suh--Bob Crittenden."

"Crittenden," repeated Grafton, smiling. "Oh, yes, I know him; I should
say so! So he's a Captain?"

"Yes, suh," said Bob, not quite sure whether he was lying or not.

Grafton spoke to an officer, and was allowed to take Bob for his own
servant, though the officer said he did not remember any captain of that
name in the --th. To the newspaper man, Bob was a godsend; for humour
was scarce on board, and "jollying" Bob was a welcome diversion. He
learned many things of Crittenden and the Crittendens, and what great
people they had always been and still were; but at a certain point Bob
was evasive or dumb--and the correspondent respected the servant's
delicacy about family affairs and went no further along that line--he
had no curiosity, and was questioning idly and for fun, but treated Bob
kindly and, in return, the fat of the ship, through Bob's keen eye and
quick hand, was his, thereafter, from day to day.

Grafton was not storing up much material for use; but he would have been
much surprised if he could have looked straight across to the deck of
the ship running parallel to his and have seen the dignified young
statesman whom he had heard speak at the recruiting camp in Kentucky;
who made him think of Henry Clay; whom he had seen whisking a beautiful
girl from the camp in the smartest turn-out he had seen South--had seen
him now as Private Crittenden, with his fast friend, Abe Long, and
passing in his company because of his bearing under a soubriquet donated
by his late enemy, Reynolds, as "Old Hamlet of Kentuck." And Crittenden
would have been surprised had he known that the active darky whom he saw
carrying coffee and shoes to a certain stateroom was none other than Bob
waiting on Grafton. And that the Rough Rider whom he saw scribbling on a
pad in the rigging of the _Yucatan_ was none other than Basil writing
one of his bulletins home.

It was hard for him to believe that he really was going to war, even
now, when the long sail was near an end and the ships were running
fearlessly along the big, grim coast-mountains of Cuba, with bands
playing and colors to the breeze; hard to realize that he was not to
land in peace and safety and, in peace and safety, go back as he came;
that a little further down those gashed mountains, showing ever clearer
through the mist, were men with whom the quiet officers and men around
him would soon be in a death-grapple. The thought stirred him, and he
loo