There was no answer to the wisdom of that statement. The distant whistle of the freight had twice been heard, and in ten minutes our party of four were disposed in the conductor's caboose. The situation had been explained to that officer in very few words by Harrod and "Billy;" and, with that almost chivalrous courtesy which the roughest-looking men in the South show to the gentler sex on all occasions I ever witnessed, the train-hands had busied themselves in making a comfortable corner for the ladies. Rude and poor were the appliances, but Walter Raleigh never laid down his priceless cloak for foot of royal mistress with truer grace than did those rough ex-soldiers spread their blankets, coats, and pillows to make a soft substructure for the heavy shawls which the ladies had with them. Watching, as I have on a thousand occasions, the gentle courtesy of Southern men to women, high or low, I never lack for explanation, never wonder how they came to fight so well. Bayard Taylor struck the key-note when he wrote,—
"The bravest are the tenderest,
The loving are the daring."
At noon we were at Corinth and eagerly questioning the officials there. No train till nine.
"What chance by going to Grand Junction?"
"No better, colonel; they've had the customary smash-up on the Central, and 'taint no use trying. Even if the road weren't blocked, their south-bound express don't get off as early as ours from here."
"Are there no trains coming south, not even freight?"
"Colonel, I'm sorry, but there's not a train of any kind,—nothin' except a special, going through a-whoopin' for Orleans, I suppose, with a lot o' damyankees."
"What! a special with troops, do you mean?" asked Harrod, eagerly.
"Exactly; somewhere from up in Tennessee. Two or three companies—but, Lord! you couldn't ride with them even if they'd let you. They telegraphed ahead here for coffee for seventy men, and want to take the kettles on to the next station. Not much——"
"Never mind, Mr. Agent," broke in Harrod, impatiently; "when are they due?"