"But what started the rucus in the first place?" asked the planter, who, rebel that he was, could not believe that the blue-jackets had turned demons all on a sudden. "What have you Mooreville ruffians, who haven't any business in this part of the country anyway, been doing in the city?"
"You better ask what them Baton Rouge Yankees been doing?" retorted Lambert hotly. "We're State troops, and we've got business in every part of the country that we please to go; and when it pleases the Baton Rouge people to start a nest of Yankee sympathizers in there, it's our bounden duty to go in and break it up. And that's just what we have done. We've drove the enemy away, and the Mississippi between New Orleans and Memphis belongs to we uns once more. We'd a' whopped 'em worse'n we did if it hadn't been for Ike Spencer, who let his gun shoot itself off before the rest of us were ready. I reckon he feels kinder sneakin' over it, fur I aint seen him since."
"I should think you would all feel sneaking," answered the planter, as he turned on his heel and moved away. "If you have kicked up a row on the river I hope you will suffer for it. We've had peace and quiet in this part of the country for a few weeks back, and now you have gone and brought war and all its miseries on us again. The last one of you ought to be hanged."
Lieutenant Lambert and his Home Guards were amazed to find that this angry citizen voiced the sentiments of all the people who lived on the Mooreville road; and after a few more planters had talked to them in this plain fashion their eyes were opened to the disagreeable fact that they had damaged their own cause a great deal more than they had hurt the enemy; and that if their friends and neighbors felt the same way toward them the fire that had been poured into their ranks by the gunboats was nothing to what they would have to stand when they reached home. When they came to think it all over they were the maddest lot of men that had ever been seen in that part of the country. They blamed their lieutenant for being the cause of it, and swore at him so lustily that he fell behind and rode alone, putting in his time by wishing a good many heavy penalties to the address of his one-legged friend Abner, who, after the experience he had had with Yankees, ought to have known better than to advise him to "pester" the gunboats. All the Home Guards rode slowly, so as to reach the outskirts of Mooreville a little after nightfall, and then they separated and slunk away toward their respective homes like school-boys who had been playing truant. But the news had got ahead of them, and an indignation meeting was being held in the dining room of the hotel. Some of the Mooreville people, Captain Randolph among the number, had seen and talked with men who lived down the river road and had heard the roar of the big guns, and mounted messengers had been sent to the city to learn what the firing was about. These men, who had fast horses and went across lots, rode all the way at top speed, and to such good purpose that they returned to Mooreville about two hours before the Home Guards came straggling in; and the story they told to the crowd at the hotel raised such a storm of indignation that for a while things looked serious.
In the meantime, and to make matters worse, the news spread through the country round about and armed planters came flocking in to lend assistance in driving back the force that was supposed to be advancing upon Mooreville; and the climax was reached when wagons began arriving from the direction of the river, drawn by panting mules that had been driven until they were almost exhausted, and loaded with the families and household effects of the frightened owners who were fleeing before the invading Federals. Of course the very meagre information these people brought added to the excitement and alarm, for there were not two among them who told the same story. They expected to find the town deserted by its inhabitants, and were much surprised to discover that it was not.
"It's no use for you fellows to think of standing against them," exclaimed one trembling driver, who carried in his hand a frayed ox-gad which he had worn out over his mules' backs. "Butler is coming with his whole army."
"Did you see them?" inquired Mr. Gray, who had ridden in with Ned Griffin for a companion. They were both armed, and although they did not believe in shooting at those who carried the Old Flag, they were ready to do what they could to protect their homes.
"Yes, sir; I saw them," replied the man earnestly. "I hadn't left my house a quarter of a mile behind before I discovered some of their cavalry riding along one of my lanes. I suppose my house is in ashes by this time."
"Were they burning things as they came?" asked one of Mr. Gray's neighbors.
"There was the blackest smoke over toward the river that I ever saw in my life," was the answer. "Baton Rouge is gone up. You'd better leave while you can. You may save your lives, but you can't save your property. Get along there, mule! Me and mine will take to the brush."