Christy Passford did not intend to cut the negro's punt into two pieces, though perhaps there was some mischief in the purpose of the cockswain. The boatman gave him an evasive answer to his question, which provoked the young officer. The punt was a very old affair, reduced almost to punk by the decay of the boards of which it was built, or the bow of the cutter would not have gone through it so readily. The lieutenant had simply desired to get alongside the negro's shaky craft in order to question him, for he was satisfied from the fellow's manner that he knew more than he pretended to know.

The boatman had come off from the shore of his own accord; he had not been solicited to give any information, and his movements had been entirely voluntary on his own part. Yet Christy was sorry that his punt had been stove, valueless as the craft 303 had been; for, as a rule, the colored people were friendly to the union soldiers, and he was not disposed to do them any injury.

As soon as the officer in charge of the boat saw that the bow was likely to strike the punt, he directed the cockswain to stop and back her, which was done, but too late to save the flimsy box from destruction. The two bowmen drew in the negro without any difficulty; and so expeditiously had he been rescued that he was not wet above the hips. He had been caught up just as the bow of the cutter cut into the punt.

"That was well done, bowmen," said Christy, as the boatman was placed upon his feet in the fore sheets.

The negro was rather small in stature, and black enough to save all doubts in regard to his parentage; but there was an expression of cunning in his face not often noticed in persons of his race. The coast of Florida, south of the entrance to Tampa Bay, as in many other portions, is fringed with keys, or cays as they are called in the West Indies, which are small islands, though many of them are ten miles in length. This fringe of keys extended up Tampa Bay for over twenty miles; 304 and it was from behind one of them that the punt had put out when Christy's boat approached. The negro had been obliged to paddle at least half a mile to come within speaking-distance of the cutter.

"You done broke my boat in two pieces!" exclaimed the boatman, gazing at the two parts of the floating wreck. "Don't t'ink you is a frien' ob de colored man widin no limits at all, or you don't smash his boat like dat."

"That was an accident, my friend," replied Christy. "How much was the punt worth?"

"Dat boat wan't no punk, massa, and it was wuf two dollars in good money," replied the colored man, his eyes brightening, and his expression of cunning becoming more intense, when he realized the possibility of being paid for his loss.

"If you give me the information I desire, I will pay for the boat," added Christy, who proposed to do so out of his own pocket, for his father was a millionaire of several degrees, and the son had very nearly made a fortune out of the prizes, from which he had received an officer's share.

"Tank you, massa; I'm a poor man, and I git my livin' gwine fishin' in dat boat you done stove."

305 "What is your name, my man?"

"Quimp, sar; and dat's de short for Quimple," replied the colored person of this name.

"Where do you live?"

"Ober on de shor dar, in de woods."

"How deep is the water inside of these keys, Quimp?" asked Christy, pointing to the long, narrow islands which lined the south-easterly side of the bay.

"Not much water inside dem keys dar, sar," replied the boatman, looking off in the other direction.

"But there are deep places in there, I am very sure."

"Yes, sar; ten feet in some places," replied Quimp, suddenly becoming more communicative. "When de wind blow from de west or de norf-west, dar's twelve foot inside de long key."

"Do you know of any vessels, any schooners, or steamers, inside the bay, Quimp?" asked Christy, pushing his inquiries a point farther.

"Couldn't told you, massa," replied the boatman, shaking his head.

"Do you mean that you don't know, my man?"

"Dis nigger done got but one head, and it's wuf 306 more to him dan it is to any oder feller, massa; and it don't do for him to tell no stories about vessels and steamers," replied Quimp, shaking his head more vigorously.

"I suppose you have a family, Quimp?"

"No, sar; done got no family. De ole woman done gone to glory more'n ten years ago, and de boys done growed up and gone off. No, sar; dis nigger got no family."

"Then you don't care to stay here, where you have to work hard for little money?" suggested Christy.

"Money! Don't see no money. Nobody but white folks got any money; and dey has next to noffin in dese times."

"I will pay you well for any information that may be of importance to me, and I will take you on board of a man-of-war farther down the bay, if you are afraid of losing your head."

"If dis nigger told some stories he lose his head for sartin," added Quimp, shaking his head, as if to make sure that it safely rested on his shoulders.

"If you tell me the truth, you shall be protected."

"Wot you want to know, massa?" demanded 307 Quimp, as though he was weakening in his resolution.

Christy could not help wondering why the boatman had come out from behind the key, if he was not willing to impart his knowledge to the officer of the boat, for he could not help understanding the object of the gunboats in visiting the bay; and the Bellevite lay not half a mile below the northern end of what Quimp called the long key.

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