CHRISTY PASSFORD IS UTTERLY CONFOUNDED
The appearance of Walsh, fully dressed in the garb of a seaman, was so
great a surprise to Christy Passford, that he hardly noticed any other
person on the deck of the Vernon. He had given no particular attention
to the man when he saw him at his father's house, though he regarded him
as a very good-looking and intelligent person for one in the situation
in which he found him. The absconding man-servant had certainly made
good use of his time since he left Bonnydale, for he appeared to have
become a full-fledged sailor in the space of ten hours.
For the size of the steamer, she seemed to be manned by a very large
crew; but the letter he had received from his father that morning
informed him that the greater part of the crew of the Bronx had been
transferred to other vessels upon more active service, and that a large
number of seamen were to be sent immediately to reinforce the squadron.
This was not pleasant intelligence, for he had become acquainted with
all on board of the Bronx, and he would have preferred to begin his
permanent service as commander with the former ship's company of the
little steamer. However, the exigencies of the service required the
change, and he could not complain.
It was probable that the greater part of his new crew would be made up
from the men now on board of the Vernon; and this belief caused him to
regard these men with more interest than he might otherwise have done.
He had no fault to find after the glance he had bestowed upon them, for
they presented a very trim appearance in their new uniform, and looked a
great deal more tidy than they would after they had been on duty a few
weeks.
Lieutenant Passford was on board of the Vernon, and he had no further
solicitude in regard to a literal obedience to his orders. The commander
of the steamer, whoever he was, did not appear to have noticed the new
arrival, and no one gave any attention to Christy. He walked forward
to take a better view of the crew, and the seamen touched their caps
to the shoulder straps of a lieutenant with which he had been careful
to ornament his coat.
The men at work in the waist finished their task as Christy was
returning from his promenade, with the intention of presenting himself
to the commander. Among those who saluted him in proper form was Walsh.
He seemed to be a little diffident about encountering the son of his
late employer, and turned his face away as he touched his cap. But the
officer had fully identified him, and spoke to him, calling him by name.
The sailor made no reply; but Christy had placed himself directly before
him, and he could not escape without a breach of discipline.
"I spoke to you, Walsh," said the lieutenant, in the tone he had learned
to use when he intended to enforce respect and obedience.
"I beg your pardon, sir; my name is not Walsh," replied the sailor, with
all the deference the occasion required.
"Your name is not Walsh!" exclaimed Christy with a frown.
"No, sir; that is not my name, and I supposed that you spoke to some
other man," pleaded the late man-servant of the mansion at Bonnydale.
The lieutenant gazed earnestly into the face of the sailor, for he was
willing to admit to himself the possibility of a mistake. Walsh, or
whatever his name might have been, was a man of robust form, not more
than an inch or two short of six feet in height. He was clean-shaved,
with the exception of his upper lip, whereon he sported a rather long
dark brown mustache, of which a Broadway dandy might have been vain. As
a servant, he had been rather obsequious, though Christy had observed
that he used very good language for one in his menial position. As the
officer examined his form and features, and especially regarded the
expression in general, he was satisfied that he could not be mistaken.
"I did not speak to another man; I spoke to you," added Christy, as he
intensified the gaze with which he confronted the man, resorting to the
tactics of a sharp lawyer in the cross-examination of an obdurate
witness.
"I ask your pardon, sir, but you called me Welch, or some such name,"
replied the late servant, as Christy was sure he was in spite of his
denial.
"I called you Walsh; and that is the name to which you responded at two
o'clock this morning," persisted the lieutenant.
"That is not my name, sir; and I refer you to the ship's papers to prove
it. I am not the man to be ashamed of my name, which is not Welch or
Walsh, sir, if you will excuse me for saying so."
"Will you deny that you were employed as a servant at the house of
Captain Passford, at Bonnydale on the Hudson?" demanded Christy, with
not a little energy in his tones and manner.
"Where, sir, if you please?" asked the sailor, with a sort of bewildered
look.
"At Bonnydale!"
"Boddyvale? I never heard of the place before in my life, sir," answered
the runaway servant.
Possibly the man under examination was not wholly responsible for his
distortion of the name of Captain Passford's estate, as Christy was
beginning to reap the penalty of his imprudence the night before, in
exposing himself barefooted and half-clothed to the chill midnight
air, and was developing a cold in the head that already affected his
enunciation.
"Bonnydale!" repeated the officer, after using his handkerchief, and
thus improving his utterance of the word.
"I never heard of the place before, sir," persisted the seaman.
"Byron!" called a boatswain's mate from the forecastle.
"That's my name--Byron, sir, at your service," said the man, as he
touched his cap to the lieutenant, and rushed forward in answer to the
call of his superior, evidently glad to escape from the inquisition to
which he had been subjected. "On deck!" he added, as he made his way to
the forecastle.
Christy was a passenger on board of the Vernon, and he had nothing to
do. The commanding officer appeared to be engaged in the details of his
duty, though the steamer was in charge of a pilot. He could see from
his shoulder straps that he was an ensign, and the officers in the waist
and on the forecastle were of the same rank. If there were any other
passengers on board of the vessel who were commissioned officers, they
were not visible on the deck, though they might be in their staterooms,
arranging their affairs for the voyage.
The young lieutenant leaned against the rail, and gave himself up to the
consideration of what had occurred since he came on board. He had been
bewildered by one mystery the night before, and he could not help asking
himself if the conduct of Walsh had anything to do with the visit of the
intruder at Bonnydale. He could not trace out any connection between the
two events; but, on the other hand, he was unable to satisfy himself
that the mysterious visit, the sudden disappearance of the man-servant,
and the denial of his identity by the latter, were not in some manner
related to each other.
He had no premises on which to base an argument for or against one thing
or another. All was dark to him, and he could not get hold of anything.
After he had raised up a variety of suppositions, and combated
vigorously with them, the darkness seemed only to become more dense,
and he was compelled to abandon the subject without arriving at any
reasonable explanation. Under the instruction of his father, he had
cultivated "a judicial mind," which compelled him to reject all mere
speculation.
Christy was not disposed to believe that he was a brilliant officer,
or to accept unchallenged the extravagant praise that had been bestowed
upon him. He endeavored to follow the Gospel injunction "not to think of
himself more highly than he ought to think." But while he tried to keep
the flower of modesty in full bloom in his soul, he could not deny that
he had given the enemies of his country a great deal of trouble, and
subjected them to some heavy losses. Then he recalled the conspiracy on
board of the Bronx while he was acting-commander of her; and though it
was for the interest of the Confederacy to get rid of so active an
officer, he believed it was the vessel and not himself that the
conspirators desired to obtain.
Before the Vernon reached The Narrows, everything on her deck had been
put in order by the large crew, and less activity prevailed on board.
Christy thought it was time for him to report to the commander, and he
moved aft for this purpose. He did not even know the name of this
gentleman, and he saw no one to introduce him formally; but the ensign
in command had doubtless received an order to take him as a passenger to
the Gulf.
Before he reached the sacred limits of the quarter-deck, Christy met a
quartermaster, of whom he inquired the name of the commander.
"He has a good name for the captain of a fighting ship," replied the
petty officer, respectfully touching his cap to the shoulder straps of
the inquirer. "The commander is Captain Battleton."
"Captain Battleton," repeated Christy, to assure himself that he had
correctly understood the name.
"Captain Battleton," added the quartermaster. "I hope you are feeling
better to-day, sir."
"I am feeling very well to-day, except that I have started a cold in the
head," replied Christy, astonished at this display of interest in the
state of his health.
"I am glad to hear it, sir, for you appeared to be quite sick last night
when you came on board," added the quartermaster.
"Did I, indeed? I was not aware of it. I came on board last night? I was
not aware of that fact," said Christy.
The petty officer did not hear his remarks, for he had been called by
the second lieutenant in the waist, and, with a touch of his cap,
hastened away. The lieutenant opened his eyes very wide, as he looked
down at the seams in the deck, and wondered whether he were asleep or
awake. He had been quite sick, and he had come on board the night
before! It was very strange that he was not at all aware of either of
these facts. He felt reasonably confident that he had slept in his own
chamber at Bonnydale the night before, and at that time he was certainly
in a very robust state of health, however it might be at the present
moment. Even now, he could not complain of anything more severe than an
embryo cold in the head, which the medicine his mother had given him
would probably reduce to a state of subjection in a day or two.
At first, he was disposed to be amused at the answers the quartermaster
had given him, for it was evident to him then that he had been mistaken
for another person. It looked as though some officer had come on board,
and reported under his name, for he had not yet learned anything in
regard to the gentleman who had appeared to be quite sick when he
reported himself. It had the elements of another mystery in it. But the
petty officer could easily have made an honest mistake; and this was the
solution he accepted, without bothering his bewildered brain any further
about it.
The commander appeared to be less occupied at this moment than he had
been before, and Christy stepped forward to the quarter-deck, and
politely saluted him. Captain Battleton was not less punctilious in his
etiquette. He was a young man, though he was apparently six or seven
years older than Christy. He was an ensign, and looked like a gentleman
who was likely to give a good account of himself when he was called to
more active duty than that of commanding a store ship.
"Good-morning, Lieutenant Passford!" said Captain Battleton, as he
extended his hand to his passenger. "I am glad to see that you are
better."
Christy was utterly confounded at this salutation.