"I was not taken in a battle."
"Very true; your men fought the battle after you had left them. I have no more time to argue the question. Will you surrender your sword, or will you have the battle now? Two or three of my men will accommodate you with a fight on a small scale if you insist upon it."
"Don't you intend to send me back to the Keys?" asked the captain, whose military education appeared to have been neglected, so that his ideas of a state of war were very vague.
"I have not the remotest idea of doing anything of the sort. Your sword, if you please."
"This sword was presented to me by the citizens of my town—"
"Here, Boxie and Lanon, relieve this gentleman of his sword," added Christy, as he saw the young lady coming up the companion way.
"Oh, I will give it up, if you really say so; but this is a queer state of things when my sword, presented to me by my fellow-citizens, is to be taken from me without any warrant of law," said Captain Rowly, as he handed the sword to Christy, who returned it when it had done its duty as a token of submission.
The prisoner was marched to the forecastle of the Havana, and put under guard. Christy walked towards the young lady, who had evidently dressed herself for the occasion. She was not only young, but she was beautiful, and the young commander of the expedition was strongly impressed by her grace and loveliness. He had heard her speak in the gloom of the early morning, and she had a silvery voice. He could not but wonder what she was doing on board of a blockade runner.
"Good morning, Miss —— I have not the pleasure of being able to call you by name," Christy began as he touched his cap to her, and bowed his involuntary homage.
"Miss Pembroke," she added.