Supper was ready by the time the passengers had taken possession of their rooms and berths. I took the captain's place in the cabin for this occasion, though I often did so while we were in the river and the Sylvania was in charge of the pilot. Colonel Hungerford sat next to me on one side, and I told him all about the robbery of the bank messenger, and the escape of our prisoners. He thought it very probable that they had taken the steamer bound up the river. "Donaldsonville is the next town of any importance; and there we can telegraph to some place ahead of the steamer, and have the robbers detained by the police. Does any one remember the name of the steamer?" asked the colonel. Miss Margie Tiffany remembered that it was the Queen of the South. Owen was so reckless as to say he was glad the prisoners had got away, and he hoped they would succeed in eluding the police. We were yachting on the Mississippi, and we could not bother with arresting and holding prisoners. We had the money they had stolen, and that was enough. "We may find the Queen of the South at Donaldsonville when we get there," continued Colonel Hungerford. "It is seventy-four miles from St. Charles, which is the nearest post-office to my plantation. When shall we get there?" "Not until early in the morning," I replied. "We can't get along very fast against this current." "The Queen may be there, as she will arrive in the night, waiting for freight or passengers," replied the planter. "If you will allow me, I will take charge of the apprehension of those men, for I think I shall understand it better than you, as I have had considerable experience in such cases." Colonel Hungerford looked slyly at his wife and daughter. I could not understand the meaning of his expressive communication; but I was entirely willing he should cause the arrest of the fugitives. CHAPTER XXVIII. A DISTINGUISHED PASSENGER. The planter went on deck with me after supper, and we paid our first visit to the Islander, where we were courteously received by the Shepards. On our return we went on the hurricane deck to take a look at the shores, as well as we could see them, for it was almost dark by this time. "Who is your father, Captain Garningham, or, if you will forgive me for it, Captain Alick?" asked the Colonel. "Major Garningham, formerly of the British army," I replied. "Yes, yes, I know all that; but what is he?" persisted my new passenger. "I don't know that he is anything in particular just now," I answered, perplexed by the earnestness of Colonel Hungerford. "He is certainly neither a soldier nor a sailor, a tinker nor a tailor." "Is he an American?" "No, sir; he was born in England. His father was Sir Alexander Garningham, and he is Sir Bent Garningham, Baronet, whose estates and last residence were at Shalford, Essex." "I see," said the passenger. "Then he is a baronet." "He is; but he insists upon dropping his title in this country."