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Watkins, as the two saluted each other, instead of shaking hands. "Caesar's ghost!" was the ejaculation that trembled on the boy's lips; and then he wondered if he was to be arrested for acting as pilot for Captain Beardsley's privateer and blockade runner. "Because, if you are, you are the man I want to see," continued the officer.
He had reached personal expression in a new medium in a month or so, and apparently without effort. It was Beardsley's writing that first won Oscar to recognition of his talent, and for a while he seemed vaguely interested in what he called his "orchid-like personality." They were both at lunch one day when Oscar declared that he could drink nothing but absinthe when Beardsley was present.
The operation was a painful one, and the only thing that kept Marcy from crying out was the remembrance of Beardsley's words "I ain't got no use for a one-handed man." That broken arm would bring him a furlough. "There, now; that'll do. 'Vast heaving," said the captain, at length. "Put some of the stuff in that bottle on one of them bandages and hand it over here.
Some people in Nashville believed that he had not only instigated but ordered the destruction of Beardsley's house and Shelby's, and that he could in like manner command the burning of any house in the settlement if he felt like it, and that was what he thought they would believe.
It may be that this scene of the older generation's triumph and the power of officialism in art told on Beardsley's nerves, or it may be it was simply because he was still young enough to believe nobody had ever been young before, but certainly by evening he had worked himself up into a fine frenzy of revolt.
He had turned the collar of his heavy coat about his ears, dropped the reins upon his horse's neck, and buried his hands deep in his pockets. It was Tom Allison, the boastful young rebel whom Marcy Gray, then the newly appointed pilot of Captain Beardsley's privateer schooner, had once rebuked and silenced in the presence of a room full of secession sympathizers.
"But I brought goods with me on purpose to allay their suspicions." "I am really afraid you didn't succeed. The other thing I know is, that you need not think yourself safe out of Captain Beardsley's reach even when he is at sea. As I said before, he has friends ashore to work for him while he is absent." "What can we do?
Of course this raised a laugh at Marcy's expense, but he didn't seem to mind it. He gave the postmaster Captain Beardsley's letter and asked for the mail in his mother's box. "And of course when the brig escaped you yelled as loudly as any Yankee in the crew," observed one of his auditors. "I suppose you had to in order to keep out of trouble."
You will remember that these two once held a short private interview at this very spot. "Good-morning, sir," was Aleck's greeting. "We didn't like to break up your night's rest, but I suppose we did." "You may safely say that," answered Marcy. "We never slept a wink, or even tried to, after we saw that Beardsley's house was on fire. My mother and I are sorry you did that.
He sent the latter to the wheel and went forward to act as lookout and pilot, intending to follow Captain Beardsley's example and run through Crooked Inlet under full sail. He thought he could remember about where the buoys had been placed, and besides he had the flood tide to help him.
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