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.