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 up in Havana. I don't mean this Captain Flanger that was on board of the Magnolia, but his father," replied the stout fellow.
 
"Are you a free man?"
 
"No, sir; I belong to Captain Flanger: his father is dead, and left me to his son."
 
"Why did you bless the Lord that you were here at last?"
 
"Because I have been trying to get here for 225 more than a year," replied the contraband, after looking about him for a moment, and then dropping his voice as though he feared Captain Flanger might hear what he said. "Now, mister, will you tell me who you are before I say anything more? for I shall get my back scored with forty-nine stripes if I open my mouth too wide;" and again he looked timidly around the deck.
 
"You are on board of the United States steamer Bronx, and I am the commander of her," replied Christy, desiring to encourage Michael Bornhoff to tell all he knew about the expedition in the Magnolia.
 
The skipper took his cap off, and bowed very low to Christy when he realized that he was talking to the principal personage on board of the gunboat. He was well dressed for one in his position, and displayed no little dignity and self-possession. Perhaps, if he had not been tainted with a few drops of black blood in his veins, he might have been a person of some consequence in the Confederate service.
 
"Not a bad wound at all, Captain Passford," said Mr. Pennant. "The doctor says I am still fit for duty."
 
226 "Captain Passford!" exclaimed Michael Bornhoff, as he heard the name; and the third lieutenant passed on to take a look at the prisoners.
 
"That is my name," added Christy, smiling at the earnestness of the skipper.
 
"That is a bad name for this child," said the octoroon, shaking his head. "Are you the son of Colonel Passford?"
 
"I am not; but I am his nephew," replied the commander, willing to be perfectly frank with him.
 
"Bless the Lord that you are his nephew and not his son!" exclaimed Michael fervently, as he raised his eyes towards the sky, which was beginning to be visible through the fog. "I have heard about you, for I was to pilot a vessel out of Cedar Keys when you came up there in command of the boats. Colonel Passford was over there, and he saw you on board of the Havana."
 
"Then we understand each other, Mr. Bornhoff," added Christy.
 
"Perfectly, Captain Passford; and I would trust you with my freedom, which is the dearest thing on earth to me. But don't call me 'mister,' or you will make me forget that I am a nigger," 227 said the skipper, laughing in his delight to find that he was in good and safe hands. "Captain Flanger called me Mike always, and that is a good enough name for me."
 
"Very well, Mike; you are a free man on board of this ship."
 
"I ought to be, for I am a whiter man than Captain Flanger."
 
"Now tell me what you know about that expedition on board of the Magnolia," said Christy more earnestly. "Mr. Pennant reports that your passengers claimed that they were peaceable citizens, and that your sloop was bound to Appalachicola. Was that true?"
 
"Just then they were peaceable enough; but they were not when Captain Flanger ordered them to fire on your men. Colonel Passford and I were the only peaceable citizens on board of the sloop, and I was no citizen at all," replied the skipper, laughing.
 
"You are one now, at any rate. Were you bound to Appalachicola?"
 
"Not just then, captain," chuckled Mike, who seemed to be amused and delighted to feel that he was telling the secrets of his late companions.
 
228 "We were going to Appalachicola after a while, where we were to pilot out some vessels loaded with cotton."
 
"Then there are cotton vessels at that port, are there?" asked Christy, pricking up his ears at this suggestion.
 
"Half a dozen of them, and a steamer to tow them to sea."
 
"Are you sure of this information, Mike?"
 
"I did not see them there, Captain Passford; but it was your uncle's business to look after them, as he was doing in St. Andrew's Bay."
 
"Then my uncle has vessels in that bay which are to run out?" inquired Christy, deeply interested in the revelations of the skipper.
 
"Only one, sir: a steamer of five hundred tons, called the Floridian."
 
"Precisely; that is the vessel we are after. But what was my uncle doing on board of your sloop, with Captain Flanger and the rest of your party?"
 
"My master was the captain of the Floridian, and we came out here to see if there was any blockader near, that had come up in the fog. The steamer was to be brought out by the 229 pilot, who has been on board of her for three days."
 
"Who were the men with muskets on board of the sloop?"
 
"Those were the coast guard, sir," replied Mike, chuckling again.
 
"The coast guard? I don't understand that," replied Christy, puzzled at the expression.
 
"Eight of them, sir; and they have been keeping guard on Crooked, St. Andrew's, and Hurricane Islands, to let them know inside if there was any blockader coming this way. They had sky-rockets and flags to make signals with."
 
"But why were they brought off if the steamer is still in the bay?"
 
"The Floridian was coming ............