I laid before my companion the rather dubious prospect, that the orders were strict that no man should be ferried across the river; the ferryman was faithful to the South; he had been conscientious in his refusal to many applications; no sum would induce him to risk his neck, &c.  All this I had heard from his lips, backed with a quantum sufficit of oaths, which for once I was rather willing to hear, having already learned that the man who accompanies his statements with a gratuitous and profuse profanity, is not usually brave to make them good when the trial comes.  To his boastful words that “no white-livered traitor to the Southern cause should ever cross that ferry to give information to the Yankees,” I fully assented, and advised him, to be doubly on his guard, as the Federals were not far off, not hinting that I wanted to cross.  Yet my purpose was formed:  we must cross the river that night, and this man must take us over, as there was no other hope of escape.  Having laid the plan before my companion, as evening drew on I again sought the cabin of the retired ferryman.  My second appearance was explained by the statement that I had got off the road, and wandering in the woods, had come round to the same place.  This was literally true, though I must admit it did not give to him an impression of the whole truth.  A rigid casuist might question the truthfulness of my statement to the Secession ferryman; but a man fleeing for his life, and hunted by a relentless enemy, has not much time to settle questions in casuistry.

After taking supper with the ferryman, we walked out smoking and chatting.  By degrees I succeeded in taking him down near the ferry, and there sat down on the bank to try the effect upon his avaricious heart of the sight of some gold which I had purchased at Montgomery.  His eyes glistened as he examined an eagle with unwonted eagerness, while we talked of the uncertain value of paper-money, and the probable future value of Confederate scrip.

As the time drew near when my companion, according to agreement, was to ride boldly to the river, I stepped down to take a look at his unused flat.  He, of course, walked with me.  While standing with my foot upon the end of his boat, I heard the tramp of the horses, and said to him, in a quiet tone—­“Here is an eagle; you must take me and my companion over.”  He remonstrated, and could not risk his life for that, &c.  Another ten dollars was demanded and paid, the horses were in the flat, and in two minutes we were off for—­home.

During that dark and uncertain voyage, I had time not only to coax into quietness my restive horse, but also to conclude that it would never do to dismiss our Charon on the other bank, as half an hour might put on our track a squad of cavalry, who, in our ignorance of the roads and country, would soon return us to Rebeldom and a rope.  A man who would take twenty dollars for twenty minutes’ work, after swearing