I had little enough to think over, for the few words spoken in the cellar had furnished no clew.  My purpose there was known, and these men had considered it worth while to put me out of the way, and to pick up my companion also, yet I could not directly connect this action with Judge Henley’s will.  We might have merely crossed their path, interfered with their criminal plans.  If so, then it was more than likely our release would not be long delayed.  Indeed, the man who appeared to be the chief, had already said he would turn the girl free in New Orleans, where she could do them no harm.  New Orleans then was, doubtless, the port for which we sailed.  My knowledge of distance was vague, yet that could not be a long voyage, nor one involving any great danger.  It was clear they meant no personal harm to her, and they would never have brought me on board alive, if they had deemed it necessary to otherwise dispose of me.  These considerations were in the main reassuring, and as I turned them over in my mind I drifted into better humor.  Besides, my head had ceased to ache, and a little exercise put my numbed limbs into fair condition.

It was fully an hour after the coming of darkness before I was disturbed.  Then the door opened, and the entering gleam of a light swinging in the passage revealed the grinning negro steward bearing a well-filled tray.  This he deposited in the berth, while applying a match to the lamp overhead.  I saw no shadow of any guard outside, but the fellow made no effort to close the door, and I did not move, confident he was not alone.  As he turned to go, however, curiosity compelled me to question him, his good-natured face provocative of courage.

“Say, George, what boat is this?”

“Mah name is Louis, sah.”

“All right, Louis, then; what’s the name of this vessel?”

“She am de Sea Gull, an’ a mighty fin’ boat, sah.”

“So I judge; what is she, fruiter, or private yacht?”

“I reckon I don’t just know,” and he grinned.

“Perhaps then you will inform me where we are bound—­I suppose you know that?”

“No, sah; de captain he nebber done tol’ me, sah, nothing ’bout his personal plans.  All he done said wus fer me to hustle sum grub in yere.”

“But surely,” I Insisted warmly, “you know what voyage you signed on for?”

“Wal, boss, I did n’t sign on fer no vige.  I ‘se de steward, sah, an’ I just naturally goes ’long where ebber de ship does.  ’T ain’t rightly none o’ my business what de white folks ‘cides to do.  Good Lor’, dey don’t never ask dis nigger nuthin’ ’bout dat.  All I got ter do is just go ’long with ’em—­dat’s all.”

The shadow of a man blocked the doorway.  He was one of those who had been in the small boat, and I noticed a revolver at his waist.

“That’s enough, boy.  Come, now, out with you,” he commanded gruffly.  “Never you mind the door; I ’ll attend to that.”