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“Haul him out,” cried one.

“Yes, lug him into our boat,” said another; “so now, you skunk, lay still; don’t open your trap, or I’ll brain you on sight!”

Having transferred the body of the captive from his “own canoe” to theirs, the Mills-Pointers made fast the stranger’s dug-out, and then paddled for the landing. The pirate was duly hauled ashore, or on to the wharf-boat, and left under guard of one of the captors–a dreadful ugly-looking customer, a cross between a whiskey-cask, bowie-knife, and a Seminole Indian or bull-dog, and armed equal to an arsenal–while the other two went up to the nearest “grocery,” reported the capture, took a drink, and sent out word for Court to meet. The poor victim was deposited on his back across some barrels, with his hands tied behind him. Recovering his scattered senses, the pirate “waked up.”

“Look here, my virtuous friend,” said he to his body-guard, who sat on an opposite barrel, with a heavy pistol in his hand, “what’s all this about?”

“Shet up!” responded the guard; “shet up your gourd. You’ll know what’s up, pooty soon, you ugly cuss, you!”

“Well, that’s explicit, anyhow!” coolly continued the captive. “But all I want to know, is–am I to be robbed, killed off, or only initiated into the mysteries of your craft?”

“Shet up, you piratin’ cuss, you; shet up, or I’ll give you a settler!” was the reply.

“Well, really, you are accommodating,” cavalierly replied the but little daunted captive. “One thing consoling I glean, my virtuous friend, from your scraps of information–you are not a pirate yourself, or in favor of that science! But I should like to know, old fellow, where I am, and what the deuce I’m here for.”

“Well, you’ll soon diskiver the perticklers, for here comes the Court, and they’ll have you dancin’ on nothin’ and kickin’ at the wind, pooty soon; you kin stake your pile on that!”

And with this, a hum was heard, and soon a mob of a dozen well- stimulated citizens, and strangers about the Point, came rushing and yelling on to the wharf-boat and were quite as immediately gathered around the captive. The first impulse of the posse comitatus appeared to manifest itself in a desire to hang the victim–straight up! A second (how sober we know not) thought induced them to ask a question or two, and for this purpose the presiding judge drew up before the still prostrate captive, and said–

“Who are you? What have you got to say for yourself, anyhow?”

The sunburnt, ragged, and rather romantic-looking prisoner turned his face towards the judge, and replied–

“I have nothing of consequence to say, neighbor. I would like to know, however, what all this means!”

“Where’s your crew, you villain?” said the judge.

“Crew? I have never found it necessary to have any, neighbor; navigation never engrossed a great deal of my attention, but I get along down here very well–without a crew!”

“You do?” responded the judge; “well, we’re going to hang you up.”

“You are, eh?” was the cool reply; “well, I have always been opposed to capital punishment, neighbor, and I know it would be unpleasant to me now!”

The quiet manner of his reply rather won upon the Court, and says the judge —

“Who are you, and where are you from?”

“My name is Banvard–John Banvard, from Boston!”

“It is, eh? What are you doing along here, alone in a canoe?”

” Taking a panorama of the Mississippi, neighbor, that’s all. “

The Court adjourned sine die; the clever artist was untied, treated to the best the market afforded, that night; his canoe, rifle, etc., restored next day, and John went on his way rejoicing in his narrow escape–finished his sketches, and the first great panorama “got up” in our country, and which he took to Europe, after making a fortune by it in America.