There was a shot from the bank. The soldiers sprang to their arms and places, and everybody was ready for business in a moment. The shot had been fired from a clump of trees on the left bank of the river, and as the trees were encumbered with thick underbrush it was impossible to see any one who might be lurking there.

The river at this point was not more than fifty yards in width, so that any assailants would have the boats in very short range. But not another shot was heard, and as the boats one after another drifted past the point, their crews reached the conclusion that the bushwhackers had concluded to seek safety in flight, or, what amounted to the same thing, by making no further demonstration.

A mile or so farther down two of the boats went aground on a bar, and it required a great deal of effort to get them off. Had they been attacked at this point they would have been at a disadvantage, as their assailants could have chosen their own distance, and had the protection of the trees and brushwood along the banks. Harry and Jack began to wish they had stuck to the road rather than essayed naval service in Arkansas waters, where there was no chance of running away in case the enemy proved too strong for them. If they could not resist successfully they had no alternative but to surrender; and, as Harry expressed it, they didn't like to “go around surrendering.”

An hour or more was lost at the point where the boats took the ground, and when night came on little more than half the distance to Jacksonport had been accomplished. The boats were tied up to the northern bank, which was considered safer than the southern one, at a point not more than a mile from the road taken by the army. The chance of bushwackers venturing so near was not great, but a careful watch was kept to avoid surprise.

Early next morning the boats were under way again, and before nightfall they had arrived safely at Jacksonport, where the advance of the army had encamped and was waiting for the rest of the column and also for the boats.

The union of the Black river with the White did not give sufficient water for the steamboats with supplies to ascend from below, and General Curtis learned that they could not be expected to come further up than Clarendon, seventy-five miles below Jacksonport. The only thing to do was to follow the road and river to Clarendon, and after a halt of five days the march was continued. Before the army started on its new march it was reinforced by the arrival of the Second Wisconsin Cavalry which had expected to join it at Batesville. It had marched from Springfield without encountering an enemy at any point, though reports were current of large forces which would obstruct any movements through the country.

Harry and Jack concluded to adhere to the fortunes of the navy in its further descent of the river, and when the boats dropped off to float away with the current they retained their places on the “Cordelia.” The boats were ordered to proceed to Grand Glaise, twelve miles below Jacksonport, and there wait further orders. The army at the same time took up its line of march through the hills and swampy ground east of the river, and was not expected to join the boats until reaching Augusta, thirty-five miles from Jacksonport. A regiment of cavalry was ordered to keep in the neighborhood of the boats to be ready to aid them in case of necessity, which was not long in coming.

The Sixth Missouri Cavalry met the boats at Grand Glaise and ordered them to proceed to Augusta, and on they floated with the sluggish current, winding among the hills and forests that skirt the stream. Colonel Wood, who commanded the cavalry regiment, said good-bye to Captain Wadsworth and started for the main army, but before going far he heard brisk firing from the dense bushes lining the banks of the river just below Grand Glaise.

Hastily returning, he found the boats had been fired upon, and this time with more effect than before. Captain Wadsworth was severely wounded, and some of his men were slightly injured, but nobody was killed.

Harry had a very narrow escape. When the firing began he was working one of the sweeps to bring the boat into the current, it having threatened to run upon a bar that projected from the northern shore. A bullet struck the huge oar on which he was pulling, and buried itself in the wood within an inch of his hand; another passed through the top of his hat, and still another lodged in the cotton-bale which formed his shelter. The men on the boats promptly returned the fire, and by the time the cavalry reached the spot the assailants had mounted their horses and disappeared in the forest. How many there were of them no one could say, as the density of the forest was a complete shield for them. Natives in the vicinity reported nineteen killed, but this was doubtless an exaggeration, as there were probably not above that number of them altogether. The bushes were not searched, either by the crews of the boats or the cavalry; the latter were too much engrossed with the pursuit of the assailants to look for dead or wounded rebels, and the former did not deem it at all prudent to venture ashore.

From this point the boats continued unmolested to Augusta, where it was decided not to try to take them further, as the road lay too far from the river to enable the army to come promptly to their support, and the country was said to be swarming with bushwhackers. All the provisions and other stores on the boats were taken ashore, and the boats and their bulwarks of cotton were set on fire and burned. The pilot who had accompanied them thus far was paid off, but he decided that it might not be safe for him to return to Batesville, as his neighbors would accuse him of being altogether too friendly with the Yanks. He was sorry he had n't thought of it before, or he would n't have ventured down the river at all.

It was the fourth of July when the army reached Augusta, and a salute was fired in honor of the national independence. Our young friends found their horses all right and safe in the hands of the friends to whom they had been intrusted, and it is safe to say that both Harry and Jack rejoiced to be once more in the saddle.

The old fever for scouting came upon them, and as the army was short of provisions they proceeded to hunt up something for feeding purposes. In the outskirts of the town they found a deposit of corn which had been carefully concealed, and had already missed the sharp eyes of several squads of soldiers. There were nearly a hundred bushels of it, and following up their success they came upon another store of still larger amount. In a clump of forest, half a mile or so out of Augusta, they unearthed more than a wagon-load of bacon; and altogether their labors were of material advantage to the little army, which had been disappointed by the failure of the transports and gun-boats to ascend the river.

After their return from the discovery of the bacon, an old negro sidled up to Harry and said he could tell him something he would like to know.

“Out with it,” said Harry. “Don't keep me waiting. What is it you want to tell me?”

“Hole on a bit, young massa,” said the negro. “Dere ain't no hurry 'bout it.”

“Well, I'm in a hurry,” said Harry, “and if you've any talking to do, fire away.”

“Now just look a-heah,” said the darky, “an' I'll tell yer. 'Fi tell somethin' yer want to know real bad, 'll yer give me my free-papers?”

“Certainly,” was Harry's reply; “if you give us any information that's true and useful, you 'll get your free-papers fast enough.”

“Dat's all I want ter know,” continued the colored citizen; “and dis is what I'se gwine ter say.”

Harry listened patiently while the negro with much circumlocution told him of a barn full of provisions which had been accumulated, about two miles out of town, waiting for a favorable opportunity to ship them to the rebel army or to Memphis, which was then the depot from which a large part of the forces in the West were supplied. When convinced that the negro was telling the truth, Harry quickly reported the circumstance to General Vandever and a detail of cavalry was sent to take possession. The negro did n't want to go along with the party, as it would involve him in suspicion which would be bad for him in future, but he gave such minute directions that there was no mistaking the place.

They found the barn and also the provisions. The owner of the place at first denied all knowledge that anything was concealed there, and said they were welcome to anything they could find, but as soon as the discovery was made he assumed a different air altogether. He professed to be a union man, and explained that he had hidden the stuff away to save it from going to the rebels. “I would rather,” said he, “see it all burned up than into a rebel mouth; that's the kind of union man I am.”

The army remained two days at Augusta, and then took up its line of march for Clarendon, where the transports were said to have arrived under convoy of a gunboat. The country between Jacksonport and Clarendon is one of the finest regions of eastern Arkansas. A short distance from the river the bluffs along the stream fall away into low hills and gentle undulations, which become less distinct until at the divide between the White and St. Francis rivers the land becomes an almost unbroken level. A portion of this flat, alluvial country is in many places covered with canebrakes, and is often overflowed in the season of high water. At such times it becomes an almost impassable succession of swamps and quagmires. But at the time our friends traversed it the ground was dry and hard and offered no obstacle to passage save occasionally at the crossings of creeks and rivulets.

Interspersed among these lowlands is a succession of higher grounds, which are level and rarely broken by anything like an elevation. These lands are excellent for cotton, and down to the opening of the war they had annually sent a good supply of the textile plant to market. Cotton was raised there in 1861 to some extent, but in 1862, by orders of the Confederate government, much of the cotton land through the South was planted with corn. The valley of the White river was no exception to the rule, and as our army moved along it passed many fields of corn, of which the ears, just then sufficiently advanced to be edible, formed a welcome addition to the scanty stores possessed by the commissary department. As a single article of diet, green corn is not to be recommended, but when combined with other things it is, as everybody knows, a thing not to be despised.

Every few miles the advance of the army came upon trees felled across the roads, and considerable time was lost in removing these obstructions. From the negroes it was learned that there was a considerable force of rebels at the town of Des Arc, on the east bank of White river, about half-way between Augusta and Clarendon. They were said to be about six thousand strong, and to consist mainly of Arkansas and Texas mounted men, under command of General Rust. As they were at a convenient striking distance from the road which General Curtis was following, it was thought quite likely they would make an attack at some point where they could fight to advantage, and the result proved the correctness of this belief.

Several timber obstructions were encountered, most of them at the crossings of small creeks, but nothing was seen of an enemy until the point was reached where the road from Des Arc joins the main one, about ten miles to the east of that town. Here was the plantation of Colonel Hill, an officer of the Confederate army, and his residence and buildings were at the junction of the roads, in the southwest angle. North of the Des Arc road was a cotton-gin and press, and close by were two aboriginal mounds of unknown date. Colonel Hill was then blessed with his third wife, and the graves of her two predecessors were on the tops of these mounds, each one surrounded by a fence of white palings. “It must have been,” said Harry, afterwards, “a cheerful thing for the third wife to contemplate the graves on these mounds and wonder when her turn would come and where she would be placed.” Jack thought the colonel ought to put up another mound, so as to have everything ready for the good lady's demise.

The country around the junction of the road had been cleared for cotton-fields, but a little way beyond it the forests were dense and afforded good cover for an enemy. The mounted men, in advance, with whom were Harry and Jack, discovered signs of an enemy lurking in the timber south of Hill's house, and word was sent to bring up the infantry. Harry rode back to carry the order, and in a little while the infantry had come forward and was ready for business. The Thirty-third Illinois and the Eleventh Wisconsin were the ones selected for the work; they deployed as skirmishers, and soon exchanged shots with the rebels, who were spread out in the timber. The two union regiments were not more than six hundred strong; they were opposed by about fifteen hundred rebels, but the disparity of numbers was balanced by the superiority of the weapons of the former and their good drill and discipline. The rebel forces consisted of some very raw cavalry from Arkansas and Texas, and some newly-assembled conscripts who had not been in camp many days and knew practically nothing about military life.

Soon as the firing began to have anything like vigor to it the conscripts fled in disorder, but the Texan troops stood their ground very well. As our right approached the enemy's left it was met by a volley which caused two of the companies to fall back a little; the rebels undertook to follow up the advantage thus gained, and to do so emerged from the wood into the open ground.

Here they were met by volleys of musketry and by rapid discharges of grape from two steel howitzers which were brought forward by the First Indiana Cavalry. This welcome was too much for the rebels, who broke and fled from the field, leaving a good many of their men dead or wounded. Some of them retreated to Des Arc, and others along the road to the south. It was afterwards reported that three or four thousand men were marching from Des Arc to join them, but were unable to get across the Cache river, which is too deep to be forded and the single ferry-boat was not able to bring them over in time to be of use. When it was found that the other force had been defeated, they gave up the attempt to interrupt the advance of the union army and marched back to Des Arc.