answer. "But it'll be Nassau or Havana, one of the
two. I'll take cotton out--cotton is king, you know, and must be had to
keep all them working people in England from starving--and bring
medicine back. Medicine is getting skurse and high-priced already. And
percussion caps. They're the things you can make money on. Why, I have
heard it said that there wasn't enough gun caps in the Confederacy to
fight a battle with till Captain Semmes made that tower of his through
the Northern States, buying powder and bullets, and making contracts
with the dollar-loving Yankees to build cannon to shoot their own kin
with. But I want to see how the land lays before I go into the business
of running the blockade. If there's big risk and little profit I ain't
in."

"What port will you run out of?" was Marcy's next question; and when the
captain said it would probably be Wilmington, the boy was delighted, for
he expected to hear him announce that after he gave up privateering and
took to blockade-running he would no longer need the services of a
pilot. But if such a thought came into Beardsley's mind he did not speak
it aloud. Just then he was called to another part of the deck and Marcy
picked up his valise and went below.

"Beardsley doesn't mean to let me go," he soliloquized, as he tossed the
valise into his bunk and opened the locker in which he had stowed his
bedding for safe-keeping. "He's got me fast, and there's no chance for
escape as long as the _Osprey_ remains in commission. Well, there's one
comfort: Beardsley is not a brave man, and he'll make haste to lay the
schooner up the minute he has reason to believe that it is growing
dangerous outside."

Marcy went on deck again, and having nothing to do with the loading of
the vessel, sauntered around with his hands in his pockets. He fully
expected that Beardsley would have something more to say about the money
that was supposed to be hidden in Mrs. Gray's house; but he didn't, for
the captain had almost come to the conclusion that there was no money
there. If there was, Marcy could not be surprised into acknowledging the
fact, and so Beardsley thought it best to let the matter drop until he
could go home and hold a consultation with the overseer.

Bright and early the next morning the privateer cast off her fasts and
stood down the river, reaching the sound in time to catch the flood tide
that hurried her up toward Crooked Inlet. It was now the middle of July,
and the Union