“Protection, boss. You won’t send me back, will you?”
“No, come in. Whose servant are you?”
“Cap’n Rhett’s, of South Carliny: you’s heard of Mr. Barnwell Rhett, editor of ‘The Charleston Mercury’? His brother commands a battery.”
“How did you get away?”
“Cap’n gove me fifteen dollars this morning, and said, ‘John, go out, and forage for butter and eggs.’ So you see, boss (with a broad grin), I’se out foraging! I pulled my hat over my eyes, and jogged along on the cap’n’s horse (see the brand S.C. on him?) with this basket on my arm, right by our guards and pickets. They never challenged me once. If they had, though, I brought the cap’n’s pass. And the new comer produced this document from his pocket-book, written in pencil, and carefully folded. I send you the original:—
“Pass my servant, John, on horseback, anywhere between Winchester and Martinsburg, in search of butter, &c., &e.
“A. BURNETT RHETT, Capt. Light Artillery, Lee’s Battalion.”
“Are there many negroes in the rebel corps?”
“Heaps, boss.”
“Would the most of them come to us if they could?”