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where I found most of my fellow passengers already assembled. We had hardly ensconced ourselves in a safe corner, when the voice of “Old Waley" roared out from the shore
“Stop the boat, or we'll fire into her!”
“Fire and be hang'd !” was the captain's reply.
He had hardly uttered the words, when a bullet was heard crashing through the glass top of the wheel-house. I could not help thinking that Mr. Nettles, the pilot, was placed in rather a nettlish position, but it appeared afterwards that the lower part of the wheel-house was lined with strong sheetiron, and was bullet proof. Whether this precaution had been taken in anticipation of such skirmishes, I never learnt; at all events, it was useful in the present emergency, as Mr. Nettles in a crouching position could sufficiently manage the boat, while he was sheltered from the shot to all intents and purposes.
Bang !--spang !-whiz ! and several bullets came crashing through the slight framework of the cabin-windows; some struck, the wheel-house, while others glanced upon the iron chimneys, causing them to ring and vibrate.
But our captain, upon his side, was not idle, and a volley of musketry from the crew sent two or three of the sheriff's officers sprawling upon the bank.
In this way a running fire was kept up for several miles—the boat going at the top of her speed—while the sheriff and his posse kept pace with her, galloping along the bank, loading and firing in their stirrups.
Victory, however, declared for our captain, for the river gradually widened, and as the boat was kept closer to the larboard bank, the rifle bullets fell far short of their mark. Seeing this, the pursuing party were reluctantly compelled to halt, expressing in their looks and gestures the highest degree of anger and mortification.
“Come, boys,” shouted the captain, "give them a last volley and a cheer ! "
A volley of musketry was followed by loud cheering from every part of the little boat, in which even the passengers joined, so exciting is the cheer of victory, even in a bad cause.
“Now, Kernel,” cried the captain, “I've got you out of a tarnal scrape-ten thousand at least—so we expect you to stand treat for all hands! Hurrah ! bring on the licker!"
FATHER WILLIAM, or, as he was familiarly known, “Old Bill," was an early settler wout West.” He left the old North State when young, and settled in a choice spot, near one of our little streams. He grew and prospered, and not many years after he was married, and from that time than he a more influential personage could not be found. He was Justice of the Peace, held two or three posts of honour, and could knock daylight out of a turkey's eye two hundred yards with his favourite gun. I remember several of his exploits in shooting; and one of them would not be out of place here. I heard it from “ Old Bill” himself. He had a fine young horse once, he said, stolen from his stable, and he set out to overtake the thief, taking his favourite piece along for company.
light out of a buite gun. I rem
one of them
But our captain, upon his side, wa idle, and a volley of musketry from the sent two or three of the sheriff's sprawling upon the bank.
In this way a running fire was kept several miles—the boat going at the her speed—while the sheriff and hi kept pace with her, galloping al bank, loading and firing in their stir
Victory, however, declared for our for the river gradually widened, an boat was kept closer to the larboard rifle bullets fell far short of their m ing this, the pursuing party were i compelled to halt, expressing in t and gestures the highest degree of mortification.
“Come, boys,” shouted the cap them a last volley and a cheer!”
A volley of musketry was loud cheering from every part: boat, in which even the passenger exciting is the cheer of victory,
une bad cause.
“Now, Kernel," cried the cap un horse, got you out of a tarnal scrape-te saddle alone. at least-so we expect you to start whether all hands! Hurme rice on the ever heard,
himself ulosed, and ched in sucre
“Old Bill,” in his early days, went through many troubles, and often thought his day of grace was nearly ended. He would give up to the “hyppo,” and when in one of his ways, he'd keep his bed for weeks at a time, trying to settle up" accounts, but he couldn't make it out. During this time he wouldn't say a word, but “ I'm not long for this world." Fifteen years after his horse-race—he was getting along in years then he went off. A deep snow covered the ground, and he could not venture beyond his door. He curled himself up in bed, and for two days his eyes were closed, and he spoke not a word. His couch was watched in silencem his pulse quick-his breathing compressed; but the fourth evening he came to. His boys, who had watched by his side, were now relieved, a good dinner was prepared, " Old Bill” ate heartily, and, after a social drink all round, the boys were for a hunt.
“You musn't go, boys—I begin to feel like going off,” said Old Bill, with a sigh.
“Come, daddy, you're well-never was better in your life !” said one of the boys.
“Better not go-you shan't-you'll find me dead when you get back," continued the old man, returning to bed.
“But we must, daddy. We'll make a big VOL. I.