The Snapper was quite a small craft, and looked like an old vessel; for she was a side-wheeler, though she had evidently been built for a sea-going craft. Whether Flanger had escaped from the Bellevite after being transferred to her from the Bronx, or had been regularly exchanged as a prisoner of war, Christy had no means of knowing. It made little difference; he was in Nassau, and he was thirsting for revenge against him.

The young officer did not feel that the brutal wretch had any reasonable cause to complain of him, and especially no right to revenge himself for an injury received while his assailant was the aggressor. He had done his duty to his country. He had been compelled to act promptly; and he had not aimed his revolver particularly at the nose of his dangerous assailant. Flanger was engaged in a foolhardy enterprise; and the mutilation of 214 his nasal member had resulted very naturally from his folly.

His enemy was probably a good sailor, and he was a bold ruffian. Christy had captured the steamer loaded with cotton, in which he was all ready to sail from St. Andrew's Bay; and doubtless this was his first reason for hating the young officer. But no soldier or sailor of character would ever think of such a thing as revenging himself for an injury received in the strife, especially if it was fairly inflicted. The business of war is to kill, wound, and capture, as well as for each side to injure the other in person and property to the extent of its ability.

"Want a boat, sir?" asked a negro, who saw that Christy was gazing at the Snapper, even while he was thinking about his quarrel with Captain Flanger.

"Where is your boat?" asked the officer.

"Right here, sir," replied the boatman, pointing to the steps at the landing-place. "The best sailboat in the harbor, sir."

"I want to sail about this bay for a couple of hours," added Christy, as he stopped on the upper step to examine the craft.

215 It was built exactly like the Eleuthera, though not quite so large.

"I saw you looking at the steamer there," said the boatman, pointing to the vessel in which Christy was interested. "Do you wish to go on board of her, sir?"

"No; I desire only to sail about the harbor, and perhaps go outside the bar. Can you cross it in this boat?"

"Yes, sir; no trouble at all about crossing it in the Dinah. Take you over to Eleuthera, if you like."

"No; I only want to sail about the harbor, and look at the vessels in port," replied Christy.

While he was looking at the boat, he became conscious that a young man, who was standing on the capsill of the wharf, was looking at him very earnestly. He only glanced at him, but did not recognize him. He had taken the first step in the descent of the stairs, when this person put his hand upon his shoulder to attract his attention. Christy looked at him, and was sure that he had seen him before, though he failed to identify him.

"How are you, Christy?" said the stranger. "Don't you know me?"

216 "Your face has a familiar look to me, but I am unable to make you out at first sight," replied the young officer, more puzzled as he examined the features of the young man, who appeared to be about twenty years old.

"You and I both have grown a great deal in the last two years, since we first met on this very wharf; but I am Percy Pierson, and you and I were fellow-voyagers in the Bellevite."

"I think you have changed in that time more than I have, or I should have recognized you," answered Christy very coldly, for he was not at all pleased to be identified by any person.

"You are a good deal larger than when I saw you last time, but you look just the same. I am glad to see you, Christy, for you and I ran a big rig over in Mobile Bay," continued Percy, as he extended his hand to the other.

Christy realized that it would be useless as well as foolish to deny his identity to one who knew him so well. A moment's reflection assured him that he must make the best of the circumstances; but he wished with all his might that he had not come to Nassau. He was particularly glad that he had insisted upon separating from Mr. Gilfleur, 217 for the present encounter would have ruined his mission. The young man's father was Colonel Richard Pierson, a neighbor of Homer Passford; and he was a Confederate commissioner for the purchase of vessels for the rebel navy, for running the blockade. Doubtless the son was his father's assistant, as he had been at the time of Christy's first visit.

Percy was not a person of very heavy brain calibre, as his companion had learned from an association of several weeks with him. Christy believed that he might obtain some useful information from him; and he decided, since it was impossible to escape the interview, to make the best of it, and he accepted the offered hand. He did not consider the young Southerner as much of a rebel, for he had refused to shoulder a musket and fight for the cause.

"I begin to see your former looks, and particularly your expression," said Christy. "I am very glad to see you, and I hope you have been very well since we met last."

"Very well indeed."

"Do you live here, Percy?"

"I have lived here most of the time since we 218 parted on board of the Bellevite, and you put me on board of a schooner bound to Nassau. That was a very good turn you did me, for I believed you would take me to New York, and pitch me into a Yankee prison. I was very grateful to you, for I know it was your influence that saved me."

This remark seemed to put a new face upon the meeting. Christy had done nothing to cause him to be set free; for the Bellevite, though she had beaten off several steamers that attempted to capture her, was not in the regular service at the t............