"Well, whose clothes, then, Uncle Ephraim? You know I couldn't get into the citizen's clothes I left at home. I'm three inches taller, and a deal stouter. And it would be dangerous to try to buy clothes."
"Lissen; I disremembered dere wuz a trunk in de garret what wuz brung down from de Devrett place when de Yankees tore down de house an' built de fort. It b'longed ter yer cousin Frank's wife's brother, an' wuz sent home atter de war broke out when he died in some outlandish place—I dunno whar, in heathen land. As I knowed he wuz tall an' spare, I 'lowed de cloes mought fit dee. So I opened de trunk—an' de cloes wuz comical; but not as comical as a Rebel uniform in dese days an' dis place."
Julius had a vague vision of himself, robed in the comicalities of the dress of the Orient,—Japanese or Arabian or Turkish,—seeking an escape in obscurity and inconspicuousness, through the closely drawn Federal lines.
"Oh, Uncle Ephraim!" he whined, almost in tears, because of the futility of every device, every hope.
"You wait till I show dem ter dee!" exclaimed Uncle Ephraim, hustling out the bundle from under his coat.
It proved to be a small portmanteau that had been itself enclosed in the trunk. This much was discernible by the sense of touch. Old Ephraim placed it on the ground, and then, lowering his voice mysteriously, he asked solemnly, "Marse Julius, is you sure acquainted with dis place?"
"I certainly am," declared Julius, the tense vibration of triumph in his voice. "I know it from end to end!"
"Den, ef I wuz ter strike a light, could dem sentries see hit at de furder e-end?"
"Not to save their souls. We're ever so far down, and the tunnel has already made three turns."
"Ef dey wuz ter follow us, dey couldn't crope up unbeknownst on us?"