Brave Old Salt; or, Life on the Quarter Deck: A Story of the Great Rebellion Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  WAITING FOR THE SHIP.

  Somers was utterly unable to satisfy himself in regard to LieutenantPillgrim. The face was certainly familiar to him, not as a combinationof remembered features, but rather as an expression. To him the eyeseemed to be the whole of the man, and its gaze would haunt him, thoughhis memory refused to identify it with any time, place, orcircumstances. Though his reason compelled him to believe that he wasmistaken, and that Mr. Pillgrim was actually a stranger, hisconsciousness of having seen, and even of having been intimate with, thegentleman, most obstinately refused to be shaken.

  "Of course, gentlemen, you have no idea to what point the Chatauqua hasbeen ordered?" said the commodore.

  "I have not," replied Mr. Pillgrim.

  "I have heard it said that she was going to the Gulf," added Somers.

  "Very likely; there are two points where extensive naval operations arelikely to be undertaken--at Mobile and at Wilmington. The rebellion hashad so many hard knocks that the bottom must drop out before manymonths."

  "I am afraid the end is farther off than most people at the North arewilling to believe," said Mr. Pillgrim.

  "Every thing looks hopeful. If we can contrive to batter down FortFisher, and open Mobile Bay, the rebels may count the months of theirConfederacy on their fingers."

  "I think there is greater power of resistance left in the South, than wegive it the credit for."

  "The rebels have fought well; what of it?" continued the commodore, whodid not seem to be pleased with the style of the lieutenant's remarks.

  "As fighting men, we can hardly fail to respect those who have fought sobravely as the people of the South."

  "People of the South!" sneered the commodore. "Why don't you call themrebels?"

  "Of course that is what I mean," answered Mr. Pillgrim, a slight flushvisible on his cheek.

  "If you mean it, why don't you say it? Call things by their right names.The people of the South are not all rebels. Why, confound it, Farragutis a Southerner; so is General Anderson; so are a hundred men, who havedistinguished themselves in putting down treason. It's an insult tothese men to talk about the people of the South as rebels."

  "I agree with you, Commodore Portington, and what I said was only a formof expression."

  "It's a very bad form of expression. Why, man, you are a Southerneryourself."

  "I am; and I suppose that is what makes me so proud of the good fightingthe people of the South--I mean the rebels--have done. We can't helprespecting men who have behaved with so much gallantry."

  "Can't we?" exclaimed the commodore, with a sneer so wholesome andhonest, that Lieutenant Pillgrim withered under it. "I can help it. Ihave no respect for rebels and traitors under any circumstances."

  "Nor I, as rebels and traitors," replied Pillgrim, mildly.

  "As rebels and traitors! I don't like these fine-spun distinctions. If aman is a traitor, call him so, and swing him up on the fore-yard arm,where he belongs."

  "You are willing to acknowledge that the rebels have fought well in thiswar?" added the lieutenant.

  "They have fought well: I don't deny it."

  "And you appreciate gallant conduct?"

  "That depends on the cause. No, sir! I don't appreciate gallant conducton the part of rebels and traitors. It is not gallant conduct; and thebetter they fight, the more wicked they are."

  "I can hardly take your view of the case."

  "Can't you? The best fighting I ever saw in my life was on the deck ofa pirate ship. The black-hearted villains fought like demons. Not a manof them would yield the breadth of a hair. We had to cut them down likedogs. Is piracy respectable because these men fought well?"

  "Certainly not; but the bravery of such men--"

  "Nonsense! I know what you are going to say; but you can't separate thepirate from his piracy, nor the traitor from his treason," replied thecommodore, warmly. "The other day I saw a little dirty urchin fightingwith his mother. The young cub had run away, I suppose, and the womanwas dragging him back to the house. He was not more than six years old,but he displayed a power of resistance which rather astonished me. Hekicked, bit, scratched, and yelled like a young tiger. He called hismother everything but a lady. The poor woman tugged at him with all herstrength, but the little rascal was almost a match for her. I wanted totake him by the nape of the neck, and shake the ugly out of him: nothingbut my fixed principles of neutrality prevented me from doing so. Isuppose, Mr. Pillgrim, you would have sympathized with the brat, becausehe fought bravely."

  "Hardly," replied the lieutenant, laughing at the simile.

  "But he fought like a tiger, and displayed no mean strategy in hisrebellious warfare. Of course he was worthy of your admiration," sneeredthe commodore.

  "That's hardly a fair comparison."

  "The fairest in the world. The rebels have insulted their ownmother--the parent that fostered, protected, and loved them. Theyundertook to run away from her; and when she attempts to bring them backto their duty, they kick, and scratch, and bite; and you admire thembecause they fight well."

  "I stand convicted, Commodore Portington. I never took this view of thematter; I acknowledge that you are right," said Mr. Pillgrim.

  Somers, who had been an attentive listener to the conversation, thoughtthe lieutenant yielded very gracefully, and much more readily than couldhave been expected; but then the logician was a commodore, and perhapsit was prudence and politeness on his part to agree with his powerfulsuperior.

  After dinner the party took a ride to the beach and to the Glen; andafter an early tea, Somers and Pillgrim, who were to befellow-passengers to Philadelphia, where the Chatauqua was fitting out,began to demonstrate in the direction of their departure. Kate, thoughshe had been tolerably playful during the afternoon, had, in the main,carried out her good resolution to be proper. She had not beenimpudent--hardly pert; and deprived of this convenient mask for whateverkindness she might have entertained towards the young ensign, she seemedto be very cold and indifferent to him. She was more thoughtful,serious, and earnest than when they had met on former occasions. Hecould not help asking himself what he had done to produce this markedchange in her conduct.

  "Good by, Miss Portington," said he, when he had taken leave of herfather and mother.

  "Good by, Mr. Somers. Shall I hear from you when you reach yourstation?" she asked, presenting her hand.

  "If you desire it."

  "If I desire it! Why, Mr. Somers, you forget that I am deeply interestedin your success."

  "Perhaps, if I do anything of which you would care to learn, thenewspapers may inform you of the fact," replied Somers, with a kind ofgrim smile, which seemed actually to alarm poor Kate.

  "I would rather hear it from you."

  "I judge that you are more interested in my success than you are in me."

  "Ah, Mr. Somers, you cannot separate the pirate from his piracy, pasaid; nor the hero from his heroism, let me add."

  "Thank you, Miss Portington."

  "I cannot forget how deeply indebted we are to you, Mr. Somers."

  "I wish you could."

  "Why do you wish so?" demanded the astonished maiden; more astonished athis manner than his words.

  "I am sorry to have you burdened with such a weight of obligation."

  "I think you mean to quarrel with me, Mr. Somers. I beg you will not beso savage just as you are going away," laughed Kate, though there was atroubled expression on her fair face. "I asked you if I should hear fromyou, Mr. Somers."

  "Certainly, if you desire."

  "Why do you qualify your words? I should be just as glad to hear fromyou as I ever was."

  "Then you shall, at every opportunity."

  "Thank you, Mr. Somers. That sounds hearty and honest, as father wouldsay."

  "I do not wish you to feel an interest in me from a sense of duty. Ishall not write any letters from a sense of duty, or even because I havepromised to do so. I shall write to you because--because I can't helpit,"
stammered Somers, almost overcome by the violence of his exertions.

  "I thank you, Mr. Somers, and I am sure your letters will be all themore welcome from my knowledge of the fact."

  "Good by," said he, gently pressing the little hand he held.

  "Good by," she replied; and to his great satisfaction and delight, thepressure was returned--a kind of telegraphic signal, infinitely moreexpressive than all the words in the spelling-book, strung intosentences, could have been to a young man in his desperate condition.

  Mr. Ensign Somers was now entirely satisfied. That gentle pressure ofthe hand had atoned for all her reserve and coldness, real or imaginary,and made the future bright and pleasant to look upon. Undoubtedly Mr.Somers was a silly young fellow; but there is some consolation inbelieving that he was just like all young men under similarcircumstances.

  Mr. Pillgrim followed him out of the house, and they hastened down tothe wharf to take the steamer for New York. On the passage the twoofficers treated each other with courtesy and consideration, but thereappeared to be no strong sympathy of thought or feeling between them,and they were not drawn so closely together as they might have beenunder similar circumstances, if there had been more of opinion andsentiment common between them.

  On their arrival at Philadelphia, they found the Chatauqua was still inthe hands of the workmen, and would not go into commission for a week orten days. They reported to the commandant of the navy yard, and took uptheir quarters at the "Continental," where Somers found his old friendMr. Waldron, who had been detached from the Rosalie at his own request,and ordered to the Chatauqua, in which he was to serve as executiveofficer. This was splendid news to Somers, for he regarded Mr. Waldronas a true and trusty friend, in whom he could with safety confide.

  "Do you know Lieutenant Pillgrim?" asked Somers, after they haddiscussed their joint information in regard to the new ship.

  "I am not personally acquainted with him, though I have heard his namementioned. He is a Virginian, I think."

  "Yes."

  "If I mistake not, there were some doubts about his loyalty, though henever tendered his resignation; he has been kept in the background."

  "He seems to be a loyal and true man."

  "No doubt of it, or he would not have been appointed to the Chatauqua."

  "He has some respect for the rebels, but no sympathy."

  "I think he has frequently applied for employment, but has not obtainedit until the present time. I have no doubt he is a good fellow and agood officer. He ranks next to me. But, Somers, I leave town in half anhour," continued Mr. Waldron, consulting his watch. "I am going to runhome for a few days, till the ship goes into commission. I will see youhere on my return."

  Somers walked to the railroad station with his late commander, andparted with him as the train started. During the three succeeding days,he visited the museums, libraries, and other places of resort,interesting to a young man of his tastes. He went to the navy yard everyday, and, with his usual zeal, learned what he could of the build, rig,and armament of the Chatauqua, and gathered such other informationrelating to his profession as would be useful to him in the future.

  Lieutenant Pillgrim passed his time in a different manner. Though he wasnot what the world would call an intemperate or an immoral man, he spentmany of his hours in bar-rooms, billiard-saloons, and places of publicamusement. He several times invited Somers to "join" him at the bar, toplay at billiards, and to visit the theatre, and other places of morequestionable morality. The young officer was not a prude, but he neverdrank, did not know how to play billiards, and never visited a gamblingresort. He went to the theatre two or three times; but this was thelimit of his indulgence.

  Mr. Pillgrim was courteous and gentlemanly; he did not press hisinvitations. He treated his brother officer with the utmost kindness andconsideration; was always ready, and even forward, to serve him; andtheir relations were of the pleasantest character.

  One evening, when Somers called at the office for the key of his room,after his return from the navy yard, a letter was handed to him. Thewriting was an unfamiliar hand, scrawling and hardly legible. It wasevidently the production of an illiterate person. On reaching his roomhe opened it.