fontawesome webfont
fontawesome webfont
āļ§āļīāđāļāļĢāļēāļ°āļŦāđ āļāļāļĨ āļ§āļąāļ āļāļĩāđ The second lieutenant was calling over a list of names, which Christy concluded was the draft of seamen for the Bronx. Possibly Captain Passford had used some influence in this selection, 121 for all the other hands were to be put on board of the flag-ship to be assigned to such vessels as needed to be reinforced by the officers of the staff. By this time it was broad daylight, and apparently the fog was not as dense as it had been earlier in the morning. The boat with her tow continued on her course, now headed for the gunboat which the officer had made out. In ten minutes more the expedition was within hailing distance of the steamer, which immediately stopped her screw. Christy handed him the appointment just made, and the steward danced about like a madman. He 365 had expected nothing for his meritorious service, and he found himself in a position of trust and responsibility. He expressed his gratitude in the most earnest language, and without using a single objectionable phrase, for his education was better than his habit in the use of speech. "But they must have had very big guns." "Byron!" exclaimed Christy, recalling Walsh, and the name he had insisted was his own when he first encountered him on board of the Vernon. "He may have a rank in the Confederate navy, but he has none in that of the union. In other words, he is a Confederate officer or seaman, and he is the man who helped Corny steal my commission and orders."