his
principles. It is not my fault that I have a friend at court, and have
had opportunities that have not been offered to many others. But the
tide may turn against me on my next cruise."

"I hope it will not, my son," added his mother very earnestly.

"No one knows what is going to happen, and I may spend the next year or
two in a Confederate prison. I don't think my Uncle Homer would cry his
eyes out if such should be my fate, for he has lost several vessels and
cargoes of cotton on my account," returned Christy.

"But I am sure he has no ill-will against you."

"I don't think he has."

"By the way, Christy, have you heard anything from him or his family
lately?" asked Mrs. Passford.

"Not a word, and I am not likely to hear from them. Corny Passford was
exchanged, and sent back to the South a year ago or more; and I have no
idea what has become of him since."

After breakfast Christy packed his valise, where he placed the new
uniform in which he intended to present himself on the quarter-deck of
the Bronx. The carriage was at the door to convey him to the railroad
station. The parting was not less tender than it had been on former
similar occasions, and Mrs. Passford preferred that it should be in the
house rather than at the railroad station, in the presence of curious
observers. Many tears were shed after the carriage drove off, for the
patriotic young man might find a grave in southern soil, or beneath
southern waters.

The young lieutenant choked down his emotions, and tried to think of the
future; his case was not different from that of hundreds of thousands of
others who had gone forth to fight the battles of their country, many
thousands of whom slumber in hallowed graves far away from home and
friends. As the train moved on towards the great city, he obtained the
command of his emotions, and felt a new inspiration of patriotic ardor.

On his arrival in New York he hastened across the ferry to the
navy-yard. As he approached the opposite shore, he discovered a steamer
getting under way. He had not seen the vessel on board of which he was
ordered to report as a passenger, but when he asked a deck hand what the
steamer was, he was informed that it was the Vernon. The ferry-boat had
just gone into the slip, and Christy was terribly startled to learn that
he was late. He was still two hours ahead of the time indicated in his
orders, and the Vernon was actually getting under way.

The young officer was