This was the first and last adventure that befell Rodney Gray and his party while they were on their way to Baton Rouge; the shooting of the hounds "broke the backbone of the pursuit," as Dick Graham expressed it, although it did not put a stop to it altogether. The rebels raised a chorus of angry yells when they reached the bank of the bayou and discovered their fourfooted allies weltering in their blood, and fired their guns at random into the woods in the direction the fugitives had gone, but they made no energetic effort to continue the chase after that. And this went far to confirm Rodney in his belief that the lieutenant would not have put the hounds on the trail at all if it hadn't been for Mr. Biglin. By expressing this opinion aloud he could have made Mr. Biglin a beggar before another week passed over his head.

Contrary to his original plan Rodney kept his party moving until late that afternoon, when he halted the soldiers in the rear of another plantation while he and Dick went to the house to get something to eat, and make inquiries concerning their pursuers. This time they were not gone more than half an hour, and when they returned they were accompanied by the owner of the plantation, who cordially invited the soldiers into the house.

"It's all right, boys," Rodney assured them. "Our friends from Camp Pinckney haven't been this far down the road; Mr. Banks is Union, and a large squad of your cavalry has just gone back into the country, so that they are between us and the rebels."

"Why, Rodney," said Mr. Banks, "you're a rebel yourself."

"I was, and I don't know but I am yet; but I am not fighting any Yanks just now," was the smiling reply. "Come along, boys, and after we have eaten everything Mr. Banks has to spare, we'll take to the road and follow it as though we had a right there. We've done hiding now."

The corporal glanced at the military pass which Mr. Banks produced to prove that he was "all right" with the Federal authorities in Baton Rouge, and gladly accepted his invitation; and for fear that he might forget it, he drew one of those useless paroles from his pocket and wrote Mr. Banks' name and Mr. Turnbull's upon it.

"That's as strong a promise of protection as a non-commissioned officer can give," said he. "It will hold good with my regiment, any way."

The four prisoners splashed a good deal of water at the horse trough before they would consent to enter the house and sit down to the table like white folks, but when they got there they did ample justice to the substantial food that was placed before them. The planter apologized for the absence of salt on the table by saying that he hadn't been able to obtain a permit to bring it through the lines.

"Then smuggle it," suggested the corporal. "Buy a barrel of flour and chuck a bag of salt inside of it."

"But don't let your best friend see you do it," chimed in Rodney. "That's the warning my father received. There are lots of traitors in the city who try to curry favor with the Yanks by carrying tales about their old neighbors. By the way, don't you want me to get you a barrel of flour?"

The expression of astonishment that came upon Mr. Banks' face set the table in a roar.

"You didn't expect me to speak so freely in the presence of these blue-coated boys, I suppose," continued Rodney. "You needn't be afraid, for they are not on duty now. Besides, they are soldiers, and I'd rather trust them than some civilians I know of."

"How will you bring the flour out?" asked Mr. Banks.

"I'll bring it out," answered Rodney confidently. "In the first place I'll ask for a pass for inland travel and a permit to trade, and I am bound to get both. I know where I can borrow a team in the city, and I intend to bring it out loaded. I know that salt and all munitions of war are contraband, and that there is an inspection of all persons and property going in or out of the lines; but I—well, I shall be back this way to-morrow or next day, and if you want a bag of salt for your table you can have it."

"Well, I snum!" said the planter admiringly. "Your war experience has done a heap for you, Rodney."

"He had the reputation of being the best forager in the regiment," said Dick. "I've known him to stick a pig and clean him and bring him into camp under Daddy Price's nose, when the orders were strict that such things shouldn't be done. If there was anything to eat in the country our mess always lived well."

Dinner over, Rodney led his party out of the house and into the woods again; but it was done merely to mislead any talkative rebel or treacherous darkey who might be on the watch. It wouldn't do to let all the neighbors know that Mr. Banks had sheltered some escaped prisoners in his house during the night; but when darkness came they left the woods and found in one of the negro cabins beds that had been placed there on purpose for them, and on which they slept the sleep of the weary. Daylight the next morning found them well on their way toward the city, with a breakfast under their belts and a big lunch in their pockets.

There was more travel on the road than Rodney expected to see, and the number of teams that were constantly going and coming gave him some idea of the amount of traffic carried on between the "invaders" and the country people. When he and his companions were halted by the first pickets a few miles outside the city, they told as much of their story as they thought necessary, and demanded to be taken before Colonel Baker, commanding the —th Michigan cavalry. In order to avoid delay and the trouble of answering the thousand and one questions propounded by the inexperienced non-commissioned officer who responded to the picket's call, the corporal, who did the talking, said that they were all escaped prisoners; but when they reached the place where the —th Michigan were encamped, and walked down the street toward the colonel's quarters, that story would no longer pass muster, for the corporal was recognized by his comrades, who crowded about him from all sides. The news of that fight near Camp Pinckney had been brought in by a farmer, who affirmed that all the Yankees had been killed by the Home Guards as fast as they surrendered, and as a consequence the Michigan boys had given up all hope of seeing their friends again. Their commanding officer greeted them in the same cordial way, laughed over the paroles which the corporal gave him, took down the names of the Union people as they were read off, looked at Rodney's discharge and Dick's, and told the corporal to show them the way to the provost marshal's office.

"But, colonel, these boys, who have stood by us as though they belonged to us, want a pass and a permit to trade," said the corporal. "And if you will allow me to use your name, perhaps the provost will be more willing to grant the favor."

The permission was readily given, and the colonel's name must have had some weight with the marshal, for he did not detain Rodney and Dick at his office on business for more than ten minutes; but he kept them there talking in a friendly way for more than an hour. When he handed them the papers they wanted he took pains to say that there were some things that could not be taken through the lines under any circumstances whatever, and then he asked where they intended to make their headquarters when they were in the city, and whether or not they had any cotton to sell. As Rodney did not know what his object might be in asking this question, he answered it evasively.

"I wish I owned 1000 bales, and that it was in the Northern market at this minute," said he. "It is worth sixty cents a pound up there."

"Because if you've got any you may as well understand that it won't do you much good," said the marshal. "That is, unless you're sharp. The Richmond government is going to buy or steal all the cotton in the Confederacy and make it the basis of a foreign loan."

"And of course you Yanks are going to stop that sort of work by destroying every bale you can find," said Rodney. "I understand that, but I don't know what you mean by being sharp."

"You don't get the papers very often, do you?" said the captain. "Well, take those when you go. They're old, but perhaps their contents will be news to you. You will find that they say something about a 'partial trade' that is to be established between Northern men who are to have permits to trade inside our lines, and Union Southern people. Does that hit you? Anything to cripple the rebs, you know. And you will see something about the Arkansas ram in there, too. It was a brave act, if it was performed by the enemies of my country."

"What about her? What did she do?" inquired Rodney, who had heard vague reports that there was such a vessel as the Arkansas, and that great things were expected of her by her Confederate builders.

"Why, you know that the navy has been keeping up a regular bombardment of Vicksburg, don't you? I tell you the pluck of the Johnnies up there is something wonderful," said the captain, and Rodney and Dick, disgusted as they were with the policy of the Richmond government, felt a thrill of pride as they listened to his words. "They think the lower river was given up too easily and are going to make a fight for their city; and when Farragut passed their batteries on the 28th of June, and our shells were falling like hail in the streets, parties of ladies were seen on the court house and in other conspicuous places, waving handkerchiefs and little rebel flags to encourage their husbands and brothers and sons, who were fighting the guns below them. Well, when Farragut joined Davis above the city they sent an expedition up the Yazoo to find this ram Arkansas and destroy her; but before they were fairly started they met the Arkansas coming down."

"And didn't they capture her?" exclaimed Dick.

"No, I am sorry to say. She either disabled or dodged the three gunboats composing the expedition, came out of the Yazoo with flying colors, ran through both fleets, and took shelter under the guns of Vicksburg. And she's there now in spite of two desperate attempts that were made to destroy her. Sorry, aint you?"

"I can't honestly say that I am," answered Rodney, who had already made up his mind that the talkative provost marshal was willing to be friendly to any Confederate who had laid down his arms. "A brave act like that ought to be successful."

"Then our attempts to destroy her ought to have been successful, for they were equally brave," retorted the captain. "She got pretty well hammered while passing through the two fleets, and report says that as soon as she is repaired she is coming down to take Baton Rouge from us. But she is as far down as she will ever get. Farragut is here now with his whole fleet."

And this is a good place to say a word or two more about the situation at Baton Rouge, so that some events which we have yet to record may be made perfectly plain. On the 22d of the month (July) Flag-officer Davis made another attempt to destroy the Arkansas, but it resulted in failure. Two of his boats, the Essex and Queen of the West, were commanded to go down and sink her as she lay at her moorings under cover of the Confederate batteries, but her picked crew fought as bravely and skilfully now as they had done a week before. The Essex ran aground and remained there for ten minutes under fire so hot that it is a wonder she was not cut all to pieces; but she finally worked off and ran down to join Farragut, while the Queen of the West struggled back up the river to report the failure to Flag-officer Davis. The situation at this time was discouraging to our side. The gunboats were widely separated; the canal that was to make Vicksburg an inland town proved a failure; General Williams removed to Baton Rouge the small body of troops with which he had been co-operating with the naval forces; Commodore Davis went back to the mouth of the Yazoo and anchored there; and for full five months there was a lull in the operations against Vicksburg. But exciting things continued to happen in Rodney Gray's part of the country.

"To tell you the truth, we of the Army of the Centre always found more reliable information in your papers than we did in our own, and I suppose that these you have kindly given me will tell us all about the doings on the river," said Rodney, continuing the conversation we have broken off. "But I want to ask you one question before I go. My friend Dick wants to go to Little Rock. How is he going to get there?"

"I give it up," replied the captain.

"Do you think the commanding naval officer would permit him to cross the river if he showed his discharge!"

"He might, and then he might not. I can't say. Those navy men are fine fellows, the finest I think I ever saw; but they're so very particular that if I wanted to go to Little Rock, and if it was right that I should go, I wouldn't consult—I believe I should—well, I'd just go. That's all."

"Well, we will no longer trespass upon your time," said Rodney, getting upon his feet. "We are obliged to you for your kindness and courtesy, and if you ever come out our way, drop in and see us."

"I should be glad if I could accept half the invitations that have been given me by people hereabout," replied the captain. "But just now I can't. Any rebs out your way?"

"I don't expect you to come without an escort. There are soldiers at Camp Pinckney, and some of them have been seen in Mooreville."

"Good-by, if you must go; and remember that there are a few things which that permit does not authorize you to take through the lines."

Rodney said he would not forget it, and then he and Dick saluted and went into the outer room, which was filled with civilians and soldiers awaiting an audience with the provost marshal. After looking in vain for the corporal, they concluded that he had returned to camp, so they took the nearest way to the home of Mr. Martin, the gentleman under whose hospitable roof Rodney and his father were sojourning on the night that Ned Griffin rode in from Mooreville with the information that Drummond and Tom Randolph were laying plans to have Rodney arrested when he reached St. Louis. Mr. Martin was glad to see them, and made them feel at home at once. He laughed when they told him of their interview with the provost marshal, and, when Rodney declared that he'd like to see anybody treated with so much civility by an officer holding that position in Bragg's army, cautioned them to be careful how they trespassed upon the captain's good nature. The latter was cordial and friendly with everyone who had business with him, but he had a reputation as a fighter, had won all his promotions by his bravery on the field of battle, and had no mercy on civilians or soldiers who were caught disobeying his orders.

"But smuggling things out of the lines is like foraging in the army," said Mr. Martin in conclusion. "The sin lies in being detected."

"That's all I want to know," said Rodney. "I've never been caught yet. You can tell me where I can borrow or hire a team, I suppose?"

Yes, the host could do that, and he might also be able to make a few suggestions that would be of use to them; but he didn't see how Dick would get over the river unless he acted upon the provost marshal's advice and "just went."

"However," he said, after a moment's reflection, "I will introduce you to our mail carrier, if he will let me."

"Do we have a mail carried back and forth under the noses of these gunboats?" exclaimed Dick.

"I don't know how or where it goes, but we certainly have communication with the opposite shore. The service was very irregular while General Williams was at Vicksburg, but since he came back to Baton Rouge our mail reaches us at shorter intervals; so I imagine it is carried across at some point up the river and brought down through the country. I don't know, but I meet the mail carrier once in a while."

"And can you make it convenient to say a word to him about Dick?"

"I can and will; but I must tell you now that there is one thing that will operate against you. You told the provost marshal that you would make your headquarters at my house as often as you came to town, and he knows me to be a Southern sympathizer."

"Whew!" whistled Rodney, while Dick looked frightened. "Mr. Martin, we will never come near your house again."

"Oh, yes, you will," replied their host. "But you must be careful how you act and who you talk to. The city is full of the meanest sort of converted rebels, who are harder on us than the Yankees. If Mrs. Martin goes out shopping or receives a guest oftener than once a week, they run to the marshal with the news, and I have the satisfaction of knowing that my premises are being watched for spies."

"They are a contemptible lot," declared Dick. "And if the provost marshal was the gentleman we took him for, he would not pay the least heed to their reports."

"All's fair in war," said the host. "These converted rebels are working for trade permits. There's going to be a lot of money made in cotton one of these days, and they want some of it. While in the city you may listen all you please, but don't make a confidant of anybody but me. And don't have too much to say to those four escaped prisoners. You may run across them some time when they are on duty."

Mr. Martin talked for half an hour in this strain, dropping hints here and there which proved to be of great service to Rodney, and then he conducted the boys to a clothing store and left them to make their purchases, while he went out to look for a team. Before they went to bed that night their business was all done, and all that remained for them to do in the morning was to load the two-horse wagon their host had provided for them and go home. Mr. Martin obtained from Rodney a list of needed goods, principally groceries, which he purchased and packed himself; and when the various boxes, barrels, and bags that comprised his load were afterward unpacked at his father's door, Rodney found in them many little articles which he was sure he had not placed on that list. They made an early start, and Rodney's parting injunction to Mr. Martin was to seek an interview with the mail carrier at the earliest possible moment, for Dick was impatient to be on his way home.

"This is my first work as an overseer," said Rodney, when the city was left behind and the two scraggy mules that pulled the wagon had been coaxed and thrashed into a snail's trot, "and I think I have made a very fair beginning, seeing that the business is new to me. My next task will be to see you over the river."

"I never knew you were an overseer," said Dick.

"I've called myself one ever since I had that talk with my father on the night we came home," answered Rodney. "And just see what I shall have to do when you are gone! I battled for fame and didn't get it, and now I am going to work for dollars and see if I will have any better luck. Dick, I am just aching to make the acquaintance of one of those traders—that is, a Yankee trader. Not one of those converted rebels Mr. Martin told us of shall touch a bale of our cotton, if I have to fight to keep him away from it; but if some good Yankee comes along and offers sixty cents a pound for it, you just wait and see how hard I will work to put it in his hands."

It was plain that Rodney Gray belonged to the class who were denounced by Pollard, the Southern historian, as "unpatriotic planters." In writing of this very matter Mr. Pollard said: "The country had taken a solemn resolution to burn the cotton in advance of the enemy; but the conflagration of this staple became a rare event; instead of being committed to the flames it was spirited away to Yankee markets. The planters of the extreme South, who prior to the war were loudest for secession, were known to buy every article of their consumption from the invading army. Nor were these operations always disguised. Some commercial houses in the Confederacy counted their gains by millions of dollars through the favor of the government in allowing them to export cotton at pleasure." But Rodney Gray was a private individual, and he was well aware that if his father's cotton brought the money it was really worth, it would take some good scheming on his part.

About an hour after the boys left the city they came upon the first picket post, which they found to be an unusually strong one, being composed of one sergeant, two corporals, and eight or nine privates. Rodney had just time to remark "We pass inspection here, probably," when one of the soldiers walked to the middle of the road, brought his musket to "arms port" and commanded them to halt. An instant afterward their wagon was surrounded by the rest of the pickets, who shook the barrels back and forth, dug their fingers into the bags, and bumped the boxes about in the most unceremonious style.

"Got a permit?" demanded the sergeant. "And a pass?" He did not ask who the boys were or where they came from, and the sequel proved that he knew without asking.

"These documents appear to be all right," he continued, after he had read the papers Rodney handed out. "Discharged rebels, eh? You don't seem to be such a desperate looking couple. What you got in your wagon?"

"Munitions of war," replied Rodney. "There's a six-pound field-piece in one of those barrels."

"That's what I thought. Get out, both of you."

Although the boys were surprised and startled by this unexpected command they were prompt to obey it.

"Now let me see what you've got in your pockets," said the sergeant. "Every scrap, mind you."

"You're welcome to read all the letters and things of that sort you can find about us," answered Rodney. "We are not simple enough to lose our permits and passes by carrying despatches the first thing."

"They're the laddie-bucks who helped the —th Michigan's boys," observed a corporal.

"I know; but business is business," said the sergeant. "And they've been in Martin's company ever since they came to town."

"That's all right. I don't object to your doing your duty, for I've been a soldier myself," said Rodney. "But I do object to being taken for a plumb dunce. You'll find no writing about us except the papers we showed you and our discharges."

But the sergeant obeyed orders, like the good soldier he was, and it was not until he had seen all their pockets turned inside out, and had felt of the seams of their coats and trousers, that he concluded they were all right and could pass on. He did not say a word about the things they had in the wagon. He was after despatches and nothing else.

"Climb in and go ahead, Johnny," said the sergeant, giving Rodney a friendly slap to help him along. "And when you see that best girl of yours, give her my regards and say that I am coming out to call on her one of these days."

"Well, be sure and come in a crowd. You'll see fun if you don't."

"Any graybacks out your way?"

"Some; and the events of the last few hours will probably bring more. So-long, boys, and look out for the rebs in Vicksburg. They are coming down to clean you out."

He was answered by shouts of laughter and derision from the Federals, who advised him not to take a hand in the cleaning-out business, for he would be whipped if he did. He drove on, glad to escape so easily, and in due time turned up at Mr. Turnbull's house, where he and Dick rested the balance of the day and slept that night. When it was dark a barrel of flour was taken from the wagon and carried into Mrs. Turnbull's dining room; and when some of the flour had been taken out four bags of salt were brought to light. If those little bags had been filled with money Mr. Turnbull and his wife could scarcely have expressed more joy.

"We've been seasoning our food with the floor of the smoke-house for the last two months," said the former, "and I tell you I am glad to see some clean salt once more. You have made us your everlasting debtors. How much did it cost you?"

"I didn't get an itemized bill," replied Rodney. "Take it to pay for our grub and lodging."

The next night saw them safe at home, and the night following found them settled on Mr. Gray's upper plantation, which was located a mile or two up the river from the one on which Ned Griffin was living as overseer. Rodney was elated over the result of his first visit to the city, for the immediate wants of the family had been abundantly supplied by that wagon-load of goods, and he and Dick could now wear clothes that looked as though they fitted somewhere; but his father and mother were not elated. They looked serious, and Rodney told Dick that he made a mistake when he described how carefully the Federal soldiers searched them for despatches.

"And it is a bad thing for you that they know we make our headquarters at Mr. Martin's," he added. "They've got an eye on him; and what will you bet that they don't know he sees that mail carrier once in a while?"

"Then what's the reason they don't arrest him and the mail carrier too?" said Dick.

"They'll jump down on the pair of them when they are good and ready, and think they can capture some important documents by doing it," answered Rodney. "You can't cross at Baton Rouge. You'll have to start from some point up the river. But we'll see the mail carrier if we can, and hear what he has to say about it."