Meanwhile, the shells from the Middy were dropping into the earthwork, and doing terrible execution among the rebels. About the time our party reached the road, they had got about enough of it, and were on the point of retiring again, probably satisfied that they had “waked up the wrong customer” when they attacked the little Middy. Now, it was very unfortunate for our people on shore that this result had been reached at this particular moment; for the retreating graybacks instantly discovered the blue-jackets, and, with a whoop and a yell, dashed forward for the purpose of capturing them. Resistance was useless; and Mr. Hayswell ordered the men to run for their lives; of which permission they promptly availed themselves. Most of them attempted to make a sweep round the road, and reach the boats, where the rebels followed them. Jack prudently retreated in another direction; and, reaching a gin-house, crawled in, and stowed himself away among the machinery. The guns of the Middy still played a lively tune, and Jack was in hope that his companions had escaped. He remained in his concealment until he thought the rebels must have retired, and then crept out. No firing had been heard for some time; and he stealthily moved towards the river, confident that his progress would not be interrupted. But this was a day of mistakes; and our hero soon found that he had miscalculated his chances. The rebels had ceased firing, because their twelve-pounders only drew the steamer’s fire, which they found too much for them, without injuring her. While he was slowly and cautiously making his way toward the river, he was suddenly and very unexpectedly accosted by a couple of graybacks. “Halt!” said one of them, stepping in front of our sailor-boy. Jack did halt: he could not well help halting, unless he concluded to step over the rebels in his path. They had been concealed behind a mound of earth, and were either watching for him, or observing the movements of the Middy. “Lay down your arms!” added the rebel speaker, elevating a musket, and taking aim at him. Perhaps Jack was reckless; on the whole, we rather think he was: for, instead of obeying the order, he drew his revolver, and fired at the soldier who addressed him. Of course, the grayback discharged his musket; and Jack felt something on his left shoulder very much like a saw drawn along the skin. But he was not killed,--he was sure of this,--and immediately fired another barrel of the revolver, which caused the assiduous rebel to drop. Yet Jack was sure he was not killed; for he heard him swear after he fell.