A NON-COMBATANT ON BOARD THE BRONX Colonel Passford was reclining on the divan when the commander entered the cabin; but he rose to his feet as soon as he saw his nephew.

Christy thought he looked thinner and paler than when he had last seen him.
He was now only forty-two years old, but he looked like a man of fifty.
"I have been wanting to see you, Christy," said the planter, as he approached his nephew.

"I learn, with no little astonishment, that you are the commander of this steamer." "I am, uncle Homer," replied the young man.
"Then you can tell me better than any one else in regard to my status on board of the Bronx," added the colonel, who had won this title years before in the militia.

"Am I considered a prisoner of war ?" "I do not so consider you, uncle Homer; but I cannot say how my superior officer will look at the matter when I report to him.

You were taken in a sloop that fired upon the first cutter of the Bronx, wounding one of the crew and the officer in command." "That was the folly of Captain Flanger; and I protested the moment I discovered what had been done," added the planter, who seemed to be anxious to relieve himself of all responsibility for the discharge of the muskets.
"Were you in charge of the sloop, uncle Homer ?" "I was not; I had nothing to do with the sloop.