Presently straining eyes could see a long, low, black object lying quite still. Would she see the _Banshee_? They passed within a hundred yards of her and were not heard. Soon after Burroughs whispered: “Steamer on the port bow.” A second cruiser was made out close to them. “Hard a port,” said the captain, and the steamer swung round, bringing the enemy upon her beam. No sound! The enemy slept! Then suddenly a third cruiser came out of the gloom and steamed slowly across the _Banshee’s_ bows. “Stop her,” said Captain Steele down the tube, and the blockade-runner gurgled to a standstill, while the cruiser moved across and was lost in the darkness. Then “Slow ahead” was the order, until the low-lying coast and the grey surf came dim to the eye. But it was getting near dawn, and there was no trace of the river mouth. They knew not quite where they were, and thoughts of prison and prison fare would come uppermost. At length the pilot said: “All right, boys. I can see the big hill yonder.” The only hill on the coast was near Fort Fisher. Now they knew where they were; so did six or seven gunboats, which, in the silver light of early dawn, catching sight of their prey, steamed hard and fast towards the _Banshee_, with angry shots from the bow gun. The balls were dropping all around and churning up the sea. It was mighty unpleasant to men who knew they had several tons of gunpowder in the hold; and just then they were obliged to steer out to avoid the North Breaker shoal, so that the gunboats crept ever nearer and nearer, barking like disappointed puppies. The pilot looked at the captain and the captain at the supercargo. Their lips tightened and their breath came faster as they eyed the gunboats askance. “One good shot into the paddle will end this trip,” thought Mr. Taylor; “and it is my first run in, too!” Then came a welcome sound overhead. A shell from the fort whirred its way towards the gunboats and warned them off. With a parting broadside they sheered off out of range, and after half an hour’s run the _Banshee_ was over the bar and in quiet waters. They soon sped up the sixteen miles to Wilmington, and found a large posse of willing slaves ready to discharge their cargo. The poor folk at Wilmington were then very much pinched for want of good food and drink, and the advent of the _Banshee_ restored smiles all round. Living on corn-bread, bacon, and water grows monotonous, and invitations to lunch on board the _Banshee_ were never declined--in fact, many friends did not even wait for an invitation. Within a very few days the _Banshee_ was again ready for sea, ballasted with tobacco and laden with cotton--three tiers even on deck! High profit tempted them to pile up their vessels like hay-waggons, and put to sea in a condition quite unfit to meet a boisterous wind.