what is called a revenue schooner.  Thirdly, the British steam-packet Express, also armed and flying a pennant, commanded by a lieutenant in the British Navy, and borne on the Navy List as a ship of war.  It could be neither of these two, to my thinking.  There only remained a Hamburg vessel, which I ordered to go and anchor under the guns of the corvette Naiade.  But at this instant a lieutenant in one of the Nereide’s boats came to me and shouted, “The admiral desires you will take the Mexican pilots off all ships going out of port.”

“Off the English packet too?” I inquired.

“The admiral gave no details, he said all pilots.”

Though it seemed a serious matter to me, considering the touchiness of the English, to take a man off one of their warships, I had no course but to act.  The Express had passed astern of me, and I had exchanged friendly greetings with her captain, Lieutenant Cooke, with whom I was acquainted.  She was far away already.  I hoisted the British flag, and backed my action with a shot across her bow.  She brought to, waited for the boat and officer I sent, and the following conversation ensued :—­

My Officer.—­“My orders are to ask you for your pilot.”

Lieutenant Cooke.—­“I want him to get to Sacrificios.”

My Officer.—­“It isn’t a mere request I make you.”

Lieutenant Cooke.—­“If I don’t give him up, shall you take him by force?”

My Officer.—­“We trust you will give him up with a good grace, and that we need have no recourse to violence.”

Lieutenant Cooke.—­“That’s very well, sir,” and the conversation closed with a shake of the hand, once the British commander had cleared himself of responsibility.  So the pilot entered my boat, whence the admiral instantly had him fetched.  The American revenue schooner gave hers up without making any difficulty, only declaring the admiral responsible for any accident that might happen to the ship for want of a pilot.

I have related this incident of the pilot of the Express in detail because it gave rise to a heated discussion in the British Parliament, during which I was personally taken to task and made responsible for a “violation of international law.”

But the admiral gives the signal to open fire, and the cannonade begins.  In one moment I am wrapped in smoke.  I not only cannot see to watch the firing, I cannot even see where I am going.  The lead gives very little depth, and I see the mud disturbed by my keel rising on the surface of the water.  I cannot stay where I am, so I crowd on sail and get out of the smoke.  I repeat my petition for leave to take part in the fight to the admiral by signal.  His heart is touched, and he answered by the welcome word “Yes,” and then I go down the line of frigates, all hotly engaged, especially the Iphigenie.  Every minute or two I saw splinters of wood flying into the air, cut out by the shot striking her.  She had a hundred and eight in her hull, without counting