say.

"No, sir, I did not; I heard no one call him by name. He was in the
cuddy forward when we boarded the Magnolia; and when he came out of the
little cabin, the first thing he said was, 'It was very unwise for you
to order the men to fire upon the boat. It was a great mistake, Captain
Flanger.'"

"That shows that he at least was a non-combatant," added Christy,
pleased to hear this report of his uncle.

"That is all I have to say about him. I studied the skipper of the sloop
and watched him. I am sure he did not fire a musket, and he seemed to
take no part in the affairs of the men on board. Captain Flanger is the
active man of the party; but I have no idea who or what he is. If you
look at the skipper, you will see that he is an octoroon, or something
between a mulatto and a white man, and in my opinion he is not a
cheerful worker on that side of the house. Perhaps the skipper will
be willing to tell you who and what the party are. They claimed to be
private citizens, and that the sloop was bound to Appalachicola; perhaps
the gentleman in black can explain the mission of the party."

"If he can he will not, if they were engaged in an operation in the
interest of the Confederates," added Christy with a smile. "That
gentleman is Colonel Homer Passford."

"He bears your name," said Mr. Pennant.

"He is my uncle; my father's only brother."

"Then I am sorry I brought him in."

"You did your duty, and it was quite right for you to bring him on
board. He is as devoted to the Confederate cause as my father is to the
Union. But go below, and have your wound dressed, Mr. Pennant."

The lieutenant went to the ward room where the surgeon was waiting for
him. Christy called out the skipper of the sloop, and walked into the
waist with him. The octoroon was a large man, of about the size of the
third lieutenant, and he could have made a good deal of mischief if he
had been so disposed.

"Bless the Lord that I am here at last!" exclaimed the skipper, as he
looked furtively about him.

Christy understood him perfectly.

CHAPTER XX

AN EXPEDITION TO ST. ANDREW'S BAY

"What is your name, my man?" asked Christy, as he looked over the
stalwart form of the skipper of the Magnolia.

"Michael Bornhoff," replied the prisoner.

"Are you a Russian?" asked the commander, inclined to laugh at this
singular name of one of the proscribed race.

"No, sir; but I was named after a Russian sailor Captain Flanger picked