“Quite a thrilling experience for men who do not claim to be fighters,” said he, taking off his hat and wiping away the sweat which stood on his forehead in big drops. “And a most wonderful escape for all of us. If I’d had the least suspicion that such a thing was going to happen, you wouldn’t have caught me going into that swamp. But the men who fired on us, whoever they are, must be punished for their audacity. They couldn’t have been Union troops, for as soon as we recovered from the astonishment and panic into which we were thrown by their first volley, we shouted to them that we had a permit from General Banks, but it didn’t do any good.”
“It did harm, though,” remarked one of his companions, “for I am positive that their yells grew louder and that the bullets came much thicker than before. Have you boys any idea who they were?”
This was a question that neither of them intended to answer if he could help it. If they said what they thought, Mr. Biglin would carry their story straight to the Federal provost marshal, or to someone else in authority in Baton Rouge, and it might lead to something that would end in bloodshed. Lambert’s actions said as plainly as words that if he couldn’t profit by the sale of that cotton himself, nobody else should lay hands upon it, and having driven away two parties who had tried to discover its hiding-place, it was barely possible that he might have gained courage enough to resist soldiers, if any were sent into the swamp to drive him out. Lambert was showing himself a good friend just now, however disagreeable and dangerous he might prove to be by and by, and Rodney did not want General Banks to send troopers after him. When the Union man he was waiting for “turned up,” the general might rid the settlement of Lambert’s presence as soon as he pleased.
“If I didn’t know that Tom Randolph’s company of Home Guards was broken up, I should blame them for this day’s work,” said one of Mr. Biglin’s companions.
“How do you know the company was broken up?” inquired Rodney.
“Why, I heard they were all conscripted long ago.”
“That may be; but they didn’t all go to Camp Pinckney. Some of them took to the woods.”
“But even if they would fire upon their old friends and neighbors, which isn’t probable, they have no interest in protecting the cotton in the swamp, for they don’t own a dollar’s worth of it.”
“I don’t care who they are,” said Mr. Biglin. “They will find that the arm of our government is long enough to reach them wherever they hide themselves.”
“Our government!” repeated Rodney. “Which one do you mean?”