fontawesome webfont
fontawesome webfont
āļāđāļē āļ āļ§āļ āļŠāļđāļāļĢ āļāļē āļāļē āļĢāđāļē Though the second lieutenant of the Bronx had not been to breakfast, it was not his stomach that made the first demand upon him. He directed the steward to remain in the gangway and apprise him of the coming of any person in the direction of the cabin and ward room. Dave took his station on the steps. Mr. Flint entered the stateroom, and the first thing he did was to drop down on his knees and thrust his right hand into the space under the berth. It was instantly grasped by Christy, and given a warm pressure. "My master was the captain of the Floridian, and we came out here to see if there was any blockader near, that had come up in the fog. The steamer was to be brought out by the 229 pilot, who has been on board of her for three days." "Why so, Captain Passford?" asked Mr. Flint. "How was the weather when you left the deck, Mr. Flint?" asked the commander. "I have heard about that; and I know that your cousin Christopher is no chicken."