“Kick him in the ribs, Sam!”

“Now, Abe, yer’ve got him—­crack the damn cuss’s neck.”

“By golly! that’s the way we do it in ol’ Salem.”

“He’s got yer now, Jenkins, he’s got yer now—­good boy, Abe.”

Exactly what occurred I could not see, but when the circle of wildly excited men finally broke apart, the big rebel was lying flat on his back in the yellow mud, and the irate officer was indicating every inclination to press him down out of sight.

“Hav’ yer hed ’nough, Sam Jenkins?” he questioned, breathlessly.  “Then, blame ye, say so.”

“All right, Abe—­yer’ve bested me this time.”

“Will yer tote them passels?”

The discomfited Jenkins, one of whose eyes was closed, and full of clay, attempted a sickly grin.

“Hell! yes,” he admitted, “I’d sure admire ter dew it.”

The conqueror released his grip, and stood up, revealing his full height, and reaching out for the discarded blouse, quietly slipped it on.  One of the Adventurer’s passengers, an officer in uniform, going ashore, another tall, spare man, had halted on the gangplank to watch the contest.  Now he stepped forward to greet the victor, with smiling eyes and outstretched hand.

“Not so badly done, Captain,” he said cordially.  “I am Lieutenant Jefferson Davis, of General Atcheson’s staff, and may have a good word to say regarding your efficiency some time.”

The other wiped his clay-bespattered fingers on his dingy Jean pants, and gripped the offered hand, appearing homelier than ever because of a smear of blood on one cheek.

“Thank ye, sir,” he answered good humoredly.  “I’m Abe Lincoln, of Salem, Illinoy, an’ I ain’t got but just one job right now—­that’s ter make them boys tote this stuff, an’ I reckon they’re goin’ ter do it.”

With the exchange of another word or two they parted, and not until thirty years later did I realize what that chance meeting meant, there in the clay mud of Yellow Banks, at the edge of the Indian wilderness, when Abraham Lincoln, of Illinois, and Jefferson Davis, of Mississippi, stood in comradeship with clasped hands.

I recognized the majority of those disembarking passengers who passed by me within a few feet, but saw nothing of Kirby, the deputy sheriff, or caught any glimpse of their prisoners.  The only conclusion was that they still remained on board.  I was not at all surprised at this, as their intention undoubtedly was to continue with the steamer, and return south the moment the cargo of commissary and quartermaster’s stores had been discharged.  Neither had any interest in the war, and there was nothing ashore to attract them which could not be comfortably viewed from the upper deck.  It was safer far to keep close guard over their charges, and see that they remained out of sight.

We had unloaded perhaps a quarter of our supplies, when an officer suddenly appeared over the crest of the bank and hailed the captain.  There was a tone of authority in his voice which caused us to knock off work and listen.