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 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."
"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," 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.
"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 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 out this morning in the fog, if Captain
Flanger made the signal for her to do so. Then the captain was to go on
board of her, and I was to sail the rest of the party to Appalachicola,"
replied Mike, still chuckling with delight at his ability to give the
commander such important information.
"Then the Floridian is all ready to come out of the bay?" asked Christy,
suppressing the excitement he was beginning to feel.
"All ready, sir; and the signal was a sky-rocket, which the pilot could
see over the fog."
"We will not give them any signal, but we will treat them to some
visitors. Is the steamer armed, Mike?"
"No, sir; not a single big gun, and she has only hands enough to work
her. Steam all up when we came out of the bay, sir," said Mike, laughing
heartily, apparently in spite of himself.
"Call all hands, Mr. Camden," said the commander in brusque tones.
The boatswain's whistle sounded through the steamer. In a moment, as it
were, all hands were in their stations. Nothing like a drill with the
present ship's company had been possible, though the men had been
trained to some extent at the navy-yard and on board of the Vernon; but
the majority of the crew were old men who had served some time on board
of the Bronx, and under the present commander.
The prisoners appeared to be quite as much interested in the proceedings
on deck as the ship's company, and closely observed everything that was
done. Michael Bornhoff was quite excited, and walked the deck hurriedly,
as though he was in search of something to do; but he was very careful
not to go near the place where Captain Flanger was made fast to the
rail.
"Mr. Flint," called the commander to the first lieutenant, as soon as
the crew were assembled on deck, "there is a steamer of five hundred
tons in St. Andrew's Bay, all ready to come out at a given signal from
the party just captured by the first cutter. I propose to capture her
with the boats, and you will take the command of the expedition. The
first and second cutters will be employed, and you will see that they
are ready."
"The boats are in good condition, sir, and they will be ready in five
minutes," replied Mr. Flint, who had come on deck at the call for all
hands, and had hardly learned the results of the recent boat expedition.
"Mr. Camden will take charge of the second cutter," added Christy.
While the crews were making the boats ready, and Mr. Camden was
selecting the extra men for them, as he was instructed to do, Christy
gave the executive officer a brief account of the capture of the sloop,
and an epitome of the information he had obtained from Bornhoff.
"What am I to do, Captain Passford?" asked Mike, who was watching the
proceedings on deck with the most intense interest. "I want to ship in
the Yankee navy as a pilot, for I know this coast from the Mississippi
to Key West."
"Are you a sailor?" asked Christy.
"I went to sea for eleven years, and Captain Flanger, father and son,
put my wages in their pockets."
"You cannot ship as a pilot, only as an able seaman, if you know how to
hand, reef, and steer, and how to make knots and splices."
"I know all that, captain, like I know my name."
"Then I will look upon you as an able seaman until you are formally
enlisted. Mr. Flint, this man is Michael Bornhoff; he is an able seaman
and a pilot in these waters. I think you had better take him with you,
for he is fully informed in regard to the Floridian, which you are to
bring out. Let him have pistols and a cutlass," said Christy.
In ten minutes more the expedition left the ship, and soon disappeared
in the low bank of fog that still hung over the shore. Each of the
cutters had been manned by twelve men besides the officer, and Mike was
an extra hand with the first lieutenant. What remained of the port watch
were on duty, and the rest of the men were dismissed.
Mr. Pennant had the deck, and the commander walked back and forth,
considering the information he had obtained from the skipper of the
Magnolia, of the correctness of which he had no doubt, for Mike
impressed him as a truthful man, and, like all the contrabands, his
interest was all on the side of the Union, which meant freedom to them.
For the first time he began to feel not quite at home in his new
position. He had been compelled to fight for it; but he absolutely
wished that he were the first or second lieutenant rather than the
commander of the vessel.
The traditions of the navy, and of all navies, forbade him to leave his
ship to engage in any enterprise connected with his mission. He had to
take all the responsibility of failure, while he could not take an
active part on such occasions as the present. He had the glory of being
a commander, and of whatever his ship accomplished; but it began to look
like a life of inactivity to him, for he was not greedy of glory, and
all his devotion was for the Union.
He had learned that several vessels were loading with cotton at
Appalachicola, with the intention of running the blockade, if there
was any blockader off Cape St. George. His uncle Homer was engaged in
superintending the fitting out of these vessels, though whether on his
own account or that of the Confederacy, he was not aware. Christy felt
that he ought to follow up the information he had obtained with decided
action; but he was hardly in condition to do so, for he had fifteen
prisoners on board, and he would be obliged to send a prize crew off in
the Floridian when she was brought out, as he was confident she would
be. He could not settle the question at once, and he went down into his
cabin, where his uncle was waiting very impatiently to see him, and had
asked Dave a dozen times in regard to him.
Colonel Passford was naturally very anxious to ascertain what had been
done, and what was to be done, by the Bronx; but the steward was too
discreet to answer any of his questions, and he was not aware that his
son Corny was a prisoner on board as well as himself.