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In a few moments a soldier appeared leading the Lieutenant’s horse. The family had accompanied Lieutenant Haines to the porch. Stepping down to where his horse was, he said to the soldier, “You may return and tell Sergeant Latham to move the troop. I will catch up with you in a few moments. Did you bring the letters?”
"Have you any proof of what you say closer than Kentucky?" Rennie ignored the lieutenant’s aside. "I can account for your time on the Range, or most of it. But you’ll have to answer for this money and where you came from originally. What about your surrender parole? I know you did have papers for the horses—Callie saw them. Produce those...." "I can’t."
I have not seen him for some years now—one cannot afford to run about on a lieutenant’s half-pay—but I remembered him the other day when I was thinking things over in every light, and wrote to him. I told him how we were situated, and asked him if he would put you on board one of his ships, and this morning I had an answer from him saying that he would gladly do so.
An hour and a half later they embarked in the lieutenant’s gig and were rowed off to the revenue cutter lying a quarter of a mile away. Here they were put under the charge of the boatswain. “They have shipped for the service, Thompson,” the lieutenant said. “I think they are good lads. Make them as comfortable as you can.”
Drew disregarded the lieutenant’s comments—Rennie was the one who mattered. And in that moment the Kentuckian knew that he had made a fatal mistake. Why hadn’t he agreed to telegraph Kentucky? Now there was no hope. As far as Don Cazar was concerned, one Drew Kirby could be written off the list. Drew had made an enemy of the very person he most wanted to convince.
Dinner was now over, and Sergeant Latham came to report that the hour for the halt was up, and to ask what were the Lieutenant’s orders. “Have the troop ready, and we will return to camp. I see nothing more we can accomplish here,” answered the Lieutenant.
The last who spoke was the mate of the hold, and the other of the lower deck. One had seen thirty-five and the other thirty-nine summers. The hope of a lieutenant’s commission they had given up in despair, and were now looking out for a master’s warrant.
Accordingly down comes the lieutenant, humming a tune. Mr. Carew, hearing this, prepared himself, and, taking an opportunity of putting his finger down his throat, discharges his stomach just under the lieutenant’s feet, crying out in a most lamentable tone at the same time, O, my head! O my back! What! cried the lieutenant very hastily, is this the fellow who has the small-pox?
“And a captain?” “That is so, sir. I was made a midshipman before I had been three months on board, partly because I saved the first lieutenant’s life, and partly because I understood enough mathematics to take an observation. Of course I served my time as a midshipman, and a year after passing I was made a second lieutenant. By the death of my first lieutenant at the battle of St.
I trust that the telegraph wire has not been cut, or the railroad torn up again.” “Nothing of the kind has happened,” answered the Lieutenant. “Then I reckon I am in no danger of arrest, and I trust you will take dinner with us. It is nearly ready.” The invitation nearly took away the Lieutenant’s breath, but he accepted it gladly. As they were going toward the house, Mr.
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