“Lively there,” cried Captain Drawler, “lively, men!”

“Bad luck to your soul for a blackguard, as ye are!” shouted Pat.  “Where did you lave your pathriotism?”

The box was by this time on deck, and the captain, to do him justice, made all haste to proceed on his voyage.

The cases containing the remains of the officers were deposited in the after part of the hold, to which access was had by means of a hatch near the stern.  Pat’s peculiar charge was placed on top of the others, and he maintained a most vigilant watch over it.

There was now a fair prospect of commencing the voyage, and our two passengers were in high spirits.  Henry was not a little fearful that the boat would resume her long-occupied position at the levee; the very thought of such a calamity was painful in the extreme.  But this fear was not realized; the Chalmetta gave the levee a wide berth.  The Rubicon was passed; the shades of doubt and anxiety were supplanted by the clear sunshine of a bright prospect.

“We are at last fairly started,” said Henry, seating himself by the side of Uncle Nathan, on the boiler deck.

“Thank fortin, we are!” responded the farmer, heartily.  “We are fast getting away from that den of sin.”

“And you may preserve your morals yet,” said Henry, with a pleasant laugh.

“My morals are safe enough, thank the Lord!” answered Uncle Nathan, a little touched at this reflection upon his firmness; “but I don’t like the place, to say nothing of its morals.”

“Very likely.  But see that Irishman—­the fellow who had charge of the box.  He looks poorly enough, as far as this world’s goods are concerned, but happy and full of mirth, for all that.”

“He looks as though he had seen hard times,” added Uncle Nathan, indifferently.

“He does, indeed, like many other of the poor soldiers; but, I warrant me, he has a stout will, and an honest heart.  I say, my fine fellow,” said Henry, addressing Pat, “come up here.”

“Troth I will, then, for I see yous wear the colors of Uncle Sam,” replied the Irishman, making his way to the boiler deck.

“Long life to your honor!” continued Pat, as he reached the deck, and making a low bow, as he doffed his slouched hat,—­“but I wish I had the money to trate your honor.”

“Which means,” replied Henry, “as you have not, I should treat you?”

“That’s jist it, your honor.  I persave your honor is college-larnt by the way yous see into my heart.”

Henry laughed heartily, and so did Uncle Nathan; though, to tell the truth, our moralist of the North was sorry to see his companion hand the man a “bit” to drink with, for he was a member of the temperance society.

Pat got the “smile,” and with a grateful heart returned to his patron.

“Thank your honor, kindly,” said Pat.

“Now tell me, Pat, what regiment you served in,” said Henry.