who voted against me. So Gray is going to Missouri, is he? Good riddance. He'll have to go in as private, and that will bring him down a peg or two."
Yes, Rodney calculated to go in as private if he got in at all, but the prospect did not in the least dampen his ardor. Contrary to his expectations his mother did not say one word to turn him from his purpose; but good Southerner that she was, she heartily condemned the circumstances which, according to her way of thinking, made the parting necessary.
"I wish the Mayflower had been sunk fathoms deep in the ocean before she ever touched Plymouth Rock," she said to her husband. "The spirit of intolerance those Puritans brought over here with them is what is taking our boy from us now. No punishment that I can think of would be too severe for them."
Rodney lived in hopes that some of the company would ride out to see him during the course of the evening, but midnight came without bringing any of them, and the disappointed Barrington boy, giving his mother the last good-night kiss he imprinted upon her lips for more than fifteen long months, went to bed satisfied that he was to be left to work out his own destiny, with no Mooreville friend to encourage or advise him. He slept but little, but appeared at the breakfast table as fresh as a daisy and – dressed in citizen's clothing.
"This is a pill I don't like to swallow," said he, opening his coat and looking down at himself. "I said I wouldn't take off my gray uniform until the South had gained her independence; but I didn't know at the time that I would find it necessary to pass through the enemy's lines. Don't look so sober, mother. I just know I shall come out all right. I'll surely write when I reach St. Louis, and again the very day I find Dick Graham."
That was not a cheerful breakfast table, although every one tried to make it so. Before the meal was half over the family carriage, with Rodney's small trunk inside and his horse hitched behind, drew up at the door, and a crowd of weeping servants gathered about the foot of the wide stone steps to bid "young moster" good-by. Rodney saw it all through the window, and when he got ready to start stood not on the order of going, but cut short the parting and went at once. He arose from his chair before he had finished his second cup of coffee, put on his hat and light overcoat and turned toward his mother.
"Good-by, my dear boy," she said, in tones so firm and cheerful that Rodney was astonished. "Whatever fate may have in store for me, I hope I shall never hear that you failed to do your duty as a soldier."
There were no tears in her eyes – she was past that now – but didn't she suffer?
"The mother who conceals her grief
While to her breast her son she presses,
Then breathes a few brave words and brief
Kissing the patriot brow she blesses,
With no one but her secret God
To know the pain that weighs upon her —
Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod
Received on Freedom's field of honor!"
How many such partings there were all over this fair land of ours, brought about by the ambition of demagogues so few in number that we can count them on our fingers!
Rodney's heart was so full that he could not reply to his mother's brave words. Now that the test had come he found that he had less fortitude than she had. He gave her one kiss, gently disengaged himself from her clinging arms and bolted for the door.
"De good Lawd bless young moster an' bring him safe back," cried the tearful blacks, when he appeared at the top of the steps. "Dem babolitionists aint got no call to come down here an' take him away from us. We-uns never done nuffin' to dem."
"That's just what I say," answered Rodney. "And I am going to help lick them for bringing on this trouble when we wanted peace. Good-by, one and all. I'll be back as soon as we have run the Yankees out of Missouri, and that will not take more than two or three months."
Rodney tried to get into the carriage, but the black hands that were extended to him from every side barred his way, and much against his will he was obliged to linger long enough to give each of them a hasty grasp and shake. The only one who stood aloof was the black boy who had been Rodney's playmate when the two wore pinafores, and he leaned against the corner of the house and howled piteously. Rodney felt relieved when the coachman banged the door of the carriage and mounted to his seat and drove off. His only traveling companion was his father, who intended to remain in Baton Rouge until he had seen the boy start on his way up the river.
It was dark when they reached the city, and after Rodney's horse and his trappings had been left at a stable (civilian trappings they were too, for Rodney was afraid that a military saddle and bridle would attract attention and lead to inquiries that he might not care to answer), the coachman drove them to the house of a friend where they were to find entertainment until a St. Louis boat appeared.
"I am glad you did not go to a hotel," said their host, when he had given them a cordial welcome. "I heard last night that your entire company was going up the river, and that the authorities were thinking strongly of putting the last one of you under arrest."
Rodney and his father were speechless with astonishment.
"What business would they have to put us in arrest?" exclaimed the former, as soon as he found his tongue.
"How did the authorities learn that the Rangers had any notion of going up the river?" asked Mr. Gray.
"I am sure I don't know," answered the host. "But it was currently reported on the street yesterday afternoon that the Mooreville company had mutinied, and that the Baton Rouge Rifles might have to go out there and bring them to a sense of their duty."
"Well, if that isn't the most outrageous falsehood that was ever circulated about a lot of honest men I wouldn't say so," exclaimed Rodney, who had never in his life been more amazed. "We didn't mutiny. We simply refused to be sworn into the service of the Confederate States, and that was something we had a right to do. I will tell you how that story got abroad," he added, suddenly. "There's some one in Mooreville who wants to get us into trouble, and I think I know who it is."
At this moment the door was softly opened and a darkey put his head into the room to announce:
"Da's a gentleman in de back pa'lor wants to see Moster Rodney."
CHAPTER V
A WARNING
"A gentleman to see me?" repeated Rodney, his surprise and indignation giving place to a feeling of uneasiness. "Who is he? What's his name?"
"I dunno, sah," replied the servant. "I never seen him round here afore."
Wondering who the visitor could be and how he knew where to find him, seeing that he and his father had not been in that house more than half an hour, the Harrington boy arose and followed the servant into the back parlor. Whom he expected to meet when he got there it is hard to tell, but it is certain that he felt greatly relieved when he found that the visitor was a Mooreville boy – a "student" in the telegraph office. His uneasy feelings vanished at once only to return with redoubled force when Griffin – that was the visitor's name – said in a loud, earnest whisper:
"Shut the door tight and come up close so that you can hear every word I say. I am liable to get myself into the worst kind of a scrape by trying to befriend you."
"The door is all right, and besides there are no eavesdroppers in this house," answered Rodney. "What in the world is the matter, and why are you likely to get yourself into trouble by coming here?"
"Have you heard anything since you have been in town?" asked Griffin,
