Flint.
"This is not a cotton-growing region, but is given up to sugar raising,"
added Christy. "They have to bring the cotton a long distance in order
to ship it here."
"For these reasons, I do not believe this fort is of much account."
"Perhaps not; but I should not care to have the Bronx sunk by a
columbiad in the attempt to find out the strength of the fort."
"It is possible that the Russian knows something about this region,"
suggested Mr. Flint.
"I will have a talk with him," replied the commander, as he left the
bridge.
Seating himself on the quarter-deck, he sent for Michael Bornhoff, who
presently reported to him. This man had proved himself to be entirely
faithful and reliable; and Christy had no doubts in regard to his
loyalty, for his race guaranteed that.
"Do you know where we are bound, Mike?" asked Christy.
"I know what all the crew know, for word has been passed around that we
are bound to Barataria Bay," replied the Russian with a cheerful smile.
"Were you ever there, Mike?"
"Was I ever there, captain? I lived there a year!" exclaimed the
contraband. "I was in the fishing business at that time," he added with
a significant smile on his face.
"What do you mean by that?"
"We had the Magnolia over here then, and I used to go out fishing in her
about every night," chuckled Mike.
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