Tom Strong, Lincoln's Scout

by Percy Keese Fitzhugh

  CHAPTER VII

  TOWSER FINDS THE FUGITIVES--TOWSER BRINGS UNCLE MOSES--MR. IZZARD AND HIS YANKEE OVERSEER, JAKE JOHNSON--TOM IS PULLED DOWN THE CHIMNEY--HOW UNCLE MOSES CHOKED THE OVERSEER--THE FLIGHT OF THE FOUR.

  They slept until late in the afternoon.

  Then Morris woke up with a yell. A dog's cold nose was thrusting itselfagainst his cheek. He thought his master's bloodhounds were upon him andthat the whipping-post was the least he had to fear. As Tom, startledfrom sound sleep by the negro's scream of terror, sprang to his feet, hesaw Morris crouching upon the ground, babbling "Sabe me, good Lord, sabeold Morris!" The dog, a big black-and-yellow mongrel, a very distantcousin of the bloodhound the scared darkey imagined him to be, waslooking with a grieved surprise at the cowering man. He was a mostgood-natured beast, accustomed to few caresses and many kicks, and hehad never before seen a man who was afraid of him. As he turned to Tom,he saw a boy who wasn't afraid of him. Tom, who had always been loved bydogs and children, smiled at the big yellow mongrel, said "Come here,old fellow," and in an instant had the great hound licking his hand andlooking up to him with the brown-yellow eyes full of a dog's faith and adog's fidelity. These are great qualities. A cynic once said: "The moreI see of men the more I like dogs." That cynic probably got from menwhat he gave to them. But still it is true that the unfaltering faith ofa dog and a child, once their confidence has been won, is a rare and aprecious thing. Tom patted his new friend's head. The big tail waggedwith joy. The hound looked reproachfully at Morris, as much as to say:"See how you misunderstood me; I want to be friends: but here"--heturned and looked at the boy who was smiling at him--"here is my bestfriend."

  He stayed with them an hour, contented and happy, humbly grateful for atiny piece of meat they gave him. Then, as dark drew near, he becameuneasy. Two or three times he started as if to leave them, turned to seewhether they were following him, looked beseechingly at them, barkedgently, put his big paw on Tom's arm and pulled at him. Evidently hewanted them to come with him, but this they did not dare to do.

  "Ef we lets him go, he'll bring his folkses here," Morris whispered.

  "I suppose we must tie him up," Tom reluctantly assented. "I hate totreat him that way, for he's a good dog. But if we leave him tied andpush off in the boat, he'll howl after a while and his master will findhim. Take a bit of fishing-line and tie him."

  Morris turned towards the hidden boat, but the hound, as if aware ofwhat they had said, suddenly started for his hidden home and vanishedinto the underbrush before Tom could catch hold of him. When Tom called,he stopped once and looked back, but he did not come back. Heshouldered his way into the bushes and trotted off, with that amusingair of being in a hurry to keep a most important appointment which alldogs sometimes show. And as he started, Morris appeared again, with ashrill whisper: "De boat's dun sunk hisself."

  Tom ran to the bank of the creek. The news was too true. The boat hadsunk. The rotten caulking had dropped from one of the rotten seams. Thebow, tied to a tree in the canebrake, was high in air. The stern wasunder five feet of water. The oars had floated away. The fishing-polewas afloat, held to the old craft by the hook-and-line, which had caughtin the sunken seat. What were they to do? They felt as a Western trapperused to feel, when he had lost his horse and saw himself compelled tomake his perilous way on foot through a country swarming with savagefoes. What to do?

  "We must raise the boat, Morris, get her on shore, turn her over, caulkher with something, make some paddles somehow and get off."

  They did, by great effort and with much more noise than they liked tomake, drag the crazy old craft upon the bank of the creek. They turnedher bottom-side up. The negro plucked down a long, waving mass ofSpanish moss from a cypress that grew in the swampy soil. Children inthe South call this Spanish moss "old men's gray beards." Each longdrift of it looks as if it might have grown on the chin of an agedgiant. They were pressing it into the gaping seam with feverish haste,listening the while for any sign of that dreaded coming of the bighound's "folkses." The short twilight of Southern skies ended. A deepcurtain of darkness fell upon them. And through it they heard the nearbypatter of the dog's paws and the shuffling footfalls of a man. And theysaw the gleam of a lantern.

  "We'se diskivered, Massa Tom," old Morris whispered, "we'se diskivered."

  As he spoke, he slipped over the bank into the creek and lay in much hisattitude when Tom had first "diskivered" him, except that the watercovered all of him except mouth and nose and eyes. Tom bent down to him.

  "Hush," he said, "keep still. There's only one man coming. The dog's allright. I'll meet the man. You stay here."

  Then he stepped into a circle of light cast by the lantern upon a massof underbrush and said, with a cheerful confidence he did not feel:

  "Howdy, neighbor?"

  The big yellow dog was fawning at his feet in a second. A quavering oldvoice came from behind the light of the lantern.

  "Howdy, Massa," it said. "Is I intrudin' on you?"

  An old, old negro shambled up to him, the lantern in one hand, a raggedhat in another. He bowed his crown of white kinky hair respectfullybefore the white boy. There was no enemy to be feared here. The boy'sheart bounded with relief and he laughed as he answered:

  "No, Uncle, you're not intruding. I'm glad to see you. I'm sure you'llhelp us. Come here, Morris."

  Morris scrambled up the bank, the wettest man in the world. His eyeballsshone as he neared them. They shone still more as he stood before theold negro, held out his hand, and said:

  "Unk' Moses, I'se po'erful glad to meet up wid you."

  Uncle Moses almost dropped his rude lantern in his surprise.

  "Well, ef it ain't Massa Pinckney's Morris! Howdy, Morris? How cum so asyou-uns is here, a-hidin'? I know'd de way dat ar Towser wuz a-actin'when he dun cum home dat dere wuz sum-un in de bush out hyar, but Ineber s'picioned t'wuz you, Morris. Is you dun run away?"

  The situation was soon explained. Uncle Moses had already becomefamiliar with it. Hunted men, both white and black, were no novelty tohim by that time. He had helped many of them on their scared way. Tooold to work, he lived alone in a little cabin on the outskirts of hisowner's plantation. He tilled a tiny plot of vegetables when "derumatiz" permitted and with these and some rations from "de big house"he eked out a scanty living. This owner's self-respect had not preventedhis working Moses through all a long life, with no payment except foodand lodging, and behind these always the shadow of the whip. But theslave's self-respect required him to work for the hand that fed him, solong as failing strength permitted. All he could do now was to scarecrows from the cornfield, but that he could do well, for his one suit ofthe ragged remains of what had been several other people's clothes madehim a perfect scarecrow. Besides his vegetables, he had some chickens, asacred possession. "Old Unk' Mose" was known and respected through allthe countryside. No chicken-thief ever came to his cabin. The kind oldpatriarch was reaping the reward of a kind long life. He dwelt in peace.

  He took Tom and Morris to the lonely cabin and treated them there with aroyal hospitality. Despite his protests, Tom was obliged to take theone bed. Unk' Mose and Morris slept upon the floor. First, they had amighty dinner. Two of Moses's fattest chickens and everything Moses hadin the way of other food filled their starved stomachs. Then to sleep.The last thing Tom heard that night was the swish of Towser's mightytail upon the earthen floor as the dog lay beside his cot. The lastthing of which he was conscious was Towser's gently licking the handthat hung down from the cot.

  The next day they toiled with such feeble help as Moses could give themupon their leaky boat. They put it in fair shape and then, with a rustyax which was one of Unk' Mose's most precious possessions, theyfashioned a couple of rough oars. Then they spent a day trying topersuade Moses to seek freedom with them. It was in vain.

  "I'se too old, Massa Tom," said Uncle Moses. "Dey wuz timeses when I dunthought all de days and dun prayed all de nights dat freedum'd cum alongor dat I cud go to fre
edum. It's too late nowadays. Unk' Mose mus' jes'sot hyar, a-waitin'. P'raps, ef I keeps a-helpin' udder folkses to finddeir freedum, p'raps sum day, 'fore I'se troo' a-waitin', de angel ob deLawd'll cum a-walkin' up to my do' and he'll be a-holdin' by de han' oba great big udder angel 'n de udder angel he'll dun smile at me and say:'Unk' Moses, I'se Freedum 'n I'se cum to you.' Den I'll say: 'Thank degood Lawd,' and I'll be so happy I guess I'll jes' die 'n go to de greatWhite Throne, whar ebberybody's free."

  Late that afternoon when they had had to give up the hope of takingUncle Mose with them, they were making a bundle of the food he had giventhem. It was a big bundle. He would have slaughtered his last chickenfor them, had they permitted it. Suddenly there came the sound of along, shrill whistle. Uncle Moses, tying up the bundle on his knees,forgot "de rumatiz" and almost sprang to his feet.

  "Lawd-a-massy, dat's de oberseer! He's dun callin' de hands to dequarters." The quarters were the slave-quarters which always clusteredat a respectful distance in the rear of a planter's home. "Dat aroberseer mebbe'll cum hyar. You folkses mus' hide."

  The whistle had sounded dangerously near. As they looked out of the onedoor that gave light to the slave's cabin, they saw three horsementrotting towards it, two white men and a negro. They were Moses'smaster, the dreaded overseer, and a groom. It was impossible to runacross the small cleared space about the cabin and seek the woodswithout being seen. But where could they hide in a one-roomed hut?

  "De chimbley, quick, de chimbley," gasped Uncle Mose.

  A big chimney, full of the soot of many years of wood-fires on the broadhearth below, filled half one side of the room. Tom and Morris rushed toit, climbed up the rough stone sides, found a precarious footing justabove the fireplace, and waited. Fortunately the fire upon which thefood for the journey had been cooked had almost died down. A littlesmoke floated up the wide opening. The smoke and the soot tickled theboy's nostrils until it seemed to him that he must sneeze. A sneezemight mean death. With a mighty effort he kept still for what seemed tohim an hour. It was really about five minutes.

  Mr. Izzard, owner of Uncle Moses and of some hundreds of other blackmen, Jake Johnson, his overseer, a renegade Yankee, with a face thattold of the cruel soul within him, trotted up to the door, the blackgroom a few yards behind them. Uncle Moses had thrust the bundle of foodfar back under the bed. He stood respectfully in his doorway, bowing tothe ground. Towser cowered beside him. Towser had felt more than oncethe sting of the long whip Jake Johnson carried. He feared and he hatedthe overseer.

  "Howdy, Massa Izzard?" said Moses. "Howdy, Mista Johnsing? Will you-unslight down 'n cum in?"

  "Howdy, Uncle Moses?" Mr. Izzard replied. He was a tall, pale,well-born, well-bred, well-educated man, as kind a man as ever held hisfellowmen in slavery, and as sure that he was justified in doing so bythe laws of both God and man as the German emperor was that he ruled asubject people by divine right. "No, we won't light down. We just cameto say howdy. Are you getting on all right? If you want anything, comeup to the big house and ask for it."

  He smiled and the overseer scowled upon the old negro as he stammered afew words of thanks. Suddenly the overseer asked:

  "Have you seen anything of Mr. Pinckney's Morris, Mose?"

  "No, sah, Mista Johnsing, sah, I ain't seen hide nor har ob Morris. Hasdat fool nigger runned away?"

  Johnson looked at him sharply.

  "If I thought you knew already he had run away," said he, "I'd"--hecracked his whip in the air to show what he would have done.

  Moses and Towser cowered. But Mr. Izzard told Johnson to stopfrightening "the best darkey on the place" and they rode away. Mosedropped upon his one chair and was just about to give fervent thanks forthe escape from detection, when Johnson, who had turned a short distanceaway and had galloped back, flung himself off his horse at the door andstrode into the dusky hut.

  "I b'lieve you know something about that Morris," he roared at theshrinking old negro. "You looked guilty. Tell me what you know or I'llthrash you within an inch of your black life." He cracked his dreadedwhip again.

  "I dun know nothin' 'bout him, Mista Johnsing," Moses pleaded.

  Alas, at that moment, smoke and soot proved too much for the overtriednostrils of Tom. He sneezed with the vigor of a sneeze long held back.His "at-choo! at-choo!" sounded down the chimney like a chorus ofbassoons. Johnson was across the room in a bound. He knelt upon thehearth, groped up the chimney, caught the boy by the ankle and pulledhim down. The soot had made a negro of Tom. The overseer was sure he hadcaught the fleeing Morris.

  At that terrible moment, when Johnson's throat was swelling for a yellof triumph that would surely have brought Mr. Izzard back to the hut,Uncle Moses cast the traditions of a life of servile fear of the whiteman behind him. Never had he dreamed of laying a finger on one of hisowner's race, even in those long-ago days when stout thews and musclesmade him fit to fight. Now, in trembling old age, the truth of thepoet's saying,

  "Who would be free, himself must strike the blow,"

  put spirit for a second into his old heart. He knew the danger that layin that yell. He meant to stop it, cost him what it might. Johnson wasstill on his knees in the ashes, still clutching Tom's ankle, the boystill sprawling on the hearth, half-dazed with the shock of discoveryand of his fall, when Uncle Moses's withered old body hurled itself uponthe overseer's broad back and his feeble fingers clutched the man'swindpipe and choked him into a second's silence. That second was enough.Tom sprang to his feet and sprang at his foe like a wildcat, and goodold Towser, rejoicing in the vengeance that beckoned to him, sunk histeeth in Johnson's shoulder and tore him down from the back while Tomstruck his strongest just below the overseer's chin and knocked him outfor the time being. Before he came to, he had been lashed hand-and-footinto a long bundle, had been effectually gagged with his own whip, hadbeen blindfolded and had been rolled beneath the bed, from under whichthe food had been hurriedly withdrawn. Meanwhile Morris had neither beenseen nor heard. Tom called up the chimney to him to come down.

  "I kain't, Massa Tom," said a stifled voice. It had never occurred toMorris to slip down and help in the fight he heard going on below. Hisone thought had been to escape himself. So he had climbed still higherup the chimney and in his frantic haste he had so wedged himself into itthat it took Tom an hour to pull him down. It was a battered, bruised,and bleeding negro who finally appeared. That was a very long hour. Mr.Izzard might return in search of his overseer at any moment. Theoverseer himself must be conscious by this time. His ears must have toldhim much. Tom whispered to Morris and Moses to say nothing. His anxiousgesture toward the bed beneath which Johnson lay frightened both negroesinto scared silence. Fortunately for them the overseer's ears had toldhim nothing. Towser's teeth had drawn so much blood--the mighty houndhad been pried off his foe with difficulty--that the man lay in a faintuntil the four fugitives had fled. For there were four fugitives now.Neither Moses nor Towser could stay to face the coming wrath. The restof Moses's chickens were killed, the rest of his vegetables gathered.When darkness fell, the old flat-boat, laden until she had a scant twoinches of free-board above the water, was slipping down the river again.Uncle Moses was no longer "a-waitin' fer freedum." He was going insearch of the freedom he had so long craved. He and his fellows had twoclear days in which to get away without pursuit, for Johnson lay in hisdark prison beneath the bed for fortyeight hours before he was found.One of the ropes used to bind him had caught upon an old nail in thewall. He was too weak to tear it away and so could not even roll himselfto the outer air. On the second day of his unexplained absence, Mr.Izzard had sent all the negroes in search of him and had offered areward for his finding. The discovery of his horse in a distant part ofthe plantation had concentrated the search there. The darkies whofinally got the reward did not rejoice much in it, for in finding theoverseer, they knew they were finding a cruel taskmaster and his cruelwhip. But the story of his discomfiture by three negroes, for he hadnever known that Tom's sooty face was really white, soon
spread throughthe countryside. He became a neighborhood joke and in his wrath at beingmade a butt he resigned as Mr. Izzard's overseer. Leaving this placedeprived him of his immunity from conscription. He was promptly seizedby the nearest Confederate officer and impressed into the army. TheIzzard negroes had the infinite joy of seeing their hated ex-overseermarched off under guard to a Confederate camp, to serve as a privatesoldier.

  Tom was destined to see Jake Johnson again.

  * * * * *

  Two nights they rowed down the river, almost without a word, afraid tospeak lest someone in the infrequent houses and still more infrequentvillages along the banks should hear them. Wise old Towser knew enoughnot to bark when men about him kept so still. He lay always where withnose or paw or tail he could touch Tom. The latter was the commander ofthe expedition and Towser felt it and became his abject slaveaccordingly. At the close of the second night they had reached theTennessee River. By day they camped upon shore in some hidden place,first craftily secreting the boat amid rushes and reeds. From theirsecond hiding-place, they saw about noon a Confederate gunboat, a smallstern-wheel steamboat, with cotton-bales at her bow and stern screeningher two guns. Though she was making all possible speed up the current,she moved but slowly. Her decks were thick with excited men. A babble ofvoices reached the fugitives, peering at her behind a mass of bushes.The few words that could be made out told them nothing. The sight ofher, however, warned them that a new danger might await them on thetraveled waters of the Tennessee. Their hearts would have beat higher,had they known that General Mitchell had pushed south from Huntsvilleand that Union forces were then encamped in strength upon the river, notmany miles below where they were cowering. The Confederate gunboat hadbeen steaming upstream to escape capture.

  When darkness came, they embarked again upon what proved to be the lastchapter in the history of the old flat-boat. The next morning, caught inan eddy at the mouth of a small, swift tributary of the Tennessee, shewhirled about, the Spanish moss dropped out of her rotten seams, shefilled and sank. She dropped so swiftly beneath them that before theyrealized their danger they were all floundering in water over theirheads. Tom could swim like a fish. That is one of the first things a boyshould learn to do. To his delight, he found Uncle Moses was alsosurprisingly at home in the water, considering his years. Towseraccepted the situation as something he did not understand, but which wasdoubtless entirely all right, as his lord and master, Tom, was in thewater too. Morris, however, could not swim a stroke and saw only certaindeath before him. He gave a yell of terror as he went under. That yellcame near costing them dear. As he rose to the surface, Tom on one sideand Uncle Mose on the other, acting under Tom's instructions, edged ashoulder under him, and started to swim to shore with him. Again heyelled. This time Moses lost patience.

  "Shet up, you fool nigger. You sho'ly needs to be 'mersed."

  With this whispered menace, he reached up one hand and ducked Morris'shead quite under water. That stopped all further sound from him. And bythis time their feet had touched bottom. They waded ashore, with Towserwagging a triumphant tail, shaking himself and sending showers of sprayover them. There they stood, wet as water-rats, with nothing in theworld except the dripping clothes they wore. And there was nohiding-place near. For half a mile on either side of them a clearedfield lay open to the day and the day was upon them. They had temptedFate by rowing on too long after the first signs of dawn. Fate hadturned the trump upon them. The sun rolled up above the eastern horizonat their back. It showed them, not half a mile away, a plantation house.It showed them a swarm of field-hands coming to the day's toil. Itshowed them a mounted overseer, only a few hundred feet away, riding upto the flat range of the field from a ravine that had hidden him. He hadheard Morris's yells. He saw the three and rode furiously at them,calling out:

  "What are you niggers doin' here?"

  Tom stepped forward to meet him. His two companions were useless in anemergency like this. They cowered back and were dumb. Towser strodeahead beside Tom and barked. The overseer pulled up short. He saw he wasdealing with a white man, or rather with a white boy. The circumstanceswere suspicious. Who were these three dripping ragamuffins? But sinceone of them was white, the man's tone changed and he modified hisquestion.

  "Who are ye? And what are ye doin' here?"

  "I am on my way to Vicksburg," Tom answered, "by the river. My boat sunkjust off shore here and we swam ashore. Can you give me another boat?"

  "I mout 'n I moutn't."

  "I am carrying dispatches," said Tom, sternly. "You will delay me atyour peril. I shall take one of those boats, whether you consent ornot."

  With this he pointed at the most encouraging thing the sunrise had shownhim. This was a line of three boats fastened to a wooden landing-placeby the river.

  "I b'lieve you're a Yankee," said the horseman, "and these are runawayniggers. You and they must come up to the big house with me. If you'reall right, we'll send you on your way. If you're not, well, we know whatto do with Yanks and runaway niggers! March!"

  He slipped his hand behind him, as if to draw a pistol. Tom was alreadymaking the same gesture. Neither of them had a pistol. Tom's had gone tothe bottom. It was pure bluff on both sides. And in a moment, seeingthis and being Americans, both laughed. But none the less the overseerdemanded that they should go to the big house. Tom, protesting, butapparently half-yielding, edged along until he was near thelanding-platform. Then, shouting "Come on, boys!" he ran to it, thefrightened negroes following at his heels and Towser running ahead. Hehustled them into the boat at the eastern end of the pier, jumped inhimself, jerked the rope off the wooden peg that insecurely held it, andpushed off. The overseer, angrily protesting, stood a moment watchinghis prey escape and then galloped like mad for the big house, shouting"Yanks! spies!! thieves!!! Yanks!!!!" He was met halfway by half a dozenmen in Confederate gray, roused by his yells. They were officers who hadspent the night at the hospitable house, had breakfasted at daybreak,and were just about to mount for their day's march when the overseergave the alarm. It was lucky for the fugitives that officers do notcarry anything bigger than pistols. A fusillade of revolver-bullets allfell short of the fleeing mark. Tom and Morris were pulling an oarapiece--they had found but two in the boat--with a desperate energy. Butit was unlucky for the fugitives that they had not thought to steal orto scuttle the other two boats. This was Tom's fault, for he wascaptain.

  "I'll know better next time," said Tom to himself ruefully, as he sawthree men spring into each boat for the pursuit. "I'll know better nexttime--if there ever is a next time."

  It did not seem likely that there would be a next time. One of thepursuing boats fell behind, to be sure. In it, too, there were but twooars and the men who plied them could not match the black man and thewhite boy who rowed for freedom's sake and life's sake. But in the otherboat, two strong men each pulled two oars, while the third man crouchedin the bow, pistol in hand, calling out steering instructions. This boatgained upon them, bit by bit. The fugitives could hear the lookout call"Port, hard-a-port!" and could almost see the extra weight thrown intothe sweep of the starboard oars to send the boat's head the right way.Once the man at the bow took a chance on a long shot. His bullet fellharmlessly two hundred feet astern of Towser who stood in the stern ofthe fleeing boat, barking savagely. Thrice they turned a sharp bend andwere out of sight of their enemy for a moment, but each time there was ashorter interval before the enemy shot into sight behind them. A fourthpoint lay just ahead. Tom looked back over his shoulder and measured thedistance with his eye.

  "We can just make that next point," he panted. "Soon as we do, we'llland and run. It's our only chance."

  "I kain't run," said Uncle Moses, "but you'se right, Massa Tom. Dey'llcatch us ef we keep a-rowin'."

  They had almost reached the bend. Another strong pull would have sentthem around it. But the pursuers had now so gained upon them that thelookout chanced another shot. By chance or by skill, it was a very goodshot. Th
e bullet struck Tom's oar, just above the blade. The bladedropped off as Tom was putting every ounce of his failing strength intoa prodigious pull. The handle, released from all pressure, flew throughthe air and Tom rolled over backwards into Morris's lap. There was ashout of triumph from astern. The rowers bent to their work with afierce vigor, feeling the victory won. Morris gave one last pull withhis one oar and it sent the boat around the bend.

  "And dere," as Uncle Moses with widespread arms used to tell the talethereafter, "and dere wuz Massa Lincum's gunboats, a-crowdin' ob deribber--'n de Stars-'n-Stripeses, dey jest kivered de sky!"

  TOWSER]

  And so Unk' Mose and Morris came to their freedom and Tom came to hisown. Towser became Tom's own. Uncle Moses insisted upon this and Towserhighly approved of it. The giant hound worshiped the boy. Morris wasspeedily put to work driving a four-mule team for the commissarydepartment of General Mitchell's force. He was accustomed to having foodand lodging doled out to him, so it seemed quite natural to be givensleeping quarters (usually under the canvas cover of the wagon he drove)and rations, but it took him some months to recover from the shock ofactually being paid wages for his work. When this too became natural, hefelt that he was really free. Uncle Moses was too old for that sort ofthing. He was bewildered by the rough and teeming life of an army-camp.He clung to Tom, was as devoted to him as Towser was, and much morehelpless than the dog was. Towser made friends and important friends atonce. It happened that food was rather short at headquarters the dayafter the fugitives found safety. Tom, waiting for a chance to go North,had been asked to share the tent of a staff-officer and to eat atheadquarters' mess. An hour before dinner, one of his hosts wasbewailing the scanty fare they were to have when Towser sidled aroundthe corner of the tent with a fat chicken in his mouth and laid it withrespectful devotion at his master's feet. There was a shout of applauseand a roar from the assembled officers of "Good dog, good dog, Towser,do it again!" Whereupon, after some majestic wags of his mighty tail, hedisappeared for a few minutes and did do it again. When the secondchicken was laid at Tom's feet, Towser's position was assured. He wasnamed an orderly by acclamation and was given a collar made of an oldarmy belt, with the magic letters "U. S. A." upon it, a collar which hewore proudly through his happy life.

  Tom, who felt quite rich when his arrears of pay were handed him,decided to give himself a treat by making Uncle Moses happy. That is thebest kind of treat man or boy can give himself. Make somebody else happyand you will be happy yourself. Try it and see. So, when he finallystarted back for Cairo and Washington he took both Uncle Moses andTowser with him. Neither of them had ever been on a railroad trainbefore. Equally bewildered and equally happy, they sped by steam acrossthe thousand miles between Cairo and Washington. In those days dogscould travel with their masters, without being banished to thebaggage-car. As the three neared the latter city, the great dome of theCapitol sprang into sight. Tom eagerly pointed it out.

  "Look, Uncle Mose, look, Towser, there's the Capitol."

  "Dat's Freedum's home," murmured Unk' Mose.

  And Towser, stirred by the others' emotion, barked joyfully. He felt athome, too, because he was with Tom.