“Colonel,” says another, “Lieutenant A., of my company, learnt last evening that his mother is quite ill. “Will you approve this pass?”
“I am sorry to say, Captain, that no officer can leave the ship. We are under sailing orders—the pilot is on board—the tug within hail, and we shall weigh anchor whenever the wind freshens.”
“It is really very hard.”
“Very!”
“Colonel,” says a third, “my first-sergeant’s wife is very ill. I told him that he could go back and see her, and get his things this morning. If you will approve this pass, I shall be very much obliged.”
“He must send for his things. We are under sailing orders. No one can leave the ship.”
“The poor fellow promised her that he would certainly be back to-day. It was the only way he could make her consent to his coming. He is a most faithful fellow.”
“Mate, do you think we can possibly sail to-night?”
“No, sir; fog won’t rise afore midnight. Pilot’s gone ashore.”
“Then, Captain, let your sergeant take this dispatch to head-quarters, and report on board at daylight.”