Steamboats -- Juvenile fiction; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Naval operations -- Juvenile fiction; War stories
It was a humiliating posture for the actual commander of the vessel, but
he promptly got down upon the floor of the stateroom, and crawled under
the berth. He placed the trunk and some other articles there so as to
form a sort of breast-work, behind which he carefully bestowed himself.
It was not an uncomfortable position, for the floor was carpeted and an
old satchel filled with his cast-off garments furnished him a pillow
sufficiently soft for a person on extraordinary duty.
The cabin was to be occupied by Corny, though his cousin had no doubt
that Mr. Galvinne was the real leader in the adventure of capturing the
steamer. Both of them would be obliged to keep up appearances for the
present. Christy's first thought after he had settled himself in his
new quarters related to the cabin steward, who had served him very
faithfully, and whom he had brought off in the Teaser, the former name
of the Bronx. He had no doubt he was still on board, and probably acting
in his former capacity, for Mr. Flint knew that he was attached to the
man for the service he had rendered, not only to him but to his country.
He was absolutely sure that Dave could be trusted under any and all
circumstances, and the first thing he did would be to make a connection
with him.
Christy became rather impatient because the Bronx did not get under
way; but he concluded from such sounds as came to his ears that she
was taking in shot, shells, and powder, as well as stores and supplies.
At any rate, neither Corny nor his first lieutenant came into the cabin,
so far as he could ascertain. But he had not been in his hiding-place
an hour before he heard a noise in the adjoining apartment. It was not
the commander, for the noise was an occasional rapping; it was not an
unfamiliar sound to him, for he had often heard it before when he lay in
his berth. Dave was a remarkably neat person, and he was always dusting
the cabin and stateroom when he had nothing else to do. He was sure that
the rapping was caused by the steward's feather duster.
In a few minutes, when he had made the cabin tidy for the reception of
"Massa Cap'n Passford," he transferred his labors to the stateroom. He
worked in the berth and all its surroundings, including the desk, which
still contained the real commander's papers, and then gave his attention
to the trunk beneath.
"Dave," said Christy, after he had obtained a view of the back of the
steward's head which satisfied him that he was the right man.
"Mullygumps!" exclaimed Dave, as he suspended his labors on the trunk.
No doubt he was greatly surprised to hear his name, pronounced as though
it came up through the deck, as he had abundant reason to be.
"Dave," repeated Christy, in a more decided tone after he had heard the
voice of the steward.
"Is that you, Pink Mulgrum?" demanded Dave. "I give you the whole State
of Alabama, but I thought we done rid of you long ago. Who's there?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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