"There were on board-the captain and mate; W. Tillman, steward; William Stedding, seaman, a German, twenty-three years of age; Daniel McLeod, seaman, of Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, thirty years of age, and Bryce McKinnon, a passenger.

"On the 7th of July we fell in with the Jeff. Davis, and a prize crew of five were put on board. who were unarmed. We run ten days, and didn't find Charleston; we were, however, only 50 miles south of Charleston, and 100 miles eastward. On the voyage they treated me the best kind of way, and talked the best kind of talk.

"One day the first lieutenant of the pirates was sitting in the cabin. cross-legged, smoking, and he said to me, 'When you go down to Savannah, I want you to go to my house, and I will take care of you.' I thought, yes, you will take care of me when you get me there. I raised my hat, and said. 'Yes, sir; thank you.' But afterward, I said to Billy, (the German.) 'I am not going to Charleston a live man; they may take me there dead.'

"He had been told by the prize-master that he would get well rewarded in Charleston for performing his duty so well, in bringing the schooner in. He also overheard conversation not intended for his ears, in regard to the price he would probably bring: and he had heard the prize-master say to one of his men: 'You talk to that steward, and keep him in good heart. By God,' said he, he will never see the North again.'

"Tillman conferred with two of the seamen about taking possession of the schooner; but they declined. adopting any plan, saying that none of them knew how

to navigate her back, should they succeed in getting control.

Tillman thought the matter for three days, and then made an appeal to the German, and said, "If you are a man and stick to your word, we can take this vessel easy. Then (in Tillman's words) we made a plan that I should go to my berth, and when most of them were asleep, he was to give me some sign or awake me.

"We tried this for two nights, but no good chance offered. But last Tuesday night we caught them asleep, and we went to work. The mate comes to my berth and touches me. He says, 'now is your time.' I went into my room and got my hatchet. The first man I struck was the captain. He was lying in a state-room on the starboard side.

"I aimed at his temple, as near as I could, and hit him just below the ear, with the edge of the hatchet. With that he made a very loud shriek. The passenger jumped up, very much in a fright. I told him, 'do you be still; I shall not hurt a hair of your head.' The passenger knew what I was up to; he never said a word more. I walked right across the cabin to the second mate's room, and gave him one severe blow in the mole of the head-that is right across the middle of his head. "I didn't stop to see whether he was dead or not, but I jumped on deck, and as I did so, the mate, who had been sleeping on the companion-way, started from the noise he had heard in the cabin. Just as he rose upon his feet, I struck him in the back of the head. Then the German chap jumped over, and we 'mittened' on to him and flung him over the starboard quarter."

Marshal Murray. "What did you do then?"

Tillman. "Then we went down straight into the

cabin. The second mate was not quite dead. He was sitting, leaning against his berth. I catched him by the hair of the head with my left hand, and struck him with the hatchet, which I had in my right hand. I told this young German--' Well, let's get him overboard as soon as we can.' So we hauled him over onto the cabin."

The Marshal. "Was he quite dead?"

Tillman. "No; he was not quite dead, but he would not have lived long. We flung him over the starboard quarter. Then I told this German to go and call the man Jim, the Southern chap, (one of the pirates,) here. He called him aft. Says I, 'Jim, come down here in the cabin. Do you know that I have taken charge of this vessel to-night? I am going to put you in irons.' 'Well,' says he, 'I am willing.' He gave right up. I kept him in irons till eight o'clock next morning. I then sent the German for him, and I said, 'Smith,' (the name Milnor went by on board,) 'I wan't you to join us, and help take this vessel back. But mind, the least crook, or the least turn, and overboard you go with the rest.' 'Well,' said he, 'I will do the best I can.' And he worked well all the way back. couldn't do otherwise. It was pump or sink."

Marshal. Did they beg, any of them?"

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Tillman. "They didn't have any chance to beg. It was all done in five minutes. In seven minutes and a half after I struck the first blow the vessel was squared away before the wind, and all sail on. We were fifty miles south of Charleston, and one hundred to the eastward."

Tillman said, that at first he had thought of securing all the men, and bringing them all to New York alive, in irons, but found this was impracticable. To use his

own language, "There were too many for that; there were five of them and only three of us. After this I said, well, I will get all I can back alive, and the rest I will kill."

The testimony of Mr. McKinnon, though giving further particulars, does not contradict or invalidate, but confirms, Tillman's statement, which may, therefore, be deemed reliable. Mr. McKinnon concludes the narrative as follows:

"The steward now took command, and the schooner was headed for the North, with a fair wind. None of us knew any thing of navigation; but we trusted to good fortune and the land, to enable us to make out our course. Of course, we had to be vigilant. Two of our hands might turn upon us at any moment, and McLeod was not faithful. Stedding, Tillman, and I, managed so that two of us were on deck all the while, and always aft of the other three. The men on watch carried the two pistols, and the one that slept always kept one eye open, lest we might be attacked.

"On Friday the 19th, we made the land at eight o'clock in the morning, which became quite distinct by noon; and we kept on our way, with good weather, sounding as we went. On Sunday morning, at nine o'clock, we got a pilot off Sandy Hook, and soon after hired a tug for $60, to tow us up to New York, where we arrived about four, P. M., truly thankful for our great deliverance."

STORY XVIII.

TERRIBLE FATE OF THE REBEL PRIVATEER PETREL.

THE United States frigate St. Lawrence had cruised for a month along the Atlantic coast, between Cape Henry and Savannah, and on the morning of the 1st of August, 1861, while just outside the harbor of Charleston, espied a long rakish schooner, filled with men, and mounting three or four guns, sailing rapidly down upon her.

The port-holes were still shut, but the flag was at the peak, and the St. Lawrence looked not unlike a great lumberly merchantman, becalmed in a strange latitude, and too unwieldy for any purpose save the holding of a large cargo for the avarice of an enemy to court, and a daring privateer to secure.

As the stranger came down, the St. Lawrence hoisted all sail, and affected to be anxious to get out to sea. In reality, however, she was edging in closer to shore, and making arrangements below to receive the reckless visitors with appropriate largess.

Directly, a shot came skipping over the water, falling into the sea a few rods ahead of the frigate, and a number followed it in quick succession, but nearly all either falling short or passing over. The final discharge consisted of grape and canister, which made some little dalliance with the frigate's rigging, admonished the commander that the play was growing serious.

At this time the vessels were within speaking distance, and a man in uniform was seen mounted upon the pirate's deck, who shouted to the St. Lawrence to lay-to

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