"I tol' you, massa," repeated the negro, "dat I dunno nuffin 'bout no
men;" and, thinking he had settled the matter, turned to walk away.

But Frank was not yet done with him, and, seeing that he was too
cunning to be "pumped," determined to try what effect the sight of his
weapons would produce. Seizing the negro by the collar, he pressed
the muzzle of his revolver against his head, whispering, between his
clenched teeth:

"See here, you black rascal! you _do_ know all about the matter, for
you have carried orders from these rebels here to their friends. So,
confess the whole truth, instantly."

"I dunno nuffin 'bout no men, I tol' you," persisted the negro.

"You won't confess, eh?" said Frank, cocking his revolver. "Then
you're a dead man."

"O Lor'! don't shoot, massa," exclaimed the now terrified negro. "What
shall I 'fess."

"Confess the truth," replied Frank, "and you shall not be harmed; but,
if you try to deceive me, you're a dead darkey. Answer such questions
as I shall ask you. In the first place, who are these men who say they
are rebel deserters?"

"One of 'em is my massa, an' de other is a captain in de army."

"What are they doing on this island?"