Just then, a shot from the thirty-two-pounder fell near them, and they fled. At the same time, the quarter-guns opened with canister; and not a human being could be seen in any direction. Captain McBride was afraid that the rebels would set fire to the steamers when their capture became inevitable, especially as the Middy could not run up into the shallow water, where they were moored to the shore. Mr. Dickey was ordered to get out the first cutter, and, with a strong force, proceed to the steamers; the Middy all the time playing upon the shore with grape and canister to keep the rebels at a respectful distance. Jack Somers asked permission to go in the boat; and, as Mr. Dickey knew the value of his services, his request was readily granted. The boat dashed in under the stern of the nearest steamer; but the painter had scarcely been made fast before a volley of rifle-balls was discharged into the midst of the crew by a gang of rebels concealed among the cotton-bales. “I am wounded!” groaned Mr. Dickey, sinking back in the stern-sheets of the boat, just as he had risen to board the steamer. “Lead on, Somers; don’t mind me!” added the intrepid young officer as the seamen hesitated. “Come on, boys! come on!” shouted Jack, leaping on board the cotton-boat. “Ay, ay!” added the men with a cheer as they followed our hero. The rebels who had fired the volley had formed a case-mate among the cotton-bales, at the stern of the steamer. As soon as Jack discovered the position of the enemy, he ordered the cockswain of the first cutter to cast off, and pull away from his exposed situation. The order was obeyed, the four men in the boat moving her up under the lee of the steamer’s paddles. One man had been killed, and one wounded, besides the first-lieutenant. Jack had fourteen men with him; and of course he lost no time in placing them out of the reach of the rebel riflemen at the stern of the boat. As the guns of the Middy protected his party from assault in the direction of the shore, our hero was in no haste to finish the affair. He took time to consider the best means of driving the enemy from their lair without the loss of any of his men. Climbing up to the top of the mass of cotton-bales, he soon found a way to their stronghold, which was open at the top. But it was not safe to approach the den; for the rebels were ready to fire the moment they discovered a blue-jacket. “Bear a hand here, my lads!” said Jack in a low tone, when a happy thought took possession of his mind. “Roll up this bale!” “Ay, ay!” replied the men promptly, as they saw at a glance what Jack intended to do. “Now she rises!” The bale did rise, was rolled over two or three times, and then tumbled down into the lair of the rebels. From the groans and the oaths that followed this novel assault, it was plain that some of the boat’s defenders had been crushed under the bale. “Up with another!” shouted Jack. “Ay, ay, Somers! Here she goes!”