"I won't do so any more, Captain Passford," protested the steward, showing his ivory, though he was not a very black man, and the contrast was not as great as in many instances.
"How do you find yourself, Corny?" asked the captain, turning to the berth.
"I am all right, Corny; but I should like to have you or some one tell me what has been going on in this steamer, for this black rascal will not say a word to me," replied the prisoner.
"I don't blame him, if you call him a black rascal," added Christy. "But you need not call me by your own name any longer, cousin, for it will not help your case any more. Your game is played out, and you have been beaten with your own weapons. When you want to play another Yankee trick, you had better remember that you are not a Yankee, and you are not skilled in the art of doing it."
"What do you mean by that, Corny?" asked the prisoner, disregarding the advice of his cousin.
"Corny again!" exclaimed the captain.
"I am the commander of this steamer, and I have been assaulted in my berth!" replied the sufferer, warming up a little.
"Whew! Then you are still the commander of the Bronx?" repeated Christy, laughing at his cousin's persistence.
"You know that I am. Wasn't the commission decided to be mine?"
"But we have concluded to reverse the decision of the commander of the Vernon, and submit the case to the flag-officer for final adjustment. In the mean time, I have taken possession of the steamer, and put all your confederates in irons. For the present, at least, I am in command of the Bronx, and I want my stateroom. With Dave's assistance, I must ask you to turn out of that berth."