Brave Old Salt Part 2

CHAPTER II.

WAITING FOR THE SHIP.

Somers was utterly unable to satisfy himself in regard to Lieutenant Pillgrim. The face was certainly familiar to him, not as a combination of remembered features, but rather as an expression. To him the eye seemed to be the whole of the man, and its gaze would haunt him, though his memory refused to identify it with any time, place, or circ.u.mstances. Though his reason compelled him to believe that he was mistaken, and that Mr. Pillgrim was actually a stranger, his consciousness of having seen, and even of having been intimate with, the gentleman, most obstinately refused to be shaken.

"Of course, gentlemen, you have no idea to what point the Chatauqua has been 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 are likely to be undertaken--at Mobile and at Wilmington. The rebellion has had so many hard knocks that the bottom must drop out before many months."

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

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

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

"The rebels have fought well; what of it?" continued the commodore, who did 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 so bravely as the people of the South."

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

"Of course that is what I mean," answered Mr. Pillgrim, a slight flush visible 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, Farragut is a Southerner; so is General Anderson; so are a hundred men, who have distinguished themselves in putting down treason. It's an insult to these men to talk about the people of the South as rebels."

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

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

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

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

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

"As rebels and traitors! I don't like these fine-spun distinctions. If a man 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 this war?" 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 conduct on the part of rebels and traitors. It is not gallant conduct; and the better 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 of a pirate ship. The black-hearted villains fought like demons. Not a man of them would yield the breadth of a hair. We had to cut them down like dogs. 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 the pirate from his piracy, nor the traitor from his treason," replied the commodore, warmly. "The other day I saw a little dirty urchin fighting with his mother. The young cub had run away, I suppose, and the woman was 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. He kicked, bit, scratched, and yelled like a young tiger. He called his mother everything but a lady. The poor woman tugged at him with all her strength, but the little rascal was almost a match for her. I wanted to take him by the nape of the neck, and shake the ugly out of him: nothing but my fixed principles of neutrality prevented me from doing so. I suppose, Mr. Pillgrim, you would have sympathized with the brat, because he fought bravely."

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

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

"That's hardly a fair comparison."

"The fairest in the world. The rebels have insulted their own mother--the parent that fostered, protected, and loved them. They undertook to run away from her; and when she attempts to bring them back to their duty, they kick, and scratch, and bite; and you admire them because they fight well."

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

Somers, who had been an attentive listener to the conversation, thought the lieutenant yielded very gracefully, and much more readily than could have been expected; but then the logician was a commodore, and perhaps it was prudence and politeness on his part to agree with his powerful superior.

After dinner the party took a ride to the beach and to the Glen; and after an early tea, Somers and Pillgrim, who were to be fellow-pa.s.sengers to Philadelphia, where the Chatauqua was fitting out, began to demonstrate in the direction of their departure. Kate, though she had been tolerably playful during the afternoon, had, in the main, carried out her good resolution to be proper. She had not been impudent--hardly pert; and deprived of this convenient mask for whatever kindness she might have entertained towards the young ensign, she seemed to be very cold and indifferent to him. She was more thoughtful, serious, and earnest than when they had met on former occasions. He could not help asking himself what he had done to produce this marked change in her conduct.

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

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

"If you desire it."

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

"Perhaps, if I do anything of which you would care to learn, the newspapers may inform you of the fact," replied Somers, with a kind of grim 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, pa said; 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."