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"Do you refer to the lieutenant appointed to the command of the Bronx on our arrival in the Gulf?" asked Dr. Connelly, laughing.

āļ•āļēāļĢāļēāļ‡ āļšāļ­āļĨ āļ—āļļāļ āļĨāļĩāļ āļžāļĢāļļāđˆāļ‡āļ™āļĩāđ‰ Walsh, the man-servant at Bonnydale, was now a seaman on board of the Vernon, under the real or assumed name of Byron. He denied his identity, as he would naturally do under the circumstances; but Christy had not a doubt that he was the man who had suddenly disappeared after the mysterious visitation of the night before. Doubtless, Corny had been the visitor at the mansion, and had procured the contents of the official envelope on this occasion. "I got him safe, Massa Cap'n," replied the steward, exhibiting most of the teeth in his mouth, for he was pleased with himself after he had executed the commission assigned to him, and did not feel as much like a contraband as he might. "I prefer that to starving to death in this region," replied the colonel. "Thank you, sir; I will take some of it, if you please," replied Christy, as he passed his plate across the table. "Of course, as you have done me the honor to take a seat at my table, I must be acquainted with you." "They are awake there," said Christy with a smile to the first lieutenant, and both of them watched for the fall of the shot, which struck the water at least a quarter of a mile ahead of the vessel. "Beat to quarters, Mr. Flint."

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