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āļŠāļĄāļąāļāļĢ āļĢāļąāļ āđāļāļĢāļāļīāļ āļāļĢāļĩ āļāļąāļāļāļĩ 30 Christy looked at his watch when the sail was reported to him, and found that it wanted ten minutes of eleven. The Bronx had been steaming for just about three hours, and must have made about forty miles, as he hastily figured up the run in his mind. The fort had become harmless so far as the use of its guns was concerned; but the channel of the Grand Pass was hardly a quarter of a mile in width, and even twenty soldiers with muskets could pick off the men on the deck of the Bronx. Christy's orders required him to capture the steamer that was fitting out in the bay, and he intended to do it. The order to weigh the anchor and cast off the spring was given, and the commander sent for the chief engineer. "Were you in charge of the sloop, uncle Homer?" "It is evident from what we have heard, and from the documents submitted to me that one of these gentlemen is Lieutenant Christopher Passford," said Captain Battleton; "but we have no means of identifying the officer. In what vessels have you served, Mr. Passford?" "We will soon stop that," added Christy. "Give them another shot from the midship gun, Mr. Flint."