"Here, come back, sir," called the Colonel. "What did I tell you?"
"You told me, sir, to give your compliments to the captain of the vessel, and request him to step to your state-room," replied the soldier.
"My God! he understood the first time," exclaimed the Colonel. "Been in the old army, I see. Quite right, sir; go on."
In a few minutes the marine functionary was closeted with the military potentiality.
"Sit down, Captain," said the Colonel. "Take a glass of wine."
"No, thank you, Colonel," said the Captain, a small, brown, quiet-mannered, taciturn man of forty-five, his iron-grey locks carefully oiled and brushed, and his dark-blue morning-suit as neat as possible. "I make it a rule at sea," he added, "never to take any thing but a bottle of porter at dinner."
"Very good: never get drunk on duty—good rule," laughed the Colonel. "Well, here are our orders. Look them over, Captain, if you please."
The Captain read, lifted his eyebrows with an air of comprehension, put the paper back in the envelope, returned it to the Colonel, and remarked, "Ship Island."
"It would be best to say nothing about it at present," observed Carter. "Some accident may yet send us back to New York, and then the thing would be known earlier than the War Department wants."
"Very good. I will lay the proper course, and say nothing."