"What's the matter now?" asked Macgreggor, who had a strong desire to knock down this imperturbable fellow who refused to be impressed even by a Confederate uniform.

"Nothing," replied the man, stolidly. He sat down again, crossed his legs, and took a long pull at the pipe.

"For the last time," shouted Jenks, shaking his fist in the smoker's face, "I order you to take out that boat, and ferry us across the river!"

"For the last time," said the man, very calmly, "I tell you I'm not going to risk my life for four fools!"

George walked up closer to Watson, and whispered: "Let's seize the boat, and try to cross over ourselves!"

Watson beckoned to his two companions, and told them what the boy suggested.

"We will be taking our lives in our hands," said Jenks, "but anything is better than being delayed here."

"Besides," added Macgreggor, "although the river is pretty mischievous-looking, I don't think it's any more dangerous than waiting here."

Jenks took out his watch, and looked at it. "I'll give you just five minutes," he said, addressing the ferryman, "and if by that time you haven't made up your mind to take us over the river, we'll take the law into our own hands, seize your boat, and try the journey ourselves." Waggie began to bark violently, as if he sympathized with this speech.

The man smiled. "That will be a fool trick," he answered. "If it's dangerous for me, it'll be death for you uns. Better say your prayers, partner!"

"Only four minutes left!" cried Jenks, resolutely, keeping an eye on the watch.

The ferryman closed his eyes and resumed his smoking. The others watched him intently. Meanwhile George was thinking. Two minutes more passed. The boy was recalling a saying of his father's: "Sometimes you can taunt an obstinate man into doing things, where you can't reason with him."

"Time is up!" said Jenks, at last. "Come, boys, let's make a break for the boat!"

The ferryman placed his pipe on the ground with the greatest composure. "Take the boat if you want," he observed, rising to his feet, "but you fellows won't get very far in it! Look there!"

He pointed up the river's bank. The boy who had been sent away a few minutes before was coming back to the wharf; he was now, perhaps, a quarter of a mile away, but he was not alone. He was bringing with him five Confederate soldiers, who were walking briskly along with muskets at right shoulder.

"You fellows looked kind o' troublesome," explained the ferryman, "so as there's a picket up yonder I thought I'd send my son up for 'em!"

Watson made a move towards the boat. "Better stay here," cried the ferryman; "for before you can get a hundred feet away from the bank in this contrary stream those soldiers will pick you off with their muskets. D'ye want to end up as food for fishes?"

The men groaned in spirit. "It's too late," muttered Jenks. He could picture the arrival at Marietta of all the members of the expedition save his own party, and the triumphal railroad escapade the next day. And when the Northern newspapers would ring with the account of the affair, his own name would not appear in the list of the brave adventurers.

Suddenly George went up to the ferryman, and said, with much distinctness: "I see we have to do with a coward! There's not a boatman in Kentucky who wouldn't take us across this river. Even a Yankee wouldn't fear it. But you are so afraid you'll have to get your feet wet that you actually send for soldiers to protect you!"

George's companions looked at him in astonishment. The boatman, losing his placidity, turned a deep red. "Take care, young fellow," he said, in a voice of anger; "there's not a man in Tennessee who dares to call Ned Jackson a coward!"

"I dare to call you a coward unless you take us over to Chattanooga!" answered the boy, sturdily. "You're afraid—and that's the whole truth!"

Jackson's face now underwent a kaleidoscopic transformation ranging all the way from red to purple, and then to white. All his stolidity had vanished; he was no longer the slow countryman; he had become the courageous, impetuous Southerner.

"If you weren't a boy," he shouted, "I'd knock you down!"

"That wouldn't prove your bravery," returned George, regarding him with an expression of well-feigned contempt. "That would only show you to be a bully. If you have any courage in your veins—the kind of courage that most Southerners have—prove it by taking us across the river."

The soldiers were gradually drawing near the wharf. Meanwhile George's companions had caught his cue. He was trying to goad Jackson into ferrying them over the riotous stream.

"Humph!" said Macgreggor; "a good boatman is never afraid of the water; but our friend here seems to have a consuming fear of it!"

"He ought to live on a farm, where there is nothing but a duck pond in the shape of water," added Jenks. Jackson was actually trembling with rage; his hands were twisting nervously.

Watson eyed him with seeming pity, as he said: "It's a lucky thing for you that you didn't enlist in the Confederate army. You would have run at the first smell of gunpowder!"

Jackson could contain his wrath no longer. "So you fellows think I'm a coward," he cried. "Very well! I'll prove that I'm not! Get into my boat, and I'll take you across—or drown you all and myself—I don't care which. But no man shall ever say that Ned Jackson is a coward!" He ran to the boat, leaped into it and beckoned to the Northerners. "Come on!" he shouted. Within a minute George, Macgreggor, Watson and Jenks were in the little craft, and the ferryman had unmoored it from the wharf.

"Never mind," he cried, waving his hand to the soldiers, who had now reached the wharf. "I don't want you. I'm going to ferry 'em over the river—or go to the bottom! It's all right."

Already were the voyagers in midstream, almost before they knew it. It looked as if Jackson, in his attempt to prove his courage, might only end by sending them all to the bottom. Waggie, who was now reposing in a pocket of George's coat, suddenly gave a low growl. George produced from another pocket a bone which he had brought from Mrs. Page's house, and gave it to the dog.

"Well," laughed Watson, in unconcern, "if Wag's to be drowned, he'll be drowned on a full stomach—and that's one consolation."

"He's the only critter among you as has got any sense," snarled the ferryman; "for he's the only one who didn't ask to be taken across this infarnal river!"



CHAPTER IV

PLOT AND PLOTTERS

In after years George could never quite understand how he and his companions reached the Chattanooga shore. He retained a vivid recollection of tempestuous waves, of a boat buffeted here and there, and of Ned Jackson muttering all manner of unkind things at his passengers and the turbulent stream. They did at last reach their destination, and bade farewell to the ferryman, whom they loaded down with Confederate notes.

No sooner was the latter embarked on the return voyage than Watson said: "That was a clever ruse of yours, George. That Jackson was a brave man at heart, and you put him on his mettle. He wanted to show us that he wasn't afraid of the water—and he succeeded."

George laughed. He explained that it was a remark of his father's which had put the idea into his own head, and then he wondered where that same father could be. Was he dead or was he still living, perhaps in some prison?

It was not long before the party reached the railroad station at Chattanooga. Here they purchased their tickets for Marietta, and were soon in the train bound southward for the latter place. The sun had nearly set as the engine pulled slowly out of the depot. The car in which they sat was filled with men on their way down South, some of them being soldiers in uniform and the rest civilians. Macgreggor, Watson and Jenks were at the rear end of the car, while George had to find a seat at the other end, next to a very thin man who wore the uniform of a Confederate captain.

"Isn't it strange?" thought the boy. "To-morrow morning we will be reversing our journey on this railroad, and burning bridges on our way back to Chattanooga. But how are we to steal a train? I wonder if Andrews and the rest of the party will be on hand to-night at Marietta." Then, as he realized that he was in a car filled with men who would treat him as a spy, if they knew the nature of his errand to the South, there came over him a great wave of homesickness. He had lived all his life among friends; it was for him a new sensation to feel that he was secretly opposed to his fellow-travelers.

The thin Captain who sat next to him turned and curiously regarded Waggie, who was lying on his master's lap. He had shrewd gray eyes, had this Captain, and there was a week's growth of beard upon his weazened face.

"Where did you get your dog from, lad?" he asked, giving Waggie a pat with one of his skeleton-like hands. It was a pat to which the little animal paid no attention.

"From home—Cincinnati."

George had answered on the spur of the moment, thoughtlessly, carelessly, before he had a chance to detect what a blunder he was making. The next second he could have bitten out his tongue in very vexation; he felt that his face was burning a bright red; he had a choking sensation at the throat.

The emaciated Captain was staring at him in a curiously surprised fashion. "From Cincinnati? Cincinnati, Ohio?" he asked, fixing his lynx-like eyes attentively upon his companion.

Poor George! Every idea seemed to have left him in his sudden confusion; he was only conscious that the Confederate officer continued to regard him in the same intent manner. "I say," repeated the latter, "is your home in Ohio?"

"Yes, Cincinnati, Ohio," said the boy boldly. "After all," as he thought, "I had better put a frank face on this stupidity of mine; a stammering answer will only make this fellow the more suspicious."

"So then you're a Northerner, are you, my son?" observed the Captain. "I thought you spoke with a bit of a Yankee accent!"

"Yes, I'm a Northerner," answered George. As he felt himself plunging deeper and deeper into hot water he was trying to devise some plausible story to tell the officer. But how to invent one while he was being subjected to that close scrutiny. One thing, at least, was certain. Once he had admitted that his home was in Ohio he could not make any use of the oft repeated Kentucky yarn.

"And what are you doing down here?" asked the Captain. He spoke very quietly, but there was an inflection in his voice which seemed to say: "Give a good account of yourself—for your presence in this part of the country is curious, if nothing more."

George understood that he must think quickly, and decide on some plan of action to cover up, if he could, any bad results from his blunder. He was once more cool, and he returned the piercing look of the officer with steadfast eyes. His mind was clear as to one thing. There was no need of his trying to invent a story, on the spur of the moment, with a man like the Captain quite ready to pick it to pieces. For it was plain that this Confederate was shrewd—and a trifle suspicious. The boy must pursue a different course.

"My being down South is my own concern," he said, pretending to be virtuously offended at the curiosity of his inquisitor.

The Captain drew himself up with an injured air. "Heigh ho!" he muttered; "my young infant wants me to mind my own business, eh?"

George flushed; he considered himself very much of a man, and he did not relish being called an "infant." But he kept his temper; he foresaw that everything depended upon his remaining cool. He treated the remark with contemptuous silence.

The officer turned away from him, to look out of the window of the car. Yet it was evident that he paid little or no attention to the rapidly moving landscape. He was thinking hard. Not a word was spoken between the two for ten minutes. Most of the other passengers were talking excitedly among themselves. Occasionally a remark could be understood above the rattle of the train. George heard enough to know they were discussing the battle of Shiloh, which had been fought so recently.

"I tell you," cried a soldier, "the battle was a great Confederate victory."

"That may be," answered some one, "but if we have many more such victories we Southerners will have a lost cause on our hands, and Abe Lincoln will be eating his supper in Richmond before many months are gone."

At this there was a chorus of angry dissent, and several cries of "Traitor!" George listened eagerly. He would dearly have liked to look behind him, to see what his three companions were doing, or hear what they were saying, at the other end of the car. But he was not supposed to know them. He could only surmise (correctly enough, as it happened) that they were acting their part of Southerners, although doing as little as possible to attract attention. One thing worried the young adventurer. He distrusted the continued silence of the Captain.

It was a silence that the officer finally broke, by looking squarely into George's face, and saying, in a low tone: "When a Northerner travels down South these times he must give an account of himself. If you won't tell me who you are, my friend, I may find means of making you!"

As he spoke the train was slowing up, and in another minute it had stopped at a little station.

"Now or never," thought George. He arose, stuffed Waggie into his pocket, and said to the Captain: "If you want to find out about me, write me. This is my station. Good-bye!"

The next instant he had stepped out of the car, and was on the platform. He and an elderly lady were the only two passengers who alighted. No sooner had they touched the platform than the train moved on its way, leaving the Captain in a state of angry surprise, as he wondered whether he should not have made some effort to detain the boy. It was too late to do anything now, and the officer, as he is carried away on the train, is likewise carried out of our story.

What were the feelings of Watson, and Jenks, and Macgreggor as they saw George leave the car, and the train rattled away? They were afraid to make any sign; and even if they had thought it prudent to call out to the lad, or seek to detain him, they would not have found time to put their purpose into execution, so quickly had the whole thing happened. Not daring to utter a sound, they could only look at one another in blank amazement. "What was the boy up to," thought Watson, "and what's to become of him?" He was already devotedly attached to George, so that he felt sick at heart when he pictured him alone and unprotected at a little wayside village in the heart of an enemy's country. Nor were the other two men less solicitous. Had George suddenly put on wings, and flown up through the roof of the car, they could not have been more horrified than they were at this moment. Meanwhile the train went rumbling on, as it got farther and farther away from the little station. It was now almost dark; the brakeman came into the car and lighted two sickly lamps. Some of the passengers leaned back in their seats and prepared to doze, while others, in heated, angry tones, kept up the discussion as to the battle of Shiloh. The civilian who had hinted that the engagement was not a signal victory for the Confederates got up and walked into a forward car, to rid himself of the abuse and arguments of several of his companions.

Watson was sorely tempted to pull the check rope of the train, jump out, and walk back on the track until he found the missing boy; but when he reflected on the possible consequences of such a proceeding he unwillingly admitted to himself that to attempt it would be the part of madness. He would only bring the notice of every one in the train upon himself; suspicion would be aroused; he and his companions might be arrested; the whole plot for burning the bridges might be upset.

"What can have gotten into George's head?" he said to himself a hundred times. Jenks and Macgreggor were asking themselves the same question. Steadily the train went on, while the sky grew darker and darker. In time most of the passengers fell asleep. Occasionally a stop would be made at some station. Marietta, in Georgia, would not be reached until nearly midnight.

* * * * *

"Where had George gone?" the reader will ask. The question is not so hard to answer as it may seem. The moment that the Captain had become inquisitive the boy had made up his mind that the sooner he could get away from that gentleman the better it would be for the success of Andrews' expedition. He saw that the train stopped at different stations along the road, and he began to map out a scheme for escape. Thus, when the cars came to the place already spoken of, he jumped out, as we have described, and stood on the platform with the elderly lady who had alighted almost at the same instant. The latter passed on into the station, and left the platform deserted, except for George. Hardly had she disappeared before the conductor pulled the check-rope, and the train began to move. As it slowly passed by him the boy quickly jumped upon the track, caught hold of the coupling of the last car, and hung there, with his knees lifted up almost to his chin. In another second he had grasped the iron railing above him; within a minute he had raised himself and clambered upon the platform. The train was now speeding along at the customary rate. As George sat down on the platform, he gave a sigh of relief. No one had seen him board the car. For all that the inquisitive Captain knew he might still be standing in front of the station. And what were Watson, Jenks and Macgreggor thinking about his sudden exit from the scene? George laughed, in spite of himself, as he pictured their amazement. He would give them a pleasant surprise later on, when they reached Marietta. In the meantime he would stay just where he was, if he were not disturbed, until they arrived at that town. Then it would be late at night, when he could evade the lynx-eyed Confederate officer.

Having settled his plans comfortably in his mind George was about to put his hand in his coat pocket to give a reassuring pat to Waggie (who had been sadly shaken up by his master's scramble) when the door of the car opened. A man put out his head, and stared at the boy.

"What are you doing here, youngster?" asked the man. George recognized him as the conductor of the train.

"Only trying to get a breath of fresh air," replied the lad, at the same time producing his railroad ticket and showing it in the dusk. The conductor flashed the lantern he was holding in George's face, and then glanced at the ticket.

"Well, don't fall off," he observed, evidently satisfied by the scrutiny. "You were in one of the forward cars, weren't you? Where's your dog? In your pocket, eh?" He turned around, shut the door, and went back into the car without waiting for an answer.

"One danger is over," whispered George to himself. Then he began to pat Waggie. "You and I are having an exciting time of it, aren't we?" he laughed. "Well, there's one consolation; they can't hang you for a spy, anyway, even if they should hang me!"

So the night passed on, as George clung to the railing of the platform, while the train rumbled along in the darkness to the Southward. The conductor did not appear again; he had evidently forgotten all about the boy. At last, when Waggie and his master were both feeling cold, and hungry, and forlorn, there came a welcome cry from the brakeman: "Marietta! All out for Marietta!"

In a short time the passengers for Marietta had left the train. Watson, Jenks and Macgreggor were soon in a little hotel near the station, which was to be the rendezvous for Andrews and his party. As they entered the office of the hostelry all their enthusiasm for the coming escapade seemed to have vanished. The mysterious disappearance of George had dampened their ardor; they feared to think where he could be, or what might have become of him.

The office was brilliantly lighted in spite of the lateness of the hour. In it were lounging eight or nine men. The pulses of the three newcomers beat the quicker as they recognized in them members of the proposed bridge-burning expedition. Among them was Andrews.

"Yes," he was saying, in a perfectly natural manner, to the hotel clerk, who stood behind a desk; "we Kentuckians must push on early tomorrow morning. The South has need of all the men she can muster."

"That's true," answered the clerk; "Abe Lincoln and Jefferson Davis have both found out by this time that this war won't be any child's play. It'll last a couple of years yet, or my name's not Dan Sanderson."

Macgreggor and Jenks walked up to the register on the desk, without showing any sign of recognition, and put down their names respectively as "Henry Fielding, Memphis, Tennessee," and "Major Thomas Brown, Chattanooga." The latter, it will be remembered, wore a Confederate uniform. Watson wrote his real name, in a bold, round hand, and added: "Fleming County, Kentucky." Then he turned towards Andrews. "Well, stranger," he said, "did I hear you say you were from Kentucky? I'm a Kentuckian myself. What's your county?"

He extended his right hand and greeted Andrews with the air of a man who would like to cultivate a new acquaintance. Andrews rose, of course, to the occasion, by answering: "I'm always glad to meet a man from my own state. I'm from Fleming County."

"Well, I'll be struck!" cried Watson. "That's my county, too! What part of it do you live in?"

After a little more of this conversation, which was given in loud tones, the two men withdrew to a corner and sat down. "We are all here now except two of our men," said Andrews, in a low voice. "Half of the fellows have gone to bed, thoroughly tired out. But where's George? Isn't he with you?"

"It makes me sick to think where he is," whispered Watson, "for——"

Before he could finish his sentence George entered the office, followed by Waggie. He had lingered about the Marietta Station, after leaving the platform of the car, until he was safe from meeting the Captain, in case that gentleman should have alighted at this place. Then he had cautiously made his way to the hotel.

Watson rose as quietly as if the appearance of George was just what he had been expecting. "What did you lag behind at the station for, George?" he asked. Then, turning to Andrews, he said: "Here's another Kentuckian, sir—a nephew of mine. He wants to join the Confederate army, too."

George, as he shook hands with Andrews quite as if they had never met each other before, could not help admiring the presence of mind of Watson.

"You young rascal," whispered the latter, "you have given me some miserable minutes."

"Hush!" commanded Andrews, in the same tone of voice. "We must not talk together any more. As soon as you go up-stairs to bed you must come to my room—number 10, on the second floor, and get your instructions for to-morrow. Everything has gone very smoothly so far, and we are all here excepting two of us, although some of us have had a pretty ticklish time in getting through to this town. Remember—Room Number 10."

Andrews moved away. Soon all the members of the party assembled at the hotel were in their rooms up-stairs, presumably asleep, with the exception of George and his three companions. They were able, after considerable coaxing, to get admittance into the dining-room. Thereby they secured a nocturnal meal of tough ham, better eggs, and some muddy "coffee." The latter was in reality a concoction consisting of about seven-eights of chickory, and the other eighth,—but what the remaining eighth was only the cook could have told. The meal tasted like a Delmonico feast to the famished wanderers, nor was it the less acceptable because they saw it nearly consumed before their hungry eyes; for Waggie, who had a power of observation that would have done credit to a detective, and a scent of which a hound might well have been proud, made his way into the dining-room in advance of the party, and jumped upon the table while the negro waiter's back was turned. As George entered, the dog was about to pounce upon the large plate of ham. Mr. Wag cast one sheepish look upon his master, and then retired under the table, where he had his supper later on.

After they had finished their meal, the four conspirators were taken up-stairs by a sleepy bell-boy, and shown into a large room containing two double beds. The servant lighted a kerosene lamp that stood on a centre table, and then shuffled down to the office.

Macgreggor lifted the lamp to take a survey of the room. "Take a good look at those beds, fellows," he said, with a grim chuckle; "it may be a long time before you sleep on such comfortable ones again. For if we come to grief in this expedition——"

"Pshaw!" interrupted Jenks impatiently, but in subdued tones. "Don't borrow trouble. We are bound to succeed."

Macgreggor placed the lamp on the centre table, and began to take off his shoes. "I'm just as ready as any of you for this scheme," he answered, "but I can't shut my eyes to the risks we are running. Did you notice on your way down that the railroad sidings between Chattanooga and Marietta were filled with freight cars? That means, to begin with, that we won't have a clear track for our operations to the Northward."

Watson smiled rather grimly. "The more we appreciate the breakers ahead of us," he whispered, "the less likely are we to get stranded on the beach. But we really can't judge anything about the outlook for to-morrow until we get our detailed instructions from Andrews."

As he spoke there was a very faint tap at the door. The next moment Andrews had cautiously entered the room. He was in stocking feet, and wore neither coat nor waistcoat.

"I thought it better to hunt you fellows up," he explained, in a voice that they could just hear, "instead of letting you try to find me. I was listening when the boy showed you up to this room." He proceeded to sit upon one of the beds, while his companions gathered silently around him. "Listen," he continued, "and get your instructions for to-morrow—for after we separate to-night there will be no time for plotting.

"To-morrow we must reverse our journey and take the early morning train to the northward, on this Georgia State Railroad. In order to avoid suspicion, we must not all buy tickets for the same station. In point of fact we are only to go as far as Big Shanty station, near the foot of Kenesaw Mountain, a distance of eight miles. Here passengers and railroad employees get off for breakfast, and this is why I have selected the place for the seizure of the train. Furthermore, there is no telegraph station there from which our robbery could be reported. When we board the train at Marietta we must get in by different doors, but contrive to come together in one car—the passenger car nearest the engine. After all, or nearly all but ourselves have left the cars at Big Shanty for breakfast, I will give the signal, when the coast is clear, and we will begin the great work of the day—that of stealing the locomotive."

Here Andrews went into a detailed description of what each man in the expedition (he had now twenty-one men, including himself, and not counting George) would do when the fateful moment arrived. George, who sat listening with open mouth, felt as if he were drinking in a romantic tale from the "Arabian Nights," or, at least, from a modern version of the "Nights," where Federal soldiers and steam engines would not be out of place. He thrilled with admiration at the nicety with which Andrews had made all his arrangements. It was like a general entering into elaborate preparations for a battle. The two soldiers who were to act as engineers, those who were to play brakemen, and the man who was to be fireman, had their work carefully mapped out for them. The other men were to form a guard who would stand near the cars that were to be seized; they were to have their revolvers ready and must shoot down any one who attempted to interfere.

"We must get off as quickly as possible," went on the intrepid Andrews. "From what I hear to-night it is evident that General Mitchell captured Huntsville to-day, which is one day sooner than we expected him to do it. We must cut all telegraph wires and then run the train northward to Chattanooga, and from there westward until we meet Mitchell advancing towards Chattanooga on his way from Huntsville. I have obtained a copy of the time-table showing the movement of trains on the Georgia State Railroad, and I find we have only two to meet on our race. These two won't trouble us, for I know just where to look for them. There is also a local freight-train which can be passed if we are careful to run according to the schedule of the captured train until we come up to it. Having gotten by this local freight we can put on full steam, and speed on to the Oostenaula and Chickamauga bridges, burn them, and run on through Chattanooga to Mitchell. There's a glorious plan for you fellows. What do you think of it?"

There was a ring of pride in his lowered voice as he concluded.

"Admirable!" whispered Walter Jenks, "It's a sure thing, and the man who invented the scheme has more brains than half the generals in the war!"

As George pictured to himself the stolen train flying along the tracks, in the very heart of the enemy's country, he could hardly restrain his enthusiasm. "It's grand!" he murmured. Had he dared he would have given a great cheer.

The leader smiled as he saw, in the dim lamplight, the radiant face of the boy. "You have lots of grit, my lad," he said, in a kindly fashion, "and God grant you may come out of this business in safety." Then, turning to Watson, he asked: "How does my plan, as now arranged, impress you, Watson?"

After a minute's silence, during which the others in the room gazed intently at Watson, that soldier said: "I have as great an admiration for James Andrews as any one of our party, and I am ready to follow wherever he leads. Whatever my faults may be, I'm not a coward. But we should look carefully on each side of a question—and I can't help thinking that owing to circumstances which we have not taken into account our expedition stands a very decided chance of failure."

"What are those circumstances?" asked Andrews.

"In the first place," was the reply, "I find that there is a large encampment of Confederate troops at Big Shanty. Escape in a captured train would have been very easy while those soldiers were elsewhere; but, being there, do you suppose that the sentries of the camp will stand idly by when we seize cars and locomotive and attempt to steam away to the northward? In the second place—and this is no less important—the railroad seems to be obstructed by numerous freight trains, probably not on the schedule, and flying along the track towards Chattanooga will not be as plain sailing as you believe. One unlooked-for delay might be fatal. We are in the midst of enemies, and should there be one hitch, one change in our program, the result will be failure, and perhaps death, for all of us."

There was a painful silence. At last Andrews said, very quietly, but with an air of strong conviction: "I think the very objections you urge, my dear Watson, are advantages in disguise. I know, as well as you, that there's a big encampment at Big Shanty, but what of it? No one dreams for one second that there is any plot to capture a train, and no one, therefore, will be on the lookout. The thing will be done so suddenly that there will be no chance for an alarm until we are steaming off from the station—and then we can laugh. If we strike any unscheduled trains, they too will be to our advantage; for they will make such confusion on the road that they will detract attention from the rather suspicious appearance of our own train."

"Perhaps you are right," answered Watson, rather dubiously.

Andrews arose from the bed, and solemnly shook hands with each of his four companions. Then he said, very impressively: "I am confident of the success of our enterprise, and I will either go through with it or leave my bones to bleach in 'Dixieland.' But I don't want to persuade any one against his own judgment. If any one of you thinks the scheme too dangerous—if you are convinced beforehand of its failure—you are at perfect liberty to take the train in any direction, and work your way home to the Union camp as best you can. Nor shall I have one word of reproach, either in my mind or on my lips, for a man whose prudence, or whose want of confidence in his leader, induces him to draw back."

Andrews was an adroit student of men. No speech could have better served his purpose of inducing his followers to remain with him. It was as if he declared: "You may all desert me, but I will remain true to my flag."

"You can count on me to the very last," said Watson stoutly. He was always ready to face danger, but he liked to have the privilege of grumbling at times. In his heart, too, was a conviction that his leader was about to play a very desperate game. The chances were all against them.

"Thank you, Watson," answered Andrews, gratefully. "I never could doubt your bravery. And are the rest of you willing?"

There were hearty murmurs of assent from Jenks, George and Macgreggor. Jenks and the boy were very sanguine; Macgreggor was rather skeptical as to future success, but he sternly resolved to banish all doubts from his mind.

"Well, George," said Andrews, as he was about to leave the room, "if you get through this railroad ride in safety you will have something interesting to remember all your life." In another moment he had gone. The time for action had almost arrived.



CHAPTER V

ON THE RAIL

At an early hour the next morning, just before daylight, the conspirators were standing on the platform of the Marietta station, awaiting the arrival of their train—the train which they hoped soon to call theirs in reality. They were all in civilian dress; even Walter Jenks had contrived to discard his uniform of a Confederate officer, regarding it as too conspicuous, and he was habited in an ill-fitting suit which made him look like an honest, industrious mechanic.

Andrews was pacing up and down with an anxious, resolute face. He realized that the success of the manoeuvre which they were about to execute rested upon his own shoulders, but he had no idea of flinching. "Before night has come," he was thinking confidently, "we shall be within the lines of General Mitchell, and soon all America will be ringing with the story of our dash."

George, no less sanguine, was standing near Watson and Macgreggor, and occasionally slipping a lump of sugar into the overcoat pocket which served as a sort of kennel for the tiny Waggie. There was nothing about the party to attract undue attention. They pretended, for the most part, to be strangers one to another, and, to aid in the deception, they had bought railroad tickets for different places—for Kingston, Adairsville, Calhoun and other stations to the northward, between Marietta and Chattanooga.

Soon the train was sweeping up to the platform. It was a long one, with locomotive, tender, three baggage cars and a number of passenger cars. The adventurers clambered on it through various doors, but at last reached the passenger car nearest to the engine. Here they seated themselves quite as if each man had no knowledge of any one else. In another minute the train, which was well filled, went rolling away from Marietta and along the bend around the foot of Kenesaw Mountain. "Only eight miles," thought George, "and then——"

The conductor of the train, a young man with a very intelligent face, looked searchingly at the boy as he examined his ticket. "Too young," George heard him mutter under his breath, as he passed on to the other passengers.

A thrill of feverish excitement stirred the lad. "What did he mean by too young?" he asked himself. "Can he possibly have gotten wind of our expedition?" But the conductor did not return, and it was not until long afterwards that George was able to understand what was meant by the expression, "Too young." The man had been warned by the Confederate authorities that a number of young Southerners who had been conscripted into the army were trying to escape from service, and might use the cars for that purpose. He was ordered, therefore, to arrest any such runaways that he might find. When he looked at George it is probable that he thought: "This boy is too young to be a conscript," and he evidently gave unconscious voice to what was passing through his mind. Fortunately enough, he saw nothing suspicious in any of the Northerners.

The train ran rather slowly, so that it was bright daylight before it reached Big Shanty. "Big Shanty; twenty minutes for breakfast!" shouted the conductor and the brakemen. George's heart beat so fast that he almost feared some one would hear it, and ask him what was the matter. The hoarse cries of the employees as they announced the name of the station made him realize that now, after all these hours of preparation and preliminary danger, the first act of his drama of war had begun. Every one of his companions experienced the same feeling, but, like him, none had any desire to draw back.

No sooner had the cars come to a standstill than nearly all the passengers, excepting the Northerners, quickly left their seats, to repair to the long, low shanty or eating-room from which the station took its unpoetic name. Then the train hands, including the engineer and fireman, followed the example of the hungry passengers, and hurried off to breakfast. The engine was deserted. This was even better than the adventurers could have hoped, for they had feared that it might be necessary to overpower the engineer before they could get away on their race.

The twenty-one men and the one boy left in the forward passenger car looked anxiously, guardedly, at one another. More than one felt in his clothes to make sure that he had his revolver. Andrews left the car for half a minute, dropped to the ground, and glanced rapidly up and down the track. There was no obstruction visible. Within a stone's throw of him, however, sentries were posted on the outskirts of the Confederate camp. He scanned the station, which was directly across the track from the encampment, and was glad to see, exactly as he had expected, that it had no telegraph office from which a dispatch concerning the coming escapade might be sent. Having thus satisfied himself that the coast was clear, and the time propitious, he reentered the car.

"All right, boys," he said, very calmly (as calmly, indeed, as if he were merely inviting the men to breakfast), "let us go now!"

The men arose, quietly, as if nothing startling were about to happen, left the car, and walked hurriedly to the head of the train. "Each man to his post," ordered Andrews. "Ready!"

In less time than it takes to write this account the seizure of the train was accomplished, in plain view of the puzzled sentries. The two men who were to act as engineer and assistant engineer clambered into the empty cab of the locomotive, as did also Andrews and Jenks. The latter was to be the fireman. One of the men uncoupled the passenger cars, so that the stolen train would consist only of the engine, tender, and the three baggage cars. Into one of these baggage cars the majority of the party climbed, shutting the doors at either end after them, while the two men who were to serve as brakemen stationed themselves upon the roof. Watson and Macgreggor were in this car, while George, with Waggie in his pocket, was standing in the tender, his handsome face aglow with excitement, and his eyes sparkling like stars.

"All ready! Go!" cried Andrews. The engineer opened the valve of the locomotive; the wheels began to revolve; in another second the train was moving off towards Chattanooga. The next instant Big Shanty was in an uproar. As he peered over the ledge of the tender, and looked back, George saw the sentries running here and there, as the passengers in the breakfast-room came swarming out on the platform. There were shouts from many voices; he even heard the report of several rifles.

But shouts or shots from rifles could not avail now. The engine was dancing along the track on the road to Chattanooga; Big Shanty was soon many yards behind. George took Waggie out of his pocket, and held him up in the air by the little fellow's forepaws. "Say good-bye to the Confeds," he shouted, "for by to-night, Wag, you'll be in the Union lines!" The dog barked gleefully; and jumped about on the platform of the tender, glad enough to have a little freedom again. Then Waggie was replaced in his master's pocket.

Andrews, who was sitting on the right-hand seat of the cab, looked the picture of delight.

"How was that for a starter?" he cried. "It's a good joke on Watson: he was so sure the sentries would stop us, and the soldiers didn't realize what we were doing until it was too late—for them! Hurrah!"

It was all that the four men in the cab, and that George in the tender, could possibly do to keep their balance. The road-bed was very rough and full of curves; the country was mountainous, and the track itself was in wretched condition. Yet it was a magnificent sight as "The General," which was the name of the engine, careered along through the picturesque country like some faithful horse which tries, with all its superb powers of muscle, to take its master farther and farther away from a dangerous enemy.

But suddenly the engine began to slacken its speed, and at last came to a complete standstill. Andrews, who had made his way into the tender, with considerable difficulty, in order to speak to George, turned a trifle pale.

"What's the matter, Brown?" he shouted to the engineer.

"The fire's nearly out, and there's no steam," was the rejoinder. At the same moment the men in the baggage car opened the door nearest the tender, and demanded to know what had happened.

Andrews called back to them that there would only be a short delay.

"It's only the fire that's out," he added; "and I'm thankful it is nothing worse. When I saw the train slowing up I was afraid some of the machinery had broken." No one understood better than he how a broken engine would have stranded all his men in the enemy's country, only a short distance away, comparatively, from Big Shanty and the Confederate camp.

George worked with a will in assisting the men in the cab to convey wood from the tender into the engine furnace. In three minutes "The General" had resumed its way.

"I wonder," thought George, as the train twisted around a curve and then sped across a narrow embankment, "if any attempt will be made to follow us." But the very idea of such pursuit seemed absurd.

Andrews turned to Jenks with a smiling countenance. "The most difficult part of our journey is already over," he said triumphantly. "There's only one unscheduled train to meet, in addition to the two regulars. After I meet it, probably at Kingston, twenty-five miles or more farther on, we can put the old 'General' to full speed, and begin our work! We have got the upper hand at last."

"Don't forget your telegraph wire is to be cut," said Jenks, as he jammed his shabby cap over his head, to prevent it from sailing off into space.

"Wait a couple of minutes," answered the leader. "We'll cut it." He knew that although there was no telegraph station at Big Shanty, yet the enemy might tap the wire, if it were not cut, and thus send word along the line that a train manned by Northern spies was to be watched for and peremptorily stopped. The simplest obstruction on the track would be sufficient to bring this journey to an untimely end.

"Brown, we'll stop here," commanded the leader, a minute or two later, as the engine was running over a comparatively level section. "The General" was soon motionless, whereupon Watson, peering out from the baggage car, called out: "Anything wrong?"

"Only a little wire-cutting to be done," shouted Andrews. Then coming to George, he said: "Look here, my boy, how are you on climbing?"

"Never had a tree beat me yet," said the lad.

"Then try your skill at that pole yonder, and see if you can get to the top of it."

Without waiting to make answer George handed Waggie to Jenks, jumped from the tender to the ashy road-bed, and started towards the nearest telegraph pole, only a few feet away from the engine. It was a far more difficult task to coax one's way up a smooth pole than up the rough bark of a tree, as George soon learned. Twice he managed to clamber half way up the pole, and twice he slid ignominiously to the ground. But he was determined to succeed, and none the less so because the men in the baggage car were looking on as intently as if they were at the circus. Upon making the third attempt he conquered, and reached the top of the pole amid the cheering of the spectators.

"Now hold on there for a minute, George," called Andrews. He produced from one of his pockets a ball of very thick twine, or cord, to one end of which he tied a small stick of kindling-wood, brought from the tender. Next he leaned out from the cab and threw the stick into the air. It flew over the telegraph wire, and then to the ground, so that the cord, the other end of which he held in his left hand, passed up across the wire, and so down again. To the end which he held Andrews tied a good-sized axe.

"Do you see what I want?" he asked the boy, who was resting himself on the cross-bar supporting the wire.

George needed no prompting. The cord was eight or nine feet away from him; to reach it he must move out on the telegraph wire, hand over hand, with his feet dangling in the air. Slowly he swung himself from the cross-bar to the wire, and began to finger his way towards the cord. But this was an experience new to the expert tree-climber; ere he had proceeded more than three feet his hands slipped and he fell to the ground. The distance was thirty-five feet or more, and the lookers-on cried out in alarm. The boy would surely break his legs—perhaps his neck!

But while Master George might not be an adept in handling a wire he had learned a few things about falling from trees. As he came tumbling down he gracefully turned a somersault and landed, quite unhurt, upon his feet.

"I'll do it yet," he maintained pluckily, running back to the telegraph pole.

"Wait, George," shouted Andrews. He leaped from the cab, and taking a new piece of the cord, tied it around the lad's waist. "If I had the sense I was born with I might have done that first," he muttered.

George began his second ascent of the pole, and this time reached the top without hindrance or mishap. Andrews now fastened the axe to the cord, of which George had one end; in a few seconds the axe had been drawn up by the boy. Then, with his left hand holding on to the cross-bar, and his legs firmly wound around the pole, he took the axe in his right hand and hit the wire. Three times did he thus strike; at the third blow the wire snapped asunder, and the longer of the two pieces fell to the ground. He let the tool fall, and slid down the pole as the men cheered him lustily. Andrews now took the axe, cut the dangling wire in another place, and threw the piece thus secured into the tender.

"They can't connect that line in a hurry," he said, as he turned to George with the remark: "Well, my son, you're earning your salt!" George, blushing like a peony, felt a thrill of pride.

"And now, fellows," added Andrews, addressing the men in the baggage car, "it will be best to take up a rail, so that if we are pursued, by any chance, the enemy will have some trouble in getting on any further."

The occupants of the car, headed by Watson, sprang to the ground. Andrews handed him a smooth iron bar, about four feet in length. "We have no track-raising instruments," explained the leader, "but I guess this will answer." Watson managed to loosen some of the spikes on the track, in the rear of the train, by means of this bar; later several of his companions succeeded in placing a log under the rail and prying it up so that at last the piece of iron had been entirely separated from the track.

The perspiration was dripping from Watson's brow. "Great guns!" he growled, "we are acting as if we had a whole eternity of time before us."

"Don't worry about that," said Andrews, reassuringly, as he leaped into the cab; "we have been running ahead of schedule time. But hurry up; there's lots of work before us!" In the next minute the Northerners were once more on their way.

After the train had run a distance of five miles, Andrews signaled to the engineer, and it was brought slowly to a stop. The chief jumped from the engine, walked along the track to the end car, and gazed intently to the southward.

"No sign of pursuit thus far," he said to himself. Then, turning back and speaking to the men in the baggage car who had once more opened the door, he cried: "There's time, boys, for another wrestle with the telegraph—only this time we will try a new plan." This time, indeed, a pole was chopped down, and placed (after the wire had been cut) upon the track directly behind the last baggage car.

"There," said Andrews, "that will have to be lifted off before our friends the enemy can steam by—even if they have an engine good for seventy miles an hour."

Walter Jenks came walking back to the cab. He looked pale and tired.

"What's the matter?" asked Andrews.

"I strained my back a bit in helping the fellows to put that pole on the track," was the answer.

"Go back into the car and take a rest," urged the leader. "George can take your place as fireman. Eh, George?"

The boy, coming up at that moment, and hearing the suggestion, smiled almost as broadly as the famous Cheshire cat. He longed to know that he was of some real use in the expedition. So Jenks retired to the baggage car, carrying with him, for a temporary companion, the struggling Waggie, who might be very much in George's way under the new arrangement of duties.

Off once more rattled "The General," and George, in his capacity of fireman, felt about three inches taller than he had five minutes before. The spirits of Andrews seemed to be rising higher and higher. Thus far everything had gone so successfully that he began to believe that the happy ending of this piece of daring was already assured.

"Now, my boys, for a bit of diplomacy," he said, at last, as the occupants of the cab saw that they were approaching a small station flanked by half a dozen houses. "Stop 'The General' here, Brown, for I think there's a tank at the place."

As the train reached the platform and slowly stopped, the station-master, a rustic-looking individual with a white beard three feet long, shambled up to the cab.

"Ain't this Fuller's train?" he drawled, gazing curiously at the four Northerners, as he gave a hitch to his shabby trousers. He could not understand the presence of the strangers in the engine, nor the disappearance of the passenger cars.

Andrews leaned out of the cab window. He knew that Fuller was the conductor of the stolen train, whom they had left behind at Big Shanty. "No," he said, in a tone of authority, "this is not Fuller's train. He'll be along later; we have the right of way all along the line. I'm running a special right through to General Beauregard at Corinth. He is badly in need of powder."

"Be the powder there?" asked the station-master, pointing to the three baggage cars.

The men hiding in one of them had received their instructions; they were as silent as the grave, and their doors were closed. The brakemen sat mute on top of the cars.

"Yes, there's enough powder in there to blow up the whole State of Georgia," returned Andrews.

"Wall, I'd give my shirt and my shoes to Beauregard if he wanted 'em," said the man of the long beard. "He's the best General we have in the Confederate service;—yes, better even than Robert Lee."

"Well, then help Beauregard by helping me. I want more water—I see you have a tank here—and more wood."

"You can have all you can hold," cried the station-master, enthusiastically. He was only too glad to be of use.

Thus it happened that ten minutes later "The General" was speeding away from the station with a fresh supply of water and a huge pile of wood in the tender.

"That yarn worked admirably, didn't it?" asked Andrews. The engineer and his assistant laughed. George shut the heavy door of the furnace, into which he had been throwing wood, and stood up, very red in the face, albeit smiling.

"But even if the story was true," he suggested, "you couldn't get through to Corinth."

"Exactly," laughed the leader, "but our goat-bearded friend at the station didn't think of that fact. Corinth is away off in the state of Mississippi, near its northern border, nearly three hundred miles away from here; besides, if I were a Southerner, I couldn't possibly reach there without running afoul of General Mitchell and his forces, either around Huntsville, or Chattanooga. However, I knew more about Mitchell's movements than the station man did—and that's where I had the advantage."

"We may not have such plain sailing at Kingston," said the engineer, as "The General" just grazed an inquisitive cow which showed signs of loitering on the track.

"We'll have more people to deal with there," admitted Andrews, "and we must be all the more on our guard."

Both the men spoke wisely. It was just two hours after leaving Big Shanty, and about thirty miles had been covered, when the alleged powder-train rolled into the station at the town of Kingston.

"I hope we meet that irregular freight train here," muttered Andrews. There were certainly plenty of cars in evidence on the sidings; indeed, the station, which was the junction for a branch line running to Rome, Georgia, presented a bustling appearance.

No sooner was "The General" motionless than a train-dispatcher emerged from a gathering of idlers on the platform and walked up to the locomotive. He held in his hand a telegraphic blank. As he saw Andrews, who was leaning out of the cab with an air of impatience that was partly real and partly assumed, the dispatcher drew back in surprise. He recognized "The General," but there were strange men in the cab.

"I thought this was Fuller's train," he said. "It's Fuller's engine."

"Yes, it is Fuller's engine, but he's to follow me with his regular train and another engine. This is a special carrying ammunition for General Beauregard, and I must have the right of way clear along the line!"

The dispatcher scanned the train. He saw nothing to excite his suspicions. The baggage cars were closed, and might easily be filled with powder and shot; the men in the engine, and the two brakemen on the top of one car had a perfectly natural appearance.

"Well, you can't move on yet," he announced. "Here's a telegram saying a local freight from the north will soon be here, and you must wait till she comes up."

Andrews bit his lip in sheer vexation. He had reasoned that this irregular freight train would already be at Kingston on his arrival, and he hated the idea of a delay. The loiterers on the platform were listening eagerly to the conversation; he felt that he was attracting too much attention. But there was no help for it. He could not go forward on this single-track railroad until the exasperating freight had reached the station.

"All right," he answered, endeavoring to look unconcerned, "shunt us off."

Within three minutes the train had been shifted from the main track to a side track, and a curious crowd had gathered around "The General."

It was a critical situation. The idlers began to ply the occupants of the cab with a hundred questions which must be answered in some shape unless suspicion was to be aroused—and suspicion, under such circumstances, would mean the holding back of the train, and the failure of the expedition.

"Where did you come from?" "How much powder have you got on board?" "Why did you take Fuller's engine?" "Why is Beauregard in such a hurry for ammunition?" were among the queries hurled at the defenceless heads of the four conspirators.

George, as he gazed out upon the Kingstonians, began to feel rather nervous. He realized that one contradictory answer, one slip of the tongue, might spoil everything. And in this case to spoil was a verb meaning imprisonment and ultimate death.

A dapper young man, with small, piercing eyes and a head that suggested a large bump of self-conceit, called out: "You chaps can't reach Beauregard. You'll run right into the Yankee forces."

"I've got my orders and I'm going to try it," doggedly answered Andrews.

"And run your ammunition right into the hands of the Yankees?" sneered the dapper young man. "I don't see the sense in that."

An angry flush came into Andrews' cheeks. "When you have been in the Confederate army a little while, young man, as I have," he said, "you'll learn to obey orders and ask no questions. Why don't you go serve your country, as other young men are doing, instead of idling around at a safe distance from the bullets?"

At this sally a shout of laughter went up from the crowd. It was evident that the dapper young man was not popular. He made no answer, but went away. "Will that freight never turn up?" thought Andrews.

Suddenly there came a barking from the baggage car nearest the tender, wherein were confined the majority of the party. George's heart beat the faster as he listened; he knew that the querulous little cries were uttered by Waggie.

An old man, with snow-white hair and beard, cried out: "Is that dog in the car part of your ammunition?" His companions laughed at the witticism. For once Andrews was nonplused. George came bravely to the rescue.

"It's a dog in a box," he said, "and it's a present to General Beauregard."

"Well, I hopes the purp won't be blown up," remarked the old man. There was another titter, but the story was believed.

"Things are getting a little too warm here," Andrews whispered to George. As the words left his lips he heard the screeching of a locomotive. "It's the freight!" he cried.

It was, indeed, the longed-for freight train; puffing laboriously, it came up to the station and was quickly switched off to a siding.

"Now we can get rid of these inquisitive hayseeds," said Andrews.

"Look," cried George; "I see a red flag!" He pointed to the rear platform of the end freight car, from which was suspended a piece of red bunting. Andrews stamped his foot and indulged in some forcible language. He knew that the flag indicated the presence of another train back of the freight.

Andrews was out of the cab like a flash. "What does this red flag mean?" he demanded of the conductor of the freight train, who was about to cross the tracks to enter the station.

"What does what mean?" asked the conductor, in a tone of mild surprise.

"Why is the road blocked up behind you?" asked the leader. Had he been the President of the Southern Confederacy he could not have spoken more imperiously. "I have a special train with orders to take a load of powder to General Beauregard without delay! And here I find my way stopped by miserable freight trains which are not a quarter as important as my three cars of ammunition."

"I'm sorry, sir," explained the conductor, "but it ain't my fault. Fact is, Mitchell, the Yankee General, has captured Huntsville, and we're moving everything we can out of Chattanooga, because it's said he is marching for there. We have had to split this freight up into two sections—and t'other section is a few miles behind. Don't worry. It'll be here soon. But, look here, sir! You'll never be able to reach Beauregard. General Mitchell will get you long before you are near Corinth."

"Pooh!" replied Andrews. "Mitchell may have taken Huntsville, but he can't stay there. Beauregard has, no doubt, sent him flying by this time. And, anyway, I'm bound to obey orders from Richmond, come what may."

"I wish you luck, sir," said the freight conductor, who was impressed by the authoritative bearing of Andrews, and believed the spy to be some Confederate officer of high rank.

The leader returned to the cab. It was still surrounded by the curious idlers.

"This is what I call pretty bad railroad management," he grumbled, loud enough to be heard by the Kingstonians. "This line should be kept clear when it's necessary to get army supplies quickly from place to place. What are fifty freight trains compared to powder for the troops?"

The minutes passed slowly; it seemed as if that second freight train would never come. At last a dull, rumbling sound on the track gave warning of the approach of the second section. In a few moments the heavily-laden cars, drawn by a large engine, had glided by "The General," down the main track. The men in the cab gave unconscious sighs of relief. Now they could move onward. But what was it that the sharp eyes of George detected? Yes, there could be no mistake. At the end of the second freight train was another red flag.

"Look!" he whispered. Andrews saw the flag, and turned white.

"How many more trains are we to wait for?" he said.

After regaining his composure he left the engine, to seek the conductor of the new train. He was back again in five minutes.

"Well?" asked George.

"I find from the conductor that there's still another section behind him," explained Andrews. "The Confederate commander at Chattanooga fears the approach of General Mitchell and has ordered all the rolling stock of the railroad to be sent south to Atlanta. The new train should be here in ten minutes."

In the meantime the people around the station had all heard of the danger which threatened Chattanooga from the Union army. The train-dispatcher came running over to the engine, and doffed his cap to Andrews.

"It ain't none of my business," he said, with supreme indifference to any rules of grammar, "but they say Mitchell is almost at Chattanooga—and you'll never get through to Corinth."

Andrews assumed an air of contemptuous superiority.

"I happen to know more of General Mitchell's movements than you do," he said, "And, what's more, no Confederate officer takes orders from a railroad employee."

"I didn't mean any offense," answered the train-dispatcher.

"Then go back and see that the switches are ready for me to move on the instant the next freight gets here," ordered the leader. The young man walked away, with a nod of assent.

"He talks proud enough," he thought; "he must be a relation of Jefferson Davis, from his airs."

After the dispatcher had gone, Andrews whispered to George: "We ought to let the boys in the car know the cause of our detention—and warn them that in case of anything going wrong in our plans they must be prepared to fight for their lives. Could you manage to get word to them without attracting suspicion?"

The boy made no verbal answer. But as he left the cab and vaulted to the ground, his looks showed that he understood what was wanted, and proposed to execute the commission. After sauntering among the men who stood near the engine, he crossed the track of the siding, directly in front of "The General's" headlight, and soon leaned, in a careless attitude, against the car in which so many of his companions were waiting. He was now on the opposite side of the track from the Kingstonians, but directly alongside the main track, and in full view from the station.

George began, in a very low tone, to whistle a few bars from "The Blue Bells of Scotland." It was a tune he had often indulged in during his travels from the Union camp. As he finished there came a bark of recognition from Waggie, and a slight stir in the car.

"Are you there, Watson?" asked the boy, under his breath. "Can you hear me? If you can, scratch on the wall."

There was a moment's pause, and the faint sound of footsteps was heard within the car. Then came an answering scratch.

George went on, in the same tone, as he leaned against the car, and apparently gazed into space: "Andrews wants you—to know—that we're waiting—till some freight trains—get in—from Chattanooga. But if anything—should happen—before we—can get away—be ready to fight. Keep Waggie from barking—if you can."

Another scratching showed that Watson had heard and understood. But Waggie began to bark again. George was filled with vexation. "Why did I let Waggie go in the car?" he asked himself.

Just then a welcome whistle proclaimed that the third freight train was approaching. It was time; the delay at Kingston must have occupied nearly an hour—it seemed like a whole day—and the men about the railroad station were becoming skeptical. They could not understand why the mysterious commander of the powder-train should persist in wanting to go on after hearing that Mitchell was so near.

When George returned to the engine the new freight went by on the main track directly in the wake of the second freight, which had been sent half a mile down the line, to the southward. The main track was now clear for Andrews. But the intrepid leader seemed to be facing fresh trouble. He was standing on the step of the cab, addressing the old man who had charge of the switches.

"Switch me off to the main track at once," thundered Andrews. "Don't you see, fool, that the last local freight is in, and I have a clear road!"

There was a provokingly obstinate twist about the switch-tender's mouth.

"Switch yourself off," he snarled. "I shan't take the responsibility for doing it. You may be what you say you are, but I haven't anything to prove it. You're a fool, anyway, to run right into the arms of the Yankee general."

His fellow-townsmen indulged in a murmur of approval. The men in the cab saw that another minute would decide their fate, adversely or otherwise.

"I order you to switch me off—in the name of the Confederate Government!" shouted the leader.

More citizens were running over from the station to find out the cause of the disturbance.

"I don't know you, and I won't take any orders from you!" said the switch-tender, more doggedly than ever. He walked over to the station, where he hung up the keys of the switch in the room of the ticket-seller.

In a twinkling Andrews had followed him, and was already in the ticket room.

"You'll be sorry for this," he cried; "for I'll report your rascally conduct to General Beauregard!" He seized the keys as he spoke, and shook them in the old man's face.

The latter looked puzzled. He had begun to think that this business of sending powder to Beauregard was a trick of some kind, yet the confident bearing of the leader impressed him at this crisis. Perhaps he had made a mistake in refusing to obey the orders; but ere he could decide the knotty problem Andrews took the keys, hurried from the station, and unlocked the switch. Then he jumped into the cab, as he shouted to the men near the engine: "Tell your switch-tender that he will hear from General Beauregard for this!" He gave a signal, and the engineer grasped the lever and opened the steam valve.

"The General" slowly left the siding and turned into the main track. As the train passed the station, heading towards the north, the switch-tender was standing on the platform, with a dazed expression in his eyes. Andrews tossed the keys to him, as he cried: "Forgive me for being in such a hurry, but the Confederacy can't wait for you!" Soon Kingston was left behind.

"Keep 'The General' going at forty miles an hour," said the leader. "We have only the two trains to meet now—a passenger and a freight—which won't give us any trouble. I tell you, we had a narrow escape at Kingston. More than once I thought we were all done for."

"I was pretty well scared when that rascal of a Waggie barked," observed George. The train was now gliding swiftly on past hills and woods and quiet pasture-lands. After the long delay the sensation of rapid motion was delightful.

"By Jove!" cried Andrews, with a tinge of humor. "You must bring that rogue back with you into the engine. When he barks in a place where there's supposed to be nothing but powder the thing doesn't seem quite logical. It throws discredit on an otherwise plausible story. Let us stop a couple of miles from here, near Adairsville, do some wire-cutting, release Waggie, and see how the fellows are getting along in the baggage car."

When the stop was made the men in the car quickly opened the door and came tumbling to the ground. They were glad to stretch their legs and get a breath of fresh air. Waggie bounded and frisked with delight when he espied George.

"I've had a time with that dog," said Jenks. "I had a flask of water with me, and he insisted on my pouring every bit of it out on the palm of my hand, and letting him lap it."

The other occupants of the car were crowding around Andrews, as they discussed with him the fortunate escape from Kingston. Watson, who seemed to be fired with a sudden enthusiasm, addressed the party.

"Boys," he said, "when I heard that switch-tender refuse to put us on the main track I thought our hour had come. But the coolness and the presence of mind of our friend Andrews have saved the day. Let us give him three cheers! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"

The cheers were given with a will.

"Thank you, comrades," said Andrews, modestly. "But don't waste any time on me; I only did what any other man would have done in my place. Let's get to work again—time's precious."

At a hint from him George clambered up a telegraph pole, taking with him a piece of cord by which he afterwards drew up an axe. Then he cut the wire, while others in the party were removing three rails from the track in the rear of the train. The rails were afterwards deposited in the baggage car occupied by the men, as were also some wooden cross-ties which were found near the road-bed.

"All this may be a waste of time," said Andrews. "We shall probably be in Chattanooga before any one has a chance to chase us."

"Yet I have a presentiment that we shall be chased," cried Macgreggor. "I believe there will be a hot pursuit."

His hearers, including Andrews, laughed, almost scornfully.

"Just wait and see," returned Macgreggor. "A Southerner is as brave, and has as much brains as a Northerner."

We shall see who was right in the matter.



CHAPTER VI

AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE

On sped the fugitive train once more, and in a few minutes it had stopped, with much bumping and rattle of brakes at the station called Adairsville. Hardly had the wheels of the faithful old "General" ceased revolving before a whistle was heard from the northward.

Andrews peered through the cab up the track. "It's the regular freight," he said, and calling to the station hands who were gaping at "Fuller's train," as they supposed it must be, he told them the customary story about the powder designed for General Beauregard. They believed the leader, who spoke with his old air of authority, and they quickly shunted his "special" on to the side track. No sooner had this been accomplished than the freight made its appearance.

As the engine of the latter passed slowly by "The General" Andrews shouted to the men in the cab: "Where's the passenger train that is on the schedule?"

"It ought to be right behind us," came the answer.

"That's good," whispered Andrews. "Once let us pass that passenger, and we'll have a clear road to the very end of the line."

In the meantime the freight was moved past the station and switched on to the siding, directly behind the "special," there to wait the arrival of the passenger train.

George began to grow restless, as the minutes passed and no train appeared. At last, with the permission of Andrews, he jumped from the cab, and walked over to the platform, Waggie following close at his heels. He looked anxiously up the track, but he could see nothing, hear nothing.

Two young men, one of them a civilian and the other evidently a soldier who was home on furlough (to judge by his gray uniform and right arm in a sling), were promenading up and down, and smoking clay pipes.

"I don't understand it," the soldier was saying. "They talk about sending powder through to General Beauregard, but it's an utter impossibility to do it."

"You're right," said his friend. "The thing looks fishy. If these fellows are really what they——"

"Hush," whispered the soldier. He pointed to George as he spoke. "Well, you're beginning railroading pretty young," he added aloud, scrutinizing the boy as if he would like to read his inmost thoughts.

"It's never too young to begin," answered the boy, carelessly.

"What is this powder train of yours, anyway?" asked the soldier, in a wheedling voice which was meant to be plausible and friendly.

George had heard enough of the conversation between the two young Southerners to know that they were more than curious about the supposed powder train. And now, he thought, they would try to entrap him into some damaging admission. He must be on his guard. He put on as stupid a look as he could assume (which was no easy task in the case of a boy with such intelligent features), as he replied stolidly: "Dunno. I've nothing to do with it. I'm only fireman on the engine."

"But you know where you're going?" demanded the soldier, with a gesture of impatience.

"Dunno."

"Who is the tall chap with the beard who has charge of the train?"

"Dunno."

"How much powder have you got on board?"

"Dunno."

"I don't suppose you even know your own name, you little idiot!" cried the soldier. "The boy hasn't got good sense," he said, turning to his friend.

"You were never more mistaken in your life," answered his friend. "He's only playing a game. I know something about faces—and this boy here has lots of sense."

George called Waggie, put the animal in his pocket, and walked to the door of the little station without taking any notice of this compliment to his sagacity. Under the circumstances he should have preferred the deepest insult. He felt that a long detention at Adairsville would be dangerous, perhaps fatal.

Opening the door, the boy entered the station. It comprised a cheerless waiting-room, with a stove, bench and water-cooler for furniture, and a little ticket office at one end. The ticket office was occupied by the station-agent, who was near the keyboard of the telegraph wire; otherwise the interior of the building was empty.

"Heard anything from the passenger yet?" asked George, as he walked unconcernedly into the ticket office.

"Just wait a second," said the man, his right hand playing on the board; "I'm telegraphing up the line to Calhoun to find out where she is. The wires aren't working to the south, somehow, but they're all right to the north."

Click, click, went the instrument. George returned leisurely to the doorway of the waiting-room. He was just in time to hear the young soldier say to his friend: "If these fellows try to get away from here, just let 'em go. I'll send a telegram up the road giving warning that they are coming, and should be stopped as a suspicious party. If they don't find themselves in hot water by the time they get to Dalton I'm a bigger fool than I think I am."

George stood stock still. Here was danger indeed! He knew that to send a telegram up the road would be but the work of a minute; it could go over the wires to the north before the "special" had pulled away from Adairsville.

At this moment the station-agent came out of his office. "The passenger is behind time," he said, and he ran quickly across the tracks to speak to Andrews, who was looking anxiously out from the cab of "The General."

"It's now or never," thought George. He turned back into the deserted waiting-room, entered the ticket-office, and pulled from the belt under his inner coat a large revolver—the weapon which he carried in case self-defense became necessary. Taking the barrel of the revolver, he tried to pry up the telegraphic keyboard from the table to which it was attached. But he found this impossible to accomplish; he could secure no leverage on the instrument. He was not to be thwarted, however; so changing his tactics, he took the barrel in his hand and began to rain heavy blows upon the keys, with the butt end. In less time than it takes to describe the episode, the instrument had been rendered totally useless.

"There," he said to himself, with the air of a conqueror, "it will take time to repair that damage, or to send a telegram." He was about to leave the office when he discovered a portable battery under the table. It was an instrument that could be attached to a wire, in case of emergency. George hastily picked it up, and hurried into the waiting-room. It would never do to leave this battery behind in the office; but how could he take it away without being caught in the act? His eyes wandered here and there, until they rested upon the stove. There was no fire in it. An inspiration came to him. He opened the iron door, which was large, and threw the battery into the stove. Then he closed the door, and sauntered carelessly out to the platform. The soldier and his friend were now standing at some distance from the station, on a sidewalk in front of a grocery store. They were engaged in earnest conversation. Over on the side-track, where "The General" stood, the station-agent was talking to Andrews. George joined his leader, and sprang into the cab.

"From what I hear," said Andrews, "the passenger train is so much behind time that if I make fast time I can get to Calhoun before it arrives there, and wait on a siding for it to pass us."

"Then why don't you move on," urged George, who happened to know how desirable it was to get away, but dared not drop any hint to his leader in the presence of the station-agent.

"You're taking a risk," said the station-agent. "You may strike the train before you reach Calhoun." He was evidently not suspicious, but he feared an accident.

"If I meet the train before we reach Calhoun," cried Andrews, striking his fist against the window-ledge of the cab, "why then she must back till she gets a side-track, and then we will pass her."

He turned and looked at his engineer and the assistant.

"Are you ready to go, boys?" he asked. They quickly nodded assent; they longed to be off again.

"Then go ahead!" ordered Andrews. "A government special must not be detained by any other train on the road!"

"The General" was away once more. George began to explain to Andrews what he had heard at the station, and how he had disabled the telegraph.

"You're a brick!" cried the leader, patting the boy approvingly on the shoulder; "and you have saved us from another scrape. But 'tis better to provide against any repairing of the telegraph—and the sooner we cut a wire and obstruct the track, the better for us."

Thus it happened that before the train had gone more than three miles "The General" was stopped, more wires were cut, and several cross-ties were thrown on the track in the rear. Then the train dashed on, this time at a terrific speed. Andrews hoped to reach Calhoun, seven miles away, before the passenger should arrive there. It was all that George could do to keep his balance, particularly when he was called upon to feed the engine fire with wood from the tender. Once Waggie, who showed a sudden disposition to see what was going on around him, and tried to crawl out from his master's pocket, came very near being hurled out of the engine. Curves and up grades seemed all alike to "The General"; the noble steed never slackened its pace for an instant. The engineer was keeping his eyes on a point way up the line, so that he might slow up if he saw any sign of the passenger; the assistant sounded the whistle so incessantly that George thought his head would split from the noise. Once, at a road crossing, they whirled by a farm wagon containing four men. The boy had a vision of four mouths opened very wide. In a second wagon and occupants were left far behind.

In a space of time which seemed incredibly short Calhoun was reached. Down went the brakes and "The General" slid into the station to find directly in front, on the same track, the long-expected passenger train.

"There she is!" cried Andrews; "and not before it's time!"

It was only by the most strenuous efforts that the engineer could keep "The General" from colliding with the locomotive of the opposing train. When he brought his obedient iron-horse to a standstill there was only the distance of a foot between the cowcatchers of the two engines. The engineer of the passenger train leaned from his cab and began to indulge in impolite language. "What d'ye mean," he shouted, "by trying to run me down?" And he added some expressions which would not have passed muster in cultivated society.

"Clear the road! Clear the road!" roared Andrews. "This powder train must go through to General Beauregard at once! We can't stay here a minute!"

These words acted like a charm. The passenger train was backed to a siding, and "The General" and its burden were soon running out of Calhoun.

"No more trains!" said Andrews. His voice was husky; the perspiration was streaming from his face. "Now for a little bridge burning. There's a bridge a short distance up the road, across the Oostenaula River, where we can begin the real business of the day. But before we get to it let us stop 'The General' and see what condition he is in."

"He has behaved like a gentleman, so far," said the engineer. "He must be in sympathy with us Northerners."

"Slow up!" ordered Andrews. "The old fellow is beginning to wheeze a little bit; I can tell that he needs oiling."

Obedient to the command, the engineer brought "The General" to a halt. As the men came running from the baggage car, Andrews ordered them to take up another rail.

"It's good exercise, boys," he laughed, "even if it may not be actually necessary."

Then he helped his engineers to inspect "The General." The engine was still in excellent condition, although the wood and water were running a little low. It received a quick oiling, while George climbed up a telegraph pole and severed a wire in the manner heretofore described. Eight of the party were pulling at a rail, one end of which was loose and the other still fastened to the cross-ties by spikes.

Suddenly, away to the southward, came the whistle of an engine. Had a thunderbolt descended upon the men, the effect could not have been more startling. The workers at the rail tore it away from the track, in their wild excitement, and, losing their balance, fell headlong down the side of the embankment on which they had been standing. They were up again the next instant, unhurt, but eager to know the meaning of the whistle.

Was there an engine in pursuit? Andrews looked down the track.

"See!" he cried.

There was something to gaze at. Less than a mile away a large locomotive, which was reversed so that the tender came first, was running rapidly up the line, each instant approaching nearer and nearer to the fugitives. In the tender stood men who seemed to be armed with muskets.

"They are after us," said Andrews. "There's no doubt about it." He was very calm now; he spoke as if he were discussing the most commonplace matter in the world.

His companions crowded around him.

"Let us stand and fight them!" cried Watson.

"Yes," urged Jenks, who had forgotten all about his sore back; "we can make a stand here!"

Andrews shook his head. "Better go on, boys," he answered. "We have taken out this rail, and that will delay them. In the meantime we can go on to the Oostenaula bridge and burn it."

There was no time for discussion. The men yielded their usual assent to the orders of their chief. They quickly scrambled back into the train, to their respective posts, and Andrews gave the signal for departure.

"Push the engine for all it's worth!" he commanded; "we must make the bridge before the enemy are on us." The engineer set "The General" going at a rattling pace.

"How on earth could we be pursued, after the way we cut the wires along the line," muttered the leader. "Can the enemy have telegraphed from Big Shanty to Kingston by some circuitous route? I don't understand."

"Are you making full speed?" he asked the engineer, a second later.

"The old horse is doing his best," answered the man, "but the wood is getting precious low."

"George, pour some engine oil into the furnace."

The boy seized the oil can, and obeyed the order. The speed of "The General" increased; the engine seemed to spring forward like a horse to which the spur has been applied.

"That's better," said Andrews. "Now if we can only burn that bridge before the enemy are up to us, there is still a chance for success—and life!" His voice sank almost to a whisper as he uttered the last word. With a strange, indescribable sensation, George suddenly realized how near they all were to disaster, even to death. He thought of his father, and then he thought of Waggie, and wondered what was to become of the little dog. The boy was cool; he had no sense of fear; it seemed as if he were figuring in some curious dream.

Suddenly Andrews left the engine, lurched into the tender, and began to climb out of it, and thence to the platform of the first baggage car. George looked back at him in dread; surely the leader would be hurled from the flying train and killed. But he reached the car in safety and opened the door. He shouted out an order which George could not hear, so great was the rattle of the train; then he made his way, with the ease of a sure-footed chamois, back to "The General." He had ordered the men in the car to split up part of its sides for kindling-wood. By the use of the cross-ties, which they had picked up along the road, they battered down some of the planking of the walls, and quickly reduced it to smaller pieces. It was a thrilling sight. The men worked as they had never worked before. It was at the imminent risk of falling out, however, and as the train swung along over the track it seemed a miracle that none of them went flying through the open sides of the now devastated car.

On rushed "The General." As it turned a curve George, who was now in the tender, glanced back to his right and saw—the pursuing engine less than a mile behind.

"They are after us again!" he shouted. "They have gotten past the broken rail somehow," he said. "They must have track repairing instruments on board."

Andrews set his lips firmly together like a man who determines to fight to the last.

George made his way back to the cab. "Will we have time to burn the bridge?" he asked.

"We must wait and see," answered the leader, as he once more left the engine and finally reached the despoiled baggage car. He said something to Jenks; then he returned to the cab.

"What are you going to do?" anxiously asked the boy. He could hear the shrill whistle of the pursuing locomotive. "Com-ing! Com-ing!" it seemed to say to his overwrought imagination.