But his face was
not rough.
"Who are you?" asked the man.
"Lieutenant Richard Mason of Colonel Winchester's regiment in the army
of General Grant, sent several days ago with a message to the fleet, but
driven by Confederate scouts and skirmishers into Vicksburg, where he lay
hidden, seeking a chance of escape."
"And he found it to-night, coming down the river like a big catfish."
"He did, sir. He could find no other way, and he arrived on the useful
board which is now floating away on the current."
"What proof have you that you are what you say."
"That I saw you before you saw me and hailed you."
"It's not enough."
"Then here is the message that I was to have delivered to the commander
of the fleet. It's pretty wet, but I think you can make it out."
He drew the dispatch from the inside pocket of his waistcoat. It was
soaked through, but when they turned the ship's lantern upon it the
captain could make out its tenor and the names. Doubt could exist no
longer and he clapped his hands heartily upon the lad's shoulder.
"Come into the cabin and have something to eat and dry clothes," he said.
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