In a few minutes the steward came out of the galley, carrying a tray upon which he had placed a tempting supper, and Jack saw him descend into the cabin and put it on the table.
"Here, you fellow, that won't do," he heard the midshipman exclaim. "Don't take quite so much pains to get behind me, if you please. Stand around on the other side of the table, so that I can see everything you do."
"Certainly, sir," answered the steward, as he hastened to take the position pointed out to him.
If Jack Gray had been in the cabin at that moment he would have seen that he did a wise thing when he decided to hold fast to his revolver instead of handing it over to the steward and depending upon him to capture the midshipman, for when the latter emphasized his commands by pulling his six-shooter from under his leg and raising and lowering the hammer with one hand, keeping the muzzle pointed toward the steward's head all the while, the latter grew as white as a sheet and trembled in every limb. After he thought he had inflicted sufficient torture upon the timid fellow, the Confederate put up his weapon and demanded:
"What State are you from?"
"Massachusetts, sir."
"Are all Massachusetts men as great cowards as you are?"
"Certainly, sir," answered the steward, who was afraid to say anything else.
"Then we're going to have a walk-over, sure enough," said the rebel.
"You Yankees are afraid to fight."
"Certainly, sir."