"But what became of Corny?" asked Colonel Passford, with no little anxiety on his face.
"He is quite safe; he is a prisoner of war below, with a pair of handcuffs on his wrists," replied Christy. "You and he together made the nest for him, and he must sleep in it. I cannot say what the commodore will do with you."
"Corny on board of this steamer!" exclaimed the father. "In irons too!"
"I consider the naval officers as dangerous men, and I had to treat Corny in the same manner that I did his associates. If you wish to see him, I will send for him."
"Of course I should like to see my son."
Christy struck his bell, and the steward promptly appeared at the door.
"Dave, go to the quarters, and conduct the prisoner, Mr. Passford, to this cabin. You may take off his handcuffs; here is the key," said Christy, and steward took the key and departed.
"How high is the grass in the streets of New York, Christy?" asked the colonel, with a twinkle of the eye, and a smile.
"Grass! They don't raise it in the city; and there isn't as much of it in all the streets as I saw in the principal one in Mobile when I was there, on my way from the prison to the bay," replied the commander cheerfully. "I don't believe that business was ever so lively in New York and the other cities of the North as it is at this time; and I left there ten days ago."
"Do the people there really expect to put down the Rebellion, as they call it, nephew?" asked Colonel Passford, in a tone which indicated his confidence in the final success of his cause.