This signal was displayed at a bend in the bayou; and, when the cutter came up to the curve, the blazing fires of the cotton-steamer were discovered at the distance of less than half a mile. Mr. Dickey at once became excited by the brilliant prospect before him. A smart dash, and the valuable prize would be his own; and what a joy it would be to report the success of his mission! “Give way, my lads!” said Mr. Dickey, warming up with the enthusiasm of the moment. “He’ll spoil the whole of it!” groaned Jack in the ear of Tom Longstone. “We shall have to sneak back like whipped chickens!” “Why, no, my darling. We can board her, and carry her decks at one pull,” whispered Tom. “We may do that; but the rebels will set the prize on fire, disable her engine, and run her aground, or something of that sort, as soon as they see us coming. We ought to pounce upon them like cats, when they are not thinking.” “Here comes the engineer,” added Tom as Mr. Gordon came forward to obtain a better view of the scene of operations. Jack ventured to suggest to him what he had just said to Tom; and the engineer volunteered to open the subject to Mr. Dickey. The result was that the men were ordered to lie on their oars. The boat was then moved into a recess in the bank, where it was concealed by overhanging bushes. “Now, my lads,” said Mr. Dickey, when he had placed the boat to his satisfaction. “I expect every man to do his duty. We shall board that steamer as she comes down, and carry her in the twinkling of an eye.” “Ay, ay, sir!” replied the crew in a low tone. “Silence, men!” The cotton-steamer was now in motion. The signal-lantern at the bend below assured her pilot that everything was ready; and she came forward very slowly. Her great furnaces, which were opened occasionally when the firemen threw in wood, cast a broad glare upon the dark waters of the bayou. Every heart in the cutter was beating wild with expectation as she advanced. She was now within a few rods of the boat. Her forward-deck was but a few inches above the surface of the water, presenting a most inviting prospect for a boarding-party. “All ready, my lads!” said Mr. Dickey in a low tone. “Give way!” The boat dashed forward; and Jack, with the painter in his hand, leaped on board, and made it fast to a cleat on the forecastle. Tom Longstone was by his side; and, as Mr. Dickey had not thought to make a particular distribution of his characters for the exciting drama which was now acting, the two quartermasters, animated probably by the instinct of their profession, rushed up the stairs to the boiler-deck, and thence to the hurricane-deck, from which Jack, outstripping his companion, bounded into the wheel-house, where, with pistol in hand, he confronted the astonished Litchfield, _alias_ Lunsley. “Surrender, or you are a dead man!” shouted Jack. “Who are you?” demanded the pilot with a horrid oath.