But unfortunately the Queen did not “keep it up” as Rodney hoped she would. As long as her commander obeyed orders and devoted his attention to transports, he was successful; but when he got it into his head that he could whip a fort with his single wooden vessel, he ruined himself just as Semmes did when he thought he could beat a war ship in a fair fight, because he had sunk one weak blockader and burned sixty-five defenceless merchantmen. Colonel Ellet, who commanded the Queen, ran up Red River, where he captured the New Era with a squad of Texas soldiers, twenty-eight thousand dollars in Confederate money, and five thousand bushels of corn; and flushed with victory ran up twenty miles farther to the fort—and lost his vessel. He escaped with a few of his men, but the ram fell into the hands of the enemy, who repaired her in time to assist the Webb in sinking the Indianola—a fine new iron-clad that had run the Vicksburg batteries without receiving a scratch. Then all the rebels in Rodney’s vicinity were jubilant, and Rodney himself was correspondingly depressed. On the day the unwelcome news came Lambert rode into the yard on his way home from Mooreville. He wasn’t afraid to go there now that there was no conscript officer to trouble him.
“I heered about it,” he said, in answer to an inquiry from the anxious Rodney. “We allow to raise that there fine iron-clad, an’ show the Yanks what sort of fighting she can do when she’s in the hands of men. That’ll make three good ships we’ll have, an’ with them we can easy clean out the Yankee fleet at Vicksburg.”
That was just what Rodney knew the rebels would try to do, and their exploit with the Arkansas proved that they were at all times ready to take desperate chances. Lambert never would have thought of such a thing himself, so he must have been talking with someone who was pretty well informed.
“What do you mean by we?” asked Rodney.
“I heered Tom Randolph an’ others among ’em discussin’ the projec’ down to the store,” replied Lambert.
“Tom Randolph! He’s a pretty fellow to talk of cleaning anybody out.”
“That’s what I thought. He never had no pluck ’ceptin’ on the day he drawed his sword on me. An’ he never would ’a’ done it if his maw hadn’t been right there to his elbow. I aint likely to disremember him for that.”
“But you took an ample revenge by burning his father’s cotton, did you not? Lambert, that was a cowardly thing for you to do.”
Rodney’s tone was so positive that the ex-Home Guard did not attempt to deny the accusation. “Who’s been a-carryin’ tales on me?” he demanded. “I want you to understand that nobody can’t draw a sword on me an’ shake it in my face too, like Tom Randolph done. I just dropped in to see if you could let me have a side of bacon this evenin’.”
Without making any reply Rodney arose from his chair and led the way toward the smoke-house. While he was taking down the bacon Lambert kept up an incessant talking to prevent him from saying more about Mr. Randolph’s cotton, and when Rodney handed the meat out of the door he wheeled his mule and rode quickly away; but he had said enough to make the boy very uneasy. How long would it be before he would avenge some fancied insult by touching a match to Mr. Gray’s cotton?