CONCLUSION.
One of the most soul-stirring scenes that Rodney Gray ever witnessed
occurred a short time subsequent to the fall of Vicksburg. He and his
father and Ned Griffin stood on the Baton Rouge levee and saw the
steamer _Imperial_ dash by on her way to New Orleans. The swift vessel,
which came from St. Louis, moved as if she were a living thing and knew
that she was speaking not only to the Confederacy, but to the world. To
the Confederates she said that the last vestige of their power and
authority had disappeared from the Mississippi forever; that its waters
were free to the commerce of the great West, which should nevermore be
interrupted. And to France and England, who had been hoping and plotting
for our downfall, she said that “thenceforth the country was to be one
nation, under one flag, with Liberty and Union forever.”
Exciting and interesting events happened rapidly after that, but we can
touch upon but few of them, for our “War Series” ought to end with the
war record of the characters that have appeared in it. Rodney, who was
waiting impatiently for Sailor Jack to make his appearance, spent the
most of his time on the Baton Rouge levee, so as to be the first to
welcome him when he came up with his trading boat. On one memorable
night he reached home after dark, as he usually did, put his horse into
the stable-yard, and went into the house; and there, just as we found
him on a former occasion, seated in Rodney’s own rocking-chair, with his
feet resting upon the back of another and a book in his hand, was Dick
Graham. When Rodney entered the room Dick merely turned his head
slightly and looked at him as he might have done if they had parted an
hour or two before.
“I always knew you had cheek,” exclaimed Rodney, as soon as he could
speak. “Dick, old boy, how are you?”
“Pretty and well, thank you,” answered Dick, dropping the book and
jumping to his feet.
We shall not attempt to describe that meeting, for we could not do it
justice. Just consider that they have got through gushing over each
other, and that they are sitting down quietly, talking like veterans who
have seen fifteen months of the hardest kind of service.
“I don’t know how I missed seeing you,” said Rodney, “for I was on the
levee almost all day yesterday, and saw every boat that came in. How did
you get home? and where did you leave your folks?”
“I got home easy enough, and left the folks in St. Louis. My discharge
from Bragg’s army put me on the right side of both rebs and Yanks, and
the money you so generously provided brought me all the grub I wanted. I
found the folks at home, but they didn’t remain there long after I
joined them, for there was almost too much guerilla warfare going on in
Kansas and western Missouri to make it pleasant for non-combatants. So
we dug out for St. Louis, and we’ve been there ever since. I couldn’t
get a letter to you, but I knew I could come myself as soon as the river
was opened, and here I am. A pass from the provost marshal took me
through the lines, and Mr. Turnbull was kind enough to hitch up a team
and bring me to your father’s house, where I stopped last night. I heard
some astonishing stories about Marcy and that sailor brother of his, and
am sorry indeed that Marcy has gone home to stay. I should like much to
see him.”
“And he would be delighted to see you, but I don’t look for him until
this trouble is all over. Sailor Jack is liable to come along any day;
and Dick, we’ll go with him and help him buy cotton.”
“Oh, you needn’t think that you and Jack are going to have a picnic,”
replied Dick with a smile. “I talked with some of the officers of the
boat on my way down, and they seemed to think that Uncle Sam’s tin-clads
will have all they can do to keep the river clear of guerillas. They’ll
not let traders take cotton out of the country if they can help it.”
It goes without saying that in Dick Graham’s company Rodney was almost
as happy as he desired to be. He was blessed with perfect health, his
family had in a great measure escaped the horrors of war which fell to
the lot of so many others, there was no cotton in the woods for him to
worry over, the man Lambert, who was a thorn in his side for so many
months, had been sent to Camp Douglas for his merciless persecution of
the Union people in the settlement, his father’s check was good at the
bank for a larger amount than it had ever been before, and one of the
few things Rodney had to wish for now was that the war might end with
the battle of Gettysburg. Many brave soldiers on both sides declared
that would have been the result of the fight if the arrogance of Jeff
Davis had not stood in the way. He continued to slaughter men and
desolate homes in the vain effort to make himself the head of a new
nation. Great battles were yet to be fought to satisfy one man’s
ambition and desire for power. Hood’s army of forty-five thousand men
was to be annihilated at Nashville, and Sherman’s march to the sea
accomplished before the “day of Appomattox” dawned upon the country. And
Sailor Jack was to try his hand at being a trader.
He made his appearance about a week after Dick Graham did, and quite as
unexpectedly, and so the boys were not on the levee to meet him. He
secured a pass from the provost marshal, borrowed a horse, and rode out
to his uncle’s plantation. Dick Graham had never seen him before, but
when he got through shaking hands he was willing to believe that the
sailor was glad to make his acquaintance.
“If I do say it myself I think I am well equipped for the business,”
said Jack in response to Rodney’s inquiries. “My boat is the _Venango_,
which is guaranteed to carry a full deck-load on a heavy dew, my
officers are all river men and my deck-hands whites; for I wasn’t going
to take darkies among the rebels to be captured and sent back into
slavery.”
“Why, Jack,” said Mrs. Gray, “you talk as if you were going into
danger.”
“Well, I am not as sanguine of keeping out of it as I was a few weeks
ago,” said the sailor. “If I can hold fast to the _Venango_ until I can
load up the _Hyperion_ twice, I shall think myself lucky. And I shall
make a good thing out of it besides.”
Mr. Gray did not raise any objections when Rodney and Dick made ready to
accompany Jack to Baton Rouge on the following morning, for he knew that
if he were a boy he would want to go himself. He went with them to the
city, and stood on the levee when the _Venango_ backed away from it and
turned her head up the river. When the boys could no longer distinguish
him among the crowd which had assembled to see them off, they went into
the cabin that Jack occupied in common with the river captain whom he
had hired to run the vessel, and sat down to wait for dinner.
“This looks to me like hunting for a needle in a haystack,” said Rodney.
“How are you going to manage? Do you intend to keep on up the river
until someone hails you with the information that he has cotton to
sell?”
“Not precisely,” laughed Jack. “We don’t do business in that uncertain
way. My first landing will be at a plantation ten miles above Bayou
Sara, if you know where that is, and there I hope to find cotton enough
to load this boat about four times.”
“Why, how did you hear of it?”
“I received my orders from our agent in New Orleans, if that is what you
mean; but how he heard of it I don’t know, and didn’t think to inquire.
I wish this steamer was four times bigger than she is.”
“Why didn’t you charter a large one while you were about it?”
“I couldn’t, for their owners were too anxious to have them go back to
their regular trade, which has so long been interrupted by the blockade
at Vicksburg. They can make more money at it.”
After dinner had been served and eaten in what had once been the
_Venango’s_ passenger cabin, but which was now given over to the use of
the officers of the boat, the boys walked out on the boiler-deck and saw
a stern-wheeler coming toward them with a big bone in her teeth. She was
painted a sort of dirt color that did not show very plainly against the
background of the high bank she was passing, and it was a long time
before the boys could make her out; but they told each other that she
was the oddest looking craft they had ever seen. She had no “Texas”
(that is the name given to the cabin in which the officers sleep), and
her pilot house stood on the roof of her passenger cabin. Her main deck
was not open like the _Venango’s_, but was inclosed with casemates
provided with port-holes, two in the bow and three on the side that was
turned toward them. She was following the channel in the right of the
bend while the light-draft trading boat was holding across the point of
the bar on the opposite side, so that there was the width of the river
between them; but when they came abreast of each other, the stranger’s
bow began swinging around, and in a few minutes she was running back up
the Mississippi in company with the _Venango_, and only a few rods
astern.
“She must be one of the mosquito fleet—a tin-clad,” exclaimed Dick.
“They say the river is full of them, but I didn’t happen to see one on
my way down. She and her kind are intended to fight guerillas.”
“That’s what she is,” said Jack. “And she’s the first I ever saw.”
“But what is she following us for?” asked Rodney. “Perhaps she wants to
see your papers.”
“Then why doesn’t she whistle five times to let me know that she wants
to communicate?” answered Jack. “She is giving us a convoy.”
“It’s very kind of Admiral Porter, or whoever it was told her to do it,”
said Rodney. “If we are to be protected in this way we shall never have
anything to fear from guerillas. She has six broadside guns, two
bow-chasers, and a field howitzer on her roof, nine in all. She ought to
make a good fight.”
“Oh, she will do well enough for guerillas,” said Jack, “but how long do
you imagine she would stay above water if a battery should open on her?”
Jack Gray was not the only one who had little faith in tin-clads, but
some of the most desperate engagements that were fought in Western
waters were fought by these very vessels. If they wanted to go anywhere
they did not stop because there was a battery in their way. Take one
exploit of the _Juliet_ as a fair specimen of what they could do as
often as the exigencies of the service demanded it. When this fleet
little gunboat was commanded by Harry Gorringe, the man who afterward
brought over the Egyptian obelisk that now stands in Central Park, New
York, she carried Admiral Porter past a long line of Confederate
batteries, which poured upon her a fire so accurate and rapid that
thirty-five shells were exploded inside her casemates in less than three
minutes. The engineer on watch was killed with his hand on the throttle,
but her machinery was not touched; and finding that she had come through
the ordeal safe if not sound, she rounded to and went back to help a
vessel which had not been so fortunate as herself. The _Venango’s_
escort kept company with her until she turned in to the plantation where
Jack hoped to obtain his first load of cotton, and then turned about and
went down the river again, Jack and the boys waving their thanks to the
officers who stood on her boiler-deck, and the _Venango’s_ pilot wishing
her good luck and warning the master of the plantation at the same time
by giving a long blast on his whistle.
Sailor Jack began his trading at a fortunate time and under the most
favorable conditions. Not only was he one of the first to enter the
field after Vicksburg fell, but the men with whom his mother’s thirty
thousand dollars enabled him to form partnership were so influential and
shrewd, and had so many ways of finding out things which no one inside
the Union lines was supposed to know anything about, that Jack never
left port without knowing right where to find his next cargo of cotton.
That is to say, he knew it on every occasion except one, and then he was
ordered into a trap which he would have kept out of if he had been left
to himself.
The cotton he found above Bayou Sara was on what was known as the
Stratton plantation, and there was so much of it that he had to make
four trips to carry it to New Orleans, where it was loaded into the
_Hyperion’s_ hold. One day when his own deck-hands and all the
plantation darkies were busy loading for the last run, Jack was
approached by three men in butternut, who wanted to know what he was
giving for cotton, whether he paid in greenbacks or Confederate scrip,
and if he would be willing to run up the river two hundred miles farther
and get a thousand bales that several citizens up there were anxious to
sell.
“Which side of the river is the cotton on?” asked Jack.
“Over there,” said one of the men, pointing toward the opposite shore.
“Too many rebs,” said Jack shortly.
“Thar haint been ary reb in our country fur more’n six months, dog-gone
if thar has,” replied the man earnestly.
“Well, I can’t make any promises. The matter does not rest with me, but
with the agent in New Orleans.”
“I suppose you pay cash on delivery?”
“Hardly. I don’t carry enough money to make it an object for prowling
guerillas to rob me.”
“What’s Stratton got to show fur the cotton of his’n you have tooken
down the river?”
“Due-bills, which will be cashed on sight.”
“But he’ll have to go to New Orleans to have ’em cashed, an’ me an’ my
neighbors dassent go thar. We’ve been in the Confedrit army.”
“Is there no Union man up there whom you can trust to do business for
you?”
“Thar aint one of that sort within forty mile of us.”
“Then you are in a bad way, and I don’t know how you will work it to get
greenbacks for your cotton.”
“Couldn’t you run up there an’ buy it out an’ out if we gin you a little
somethin’ for your trouble?”
“No, I couldn’t. I am not the only trader there is on the river, and if
you watch out you may find somebody willing to take the risk. I am not
willing.”
“They gave up mighty easy,” observed Rodney, as the three men turned
away and walked slowly up the bank.
“Don’t you know the reason?” replied Jack. “They had no use for me when
they found that I don’t carry a large sum of money with me. They haven’t
a bale of cotton, and I doubt if they have been in the rebel army. They
are guerillas and robbers like those in Missouri that Dick told us
about. No doubt I shall have to go up into that country after this lower
river has been cleared of cotton, but I’ll tell the captain to keep as
far from the Arkansaw shore as the channel will let him go.”
This little incident reminded the boys that the war was not yet ended,
and that they might hear more about it at any time. They heard more
about it when they arrived at New Orleans and found the steamer _Von
Phul_ lying at the levee with her cabin shot full of holes. She had been
fired into by a battery of field-pieces twenty miles below Memphis, but
her captain was brave, as most of the river men were, and could not be
stopped as long as his engines were in working order. He reported the
matter to the captain of the first gunboat he met, and the latter
hastened up and shelled the woods until he set them on fire; but the
battery that did the mischief was probably a dozen miles away.
“There’s no telling how long it will be before we shall come here with
our boat looking just like that,” said Jack. “And the worst of it is, we
shall have to take whatever the rebs please to give us without firing a
shot in reply. I don’t like that pretty well.”
But for a long time the _Venango_ was a lucky vessel. She was not
obliged to go very far out of reach of a gunboat to find her cargoes,
for the planters who owned cotton took pains to place it on the river at
points where it would be under Federal protection. But the supply was
exhausted after a while, and then Jack was ordered into the dreaded
Arkansas region, where guerillas were plenty and gunboats and soldiers
stationed far apart. Then their troubles began, and Rodney and Dick
smelled powder again. On one trip the _Venango_ was fired into at three
different points, but owing to her speed and the width of the river,
which was almost bank full, she escaped without a scratch. On another
occasion the rebels shot with better aim, and sent a shell through one
of her smoke-stacks and two more through her cabin; but little damage
was done, for the missiles did not explode until they passed through the
steamer and struck the bank on the opposite side. After that it was
seldom that Jack reported to his agent without adding: “Of course I was
fired into on the way down,” and sometimes he was obliged to say that he
had had men killed or wounded. But that was to be expected. A wooden
boat couldn’t make a business of running batteries at regular intervals
without losing men once in a while.
The winter passed in this way, Rodney and Dick never missing a trip, and
all the while the agent was besieged by planters living along the
Arkansas shore who had cotton to sell, who had permits to ship it and
papers to prove that they had always been loyal to the government, and
who were ready to stake their reputation as gentlemen upon the truth of
the statement that the trading boat that came to their landings would
not run the slightest risk of falling into the hands of guerillas. When
the agent spoke to Jack about it the latter said:
“If you want to take the responsibility, why, all right. If you order me
to go after that cotton I’ll go; but before you do it, I’d like to have
you recall the fact that the trading boats _Tacoma_ and _George
Williams_ were all right and made money until they were sent to the
Arkansas shore, and then they went up in smoke. And every shot that has
been fired at my boat came from the west bank of the river.”
“This cotton is at Horseshoe Bend opposite Friar’s Point,” continued the
agent, “and you will have five or six gunboats within less than a dozen
miles of you.”
“What of that?” replied Jack. “A party of half a dozen men could set
fire to the boat and ride away to Texas before the gunboats would know
anything about it. They might as well be a hundred miles away.”
“And more,” the agent went on, “two of the planters who own this cotton
are willing to remain here as hostages, and they say that if anything
happens to you or your boat we can do what we please with them.”
“What of that?” repeated Jack. “If the _Venango_ is burned, who is going
to punish those hostages? We have no right to do it, and you do not for
a moment suppose that General Banks would interest himself in the
matter? He’s got government business to attend to, and don’t care a cent
what happens to us or any other civilians. I’ll go after the cotton if
you say so, but you’ll never see the _Venango_ again, and the firm will
have to pay for her.”
This frightened the agent for a while, and he told Jack to stay on the
safe side of the river and let the Arkansaw people get their cotton to
market the best way they could. These orders remained in force about
three months, and then came a fateful day when the only cotton the agent
knew anything about was on the Arkansas side, eight miles above
Skipwith’s Landing.
“I really think it will be a safe undertaking,” said the agent, “for you
will be within plain sight of two iron-clads and the ram _Samson_, which
are lying at Skipwith’s.”
“I wouldn’t give that for all the help I’ll get from the whole of them,”
declared Jack, snapping his fingers in the air. “They’ll not know that
trouble has come to me till they see my boat in flames, and how long
will it take one of those tubs of iron-clads to get up steam and run
eight miles against the current of the Mississippi? The _Venango_ will
be in ashes before one of them will come within shelling distance of
us.”
“But there’s the _Samson_. She can run seventeen miles an hour against a
four-mile current.”
“And what is the _Samson_ but a carpenter shop, with no guns and a crew
of darkies? Do you want me to go there or not?”
The agent did what Longstreet is said to have done when General Lee told
him to order Pickett’s useless charge at Gettysburg; he looked down at
the ground and evaded a direct answer.
“We want cotton enough to fill out the _Hyperion’s_ cargo,” said he,
“and that’s the only batch on the river that I have been able to hear
of.”
“Then I’ll start after it in less than an hour; but whether or not I’ll
get it is another and a deeper question. Good-by.”
Jack walked off whistling, for trouble sat lightly on his broad
shoulders, but the moment he stepped on the _Venango’s_ boiler-deck and
faced the two boys sitting there, they knew what had happened as well as
they did when it was explained to them.
“I can see Arkansas written all over you,” exclaimed Rodney.
“And can you see that I want you two to be ready to leave the boat at
Baton Rouge?” replied Jack. “We’ll not make a landing, but just run
close enough to give you a chance to jump.”
“I never could jump worth a cent,” said Dick.
“Look here, Jack, we’re not little boys to be disposed of in any such
way as you propose. We have seen as much service as you have, and if it
is all the same to you we’ll stay here. I am not going home to worry my
folks with the report that you are going into such danger that you
thought it best to drop us overboard,” chimed in Rodney.
“If the guerillas catch us they’ll only put us afoot,” observed Dick.
“That’s what they did with the _Tacoma’s_ crew.”
Good-natured Jack turned on his heel and walked away, showing by his
actions that he did not expect his order to be obeyed. In an hour’s time
the _Venango_ was on her way up the river. She passed Skipwith’s Landing
the next night after dark, running close enough in to give the boys an
indistinct view of the long black hull of the ram _Samson_, lying
alongside the repair shops, and the battle-scarred iron-clads at anchor
a short distance farther up, and in due time she was whistling for the
landing on the Arkansas shore eight miles above. It was dark there, and
the boys could see nothing but a dense forest outlined against the sky,
and not the first sign of a clearing; but that there was somebody on the
watch was made evident a few minutes later, for an iron torch basket
filled with blazing “fat wood,” such as steamers use when making a
landing or coaling at night, was planted upon the levee, and the pilot
steered in by the aid of the light it threw out. There were three men on
the levee and a few bales of cotton near by.
“Is that all you have?” demanded Jack, as the _Venango’s_ bow touched
the bank and a couple of deck-hands sprang ashore with a line.
“What boat is that?” asked one of the men.
Jack gave her name, adding the information that he had been sent there
for cotton, and there wasn’t enough in sight to load a skiff.
“Oh, we’ve got plenty more back there in the woods,” was the answer.
“But I don’t want it back there in the woods,” shouted Jack, from his
perch on the roof. “I want it on the levee where I can get at it.”
“We’ve got teams enough to haul it out faster than you can load it. It’s
all right, cap’n. I had a long talk with your agent only a few days
ago.”
“It’s all wrong, and you may depend upon it,” said Rodney in a low tone.
Jack Gray was of the same opinion, and if he had not been afraid that
the men with whom he was associated in business would accuse him of
cowardice, he would have cut the bow-line, which had by this time been
made fast to a tree on the bank, and backed away with all possible
speed. Instead of doing that, he descended the stairs and walked down
the gang-plank, while Rodney and Dick drew off to one side to compare
notes.
“If it’s all right, what’s the reason they didn’t have the cotton ready
for us?” said the latter.
“That’s what I’d be pleased to know,” said Rodney. “Do you believe
there’s any cotton here?”
“Not a bale except the few you see on the levee, and which were put
there for a blind. Your cousin believes he’s in a trap or else his face
told a wrong story.”
“That’s my opinion, too. Now don’t you think it would be a good plan for
us to put the skiff into the water and go down and tell those gunboats
about it?”
“It might, but what shall we tell them? There’s been nothing done yet,”
replied Dick, as he followed Rodney to the main-deck.
That was true, but there was something done by the time they got the
skiff overboard. It was lying bottom up on the guard just abaft the door
that gave entrance into the engine-room on the port side, that is, the
side away from the bank, and the oars that belonged to it were stowed
under the thwarts. Jack was ashore, the mates were on the forecastle,
the deck-hands busy with the breast and stern lines, the captain was at
his post on the roof, the engineer was at the throttle, slowly turning
the wheel to work the boat broadside to the bank, and there was no one
to observe their movements. Noiselessly they pushed the skiff into the
water, then stepped in and shipped the oars and pulled toward the
steamer’s bow, edging away a little into the darkness so that they could
not be seen by anyone on shore. A subdued exclamation of surprise and
alarm burst from their lips when they pulled far enough ahead so that
they could look over the bow toward the cotton-bales on the bank. There
were a score of men there now, and with the exception of the three who
were there when the boat touched the bank, they were all armed and wore
spurs.
“Guerillas?” whispered Dick.
“Do you think we will have anything to tell the gunboats?” asked Rodney.
“Turn her around and pull the best you know how.”
“It looks cowardly to run away and leave Jack,” replied Dick, laying out
all his strength on his oar.
“We wouldn’t do it if we could help him in any other way. But they won’t
hurt him. It’s the boat they’re after,” said Rodney; but even while the
words were on his lips he could not help wondering if the guerillas did
not expect to find a large sum of money on the boat, and whether their
disappointment would not make them so angry that they would take
vengeance on somebody. But there was no way in which he could stop it
except by bringing a gunboat to the rescue, and with this object in view
he “pulled the best he knew how.” He and Dick kept the skiff in the
channel in order to get the benefit of the current, and in less time
than they thought to do so, brought themselves within hailing distance
of one of the iron-clads.
“Boat ahoy!” shouted a hoarse voice from her deck.
“Trading boat _Venango_!” responded Rodney, hoping to give the officer
of the deck some idea of the nature of their business.
The latter must have heard and understood, for he told them to come
alongside; and when the order had been obeyed, not without a good deal
of difficulty, for the current ran like a mill sluice, and the officer
of the deck had listened to their hasty story, he went below to speak to
the captain, who, after a long delay, sent word for them to be brought
into the cabin. But the sequel proved that he had done something in the
meantime. He had told the ensign on watch to arouse the executive, to
have two companies of small-arm men called away, and to send word to the
_Samson_ to raise steam immediately. Being a regular, the captain lost
no time. After listening to what the boys had to say, he gave them
permission to go aboard the _Samson_ with the small-arm men, and in ten
minutes more the boat that could run seventeen miles an hour against a
four-mile current was ploughing her way up the river at an astonishing
rate of speed. But the guerillas hadn’t wasted any time either. Before
the ram had left the iron-clads a mile astern, a small, bright light,
which grew larger and brighter every instant, shone through the darkness
ahead, and presently the _Venango_ came floating down with the current,
a mass of flame. After robbing her of everything of value, the guerillas
had applied the torch and turned her adrift. But where were Jack Gray
and her crew? This question was answered at day-light the next morning
when Rodney and Dick pulled the skiff back to the landing, where they
found Jack sitting on a cotton-bale, and whittling a stick as composedly
as though such a thing as a guerilla had never been heard of. His crew
were asleep behind the levee, and Jack was keeping watch for a steamer
bound down. The guerillas hadn’t bothered him any to speak of, he said,
although they did swear a little when they learned that he had no money.
They affirmed that if they couldn’t make a dollar a pound out of their
cotton, the Yankees shouldn’t do it, and they would burn every trading
boat that Jack or anybody else put on the river. But they never burned
another boat for Jack. A steamer which came along that afternoon took
him and his crew to New Orleans, and there he took leave of the boys,
who did not see him again for a long time. But before they parted,
however, he showed them a letter from Marcy, in which the latter stated
that Charley Bowen had shipped on a Union gunboat at Plymouth. Being a
deserter from the rebel army, he was afraid to enlist in the land
forces, for if he were captured and recognized he would certainly be
shot to death. He thought there would be little danger of that if he
went to sea.
The trading business having been broken up Rodney was anxious to see his
home once more, and that was where he and Dick started for as soon as
they had seen the _Hyperion_ drop down the river with Jack Gray on
board. Rodney’s father and mother had heard of the loss of the
_Venango_, but they did not know what had become of her company, and the
boys’ return was an occasion for rejoicing. At the end of the month Dick
Graham also went home, and then Rodney was lonely indeed. If he hadn’t
had plenty of work and energy enough to go at it, it is hard to tell
what he would have done with himself. For want of some better way of
passing his leisure moments he made an effort to learn what had become
of Billings, Cole, Dixon, and all the other Barrington boys who had
promised, with him, to enlist in the Confederate army within twenty-four
hours after they reached home. He knew their several addresses, but the
only one he heard from was Dixon, the tall Kentuckian who, good rebel as
he was, always interfered whenever the hot heads among the academy boys
tried to haul down the Old Flag and run the Stars and Bars up in its
place. And the reply he received did not come from Dixon himself but
from his sister, who told Rodney that her brother had been killed at the
head of his regiment while gallantly leading a charge upon a Federal
battery. He went into the Confederate army a private and died a colonel.
“Bully for Dixon,” said Rodney, with tears in his eyes. “He always was a
brave boy.”
At last Atlanta fell, Sherman marched to the sea, the battle of Five
Forks was fought, the grand result of which was to reduce General Lee’s
army of seventy-six thousand to less than twenty-nine thousand men, and
then came the surrender at Appomattox. A short time afterward came also
a joyous letter from Marcy Gray, in which he said that although Plymouth
had once been recaptured by the rebels, aided by their formidable
iron-clad, the _Albemarle_, which had worsted the Union gunboats every
time they met her, the city did not remain in the hands of the enemy any
longer than it took Lieutenant Cushing to blow up the iron-clad with his
torpedo; and then, their main-stay being gone, the rebels again
surrendered. He and his mother had not been troubled in any way since
the night Captain Fletcher took him to Williamston jail. If it had not
been for the papers that occasionally came into their hands, they would
not have known that dreadful battles were being fought in the next
State. There had been peace and quiet in the settlement since Allison,
Goodwin, and Beardsley were bushwhacked. It was a terrible thing for
Christians to do, but the refugees had been driven to it, and through no
fault of their own. The two foragers who were captured on the night that
Ben Hawkins was surprised in his father’s house, and who were sent South
to act as guards at the Andersonville prison pen, had escaped after a
few months’ service, and were now at home with their families. So were
Hawkins and all the rest of the prisoners who were captured and paroled
at Roanoke Island, and they had never been molested. No word had been
received from Charley Bowen since he shipped in the Union Navy, but
Marcy hoped to see him again at no distant day, for he never could
forget that Charley saved his life. Sailor Jack had made a “good thing”
out of his trading, and had promised his mother that he would not go to
sea any more. As a family they were prosperous and hoped to be happy,
now that the cause of the war was dead and the war itself ended. Marcy
concluded his interesting letter by saying:
“While I write, the flag my Barrington girl gave me is waving from the
house-top, and there is not a rebel banner floating to taint the breeze
that kisses it. May it ever be so—one flag, one country, one destiny.”
“Amen,” said Rodney Gray solemnly.
THE END OF THE SERIES.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE
FAMOUS
CASTLEMON
BOOKS.
--------------
BY
HARRY
CASTLEMON.
[Illustration:
Specimen Cover of the Gunboat Series.
]
No author of the present day has become a greater favorite with boys
than “Harry Castlemon;” every book by him is sure to meet with hearty
reception by young readers generally. His naturalness and vivacity lead
his readers from page to page with breathless interest, and when one
volume is finished the fascinated reader, like Oliver Twist, asks “for
more.”
⁂ Any volume sold separately.
-------
=GUNBOAT SERIES.= by Harry Castlemon. 6 vols., 12mo. Fully $7 50
illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=Frank, the Young Naturalist= 1 25
=Frank in the Woods= 1 25
=Frank on the Prairie= 1 25
=Frank on a Gunboat= 1 25
=Prank before Vicksburg= 1 25
=Frank on the Lower Mississippi= 1 25
=GO AHEAD SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully $3 75
illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=Go Ahead=; or, The Fisher Boy’s Motto 1 25
=No Moss=; or, The Career of a Rolling Stone 1 25
=Tom Newcombe=; or, The Boy of Bad Habits 1 25
=ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols., 12mo. $3 75
Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=Frank at Don Carlos’ Rancho= 1 25
=Frank among the Rancheros= 1 25
=Frank in the Mountains= 1 25
=SPORTSMAN’S CLUB SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols., $3 75
12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors.
In box
=The Sportsman’s Club in the Saddle= 1 25
=The Sportsman’s Club Afloat= 1 25
=The Sportsman’s Club among the Trappers= 1 25
=FRANK NELSON SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. $3 75
Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=Snowed Up=; or, The Sportsman’s Club in the Mts 1 25
=Frank Nelson in the Forecastle=; or, The Sportsman’s Club 1 25
among the Whalers
=The Boy Traders=; or, The Sportsman’s Club among the Boers 1 25
=BOY TRAPPER SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols., 12mo. $3 75
Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=The Buried Treasure=; or, Old Jordan’s “Haunt” 1 25
=The Boy Trapper=; or, How Dave Filled the Order 1 25
=The Mail Carrier= 1 25
=ROUGHING IT SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols., 12mo. $3 75
Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=George in Camp=; or, Life on the Plains 1 25
=George at the Wheel=; or, Life in a Pilot House 1 25
=George at the Fort=; or, Life Among the Soldiers 1 25
=ROD AND GUN SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols., 12mo. $3 75
Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=Don Gordon’s Shooting Box= 1 25
=Rod and Gun= 1 25
=The Young Wild Fowlers= 1 25
=FOREST AND STREAM SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols., $3 75
12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors.
In box
=Joe Wayring at Home=; or, Story of a Fly Rod 1 25
=Snagged and Sunk=; or, The Adventures of a Canvas Canoe 1 25
=Steel Horse=; or, The Rambles of a Bicycle 1 25
=WAR SERIES.= By Harry Castlemon. 4 vols., 12mo. Fully 5 00
illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=True to his Colors= 1 25
=Rodney, the Partisan= 1 25
=Marcy, the Blockade Runner= 1 25
=Marcy, the Refugee= 1 25
=OUR FELLOWS=; or, Skirmishes with the Swamp Dragoons. By 1 25
Harry Castlemon. 16mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra
ALGER’S
RENOWNED
BOOKS.
--------------
BY
HORATIO
ALGER, JR.
[Illustration:
Specimen Cover of the Ragged Dick Series.
]
Horatio Alger, Jr., has attained distinction as one of the most popular
writers of books for boys, and the following list comprises all of his
best books.
⁂ Any volume sold separately.
-------
=RAGGED DICK SERIES.= By Horatio Alger, Jr. 6 vols., 12mo. $7 50
Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=Ragged Dick=; or, Street Life in New York 1 25
=Fame and Fortune=; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter 1 25
=Mark, the Match Boy=; or, Richard Hunter’s Ward 1 25
=Rough and Ready=; or, Life among the New York Newsboys 1 25
=Ben, the Luggage Boy=; or, Among the Wharves 1 25
=Rufus and Rose=; or, the Fortunes of Rough and Ready 1 25
=TATTERED TOM SERIES.= (FIRST SERIES.) By Horatio Alger, Jr. 5 00
4 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in
colors. In box
=Tattered Tom=; or, The Story of a Street Arab 1 25
=Paul, the Peddler=; or, The Adventures of a Young Street 1 25
Merchant
=Phil, the Fiddler=; or, The Young Street Musician 1 25
=Slow and Sure=; or, From the Sidewalk to the Shop 1 25
=TATTERED TOM SERIES.= (SECOND SERIES.) 4 vols., 12mo. Fully $5 00
illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=Julius=; or the Street Boy Out West 1 25
=The Young Outlaw=; or, Adrift in the World 1 25
=Sam’s Chance and How He Improved it= 1 25
=The Telegraph Boy= 1 25
=LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES.= (FIRST SERIES.) By Horatio Alger, $5 00
Jr. 4 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra,
printed in colors. In box
=Luck and Pluck=; or John Oakley’s Inheritance 1 25
=Sink or Swim=; or, Harry Raymond’s Resolve 1 25
=Strong and Steady=; or, Paddle Your Own Canoe 1 25
=Strive and Succeed=; or, The Progress of Walter Conrad 1 25
=LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES.= (SECOND SERIES.) By Horatio Alger, $5 00
Jr. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra,
printed in colors. In box
=Try and Trust=; or, The Story of a Bound Boy 1 25
=Bound to Rise=; or Harry Walton’s Motto 1 25
=Risen from the Ranks=; or, Harry Walton’s Success 1 25
=Herbert Carter’s Legacy=; or, The Inventor’s Son 1 25
=CAMPAIGN SERIES.= By Horatio Alger, Jr. 3 vols., 12mo. $3 75
Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In
box.
=Frank’s Campaign=; or, The Farm and the Camp 1 25
=Paul Prescott’s Charge= 1 25
=Charlie Codman’s Cruise= 1 25
=BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES.= By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols., $5 00
12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors.
In box
=Brave and Bold=; or, The Story of a Factory Boy 1 25
=Jack’s Ward=; or, The Boy Guardian 1 25
=Shifting for Himself=; or, Gilbert Greyson’s Fortunes 1 25
=Wait and Hope=; or, Ben Bradford’s Motto 1 25
=PACIFIC SERIES.= By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo. Fully $5 00
illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=The Young Adventurer=; or, Tom’s Trip Across the Plains 1 25
=The Young Miner=; or, Tom Nelson in California 1 25
=The Young Explorer=; or, Among the Sierras 1 25
=Ben’s Nugget=; or, A Boy’s Search for Fortune. A Story of 1 25
the Pacific Coast
=ATLANTIC SERIES.= By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols., 12mo. $5 00
Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=The Young Circus Rider=; or, The Mystery of Robert Rudd 1 25
=Do and Dare=; or, A Brave Boy’s Fight for Fortune 1 25
=Hector’s Inheritance=; or, Boys of Smith Institute 1 25
=Helping Himself=; or, Grant Thornton’s Ambition 1 25
=WAY TO SUCCESS SERIES.= By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols., $5 00
12mo. Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors.
In box
=Bob Burton= 1 25
=The Store Boy= 1 25
=Luke Walton= 1 25
=Struggling Upward= 1 25
--------------
NEW BOOK BY ALGER.
=DIGGING FOR GOLD.= By Horatio Alger, Jr. Illustrated 12mo. 1 25
Cloth, black, red and gold
A
New Series
of Books.
--------------
Indian Life
and
Character
Founded on
Historical
Facts.
[Illustration:
Specimen Cover of the Wyoming Series.
]
By Edward S. Ellis.
⁂ Any volume sold separately.
----------
=BOY PIONEER SERIES.= By Edward S. Ellis. 3 vols., 12mo. $3 75
Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=Ned in the Block House=; or, Life on the Frontier 1 25
=Ned in the Woods.= A Tale of the Early Days in the West 1 25
=Ned on the River= 1 25
=DEERFOOT SERIES.= By Edward S. Ellis. In box containing the $3 75
following. 3 vols., 12mo. Illustrated
=Hunters of the Ozark= 1 25
=Camp in the Mountains= 1 25
=The Last War Trail= 1 25
=LOG CABIN SERIES.= By Edward S. Ellis. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully $3 75
illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=Lost Trail= 1 25
=Camp Fire and Wigwam= 1 25
=Footprints in the Forest= 1 25
=WYOMING SERIES.= By Edward S. Ellis. 3 vols., 12mo. Fully $3 75
illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=Wyoming= 1 25
=Storm Mountain= 1 25
=Cabin in the Clearing= 1 25
----------
NEW BOOKS BY EDWARD S. ELLIS.
=Through Forest and Fire.= 12mo. Cloth 1 25
=On the Trail of the Moose.= 12mo. Cloth 1 25
By C. A. Stephens.
-------
Rare books for boys—bright, breezy, wholesome and instructive; full of
adventure and incident, and information upon natural history. They blend
instruction with amusement—contain much useful and valuable information
upon the habits of animals, and plenty of adventure, fun and jollity.
=CAMPING OUT SERIES.= By C. A. Stephens. 6 vols., 12mo. $7 50
Fully illustrated. Cloth, extra, printed in colors. In box
=Camping Out.= As recorded by “Kit” 1 25
=Left on Labrador=; or The Cruise of the Schooner Yacht 1 25
“Curfew.” As recorded by “Wash”
=Off to the Geysers=; or, The Young Yachters in Iceland.
As recorded by “Wade” 1 25
=Lynx Hunting.= From Notes by the author of “Camping Out” 1 25
=Fox Hunting.= As recorded by “Raed” 1 25
=On the Amazon=; or, The Cruise of the “Rambler.” As 1 25
recorded by “Wash”
----------
By J. T. Trowbridge.
These stories will rank among the best of Mr. Trowbridge’s books for the
young—and he has written some of the best of our juvenile literature.
=JACK HAZARD SERIES.= By J. T. Trowbridge. 6 $7 50
vols., 12mo. Fully Illustrated. Cloth, extra,
printed in colors. In box
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.
The following issues should be noted, along with the resolutions.
167.11 would have bee[e]n a national loss. Removed.
183.11 I lost no time in tak[ing] off my side-arms Added. Line
break error.
204.1 when we get ready [to ]take charge Added. Page
break error.
437.17 the money you so gener[er]ously provided Removed.
End of Project Gutenberg's Sailor Jack, The Trader, by Harry Castlemon