ead them. He sat down at the
table and read the paper; but the order was very simple, and left all
the details to the discretion of the commander, for it was understood
that Captain Passford was well acquainted with the coast as far as St.
Mark's.

Christy was still clothed in the frock and cap of a common sailor, and
he realized that it was time for him to put on his uniform. He went to
the quarters of the men where he had concealed his valise, and carried
it back to the cabin, where he proceeded to make the change. In a short
time he had put himself in proper condition to take his place on the
quarter-deck in command when his presence was required. He had nothing
to do at present, and he concluded to write his report of the remarkable
proceedings on board since the Bronx left the station. He wanted his
desk, and he went to the stateroom.

"Well, Dave, how is your prisoner?" he asked, halting at the door.

"I got him safe, Massa Cap'n," replied the steward, exhibiting most of
the teeth in his mouth, for he was pleased with himself after he had
executed the commission assigned to him, and did not feel as much like a
contraband as he might.

"I am in command, Dave, and there must be no more 'massa' now," added
Christy.

"I done forget all about my talk, Captain Passford," replied Dave.

"That is bad grammar," said the commander, laughing, for he was in an
exceedingly pleasant humor, as may well be supposed. "You know what is
right, and you must not talk like a contraband."

"I won't do so any more, Captain Passford," protested the steward,
showing his ivory, though he was not a very black man, and the contrast
was not as great as in many instances.

"How do you find yourself, Corny?" asked the captain, turning to the
berth.

"I am all right, Corny; but I should like to have you or some one tell
me what has been going on in this steamer, for this black rascal will
not say a word to me," replied the prisoner.

"I don't blame him, if you call him a black rascal," added Christy. "But
you need not call me by your own name any longer, cousin, for it will
not help your case any more. Your game is played out, and you have been
beaten with your own weapons. When you want to play another Yankee
trick, you had better remember that you are not a Yankee, and you are
not skilled in the art of doing it."

"What do you mean by that, Corny?" asked the prisoner, disregarding the
advice of his cousin.

"Corny again!" exclai