"I done bring you something more to eat, Massa Christy," said the
steward, who appeared to have suffered some lapse in his grammar and
pronunciation during the absence at the North of his instructor; and as
he spoke he handed in a piece of pie and a large slice of cake.
Christy was not very hungry after his late dinner, but he ate the
dainties brought to him, and found that the cook of the Bronx had lost
none of his skill. He might not have an opportunity to eat again very
soon, for he did not lose sight of the fact that failure was possible,
and he might soon be an occupant of a Confederate prison with Flint,
as he had been once before.
Dave busied himself in clearing the cabin table, and Christy impatiently
waited the time for the decided action which had been planned. About
half an hour later, when he realized from the condition of the stateroom
that it was quite dark, the sounds coming to him assured him that the
course of the Bronx had been changed as indicated by Mr. Galvinne.
No noise or confusion on deck followed it, and the naval officer's
prediction seemed to be in a fair way to be realized.
Another half hour elapsed, and except the monotonous plaint of the
screw, no sound was to be heard. A footstep came from the cabin, where
Dave was at work, or appeared to be, for he had been stationed there for
his part of the programme which was presently to be carried out.
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