When the ship reached the Banks of Newfoundland they experienced some variety of weather in the shape of blinding snow and stinging sleet, added to howling winds and leaping waves. None but the officers and crew of the steamer and our old skipper ventured on deck. Even Rosemary stayed below. It is hard enough to keep one’s feet on a rolling deck when it is dry, or on an icy surface when it is still; but to stand or walk on the sleety boards of a rocking ship is well-nigh impossible to any one but a seasoned old salt. So Rosemary, as well as her companions, kept the cabin or the saloon. To as many as were able to appear on the common ground of the last-mentioned place the old man made himself very useful and agreeable in helping them to pass away the long days, and especially the long evenings. He told stories, sang songs, and recited poetry—miles of poetry, which he said he had committed to memory in the lone watches of his half century of sea life. All this time the steamer was not “flying,” not even “running,” but, as it were, only tumbling against wind and weather toward the port of New York. But it happened on one fine morning, when the winds and the waves fell and the sun shone brightly and warmly, and seasick passengers got well and came out on deck like hibernating animals in the spring—they spied a pilot boat—Number 15—coming toward them. There was a general jubilee! They were not yet in sight of land, but they could not be far from port, for the pilot boat was coming! Half an hour later the pilot boat was alongside and the pilot on deck, with a batch of the latest New York and Washington papers, and with news—such news! A crowd gathered around him at once. His papers were taken right and left, and all the men turned eagerly to the first columns of the first page of his own particular sheet to read: “Latest Dispatches from the Seat of War.” Before every man’s face fluttered the open newspapers like spread sails, while they devoured the news! But the pilot’s oral news, which was so very fresh that it had not had time to get into the morning papers, was more interesting to our immediate party than all the rest. Mr. Force, who was deep in news from the peninsula, caught the words: “Lieut. Com. Force.” And he looked up. The pilot was hastily and excitedly recounting some adventure to a group of men gathered around him to listen. Among these was the old skipper Grandiere, who seemed eagerly interested. The pilot spoke hurriedly, for he had presently to take command of the ship to carry her into port. Mr. Force dropped his paper and joined the group. “What is it?” he inquired of Gideon Grandiere. But the old man was too intent upon the words of the pilot to hear any others. “What is it?” inquired Mr. Force again. Then the pilot stopped to answer him.