Rodney saw and talked with Lambert about three times a week, but the ex-Home Guard did not volunteer any information regarding his doings in the swamp, and the boy took care not to ask him for any. He never inquired how or where the man lived, how many companions he had, whether or not they ever held communication with their friends in Mooreville—in fact, Lambert more than once complained to Ned Griffin that Rodney did not seem to care any more for the conscripts who were watching night and day to protect his father’s cotton than he did for the wild hogs he was shooting for his winter’s supply of bacon. When Rodney first began hunting these hogs it was with the expectation that every pound of meat he secured would have to be turned over to the agents of the Confederate government as the price of Ned Griffin’s exemption; but when General Banks began massing his army at Baton Rouge with a view of operating against Port Hudson, and the country roundabout had been cleared of rebel soldiers and conscript officers, Rodney hadn’t troubled himself much about the exemption bacon. He was glad to believe he would not be called on to pay it.
Affairs went on in a very unsatisfactory way until the middle of February before any event that was either exciting or interesting occurred to break the monotony, if we except one single thing—the Emancipation Proclamation. Of course the news that the slaves had been freed created something of an excitement at first, especially among such men as Lambert and his outlaws who never had the price of a pickaninny in their pockets, but it had little effect upon Rodney Gray and his father, because they had been looking for it for six months. In September President Lincoln told the Southern people very plainly that if they did not lay down their arms and return to their allegiance he would declare their slaves free, and now he had kept his promise. Rodney remembered how he had laughed at his cousin Marcy, and how angry he was at him when the latter declared that if the South tried to break up the government she would lose all her negroes, but now he saw that Marcy was right. More than that, he knew that the North had the power and the will to enforce the proclamation. Mr. Martin gave him a copy of it and he took it home with him, intending to read it to his negroes; but the news reached the plantation before he did, and he found the field-hands gathered about the kitchen waiting for him.
“Is Moster Linkum done sot we black ones all free?” they demanded in chorus, as Rodney rode among them.
“Who told you anything about it?” he asked, in reply.
“De cutes’ little catbird you ebber see done sot hisself up dar on de ridge-pole, an’ sung it to we black ones,” answered the driver; and then they all shouted and laughed at the top of their voices. “Is we free sure ’nough?” added the driver.
“That depends upon whether you are or not,” answered Rodney, taking the proclamation from his pocket and holding it aloft so that all could see it. “In the first place, who owns this part of Louisiana right around here? In whose possession is it?”
“De Yankees, bress the Lawd,” said the negroes, with one voice.
“Then you are not free, and Mr. Lincoln says so.”
“Why, Moss Rodney, please sar, how come dat?” stammered the driver, and all the black faces around him took on a look of deep disappointment and sorrow.
“I have Mr. Lincoln’s own words for it,” replied Rodney. “This paper says, in effect, that the slaves are free in all States in rebellion, except in such parts as are held by the armies of the United States. Do the Yankees around here belong to the armies of the United States, and are they holding this country—this part of the State? Then you will not be free until the rebels come in and drive them out.”