attack was expected any day, the _Minnesota_ had orders to
proceed with the utmost speed direct to Hampton Roads. It was,
consequently, impossible for her to land the survivors of the
collision, and there was no alternative but for them to accompany her
to her destination, and get back to Boston from there as best they
might manage.

For both the captain and Terry this was a very distressing state of
affairs. The former's presence would be required at once in Boston, to
prepare his claim against the company in which his vessel was insured;
while the latter burned with impatience to get back to Halifax, and
right himself at Drummond and Brown's.

"We're in a fix, and no mistake, Terry," said Captain Afleck, cracking
the knuckles of his big horny hands after a fashion he had when
perplexed of mind. "Of course, the captain of this ship is not to
blame. He's got his orders, and he's bound to obey them, particularly
seeing it's war time. But it's mighty hard, all the same, for a fellow
to be lugged off like this against his will, and to run the risk of
being killed into the bargain."

"Bein' killed!" exclaimed Terry, with a startled look on his face.
"Sure, an' what do you mane by that?"

"There now, my boy, don't get scared," replied the captain soothingly.
"I didn't mean to tell you just now, but it slipped out unbeknownst to
me. You see, it's this way. This war-ship's bound for Hampton Roads,
where there's goin' to be a big fight right away, if it hasn't begun
already, and it's not likely she'll have a chance to land us before she
goes into the thick of it herself; consequently, if it all comes out as
the captain expects--and he spoke right to me like an honest man--why,
Terry, we're in for a battle, that's all, and not one of our own
choosin' either."

The dismay expressed on Terry's countenance would have been comical
enough but for the real gravity of the situation. There would, of
course, be no call upon the two Nova Scotians to take any part in the
conflict. But they would necessarily have to share the danger with the
others on board, and they could not expect the shot and shell or flying
splinters to make any distinction on their behalf.

"Oh, but that's terrible altogether!" lamented poor Terry. "It's kilt
we'll be for sure, and"--here his voice suddenly took a note of
indignation, as if fate had been entirely too unkind--"on board a
Yankee man-of-war, too! Now, if it might be on a--"

Captain A