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āļāđāļēāļ§ āļāļāļĨ āļ āļĢāļĩ āđāļĄāļĩāļĒ āļĨāļĩāļ "Uncle Homer!" exclaimed Christy, extending his hand to him, which Colonel Passford, as he was called at home, though he was not in the Confederate army, warmly grasped; and the first smile that had been seen on his face played upon his lips. "How many men have you on board, Captain Flanger?" demanded the third lieutenant, still standing up in the boat abreast of the person he addressed. 322 This seemed to be reasonable to the lieutenant, and in accordance with the belief of his superiors on board of the Bronx, for no union man-of-war of any size could pass through the water courses to the great river. It looked as though the big guns had been replaced with those of smaller calibre. The boatswain's whistle sounded through the steamer. In a moment, as it were, all hands were in their stations. Nothing like a drill with the present ship's company had been possible, though the men had been trained to some extent at the navy-yard and on board of the Vernon; but the majority of the crew were old men who had served some time on board of the Bronx, and under the present commander. "I don't think so," muttered Corny. "You treat your own flesh and blood as though blood was nothing but water with you." "Is it really you, Captain Passford?" asked the second lieutenant. The cutter backed rapidly from the shore, and was then brought about. The lieutenant stood up in his place, and could just distinguish the Bronx, a mile and a half distant, in the gloom of the early morning. He watched her a few minutes and soon saw her swing around, and head to the south-east.