“It shall be forty miles up the river before daylight,” replied the pilot. “Perhaps not!” said Jack to himself, as the two gentlemen left the study. CHAPTER XXIV. A NIGHT-EXPEDITION. Jack Somers was troubled with a strong desire to get his hands upon that Mr. Litchfield, _alias_ Lunsley; or, failing in that, to bring his pistol to bear upon some vital part of his corporeal being. The wretch was a traitor, and had worn Union colors to obtain the favor of the naval officers, that he might betray his trust into the hands of his employers. It was evident to him now that Litchfield had never intended to take the Middy above this point; for he knew of the existence of the earthwork. It was his purpose to get her aground, where the battery could knock her to pieces. It also looked very much as though he had come up for the purpose of taking charge of the cotton-steamer which the planter had intrusted to his care. Jack waited but a moment, after the gentlemen had left the room, before he emerged from his hiding-place; and, carefully opening the window, jumped out upon the veranda. He took the precaution to close the window, that no suspicions might be awakened. He was now free: the old horse had not yet hit him on the head; and he was disposed to believe the old adage, that dreams go by contraries. But Jack was too wise a lad to crow before he had got out of the woods. The conversation between the pilot and the planter, to which he had listened, placed in his possession some valuable information, of which he now purposed to avail himself. The light-battery was still in the vicinity, and a squad of rebels was at the earthwork watching the Middy. Instead, therefore, of going to the point where he had landed, he made his way directly to the river, hoping that he should be able to find a boat. He could discover no craft of any sort; and was compelled to resort to a log, upon which he boldly put off. The current carried him down the stream, after he had pushed out from the shore; and, when he had rounded the bend, he discovered the Middy at anchor on the edge of the shoal. By a vigorous application of the board he used as a paddle, he contrived to navigate the log so as to bring it up under the bow of the steamer. The watch hailed him; but his well-known voice was all that was needed to secure him assistance in getting on board. “Why, Jack, my darling!” cried Tom Longstone, as the veteran threw his arms around him, “I guv you up for lost!” “I’m all right, Tom. Who’s officer of the deck?” “Mr. Dickey, up there,” replied Tom, pointing to the hurricane-deck. “Come on board, sir,” added Jack, touching his cap to Mr. Dickey. “If you please, sir, I would like to see the captain.” “Come up, then.” “Where away now, Jack, my dear? Can’t you tell us anything about it?” “Not now, Tom; there’ll be more fun by and by: but don’t say a word,” whispered Jack as he ascended to the hurricane-deck.