my request, he was ordered to the ship—Commodore Tattnall, with whom he had been serving on the Georgia coast, giving him up very reluctantly.
Seated next to myself, on my right hand, is Lieutenant Robert T. Chapman.
This gentleman is from Alabama; he is several years younger than Kell, not so tall, but stouter, in proportion.
His complexion, as you see, is dark, and he has jet-black hair, and eyes—the latter remarkable for their brilliancy, and for a twinkle of fun, and good humor.
Cha would bend on his signalhalliards, and throw them out to the breeze, one by one, his old eye would glisten, and a grim smile of satisfaction would settle upon his sun-burned, and weather-beaten features.
This was our practice also on board the Alabama, and when that ship was sunk in the British channel, in her engagement with the enemy's ship Kearsarge, as the reader will learn in due time, if he has the patience to follow me in these memoirs, we committed to the keeping of the guardian spiri