not positively know that the lines were closed, we had better cross.

"It is your load, and if you say go we shall go," said brother Reed.

"I say go," was my decision.

Soon we were in front of the provost marshal's office. But he was not
there, and no one knew where he was. After a long search, in
accordance with my plea, some of the guards discovered and brought him
back, reeling, with his head of long hair thoroughly decorated with
feathers and straws. I met him in his office and read to him my
papers, holding, them before his face as I would exhibit a picture to
a two-year old baby. After explaining all, I made my request to pass
his lines with my load of supplies.

"Who--who's there?"

I told him who he was that so kindly offered to aid me in disbursing
these supplies just as I was starting; and that a general advised me
to take him with my load, as he would pass him, if in command.

"Well, well, I don'--don't--li-like--this--whole--whole-sa-sale
business."

But I pleaded for those suffering women and children with all the
politeness I was capable of mastering, with disgust boiling over. With
stuttering and mumbling his dislikes, and shaking his head, with the
feathers and straws waving and nodding in every direction, he took his
pen and scribbled a pass that was difficult to decipher. The next line
of guards hardly knew what to do with it until I told them the provost