“Where did you leave it?” inquired the officer.

“In the woods, about three hundred yards to the left of where the rebels now are.”

“Very well; pick out your men, and go ahead.”

Frank accordingly selected the boatswain’s mate, an old, gray-headed man, who had been in the navy from boyhood, as his first lieutenant, and ordered him to call for volunteers.

If there is any thing a sailor admires, it is bravery in an officer.  Every one on board the Ticonderoga, from the captain down, was acquainted with Frank’s gallant behavior at Cypress Bend, although he himself had never said a word about it; and this, together with his uniform kindness toward the men under his command, and the respect he always showed his brother officers, had made him very popular with the ship’s company; and when the mate—­who was never better pleased than when he could do Frank a service-passed the word along the line that Mr. Nelson had called for volunteers, the men flocked around him in all directions.  The mate quickly selected the required number, and Frank led them toward the place where they had left the beef.

The woods were very thick, and, of course, the rebels, who were hidden in the bushes, on the other side of the levee, knew nothing of what was going on.  Frank sent two of his men to the levee, to watch the motions of the rebels, with orders not to fire unless they attempted to advance; and then pulled off his coat, and set to work, with the others, cutting up the beef.  This was soon accomplished; and, after getting it all ready to carry to the vessel, Frank, after consulting with the mate, concluded that the rebels ought to be punished for what they had done, and he determined to try the effect of a cross-fire upon them.

He cautiously advanced his men to the levee, when he found that the rebels had been growing bolder; and one of them, who was mounted on a powerful iron-gray horse, would frequently ride out from his concealment, and advance toward the place where the men under the executive officer were stationed, coolly deliver his fire, and then retreat out of range of their guns, to reload.

“Now, boys,” said Frank, “if that fellow tries that again, I’ll put a stopper on his shooting for awhile.”

The rebel, who, of course, was entirely ignorant of the proximity of Frank’s party, soon reappeared, and rode rapidly down the levee, until he came directly opposite the place where Frank and his men were concealed, and then drew up his horse, and settled himself in his saddle, for a good shot.  But at that instant the report of Frank’s musket echoed through the woods, and the horse on which the rebel was mounted fell to the ground, with a bullet in his brain.  Before the astonished guerrilla could extricate himself from the saddle, Frank, with more recklessness than prudence, had bounded out of his concealment, and seized him by the collar with one hand, at the same time attempting to draw his revolver with the other.