He had no reason for alarm; the man was a negro; the dusky face showed sympathy under its surprise.
"I am a Union soldier," said Cushing, feeling in his heart that no slave would betray him.
"One o' dem as was in de town last night?" asked the negro.
"Yes. Have you been there? Can you tell me anything?"
"No, massa; on'y I's been tole dat dar's pow'ful bad work dar, an' de sojers is bilin' mad."
Further words passed, in the end the negro agreeing to go to the town, see for himself what harm had been done, and bring back word. Cushing would wait for him under shelter of the corn.
The old negro set out on his errand, glad of the opportunity to help one of "Massa Linkum's sojers." The lieutenant secreted himself as well as he could, and waited. An hour passed. Then steps and the rustling of the dry leaves of the corn-stalks were heard. The fugitive peeped from his ambush. To his joy he saw before him the smiling face of his dusky messenger.
"What news?" he demanded, stepping joyfully forward.
"Mighty good news, massa," said the negro, with a laugh. "Dat big iron ship's got a hole in her bottom big 'nough to drive a wagon in. She's deep in de mud, 'longside de wharf, an' folks say she'll neber git up ag'in."
"Good! She's done for, then? My work is accomplished?—Now, old man, tell me how I must go to get back to the ships."