"Do you intend to go over in the full uniform of a staff-officer?" inquired the general.
"I think not, sir. If you will leave the matter to Life and me, we will manage all the details."
"Very well; you will perhaps find my command at Burkesville when you return," added the general, rising from his seat at the table; and taking the hands of the scouts, he wished them a safe return, and they left the tent.
They walked back to the shanty of Cuffy, and found him seated in his kitchen. Not a word was said to Major Lyon about the enterprise of his son; and Deck could not bid good-by to his father, his brother, or to the many friends he had in the squadron. Both of them were in uniform, and they had no difficulty in passing the guards.
Cuffy was not only a ferryman, but a river-driver. He made a business of picking up whatever floated down the stream, not excepting the dead bodies of men and horses, the former for their clothing and whatever their pockets contained, and the latter for the saddles and bridles on them. He buried the bodies of the men in a pit he had made for the purpose, drying and storing in his house portions of their clothing.
It required a good deal of talking and a handsome reward to induce the ferryman to exhibit his stock of clothing; but from it the scouts took what they needed; and were soon clothed in rusty and damaged Confederate uniforms of privates. They bargained for the use for two days of Cuffy's boat, and embarked about midnight on their mission. The Cumberland was still in a turbulent condition; but Deck had seen enough of the stream to enable him to avoid the dangerous places. At the point where Deck and Fronklyn had landed, they had a hard battle with the raging current; but the skill of the lieutenant and the strength of Life carried them safely through the peril.
At daylight in the morning, they discovered a creek flowing into the river from the south side. They pulled up this stream five or six miles till the shallow water interrupted their further progress. They concealed the boat very carefully, and then proceeded on foot up the stream till they came to a house, more elaborate than most of the dwellings in this region. They found a negro cutting up wood near the house. He told them that it was the home of Colonel Bickford, who had been very badly wounded in the battle on the other side of the river, and had reached his residence the night before.
"We want some breakfast," said Deck.
"Can't hab it, Mars'r. Missus won't feed no more runaway sodjers," replied the servant.
"Perhaps she will," added Life, as he led the way to the house, and entered the kitchen without an invitation.