periodicals and books, and in every way sought to cheer us up and make our confinement less burdensome. Rubery, for his part, returned to Lieutenant Tompkins his letter of retraction, which the latter seemed very glad to receive, for in those days no man of honor cared to have documents of that kind floating around loose. Such incidents of goodwill between men engaged on opposing sides in the Civil War prove to my mind that there was no fundamental line of cleavage, no real antagonism, in fact, between the North and South, and if there had been some power to steady the masses, instead of lashing them to fury, there never would have been a war.