The Rebel Spy by J. T. Edson Page B

wooding owners laid on secret wood-piles for use by such Confederate ships as might need it while on raiding missions along the river.
    With everything ready, the party ate a meal made up from supplies brought aboard in Alexandria. Then they boarded the foliage-draped Jack and started moving once more. After a few adjustments had been made, the cox’n announced that he could see well enough and discovered that the boat answered to the wheel in a satisfactory manner.
    For three hours they travelled downstream without seeing anything to disturb them. Before the War there would have been other boats on the move, people working on the banks, but most activity had been suspended due to the danger of becoming involved in a clash between the two opposing forces. Suddenly the look-out turned from where he peered through a gap made in the foliage.
    “Boat dead ahead, sir,” he said, offering Pinckney the field glasses.
    “Stop engines!” the lieutenant ordered after studying the approaching vessel briefly. “Run us as close as you can to the starboard bank, cox’n. Not a sound or movement from any of you after that.”
    With the engine stopped, the Jack drifted on the current. Gradually and in as near a natural manner as he could manage, the cox’n steered them across the river and then held the boat so that it continued to move but did not swing in the direction of the approaching enemy craft.
    “It’s a steam-launch,” breathed the sailor at Dusty’s side as they peered through the foliage.
    Dusty studied the other craft as it drew nearer, holding out in the centre of the wide river and making good speed even against the current. In appearance it resembled a large rowing boat, but with a powerful steam-engine installed. A twelve-pounder boat-howitzer rode on a slide-carriage at the bows, while the launch’s spar torpedo hung on slings alongside instead of extending before the vessel as it would when ready for use. Although only thirty foot in length, the steam-launch carried a crew of seven men and possessed sufficient armament to blow the Jack out of the water even without using the spar-torpedo.
    Nothing Dusty had ever done in action or during his patrols ever filled him with a nervous strain to equal that of watching the Yankee steam-launch go by. Born on the great open plains of Southern Texas, the largest river he had seen until joining the Army was the Rio Hondo and that looked like no more than a stream compared with the width of the Big Muddy. His eyes flickered to the Sharps carbines and his right hand touched the grip of the Army Colt at his waistband. Neither weapon offered much comfort when he considered the strength of the enemy’s armament.
    Belle could sense Dusty’s tension and smiled a little, which helped relieve her own. However, having seen the small Texan’s cold courage at other times, she knew he would do nothing that might endanger their mission.
    On came the launch, drawing closer, coming level and then passing them. Not one of the Yankee sailors did more than glance at the floating foliage. Soon the two vessels lay so far apart that Pinckney decided they might chance using their own engines. With the added thrust of the Jack’s propellers, they quickly ran the Yankee launch out of sight.
    “How’d you like it, Captain Fog?” grinned Pinckney.
    “Well, I’ll tell you,” drawled Dusty sincerely. “Give me leading a cavalry charge any old time at all.”

Chapter 7
    A Matter of Simple Priorities
    The Jack continued to make good time, without meeting any other shipping or needing to do more than cut off their engines while passing some river-edge town or village. At around three in the afternoon, Pinckney told his passengers that they would soon be stopping to take on fuel at a secret dump left by Confederate supporters working out of Mendel’s Wooding.
    “We’ll have to run in there behind that island,” he went on, pointing ahead. “Unless it’s silted up or something, there’s