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1688 āđ€āļŠāđ‡ āļ āļŠāļĩāđˆ āđ€āļāļĄ Standing on the bridge with the executive officer, Christy took his leave mentally of the flag-ship, and the few other vessels that were on the 254 station; for most of them were on duty in various expeditions engaged in the destruction of salt works. A boat expedition had just captured Appalachicola, with all the vessels loading with cotton in the bay. The young commander congratulated himself that he had a fast steamer, for that caused him to be employed in more active duty than the work of destruction on shore. "Perhaps we are; but you talk too much by 144 half, Passford, and I have been dreading that you would make a slip of some kind," replied Mr. Galvinne rather crustily. "You were as stupid as a Kentucky mule when you stopped to talk with Byron in the waist." "Ay, ay; and she is coming alongside the Vernon," added another. "I thank you for the suggestion, Mr. Passford, and I must say that you seem to be entirely fair," said the commander. "I suppose you were religiously inclined when you were engaged in the business of smuggling," added the commander. "Will it be the highest prudence to permit the conspirators to take the Bronx into a Confederate port, Pensacola, or any other?" demanded Christy with more earnestness than he had yet manifested.

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