Railways—­even those having a more than nominal equipment of rails and rolling stock—­were unavailable for secret conveyance of the cotton.  Navigating the Alabama and Tombigbee rivers were a few small steamboats, the half-dozen pilots familiar with these streams exacting one hundred dollars a day for their services; but our agents, backed by military authority, were at all the principal shipping points and no boat could leave without their consent.  The port of Mobile was in our hands and the lower waters were patrolled by gunboats.  Cotton might, indeed, be dumped down a “slide” by night at some private landing and fall upon the deck of a steamer idling innocently below.  It might even arrive at Mobile, but secretly to transfer it to a deep-water vessel and get it out of the country—­that was a dream.

On the movement of private cotton we put no restrictions; and such were the freight rates that it was possible to purchase a steamboat at Mobile, go up the river in ballast, bring down a cargo of cotton and make a handsome profit, after deducting the cost of the boat and all expenses of the venture, including the wage of the pilot.  With no great knowledge of “business” I venture to think that in Alabama in the latter part of the year of grace 1865 commercial conditions were hardly normal.

Nor were social conditions what I trust they have now become.  There was no law in the country except of the unsatisfactory sort known as “martial,” and that was effective only within areas covered by the guns of isolated forts and the physical activities of their small garrisons.  True, there were the immemorial laws of self-preservation and retaliation, both of which were liberally interpreted.  The latter was faithfully administered, mostly against straggling Federal soldiers and too zealous government officials.  When my chief had been ordered to Selma he had arrived just in time to act as sole mourner at the funeral of his predecessor—­who had had the bad luck to interpret his instructions in a sense that was disagreeable to a gentleman whose interests were affected by the interpretation.  Early one pleasant morning shortly afterward two United States marshals were observed by the roadside in a suburb of the town.  They looked comfortable enough there in the sunshine, but each

      had that across his throat
  Which you had hardly cared to see.

When dispatched on business of a delicate nature men in the service of the agency had a significant trick of disappearing—­they were of “the unreturning brave.”  Really the mortality among the unacclimated in the Selma district at that time was excessive.  When my chief and I parted at dinner time (our palates were not in harmony) we commonly shook hands and tried to say something memorable that was worthy to serve as “last words.”  We had been in the army together and had many a time gone into battle without having taken that precaution in the interest of history.