“I’ll be along in half an hour, then.”

Jack found the oyster house readily.  As he entered the little, not over-clean place, he found himself the only customer.  He gave his order, then picked up the local daily paper.  As he ate, Jack found himself yawning.  The drowsiness of Annapolis by night was coming upon him.  Little did he dream how soon he was to discover that Annapolis, in some of its parts, can be lively enough.

As he paid his bill and stepped to the street, a young mulatto hurried up to him.

“Am Ah correct, sah, in supposin’ yo’ Cap’n Jack Benson?”

“That’s my name,” Jack admitted.

“Den Ah’s jes’ been ‘roun’ to de hotel, lookin’ fo’ yo’, sah.  One ob yo’ men, Mistah Sam Truax, am done took sick, an’ he done sent me fo’yo’.”

“Truax ill?  Why, I saw him a couple of hours ago, and he looked as healthy as a man could look,” Jack replied, in astonishment.

“I reckon, sah, he’s mighty po’ly now, sah,” replied the mulatto.  “He done gib me money fo’ to hiah a cab an’ take yo’ to him.  Will yo’ please to come, sah?”

“Yes,” agreed Jack.  “Lead the way.”

“T’ank yo’, sah; t’ank yo’, sah.  Follow me, sah.”

Jack’s mulatto guide led him down the street a little way, then around a corner.  Here a rickety old cab with a single horse attached, waited.  A gray old darkey sat on the driver’s seat.

“Step right inside, sah.  We’ll be dere direckly.  Marse Truax’ll be powahful glad see yo’, sah.”

“See here,” demanded Jack, after they had driven several blocks at a good speed, “Truax hasn’t been getting into any drinking scrapes, has he?  Hasn’t been getting himself arrested, has he?”

For young Benson had learned, from the night clerk at the hotel, that, quiet and “dead” as Annapolis appears to the stranger, there are “tough” places into which a seafaring stranger may find his way.

“No, sah; no, sah,” protested the mulatto.  “Marse Truax done got sick right and proper.”

“Why, confound it, we’re leaving the town behind,” cried Jack, a few moments later, after peering out through the cab window.

“Dat’s all right, sah.  Dere am’ nuffin’ to be ’fraid oh, sah.”

“Afraid?” uttered Jack, scornfully, with a side glance at the mulatto.  The submarine boy felt confident that, in a stretch of trouble, he could thrash this guide of his in very short order.

“Ah might jess well tell yo’ wheah we am gwine, sah,” volunteered the mulatto, presently.

“Yes,” Benson retorted, drily.  “I think you may.”

“Marse Truax, sah, he done hab er powah ob trouble, sah, las’ wintah, wid rheumatiz, sah!  He ’fraid he gwine cotch it again dis wintah, sah.  Now, sah, dere am some good voodoo doctahs ‘roun’ Annapolis, so Marse Truax, he done gwine to see, sah, what er voodoo can promise him fo’ his rheumatiz.  I’se a runnah, sah, for de smahtest ole voodoo doctah, sah, in de whole state ob Maryland.”