Down the river at Plaquemine, there was an excellent bakery kept by an old Frenchman and his three beautiful daughters. For a long time during the preparations for an advance up the river, we had frequently come to anchor opposite this little town, and never omitted to supply ourselves with fresh bread from this bakery, and enjoy a friendly chat with the three charming sisters. They were very affable, and there was an artlessness about them, combined with self-respect, which was very fascinating. In his daily visits to supply the captain's larder, and probably in part on account of like nationality, Charley Reck lost his heart. Louise, the youngest daughter, and the most beautiful of the three, captured it completely. Theirs was a sincere and honest attachment, and the sequel discloses how tender must have been their parting when the order came to proceed up the river, and face the uncertain issues of mortal combat. On the 14th of March, early in the morning, we were at the head of Prophet's Island, a short distance below Port Hudson, and there the vessels of the fleet, one after another, assembled. Then came the order to be in readiness to run the batteries at a given signal at night. I had never been under fire, and my bump of curiosity probably saved me on this occasion from much of the anxiety which otherwise I might have felt, but the unusual seriousness which seemed to pervade the whole ship's company during that day did not escape my notice, and was, in some degree, contagious. The officers, when not on duty, kept mostly in their staterooms, and there was no hilarity among the men. In the captain's storeroom there was a nook where Charley Reck was in the habit of spending his leisure moments, and during that afternoon he had been closeted there longer than was his wont. Just before sunset he came out, and approaching me with the customary salute, he handed me a neat little package, and said, "Doctor, when you go down the river, will you please give this to Louise?" Not understanding him, I replied, "Are you going to leave us, Charley; aren't you going to stick by the ship?" Very sadly he answered, "This is my last day; I shall die to-night!" I tried to rally him by saying, "Nonsense! you are just as likely to come out all right as any of the rest of us!" But he only replied, "Please take it, Doctor; I am sponger of that gun, and I shall do my duty; but I shall be killed to-night!" Then I took the package and locked it in my desk, thinking as I did so that I would return it to him on the morrow, and have a good laugh at his expense. The story of that fearful night has long since been published, and I shall not attempt to repeat it, further than relates to the subject of this sketch. I had arranged the ward-room for my "cock-pit," and in the midst of the awful conflict I heard a voice call down the companion-way, "Doctor, here's a man with his arm shot off!" and I shouted back, "Bring him down, quick!"