Mr. Flint was sent for. He was quite as
earnest in his plea for the steward as the commander had been, and the
written appointment of Mr. David Davis was in Christy's hands when the
flag-officer took his leave of the wounded commander.
"Dave," said the wounded lieutenant, the next time the steward came into
the room, "no more 'massa,' no more 'moggywompus,' no more 'done do it.'
You know better than to use such expressions, and you are no longer a
'nigger;' you are the ship's steward of the Bronx."
"What's that, Captain Passford?" demanded Dave, opening his eyes like a
pair of saucers.
Christy handed him the appointment just made, and the steward danced
about like a madman. He had expected nothing for his meritorious
service, and he found himself in a position of trust and responsibility.
He expressed his gratitude in the most earnest language, and without
using a single objectionable phrase, for his education was better than
his habit in the use of speech.
Ensign McLinn, who had served on board of the little steamer, but had
recently been on sick leave, was appointed second lieutenant of the
Bronx, while Mr. Camden, outranked by the other officers, remained as
third lieutenant. Christy and Mr. Pennant were transferred to the
Sphinx, with a prize crew; and that same evening the Bronx sailed under
her new commander, with sealed orders, to the eastward.
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