rning to the lieutenant. "We have struck
the right man. But he don't mean that I am any wickeder than the rest of
the world. I used to be called here by my last name, and Job invented
the pun he has just used."

"Why do you say that we have struck the right man, Mike?" asked Mr.
Pennant, caring little for the former relations of the two men.

"Because, though he don't look it, he is the best posted nigger in these
parts. He is the wise man among his people, and a sort of leader among
them, and fetich man besides."

"All right; get him up if you can. Is he able to walk?"

"He is as tough as a he-bear, and can walk a hundred miles on a
stretch," replied Mike. "He knows everything that is going on in these
times."

The lieutenant had covered his lantern, for he did not wish to wake the
other sleepers in the cabin, after the description the Russian had given
of his man. Mike spoke in a low tone to him, and it did not take him
long to make his toilet, for he slept just as he was clothed during
the day. No one knew how old he was, but he was still brisk in his
movements. The officer led the way to one of the deserted cabins at a
considerable distance from the one occupied by Uncle Job.

No one was stirring in the vicinity, and the silence was as profound
as death itself. Not a word was said till they reached the cabin the
officer had selected, and when they had entered, he closed the door
behind them. The lantern was unveiled, and the lieutenant seated himself
upon a block of timber, of which there were several in the room.

"Now, Uncle Job, I want you to answer some questions," Mr. Pennant
began.

"'Pose I don't answer 'em?" suggested the negro.

"Then I shall put you in irons, and take you on board of the steamer,"
added the officer sternly.

"De steamer! wot's de steamer? Is't a Yankee gumboat?" demanded Uncle
Job, opening his eyes with wonder and astonishment.

"That's just what it is."

"Den I gib you all de answers you want," replied the negro with a
cheerful smile. "Whar de gumboat?"

"She is off the shore not far from here. Now you will answer my
questions. There is a fort here?"

"Yes, sar; ober dar," he replied, pointing to the west.

"How many men are there at the fort?"

"Only twenty, sar; all gone ober to New Orleans, sar."

"How many guns has it? I mean big guns, Uncle Job?"

"I done count only four ob dem w'en I was dar last time."

"Only four!" exclaimed Mr. Pennant. "Are you telling me