and men
Gang aft agley."

The Secretary of War having carried his point, the Major directed his
efforts towards another quarter, and more successfully. Indeed he rarely
failed in any enterprise requiring nerve, perseverance, tact, and
ability; and it may well be added that he seemed to accumulate wealth to
enjoy the pleasure of spending it worthily. His unostentatious charities
during the war were almost boundless; and hundreds of widows and orphans
blessed him for the relief which he extended to them in those dark days,
when even medicines were contraband of war, and the simplest necessaries
of life were beyond the reach of nearly every one in the Confederacy.

CHAPTER VIII.

Dyer and the Sailing Captain.--First Voyage to Nassau.--Major
Ficklen and the Two Young Lieutenants.--Our Old Skipper "Captain
Dick."--Bermuda.--The Races there and elsewhere.--Description of
Bermuda.--Moore, the Poet, and his Rival Mr. Tucker.--Tame
Fish.--The Naval Station.--Col. B.'s Accident.

Before sailing with our cargo of cotton for Nassau, a signal officer was
detailed for the ship, (signal stations having been established along
the coast for the benefit of the blockade-runners;) and I was compelled
to discharge my pilot Dyer. He and the sailing captain, who was to take
passage with us, his engagement having terminated with the transfer of
the vessel to the Confederate flag, had been quarreling incessantly
during my absence from Wilmington, and had finally become mortal foes.
An hour or more after my return to the ship, while sitting in the cabin,
I heard loud and angry altercation overhead; and going on deck, I saw
Dyer pacing up and down the wharf, along side which the "Lee" was lying;
while the sailing captain was bidding him defiance from the steamer's
deck; Dyer with a drawn knife in his hand, and the captain armed with a
handspike. They had exhausted their vocabulary of abuse, but neither was
disposed to invade the enemy's territory. At last Dyer cried out "Come
ashore you d----d English hog, and I'll make mince meat of you!" I shall
never forget the expression of the captain's face at this cruel taunt.
He was literally struck speechless for a moment; then turning to me and
drawing himself up with a thumb in his arm-hole, and the handspike over
his shoulder, he exclaimed, "Now, sir, isn't that _too_ bad! Do I _look_
like a Henglish og?" To this pathetic appeal, I could but answer "no,"
but