of Mrs. General Dana. Can you
take me in?" I said to this person.

After some hesitation he consented to try, it being agreed that my mount
and outfit should be his if he got me through; no trade if he failed.

Clearly the way ahead was brightening. I soon ascertained that I was
with friends, loyal Confederates. Then I told them who I was, and all
became excitement for the next day's adventure.

We drove down to the Federal outpost. Crenshaw--that was the name of the
cotton buyer--showed his pass to the officer in command, who then turned
to me. "Captain," I said, "I have no pass, but I am a nephew of Mrs.
General Dana. Can you not pass me in without a pass?" He was very
polite. It was a chain picket, he said; his orders were very strict, and
so on.

"Well," I said, "suppose I were a member of your own command and were
run in here by guerillas. What do you think would it be your duty to
do?"

"In that case," he answered, "I should send you to headquarters with a
guard."

"Good!" said I. "Can't you send me to headquarters with a guard?"

He thought a moment. Then he called a cavalryman from the outpost.

"Britton," he said, "show this gentleman in to General Dana's
headquarters."

Crenshaw lashed his horse and away we went. "That boy thinks he is a
guide, not a guard," said he. "You are all right. We can easily get rid
of him."

This proved true. We stopped by a saloon and bought a bottle of whisky.
When we reached headquarters the lad said, "Do you gentlemen want me
any more?" We did not. Then we gave him the bottle of whisky and he
disappeared round the corner. "Now you are safe," said Crenshaw. "Make
tracks."

But as I turned away and out of sight I began to consider the situation.
Suppose that picket on the outpost reported to the provost marshal
general that he had passed a relative of Mrs. Dana? What then? Provost
guard. Drumhead court-martial. Shot at daylight. It seemed best to play
out the hand as I had dealt it. After all, I could make a case if I
faced it out.

The guard at the door refused me access to General Dana. Driven by a
nearby hackman to the General's residence, and, boldly asking for Mrs.
Dana, I was more successful. I introduced myself as a teacher of music
seeking to return to my friends in the North, working in a word about
the old Washington days, not forgetting "Charley" and "Mamie." The
dear little woman was heartily responsive. Both were there, including a
pretty girl from Phi