Sometimes their hope of deliverance was cruelly blighted by hearing of some adventurous soul who, having escaped to the Union army, had been pursued and returned again to bondage.  Yet hope survived all these disasters which gathered around the fate of their unfortunate brethren, who were remanded to slavery through the undiscerning folly of those who were strengthening the hands which were dealing their deadliest blows at the heart of the Nation.  But slavery had cast such a glamour over the Nation, and so warped the consciences of men, that they failed to read aright the legible transcript of Divine retribution which was written upon the shuddering earth, where the blood of God’s poor children had been as water freely spilled.

CHAPTER II.

CONTRABAND OF WAR.

A few evenings after this conversation between Robert and Linda, a prayer-meeting was held.  Under the cover of night a few dusky figures met by stealth in McCullough’s woods.

“Howdy,” said Robert, approaching Uncle Daniel, the leader of the prayer-meeting, who had preceded him but a few minutes.

“Thanks and praise; I’se all right.  How is you, chile?”

“Oh, I’m all right,” said Robert, smiling, and grasping Uncle Daniel’s hand.

“What’s de news?” exclaimed several, as they turned their faces eagerly towards Robert.

“I hear,” said Robert, “that they are done sending the runaways back to their masters.”

“Is dat so?” said a half dozen earnest voices.  “How did you yere it?”

“I read it in the papers.  And Tom told me he heard them talking about it last night, at his house.  How did you hear it, Tom?  Come, tell us all about it.”

Tom Anderson hesitated a moment, and then said:—­

“Now, boys, I’ll tell you all ’bout it.  But you’s got to be mighty mum ’bout it.  It won’t do to let de cat outer de bag.”

“Dat’s so!  But tell us wat you yered.  We ain’t gwine to say nuffin to nobody.”

“Well,” said Tom, “las’ night ole Marster had company.  Two big ginerals, and dey was hoppin’ mad.  One ob dem looked like a turkey gobbler, his face war so red.  An’ he sed one ob dem Yankee ginerals, I thinks dey called him Beas’ Butler, sed dat de slaves dat runned away war some big name—­I don’t know what he called it.  But it meant dat all ob we who com’d to de Yankees should be free.”

“Contraband of war,” said Robert, who enjoyed the distinction of being a good reader, and was pretty well posted about the war.  Mrs. Johnson had taught him to read on the same principle she would have taught a pet animal amusing tricks.  She had never imagined the time would come when he would use the machinery she had put in his hands to help overthrow the institution to which she was so ardently attached.

“What does it mean?  Is it somethin’ good for us?”

“I think,” said Robert, a little vain of his superior knowledge, “it is the best kind of good.  It means if two armies are fighting and the horses of one run away, the other has a right to take them.  And it is just the same if a slave runs away from the Secesh to the Union lines.  He is called a contraband, just the same as if he were an ox or a horse.  They wouldn’t send the horses back, and they won’t send us back.”