Things went on thus for a considerable time, when, early one morning, as Frank was on his way to the plantation, to buy his marketing, a negro met him, as he was ascending the hill that led to the quarters, and said:
"I'd like to speak just one word with you, young master."
"Well, what is it, uncle?" said Frank; "talk away."
"Let us move on, this way first, for I don't want them to see us from the house."
Frank followed the negro behind one of the cabins, and the latter continued:
"I'm afraid you and all the officers on your boat will be captured one of these days."
"What do you mean?" inquired Frank, in surprise, half inclined to think that the negro was crazy.
"I suppose you don't know that my master and mistress, and all the white folks on the plantation, are rebels, do you?"
"No; and I don't believe they are."
"Yes, they are. My master is a Major in the rebel army; and that Miss Annie you come to see every day has got a sweetheart in the army, and she tells him every thing you say. Besides, they send a mail across the river, here, twice every month. I took one across myself, night before last."