"Not as many, I should say, as you have in Fort Gaines. By the way, how many have you under your command there?" returned Christy with a twinkle of the eye. "We have two thousand four hundred and twenty-six, including myself," replied the major. "That is quite a force; my father has only seven hundred and forty-two, without counting me." "Where do you put them all?" "We stow them away in the hold, after the manner of packing sardines in a box. We only let them out one at a time, when we feed them with salt fish and baked beans." "That makes a good many men to a gun," suggested the major. "Lots of them," answered Christy. "How many guns does the steamer carry?" "Only two hundred; of course I mean heavy guns,--sixty and eighty-four pounders. I think there must be small arms enough to supply all your men in the fort." "I was on board of the Bellevite for half an hour or more, and I really did not see a single heavy gun," added the major, biting his lip. "Didn't you notice the one hundred and twenty pounder in the waist? It is big enough for you to have seen it." It was plain enough to the young Unionist that the major really desired to know something about the force and metal of the Bellevite, and that he was disappointed when he found that the son of the owner was on his guard. No information was to be obtained from him. "I think you said there was a doctor on board of the steamer," continued Major Pierson, changing the subject of the conversation. "Yes, sir; and a very skilful surgeon he is,--Dr. Linscott," replied Christy. "I went in to see Captain Pecklar when I was below, and I found him in a very bad condition. I am afraid he will die before we can get him to the shore; and he is suffering terribly," added the major, looking earnestly into the face of the young man. "I am sorry for him," replied Christy; and his pity and sympathy were apparent in his face. He had noticed the captain of the tug in the morning, and one of the soldiers had told him he was a Northern man who had come to this region for his health. He appeared to have no scruples at doing the duty assigned to him, though he had been only two years at the South. But he seemed to be of no use to either side in the contest, for he was too sick to work any longer. Christy was filled with pity for the sufferings of the captain of the tug, and he thought the major's questions suggested that something was to be required of him in connection with the sick man. He was willing to do any thing he could for the aid of the captain, if he could do it without sacrificing his principles. "It was a part of my purpose to obtain assistance from the surgeon of the steamer for poor Pecklar," continued the major. "But you have moored us all here by refusing to steer the boat, and the captain will die without our being able to do a single thing for him. There is not even a drop of brandy on board of this boat to restore him."