"Don't be bigoted, my dear fellow. Of course I prescribe the whiskey as a medicine." "You are no surgeon." "It would quiet your nerves." "Let them kick, if nothing but whiskey will quiet them," laughed Somers. "Seriously, Mr. Pillgrim, I am very much obliged to you for your kindness, and for your interest in me; but I think I shall be better without the whiskey than with it." "As you please, Somers. If you are up when I return, I will tell you what I find at the house." "Thank you; I will leave my door unfastened." Mr. Pillgrim left the room to make his perilous examination of the locality of his friend's misfortunes. Somers walked the apartment, nervous and excited, considering the events of the evening. He then seated himself, and carefully wrote out the statement of Coles in regard to the Ben Nevis, and the method by which he purposed to operate in getting her to sea as a Confederate cruiser, with extended memoranda of all the conversation to which he had listened. Before he had finished this task, Lieutenant Pillgrim returned. "It is all right," said he, as he entered the room. "What's all right?" "There is such a person as Thomas Barron. The facts contained in the letters are essentially true." "Then no investigation is necessary," replied Somers, with a feeling of relief. "None whatever; to-morrow I will see that the poor fellow is sent to the hospital, and his mother provided for." Mr. Pillgrim, after again recommending a glass of whiskey, took his leave, and Somers finished his paper. He went to bed, and in spite of the fact that he had drank no whiskey, his nerves were quiet, and he dropped asleep like a good Christian, with a prayer in his heart for the "loved ones at home" and elsewhere. The next morning, though he was still quite sore, and his head felt heavier than usual, he was in much better condition, physically, than could have been expected. After breakfast, as he sat in the parlor of the hotel, he was accosted by a gentleman in blue clothes, with a very small cap on his head. "An officer of the navy, I perceive," said the stranger, courteously. "How are you, Langdon?" was the thought, but not the reply, of Somers. CHAPTER VI. LIEUTENANT WYNKOOP, R. N. The gentlemanly individual who addressed Somers wore the uniform of an English naval officer. By easy and gentle approaches, he proceeded to make himself very agreeable. He was lavish in his praise of the achievements of the "American navy," and was sure that no nation on the face of the globe had ever displayed such skill and energy in creating a war marine. Somers listened patiently to this eloquent and just tribute to the enterprise of his country; and if he had not suspected that the enthusiastic speaker was playing an assumed character, he would have ventured to suggest that the position of John Bull was rather equivocal; that a little less admiration, and a little more genuine sympathy, would be more acceptable.