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