Berry’s morning lessons with her father were now for a time discontinued. The little household in the mountain cabin realized that the encampment of Union soldiers at Pittsburg Landing meant that a battle was near at hand; and Berry’s thoughts, as well as those of her mother and father, were absorbed in what General Grant’s next movement might be.

Mollie Bragg came nearly every morning to practise her lessons in writing, and apparently had quite forgotten Berry’s thoughtless unkindness. Berry presented the slate and pencil to the little girl so that she might use it at home; and this gift made Mollie sure that Berry had not meant to be unkind. Mrs. Arnold had again fitted Mollie out with a neat dress of stout gingham. Mrs. Bragg had made the poor cabin neat and livable, and had planted the rough garden plot with early vegetables. Every day she and Mollie kept a sharp outlook for Len. But General Beauregard was doing his best to get his forces at Corinth ready for a march on the enemy and no absences were permitted. But Len was to see his mother and sister, nevertheless, much earlier than he then imagined.

Lily’s first night of “guard duty,” as Berry called it, passed without her seeing or hearing anything to awaken her fears. The colored girl, however, had slept for several hours as she crouched against a mossy log near Shiloh church. But Lily was sure that she would have awakened at the slightest sound. On her way home, in the gray light of the early morning, she had stopped at the red-buds and found a sealed letter under the rock at the roots of the tree.

“I reckons I’ll let Missie Berry see dis fus’,” she resolved, and followed Berry’s plan of reaching her chamber by the help of the old oak; so that Berry was suddenly awakened, just at daybreak, by a gentle touch on her curly hair and a whispered word:

“Missie Berry, Missie Berry, de letter’s cum,” said Lily.

For a moment Berry believed herself dreaming, and rubbed her eyes sleepily. Then instantly she was wide awake, and seized the letter. It was enclosed in a brown paper, and tied with a coarse string. In the dim morning light Berry read: “For General Johnston, at Corinth,” and beneath it in large letters, “RUN!”

The two girls stared at each other with sober faces.

“W’ot yo’ gwine ter do, Missie Berry? Yo’ gwine ter gib dis letter to yo’ pa?” questioned Lily.

Berry shook her head. “I don’t know yet. If I give it to Father I would have to tell him about my going to the witch-tree at midnight,” she whispered. “I’ll have to think what I will do.” And Lily nodded and made her way noiselessly to the kitchen.

Berry turned the letter over in her hand. To open a letter addressed to another person did not occur to her. But this was a spy’s letter; it must contain news of the Union army, secretly obtained, and Berry knew that it would be of value to the enemy and that it would be a service if she could give it to a Union officer.

“I’ll carry it to the Pittsburg camp,” she resolved.

The moment breakfast was over Berry sauntered out to the porch and instantly disappeared. She scrambled down the rough slope of the ravine, and followed a path just above the Corinth road. It was a day of early April, and a damp mist lay over the river and drifted in little clouds along the hills. Berry had to make her way with some caution, as recent rains had made the path boggy and uncertain; but within an hour she was in sight of the rows of white tents that dotted the rough plateau facing the Tennessee River. Not a single spadeful of earth had been thrown up for entrenchments; no horseman patrolled the encampment. As Berry stood for a moment looking at what seemed to her so wonderful a sight, she heard the sound of laughter, and a moment later a group of soldiers came from a tent very near to where she was standing.

“What’s this?” exclaimed one of the men, as he discovered a slight boyish figure in a well-worn flannel blouse and knickerbockers, and wearing a red tam-o’-shanter cap, standing directly in front of him.

“Off with that cap, young man! Don’t you know enough to salute the officers of your country’s army?”

Berry instantly clutched at her cap, and bowed to each officer in turn.

The three men laughed again, and one of them, whom Berry now recognized as the officer she had seen a few days earlier at Shiloh, and who had been addressed as Colonel Peabody, exclaimed: “Pretty good for a Southern lad. What’s your errand at this camp, my boy?”

“If you please, Colonel Peabody, I want to see General Grant!” Berry replied soberly.

“Sorry, young man, but the General is at his headquarters in Savannah, nine miles down the river! Did you call to ask him to dinner?” responded the officer, smiling kindly down at the brown eyes that rested on his with so serious an expression.

“No, sir; although I am sure we would be pleased to ask him to dinner,” began Berry; but before she could continue, the officers, evidently greatly amused by her response, broke into laughter; and the man who had first spoken said, “Southern hospitality, eh? Well! This boy looks a bit different from most of those I’ve seen! What do you want?” he concluded a little suspiciously, looking at Berry so sharply that, for the first time, she began to feel a little afraid.

“This letter,” and she pulled the brown-covered message from the pocket of her blouse, “I found it and I thought General Grant would like to see it,” and Berry held the letter out toward Colonel Peabody.

“‘To General Johnston at Corinth. RUN,’” he read the inscription aloud; and the three officers gazed at each other in amazement; and a second later Berry felt a firm hand grasp her shoulder.

“So you are a messenger for the Confederate spy, eh? Well, you have come to the wrong camp. What’s your idea in bringing this letter here? Want to count our troops? Pretty clever scheme, wasn’t it?” and the man turned to his companions, who nodded their agreement. They believed Berry had been sent to the camp to secure information for the Confederates, and that the letter had only been an excuse. Colonel Peabody thrust it into his pocket and, keeping a fast hold of Berry’s shoulder, led her toward a near-by tent. “Guess we’ll keep you with us until we march into Corinth,” he said, giving her a little push into the tent, where two soldiers instantly sprang up from a small table.

“Keep your eyes on this boy until I come for him,” commanded the officer, and Berry found herself alone facing the two soldiers, one of whom motioned to a wooden stool and said roughly, “Sit down!”

Berry quickly obeyed. This was a very different reception than the one she had imagined. She began to wish that she had followed Lily’s suggestion and given the letter to her father. Once or twice she started to speak, but one of the men promptly commanded her to “Shut up!” with so rough a voice that Berry did not dare to continue.

She realized that she was a prisoner in the camp of the Union army, and that no one would know where to look for her.

“If I had only told Lily what I meant to do,” she thought mournfully as the hours passed and her hope of a speedy release vanished. But she was resolved that in some way she must escape, and was on the alert for a possible chance to slip out of the tent. Once free from the camp she was sure she could outrun any pursuer.

The hour of noon came, and one of the soldiers sauntered out after his dinner. The other followed him to the entrance urging him to hurry. Berry was sure she would have no better opportunity to make an attempt to escape. In a moment she had slipped from the stool, and creeping behind the unsuspecting soldier, she gave him so sudden and unexpected a push that he stumbled, and she sped past him and was off, running her best toward the steep slope above which stood the camp.

With a yell the soldier was after her; and Berry dared not look backward. She was sure the whole army was in pursuit as she fled down the embankment.