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d the vessel was seen. No sign of one yet; but as we enter on our second mile, our lookout cries for the first time: 'A sail! dead ahead, sir!' After a five miles' run, we near the vessel sufficiently to make out that she is the brig Perry, one of Uncle Sam's swiftest sailing vessels, and so we quit chasing, and return to get our letters and provisions ere the Massachusetts starts again. An hour from our first meeting we are back, and find her heaving anchor to be off, for she runs on time, and may not delay here; so haste away with the boats, or we lose mails, provisions, and all. The boat returns well laden with barrels of potatoes, quarter of beef, and chunks of ice, but no mail. 'Letters and papers all sent on board the Iroquois,' says the Massachusetts; so if we have any, there they are, but no word of any for us is sent; so with hearts disappointed, but stomachs rejoicing in the prospect of ice water and fresh meat, we settle down. Our tongues, under red-tape discipline, keep mum, but inwardly we protest against this deprivation, brought about by the wild-goose chase on which we were ordered. Well, to-morrow the State of Georgia is expected down from Beaufort, and she will bring us a mail, we hope. The morrow comes, and at daydawn she heaves in sight, just halting as she nears the flagship, to report herself returned all right, and then down toward us--with a mail, we trust. She is hardly ten ship's lengths away, when she spies a sail to southward, notifies us, and we both make chase. She is deeply laden, we but lightly, so we soon outstrip her, and overtake the sail, which is a schooner, and looks suspicious, very. We order her to 'heave to,' which order is wilfully or unwittingly misunderstood. At any rate she does not slacken her speed, till she finds our guns brought to bear, and we nearly running her down. Then she stops: we send a boat with officers and men to board her and see if we have really a prize, and all is excitement. One officer offers his share for ten dollars--another for twenty--a third for a V, and one for fifty cents; but would-be salesmen of their shares are far more numerous than buyers. And soon the boat returns, reporting the vessel as bound for Port Royal, with coffee, sugar, and sutlers' stores. Her papers are all right, and she may go on without further hinderance. Now back to the State of Georgia for our mails. 'Our mails! our mails!' is the hungry cry of our almost home-sick hearts. A
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