nder went to his stateroom, and was soon fast asleep, from which he
did not wake till eight o' clock in the morning. When he went on deck
the ship was carrying all sail. The second lieutenant had the deck, and
he asked him what speed the steamer was making.

"The last log showed seventeen knots an hour," replied Mr. Makepeace.

"I hope you slept well, Captain Passford," said the chief engineer,
saluting him at this minute.

"I slept like a log till eight bells this morning," replied Christy.

"Mr. Makepeace reports the last log at seventeen knots," continued Paul.
"But the ship is not making revolutions enough per hour for more than
fifteen, for I have got the hang of her running now. The wind is blowing
half a gale, and the canvas is giving her two knots."

No events transpired on board worthy a special chronicle during the
day. The men were drilled in various exercises, and gave excellent
satisfaction to their officers. The next morning the St. Regis was off
Cape Hatteras, and though it is a greater bugbear than it generally
deserves, it gave the ship a taste of its quality. The wind had hauled
around to the south-west, and was blowing a lively gale. The sails had
been furled in the morning watch, and off the cape the course had been
changed to south-west.

Just before eight bells in the afternoon watch, when the ship was making
fifteen knots an hour, the lookout man on the top-gallant forecastle
called out "Sail, ho!" and all eyes were directed ahead.

"Where away?" demanded the officer of the deck sharply.

"Close on the lee bow, sir!" returned the lookout.

The commander was in his cabin studying the chart of the coast of North
Carolina; but the report was promptly sent to him, and he hastened on
deck.

"Another sail on the port bow, sir!" shouted a seaman who had been sent
to the fore cross trees with a spy-glass.

"What are they?" asked Christy, maintaining his dignity in spite of the
excitement which had begun to invade his being.

"Both steamers, sir," replied the officer of the deck.

"The head one is a blockade-runner, I know by the cut of her jib, sir,"
shouted the man with the glass on the cross trees.

All the glasses on board were immediately directed to the two vessels.
Christy could plainly make out the steamer that had the lead. She was a
piratical-looking craft, setting very low in the water, with two smoke
stacks, both raking at the same angle as her two masts. The wind was
not fair,