ths afterwards. But it was
evident, that in spite of the epidemic, there was a vast deal of
activity ashore and afloat. Cotton, cotton, everywhere!

Blockade-runners discharging it into lighters, tier upon tier of it,
piled high upon the wharves, and merchant vessels, chiefly under the
British flag, loading with it. Here and there in the crowded harbor
might be seen a long, low, rakish-looking lead-colored steamer with
short masts, and a convex forecastle deck extending nearly as far aft as
the waist, and placed there to enable the steamer to be forced
_through_ and not _over_ a heavy head sea. These were the genuine
blockade-runners, built for speed; and some of them survived all the
desperate hazards of the war.

The mulatto undertaker, who came on board to take the measure for
coffins for the two passengers who had died, did not leave us in a very
cheerful state of mind, although _he_ was in fine spirits, in the
anticipation of a brisk demand for his stock in trade.

Presenting each one of us with his card, he politely expressed the hope
that we would give him our custom, if we needed anything in his line.
Fortunately we had no occasion for his services. Just before leaving the
ship he was invited to take a glass of brandy and water. Holding the
glass in his hands which were yet stained with the coffin paint, he
drank to our death, a toast to which Dyer, my Wilmington pilot,
responded, "You shouldn't bury me, you d----d rascal, if I _did_ die."

With the assistance of the Confederate agent on shore, we succeeded in
promptly chartering a schooner for Cardenas and in provisioning her for
the voyage; and in a day or two, were making our way across the Bahama
Banks for Cuba. The agent had supplied us liberally with flesh, fowls,
and ice; and the Banks gave us an abundance of fish, as the light winds
fanned us slowly along, sometimes freshening into a moderate breeze, and
occasionally dying away to a calm. The "_chef d'oeuvre_" of our
mulatto skipper who was also cook, was conch soup, and he was not only
an adept at cooking but also at catching the conch. In those almost
transparent waters, the smallest object can be distinctly seen at the
depth of three or four fathoms. When soup was to be prepared Captain
Dick would take his station at the bow "in puris naturalibus," watching
intently for his prize. Overboard he would go like an arrow, and rising
again to the surface, would pitch the conch (and sometimes one in each