“As to the matter of that, my honey-bee, we are heading due north.” “What do you _think_ we are going to do?” “I have not the leastest idee in natur’. May be we are goin’ to capter Mobile; that lays off here away somewhere: but I don’t think we are, Jack.” “Of course we are not,” replied Jack impatiently. “May be, Fort Pike: I heard one of the jollies say there was such a battery or fort in here somewhere. I don’t think we are, though.” “You know we are not, Tom.” “May be we are going across the country to strike New Orleans,” chuckled Tom; “but I don’t believe we are.” “You know very well we are not going to do anything of the kind. You are an old seaman. I didn’t know but you could tell, from the arms and other things in the boat, what kind of work we are to perform.” “Well, my baby, seein’ as how you want to know so bad, I’ll give you my opinion. ’Taint worth much; but old Tom’s always ready to give the best he’s got.” The veteran spoke in low tones; and the seamen near him gathered closer around him, so as to hear the opinion of the sage of the first cutter. Tom took off his cap, scratched his bald head as if to stimulate his intellectual powers, and sharpen his judgment up to the requisite pitch for the important decision he was about to render. “I don’t know where we’re goin’, or what we’re goin’ to do, as I said before,” continued Tom, when all heads were bent down to catch the words of wisdom when they should fall from his venerated lips. “Howsomever, in my opinion, we’re goin’ to take a look at the rebels, or else to attack some shore-battery, or else some steamboat or sailing vessel. Now, my lads, you’ve got my opinion: so don’t pester me no more.” Old Tom indulged in a low chuckle as he settled back on the thwart, and glanced around him to discover in the darkness how his opinion had been received. “Bully for you, Tom! I thought you knowed all about this work,” laughed an old sheet-anchor man. Jack gave up in despair, and was obliged to content himself with knowing no more than the law allows. The men at the oars were relieved every hour; for it was a long pull before they reached the scene of operations. At eight o’clock, the expedition came into a broad bay extending into the mainland. The boats were passing between two headlands about two miles apart, when a cannon-shot dropped into the water a short distance ahead of the first cutter. “There’s music for you!” said Tom Longstone. “There’s some more!” added the sheet-anchor man.