When I visited the river the following spring I arranged with my friend Muskrat Hyatt to provide me with the shelter of his stranded house boat, and to act as “pusher” and general utility man in my expeditions on the river and marsh.
“Rat” was always interesting, and I anticipated a delightful two weeks.
One of the first trips we made was down to the Big Marsh, where we intended to camp for a day or two on a little island that was scarcely ever visited. It was thirty or forty yards long and half as wide. There were a few trees, some underbrush and fallen timber on the islet. The place was deserted, except for a blue heron that winged away in awkward flight as we approached. There was no reason for stopping there, but a wayward fancy and a desire to see the vast marsh in its different moods.
After we landed I asked Rat about the Colonel.
“The Colonel’s place was sold under a mortgage last fall, an’ that ol’ maid that swore fer ’im at the trial bid it in, an’ its in her name, an’ now the Colonel’s married the old maid, so there y’are.
“That ol’ feller come down to the store one mornin’ an’ him an’ Tip had a fight, an’ Tip got licked. The Colonel an’ Seth Mussey had come in a buggy, an’ they was goin’ on from Tip’s to the county seat to see the editor of the paper. It was all about that safe blowin’ case, an’ the Colonel accused Tip of start’n all the talk about ’im. Bill Wirrick an’ me got a rig an’ went to the county seat, fer we thought the Colonel was goin’ to lick the editor ag’in an’ we wanted to see the fun, but the editor was out of town. The Colonel went up to see the ol’ maid an’ they was married the next day. I guess she had some money, fer they took the cars an’ said they was goin’ down south.
“The Colonel went to the postmaster an’ told ’im to tell the editor, w’en ’e got home, that if ’e ever put the Colonel’s name in ’is paper ag’in, er any name that sounded like his, he’d kill ’im, an’ I guess the editor b’lieved it, fer ’e didn’t mention nothin’ about the wedd’n w’en ’e got back.
“People don’t think the Colonel blowed open that safe after all. He never flashed no wealth around afterwards, and the way he beat up that editor fer sayin’ things about ’im, sort a squared ’im up.”
We erected our little tent, and Rat busied himself with collecting fuel. He attacked a long hollow log with his axe. When it was split open we found an old gray coat, that had at some time been stuffed into the decayed interior. We laid the coat out on the ground and Rat extracted a discolored brass key from one of the pockets, and a wad of hairy material, that proved to be a set of false chin whiskers. In a damaged manilla envelope, that we found in an inside pocket, was a certificate of the honorable discharge of Jasper Montgomery Peets, as a private in the Confederate Army.
The mildewed relics, with their eloquent though silent story, were convincing.