Contrary to his original plan Rodney kept his party moving until late that afternoon, when he halted the soldiers in the rear of another plantation while he and Dick went to the house to get something to eat, and make inquiries concerning their pursuers. This time they were not gone more than half an hour, and when they returned they were accompanied by the owner of the plantation, who cordially invited the soldiers into the house.
"It's all right, boys," Rodney assured them. "Our friends from Camp Pinckney haven't been this far down the road; Mr. Banks is Union, and a large squad of your cavalry has just gone back into the country, so that they are between us and the rebels."
"Why, Rodney," said Mr. Banks, "you're a rebel yourself."
"I was, and I don't know but I am yet; but I am not fighting any Yanks just now," was the smiling reply. "Come along, boys, and after we have eaten everything Mr. Banks has to spare, we'll take to the road and follow it as though we had a right there. We've done hiding now."
The corporal glanced at the military pass which Mr. Banks produced to prove that he was "all right" with the Federal authorities in Baton Rouge, and gladly accepted his invitation; and for fear that he might forget it, he drew one of those useless paroles from his pocket and wrote Mr. Banks' name and Mr. Turnbull's upon it.
"That's as strong a promise of protection as a non-commissioned officer can give," said he. "It will hold good with my regiment, any way."
The four prisoners splashed a good deal of water at the horse trough before they would consent to enter the house and sit down to the table like white folks, but when they got there they did ample justice to the substantial food that was placed before them. The planter apologized for the absence of salt on the table by saying that he hadn't been able to obtain a permit to bring it through the lines.
"Then smuggle it," suggested the corporal. "Buy a barrel of flour and chuck a bag of salt inside of it."
"But don't let your best friend see you do it," chimed in Rodney. "That's the warning my father received. There are lots of traitors in the city who try to curry favor with the Yanks by carrying tales about their old neighbors. By the way, don't you want me to get you a barrel of flour?"