se; indeed, I do not think
those navy men knew the details of the disappointment. O'Brien had told
me, in confidence, what I have written down probably for the first time
now. But we were speaking, in a general way, of the disappointment.
Norton finished his cigar rather thoughtfully, and then said: "Well,
fellows, it is not worth while to put in the newspapers, but what do you
suppose upset our grand naval attack, the day the Yankee gunboats
skittled down the river so handsomely?"

"Why," said Allen, who is Norton's best-beloved friend, "they say that
you ran away from them as fast as they did from you."

"Do they?" said Norton, grimly. "If you say that, I'll break your head
for you. Seriously, men," continued he, "that was a most extraordinary
thing. You know I was on the ram. But why she stopped when she stopped I
knew as little as this wineglass does; and Callender himself knew no
more than I. We had not been hit. We were all right as a trivet for all
we knew, when, skree! she began blowing off steam, and we stopped dead,
and began to drift down under those batteries. Callender had to
telegraph to the little Mosquito, or whatever Walter called his boat,
and the spunky little thing ran down and got us out of the scrape.
Walter did it right well; if he had had a monitor under him he could not
have done better. Of course we all rushed to the engine-room. What in
thunder were they at there? All they knew was they could get no water
into her boiler.

"Now, fellows, this is the end of the story. As soon as the boilers
cooled off they worked all right on those supply pumps. May I be hanged
if they had not sucked in, somehow, a long string of yarn, and cloth,
and, if you will believe me, a wire of some woman's crinoline. And that
French folly of a sham Empress cut short that day the victory of the
Confederate navy, and old Davis himself can't tell when we shall have
such a chance again!"

Some of the men thought Norton lied. But I never was with him when he
did not tell the truth. I did not mention, however, what I had thrown
into the water the last time I had gone over to Manchester. And I
changed my mind about Sarah's "secret-service" parcel. It remained on my
table.

That was the last dinner our old club had at the Spotswood, I believe.
The spring came on, and the plot thickened. We did our work in the
office as well as we could; I can speak for mine, and if other
people--but no matter for that! The 3d of April cam