At length the rebel mounted the levee, and reigning in his horse, sat in
his saddle gazing at the vessels, as if not at all concerned. He
presented a fair mark, and Frank fired, but the shell went wild and
burst in the woods, far beyond the rebel, who, however, beat a hasty
retreat behind the levee.

"Oh, what a shot!" shouted a voice through the trumpet that led from the
pilot-house to the main deck. "What a shot--altogether too much
elevation."

"Who's that, I wonder?" soliloquized Frank. "It _was_ a poor shot,
but I'd like to see that fellow, whoever he is, do any better."

After giving orders to have the gun reloaded and secured, he ran into
the wardroom to look after his mail, at the same time inquiring of every
one he met, "Who was that making fun of my shooting?" But no one knew,
nor cared to trouble himself about the matter, for the subject of
conversation was, "We've got a new paymaster."

Frank was pleased to hear this, but was still determined to find the
person who had laughed at his marksmanship, when he saw a pair of feet
descending the ladder that led from the cabin to the pilot-house, and a
moment afterward, a smart looking young officer, dressed in the uniform
of a paymaster, stood in the wardroom, and upon discovering Frank,
thrust out his hand and greeted him with--

"What a shot! Been in the service more than two years, and"--

"Why, Archie Winters, is this you?" exclaimed Frank, joyfully.