After his return from Port Royal, Ben remained around New York for about a month, and then sailed for Newberne, N. C., on the "Cosmopolitan." He first made himself conspicuous in that town by giving a trapeze performance at the top of the ship's mast, which attracted a big crowd, and which set the inhabitants at once to talking about Ben Hogan. Soon afterward he was introduced to Gen. Foster, who gave him the position of steward on the "Cosmopolitan." Here Ben had the handling of all the wines and cigars, together with a chance to make a fat stake--which he did not miss. As it was against the rules to sell any liquor to the men on board, Ben hit upon the following plan for dispensing cordials: Into a barrel he poured a pail of water, with some lemons, and then filled it up with whiskey. This appetizing concoction he sold at the rate of ten dollars a canteen--which afforded a pretty comfortable profit. Before very long, however, it was discovered that the men on board had procured liquor in some way, and inquiries were set on foot to discover how. It came out, of course; but while Ben was pouring out the contents of the canteens, an assistant was filling them up again, so that the crew did not suffer for drink. As the "Cosmopolitan" was passing Little Washington her pilot-house was blown off by the enemy's shots. Ben was called up to take the wheel, and finding that the captain was not willing to stand by him in that perilous position, he turned the boat square around and headed her the other way. During this time he had saved about eleven thousand dollars in greenbacks and Confederate money. With this sum in his possession he was taken sick at Newberne, and there placed under the care of a physician who proved himself a villain. In one of his doses which he administered to Ben he placed poison, expecting to get rid of his patient in short order. An old negro woman, however, told Ben what he had taken, and by the prompt administration of powerful antidotes his life was saved. As soon as he had sufficiently recovered to leave his bed, Ben swore that he would have this doctor's life. Meeting him shortly after on the street, he stopped him and said: "You gave me poison, and do you know what I am going to do to you?" "No," faltered the man of pills, turning deathly pale. "I am going to kill you!" was the laconic reply. So saying, Ben drew his revolver and fired. But not wishing to take his life, the ball missed its mark, and entered the doctor's leg instead of heart. The wound, however, was serious enough to necessitate the amputation of the limb--and so it cost him a leg to administer that dose of poison.