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"If I remember rightly it is eighty-three sea miles from the entrance to Pensacola Bay. But 151 you do not run away with the idea that it is necessary for you, as the present commander of the Bronx, to visit this place?" asked the naval officer.
āļāļēāļĢāđāļāļīāļĄāļāļąāļāļāļĩāļŽāļēāļāļīāđāļĨāđāļāļāļĢāļāļāļīāļāļŠāđ "We are bound to the westward, and the course looks as though we might be ordered up the Mississippi," suggested Mr. Flint. "Is that so? Then we mustn't talk here," added Warton, apparently somewhat alarmed. "Who told you so?" It was less than halt a mile to the cutter, and they soon reached it. The Russian was standing on the shore, and most of the men were asleep on the thwarts, though Vincent was wide awake. Mike recognized the form of the old negro, and reported that the lieutenant was coming. "He has not found me yet; and I think that the stateroom of the commander of the Bronx is the last place he will think of looking for me. But I have no time to talk of merely selfish matters, for I am not at all worried about my personal safety while we are within union lines. If this plot succeeds, and the conspirators get the ship into a Confederate port, I shall feel differently about this matter. Has any third lieutenant been appointed, Mr. Flint?" "I thank you, Captain Battleton, for your very kind interest in the state of my health, but with the exception of the first signs of a cold in the head, I never was better in my life," said Christy in reply to the salutation of the commander, still holding his hand.