When Captain Roach went to his office that evening, after the best dinner he had ever eaten in that house, Tom Randolph rode down with him; and before he had gone half a mile was able to tell himself that he had been borrowing trouble and without reason. He saw no coldness whatever in the greetings of those he met along the road, and the few who stopped to speak with him about the occurrences of the previous day declared with one accord that they did not lay any blame at his door; but the way they denounced and threatened Lieutenant Lambert was a pleasant thing for Tom to hear.

"That man's election wasn't legal any way," was what Tom always said in reply. "But because I have permitted him to act as my second in command he has somehow got it into his head that he is a bigger man than I am, and has a right to do as he pleases. If he has at last found out that I know a trifle more than he does, and that it is a soldier's place to wait for orders from his superior, it will be a good thing for Lambert. If the Baton Rouge people want those gunboats driven away from their town and will send me word, I will go down and do the work for them as it ought to be done."

Tom knew that he was quite safe in talking in this lofty way, for he had learned during his interview with the committee that the people of Baton Rouge would not look kindly upon or support any effort that was made to drive the boats away. As long as they were let alone the Yankees were not unpleasant fellows to have around. They put good food into the mouths of some of the city people, good hats and shoes on their heads and feet, and good money in their pockets, and were on the whole more desirable neighbors than their own enlisted men would have been, for the latter had nothing to give in exchange for garden produce and milk and butter and eggs. But the energetic manner in which they went to work to scatter Lambert's Home Guards proved that these peaceable gunboat men were ready to fight at a moment's notice.

Captain Tom's courage and importance came back to him rapidly when he found that the situation was by no means as serious as he had supposed it to be; and when he saw that even Lambert was willing to acknowledge his authority, he came to the conclusion that that indignation meeting at the hotel, and the visit of the Baton Rouge committee, were the best things that could have happened to him and the Home Guards. He found Lambert in his usual loafing place in Kimberly's store. Indeed the man was afraid to go very far away from there, for there was no telling what might be said and done against him if he should absent himself. He saluted Captain Tom respectfully, and followed him out of the back door in obedience to a motion of his finger.

"Look here, lieutenant," said Tom, when they were alone together, "I do not in the least blame you for saying that you would like to see Rodney Gray's father burned out to pay him for what he said against you last night, but——"

"Somebody's been a-lying on me," exclaimed Lambert, looking alarmed. "I never said no such stuff."

"Oh, what is the use of denying it to a friend?" said Tom, with most unbecoming familiarity. "But I don't ask whether you intend to burn him out or not. What I want to say is, that you must on no account think of it so long as Captain Roach stays here. If you do you will get him into trouble with the Governor, and he will pay you for it by sending you and all the men to the front."

"And you too?" asked Lambert.

"He can't conscript a commissioned officer, can he?" said Tom, in reply. "No, he can't do that; and if you will promise that you will never do another thing without my express orders, I will see that he doesn't conscript you, either."

"All right, cap'n. I knuckle to you. That's what I said this morning, and I meant it. I'll move when you say the word and not before."

"If you had made that sensible resolution long ago you would have saved yourself and me from insult," said Tom, looking at his lieutenant as if he would like to give him another piece of his mind. "If you have learned that I am the head of the company I am glad of it; but if you want to do anything to old man Gray on your own hook—on your own hook, I said—why, that is a matter with which I have nothing to do. However, you must wait until Roach leaves Mooreville."

So saying, Captain Tom saluted and went into the office. When the door closed behind him Lambert shook both his clenched hands at it, and said through his tightly shut teeth:

"That's a matter you have nothing to do with, is it? Well, I reckon it is; and you don't get Sile Lambert into a furse with no such oily words as them. I know what you want mighty well, but I just aint a-going to do it. You can pester ole man Gray yourself if you feel like it, and when the job is done I'll tell him where to find the chap who done it. I'll learn you to keep my commission from me and pull a sword on me besides, the way you done this morning. By gum! If I wasn't afeared I'd go and make friends with the Yankees the way the Baton Rouge folks do. I'll risk it any way before I will let myself be conscripted."

Having weathered this storm without suffering very much damage except so far as his feelings were concerned, and quiet having been restored in the community, Captain Tom settled back into his old lazy way of passing the time, and waited for something exciting to happen. The first news out of the ordinary that came to his ears was that Baton Rouge had been occupied by Federal troops, much to the gratification of the citizens, both Union and Confederate, who experienced so delightful a sense of security when they saw the blue-coats on their streets that they forgot all about the Mooreville Home Guards, and never took the trouble to inquire whether they had been conscripted or not. But Captain Roach looked grave, and well he might. He had issued an order to the effect that those he had conscripted must report at his office at least once in every twenty-four hours to show that they were still on hand and ready to receive marching orders; but on the day the news came that the Yankees had garrisoned the city, only fifteen out of forty-five presented themselves. Two-thirds of their number had left home and friends behind and sought refuge in the city.

"This is a pretty state of affairs," exclaimed Tom, when Captain Roach told him of it. "Those men are not worthy to be called Southerners. Before I would show myself so cowardly I would go somewhere and hang myself. What will you do with them when they come back?"

"They'll not come back," replied the enrolling officer. "They will stay where they are safe, and no doubt desertions will be of daily occurrence as long as the Yankees remain in the city."

"Wouldn't it be a good plan for me to go down there and harass them by driving in their pickets now and then?" inquired Tom. He did not know exactly what was meant by driving in an enemy's pickets, but he had read in the papers that it was often done by the soldiers in both armies.

"What good would it do?" asked Captain Roach.

"Why, the enemy wouldn't stay where they were bushwhacked every time they showed themselves, would they? A few determined men could torment them as the buffalo gnats torment our stock."

"You must be a lunatic or take me for one," was what Captain Roach said in reply. "Why can't you be content to let the Yankees alone so long as they are willing to let us alone? If you should fire on their pickets they would send their cavalry all through the country about here, and there's no telling how much damage they would do."

"Do you think they have brought cavalry with them?" cried Tom, a most alarming thought suggesting itself to him at the moment.

"Why, of course. They want to know what is going on outside the city, don't they? And how are they to find out except through their cavalry? You may see blue-coats in Mooreville before sundown. You stay at home and mind your business, for I hope to have use for you presently."

"Do you mean that you hope to send me off with some conscripts?"

"That is what I mean. I shall have to report these desertions, and perhaps it will open the eyes of the State enrolling officer to the fact that he ought to have had that camp of instruction in full blast long ago."

"But suppose a squad of Yankee cavalry should intercept me on the road?" said Tom in a trembling voice.

"Then you would have to fight, that's all. If you whipped them it would be a fine thing for you and might lead to promotion. If they whipped you they would release your prisoners and take you and your men away with them."

"And then they would send me up North, and I might not see home again for long years," faltered Tom; and everyone in the office saw that he was badly frightened at the prospect.

"Exactly. You took your chances on that when you accepted your commission, you know. Now, I wish you to go to work on your men and see that they are in some sort of shape when marching orders come. There will be guards at the camp, and I hope your company will not suffer in comparison with them."

Captain Tom saw very clearly that his connection with the Home Guards was not likely to keep him entirely out of reach of the dreaded Yankees; and when he looked through the open door and his gaze rested upon an acquaintance of his who happened to be passing at that moment, another alarming thought forced itself upon him. It was Ned Griffin, and he was mounted on one of Mr. Gray's blooded horses. He smiled pleasantly at Tom, nodded to the Home Guards clustered about the door, and looked on the whole as though he felt well satisfied with himself and with his lot in life. Not only was he comfortably settled as overseer on one of Mr. Gray's fine plantations, but there was no possible chance that he would ever be forced into the army against his will; and that was more than Captain Randolph could say for himself.

"How I should enjoy knocking that beggar out of his saddle," said the latter under his breath. Then he bent over and whispered some earnest words into the ear of the enrolling officer. "Look here, Roach," said he, "will you do me the favor to keep the date of marching a secret from everybody except myself."

"I'd be glad to if you wish it, but I don't see how I can," said the captain in surprise. "I shall have to notify the conscripts themselves, won't I? And if they choose to publish it, as undoubtedly they will in order to give their friends opportunity to come to the office and bid them good-by, how am I going to hinder it? What difference does it make to you, anyway?"

"It may make all the difference in the world," whispered Tom. "That fellow who just rode by would ask nothing better than to send or take word to the Yankees where they could capture me and a squad of conscripts on a certain day."

"Whew!" whistled the captain. "If he does that I'll arrest him and ship him off to Richmond."

"But would that make a free man of me?" demanded Tom impatiently. "And how are you going to prove it on him?"

"That's so; and when it comes to that I don't suppose Griffin is the only one about here who would be glad to see you and all the Home Guards packed off to a Northern prison. The only thing you can do is to look out for yourself. Take as big a squad with you as you can muster, and stand ready to fight your way."

Captain Tom was almost disheartened, but made one more effort to shirk the duty to which, until this particular morning, he had looked forward with the liveliest anticipations of pleasure.

"Can't you ask the Confederate authorities to send regular troops here to act as guards, and leave me at home to protect the town?" said he desperately. He knew it was a confession of cowardice on his part, but he did not care a snap for that.

"Protect the town!" said Captain Roach in great disgust. "No, I can't. Yes, on second thought, I can; but it will end in you and the Home Guards being sent to the front."

The captain spoke impatiently and jerked a sheet of paper toward him on the desk, intimating by the action that he could not waste any more time with his friend Tom just then, and the latter walked out of the office, mounted his horse, and rode slowly homeward. Something was forever happening to upset his plans, and this last trouble was all the fault of that man Lambert. If he had not fired upon that unarmed boat the Federals would never have thought it necessary to send a force to Baton Rouge, and Captain Tom could have escorted his conscripted neighbors to the camp of instruction without fear of coming in contact with the blue-coated cavalry. He would have had many opportunities to show his fine sword and uniform to soldiers from other parts of the State, and could have talked as big as he pleased about whipping iron-clad gunboats in a fair fight. He had hoped to gain admirers among the officers stationed at the camp, and perhaps he could have himself recommended to fill the commanding officer's place when the latter was ordered to take the field.

"But that's all past and gone now," said Tom as he saw these bright hopes disappearing like the river mists before the rising sun. "If the Yankee cavalry blocks my way, as it surely will if Ned Griffin gets a chance to send them word, I just know I shall be captured, for I can't expect raw troops like my Home Guards to stand against veterans. I wish Lambert had been hanged before he fired on that boat. Who are these, I wonder? Strangers; and spies, I'll bet."

This was another thought that troubled him, and if there had been a branch road that Tom could have turned into he would have taken it rather than meet the two civilians he saw riding toward him. But there was no escape and so he kept on his way; and as he drew nearer to them his eyes began to open wider and an expression of amazement came to his face. He recognized the horses they rode and the clothes they wore, and finally it dawned upon him that the tanned and weather-beaten countenance of one was familiar, though the boy to whom it belonged had grown wonderfully tall and broad-shouldered since he last saw him—so much so, in fact, that his clothes were too small for him. If there was any doubt in Captain Randolph's mind it vanished when a cheery voice called out:

"Hallo, Tom—ee!"

Tom knew the voice and the odious name by which he had been addressed. It was the one with which his mother used to summon him into the house in the days gone by—with a shrill rising inflection on the last syllable. His first thought was to take no notice of the greeting or to make an angry rejoinder; but he remembered in time that he had stood in fear of this same boy when he was several pounds lighter than he was now. He looked quite formidable as he sat on his horse, and no doubt during his fifteen months in the army had come in contact with some rough characters, and gained experience and skill in no end of rough and tumble fights; so Tom thought it wise to be civil.

"Rodney," he exclaimed, extending his hand with a great show of cordiality. "You don't know how glad I am to see you back safe and sound. How long have you been at home?"

"Just three days," answered Rodney Gray, for it was he. "And this is my old schoolmate, Dick Graham, who lives in Missouri when he lives anywhere. But at present he is just staying wherever night overtakes him."

Dick and Tom shook hands, and the latter continued:

"How do you like soldiering? I suppose you have seen some pretty rough times in the army."

"Oh, yes; but nothing compared with what some have seen. Dick and I have brought our usual number of legs and arms back with us, but many of our comrades were not so lucky. Doing anything for your country these days?"

Tom's common-sense, if he had any, ought to have told him that it would not do for him to exaggerate his achievements in the presence of Rodney Gray, who knew him of old, and had seen so much more service than he had, but he counted a good deal on Rodney's ignorance and Dick's. They had done all their campaigning in the interior, had never seen the Mississippi River during their term of service except when they crossed from Arkansas to Tennessee to join the Army of the Centre, and perhaps had not had a chance to read a newspaper for six months, and so he thought he could say what he pleased and they would believe it; but he reckoned without his host.

"I have been very busy since I took command of the Home Guards," he said, in answer to Rodney's question. "I don't suppose I have smelled quite as much powder as you have, but I have been in some pretty hard battles all the same."

"Why, I hadn't heard of it," said Rodney, looking surprised.

"No, I don't imagine you had opportunity to read the papers very often, but I thought perhaps your father had said something about it in his letters. I have whipped two heavy iron-clad men-of-war——"

"Two which?" exclaimed Dick, while Rodney opened his eyes and looked still more surprised.

Captain Tom repeated the words and was going on to tell about the fights with the gunboats when Rodney interrupted him with:

"Did those vessels belong to the upper or lower fleet?"

"I don't know," replied Tom. "But they came up from New Orleans."

"Then they were not iron-clads; you may rest assured of that."

"Don't I know an iron-clad when I see it?" cried Tom angrily. "I have it from good authority that the armor on their sides was eleven inches thick, and that there were four feet of solid oak back of that."

"Great Moses!" ejaculated Dick. "There isn't a vessel in the Yankee navy that could carry such a load as that. Farragut has done all his brilliant fighting with old wooden ships, and there are no iron-clads in his fleet unless they have come to him since he ran past Forts Jackson and St. Philip."

"That's so," assented Rodney. "There isn't an iron-clad on the river except those with which the Yankees demolished our fleet in front of Memphis."

"How does it come that you land soldiers know so much about what is going on here on the river?" demanded Captain Tom, who was very much astonished at the extent of Rodney's information and Dick's.

"Oh, we've had chances to read the papers now and then," replied the latter.

"And while we were about it we read both sides," chimed in Rodney. "Our officers didn't like to have us do it, because the Yankee papers tell the truth, while our own do not scruple to lie outrageously when things go against us."

Captain Tom did not know what answer to make, for he had never expected to hear Confederate veterans talk like that. He began to have a suspicion that they were traitors at heart, but he prudently kept his thoughts to himself.

"How long do you remain at home?" he asked at length.

"Just as long as I have a home to shelter me," answered Rodney. "And when the Yanks come in here and burn it down, as they probably will sooner or later, I shall take to the woods. I am sick and tired of the service and I don't care who knows it. I tell you, I felt sorry for the poor fellows I saw in Camp Pinckney, for I know what is before them and they don't."

"Were they prisoners?" inquired Tom.

"Well, yes; but they didn't go by that name. They were called conscripts."

"Why, how far is that camp from here?" said Tom, wondering if it was the place to which Captain Roach would forward his conscripts when the orders came.

"About 7000 miles," replied Dick. "At least I thought it was that far before we covered the distance that lies between its stockade and Rodney's home."

"It's about sixty miles, as near as I can judge," said the latter. "Haven't you and what's his name—Roach?—raised men enough to fill up a squad yet? Father says you have been working at it for a good while."

"Captain Roach has mustered some men, but has had no orders to forward them. In fact I don't think he knows that the camp of instruction has been established."

"Who's going to take them there when they are ready to go?"

"I am," said Tom proudly; and an instant afterward he felt as though he had signed his own death warrant. There was no chance for him to back out now. He couldn't be taken suddenly ill or send Lambert in his place—he would have to go with the conscripts himself; for that was what he in his haste said he intended to do, and if he did not keep his promise this old enemy and rival of his would publicly brand him as a coward.

"You are? You are going to take the conscripts to the camp of instruction with your Home Guards?" cried Rodney, his face becoming radiant when he thought of the obstacles in the shape of blue-coated soldiers that Captain Tom might possibly find in his way. "Hey-youp! That will be nuts for the Yanks, won't it, Dick?"

"You bet. There's tolerable many Yanks scattered around through the woods, and like as not your friend will have the pleasure of meeting some of them."

"Do you mean to say that they are scouting between here and the camp?" exclaimed Tom, who was almost ready to drop when he heard his worst fears confirmed in this positive way.

"We don't mean anything else," answered Rodney. "We ought to know, for we ran into a squad of them on the way home."

"What did they do to you?" inquired Tom, who did not know whether to believe it or not.

"Nothing. They just covered us with their carbines and told us to come in out of the rain, and we came."

"Humph! Why didn't you fight or run?"

"Well, seeing that we had no weapons we couldn't fight; and we know by experience that when a Yank points a gun at you and tells you to move over on his side the line, you had better move."

"But how did you escape?"

"We didn't escape. We showed them our discharges, and when they told us to git, we got. Oh, they were gentleman, high up."

"Top-notch," assented Dick.

"I never yet saw a Yankee who was a gentleman," sneered Tom.

"Look here," exclaimed Dick, who had heard a good deal about Tom Randolph and learned to dislike him before he ever met him; "have you much of an acquaintance with live Yanks—I mean with those who wear uniforms?"

Tom was obliged to confess that he had not.

"Well, we've seen and talked with a few and may be supposed to know something about them; and when we say that the squad who captured us, and might have made us trouble but didn't, were gentlemen, we mean it. If we ever find one of them in a box and see a chance to help him out, we intend to improve it."

"But as you have no discharge to show, you had better not permit yourself to fall into their hands while you have that uniform on," said Rodney. "By gracious! It makes my old hat rise to think how I should feel if I knew I was going to be ordered off to that camp with a lot of conscripts. You will lose your prisoners sure, and your Home Guards will be brushed aside like so many cobwebs. If you get through with a whole skin we shall call you a good one. We'd better be riding along, Dick."

"Now you've done it," said the latter, as he and Rodney moved on and left Tom out of hearing. "You have frightened him out of his wits."

"With your help I think I have given him a good scare," was Rodney's answer. "I'll bet you a month's wages in good and lawful money of the Confederacy that Tom Randolph never takes a squad of conscripts to Camp Pinckney. I know I shouldn't hanker after the job if I were in his place."

As to Tom himself, he was about as badly frightened as he could be without becoming frantic, and much against his will he was obliged to tell himself that there was but one course of action open to him. If it was true that Federal scouting parties had thrown themselves between Mooreville and Camp Pinckney, he must run the fearful risk of being killed or captured by them, or else he must resign his commission, exchange his fine uniform for a citizen's suit and take the position of overseer on his father's plantation. Tom wanted to yell when this alternative presented itself to him. An overseer was on a par with a blacksmith or a carpenter or a clerk in a store. He had to work for his living and was in consequence a nobody. And Tom remembered how he had railed at Ned Griffin when he accepted Mr. Gray's offer, declaring, in the hearing of everyone who would listen to him, that nobody but a poltroon would take that way of keeping out of the service.

"And now I've got to come to it myself or get shot," whined Tom. "It will be an awful come down for a man who has held a commission in the service of the State, but unless mother can see some other way out I shall have to do it."

Captain Tom wound up by wishing that every man who was in any way responsible for the war might always feel as miserable as he felt at that moment.