Arriving at a drug store which bore the name of a medical man upon one of its doorposts, Marcy entered and asked where he could find somebody to tell him whether or not his broken arm had been properly set and cared for. "Step right this way, and I will tell you in less than five minutes," said the man who stood behind the counter. "How did you break it?" "I was knocked down," replied Marcy. "Who knocked you down?" "A Yankee!" "Heyday! Bull Run?" "No, sir; Crooked Inlet." "Well, I thought you looked like a seafaring man. What vessel do you belong to?" "The blockade-runner _Hattie._ She used to be the privateer _Osprey._" "Were you one of the brave fellows who captured the _Mary Hollins_?" exclaimed the surgeon, giving Marcy a look of admiration. "It was a gallant deed." "I was there when she was taken," answered the boy, while the doctor was helping him off with his coat. "Do you know what become of her crew?" "They were paroled and sent North long ago. We didn't want such folks among us." "But they are not prisoners of war." "That doesn't matter. They had to promise that they would not take up arms against us until they were regularly exchanged; and if they do, and we find it out, they will stand a fine chance of being strung up. You've got a pretty good surgeon aboard your ship, and he has made a good job of this. I wonder if I know him. Is he a Newbern man?" "No, sir; he hails from up toward Plymouth. And he isn't a doctor, either. He's the captain." "Oh, ah!" said the surgeon, who was very much surprised to hear it. "I see, now that I come to look at it closely, that it is not quite as straight as I thought it was. It sticks out a little on this side, and your arm will always be more or less crooked. It is unfortunate that you did not have a surgeon aboard; but we will have to let it go." "Of course I can't do duty with one hand," said Marcy, "and so the captain has given me leave to go home for awhile. I can travel on the cars, I suppose?" "There's nothing in the world to hinder it," replied the medical man, who seemed on a sudden to have lost all interest in Marcy and his injured arm. "I will do it up again and give you a little medicine, and you will get along all right. It's a mere trifle." When Marcy asked what his bill was, he told himself that he made a mistake when he said it was the captain and not a doctor who set his arm, for the surgeon charged him a good round price for his trouble, as well as for the little bottle of tonic he wrapped up for him; and when he went to the telegraph office, the operator who sent off a dispatch to his mother made no distinction between him and a citizen. The dispatch ran as follows: Arrived from Nassau this morning with a valuable cargo after a running fight with the Yankees. Had two men slightly injured. Will leave for Boydtown by first train.