grown ready for desperate chances. He had had enough of
wandering through mire and thorns. Without hesitation he
lowered himself noiselessly into the water, swam across the
stream, untied the boat, pushed it cautiously from the bank,
and swam with it down the stream until far enough away to be
out of sight of its recent occupants. Then he climbed into
the boat and paddled away as fast as possible.

There was no sign of pursuit. The soldiers kept
unsuspiciously at their mid-day meal. The swamp-lined
creek-sides served well as a shelter from prying eyes. For
hours Cushing pursued his slow course. The sun sank;
darkness gathered; night came on. At the same time the water
widened around him; he was on the surface of the Roanoke.

Onward he paddled; the night crept on till midnight was
reached; for ten hours he had been at that exhausting toil.
But now before his eyes appeared a welcome sight, the dark
hull of a Union gunboat.

"Ship ahoy!" came a loud hail from the exhausted man.

"Who goes there?" answered the lookout on the gunboat.

"A friend. Take me up."

The gunboat was quickly in motion. This might be a
Confederate ruse, possibly a torpedo might have been sent to
blow them up; they were in dangerous waters. Boats were
quickly lowered, and rowed towards the small object on the
stream.

"Who are you?" came the cry, as they drew near.

"Lieutenant Cushing, or what is left of me."

"Cushing!" was the excited answer. "And the Albemarle?"

"Will never trouble a Union fleet again. She rests in her
grave on the muddy bottom of the Roanoke."

Loud cheers followed this stirring announcement. The sailors
bent to their oars, and quickly had the gallant lieutenant
on board. Their cheers were heightened tenfold when the crew
of the Valley City heard what had been done. In truth, the
exploit of Lieutenant Cushing was one that for coolness,
daring, and success in the face of seemingly insuperable
obstacles has rarely been equalled in history, and the
destruction of the Albemarle ranks with the most notable
events in the history of war.

ALASKA, A TREASURE HOUSE OF GOLD, FURS, AND FISHES

In 1867, when the far-seeing Secretary Seward purchased
Alaska from the Russian government for $7,200,000, there was
an outcry of disapproval equal to that made when Louisiana
territory was purchased from France in 1803. Many of the
people called the region "Seward's Folly" and said it would
produce nothing but iceberg