- An old Confederate veteran tells how he once engaged in a secret service enterprise, how he penetrated the enemy's line in disguise, how he barely escaped capture by the skin of his teeth and how he finally delivered his message in safety.
- A typical Southern home, with a broad and low veranda overlooking the distant cotton fields. It is the home of our hero, the old Confederate soldier, whom you now see as he limps out of the door. He is crippled with rheumatism, but for all that is still as active and spry as the best of them. He puts on his specs and sits down to read the weekly paper, and as he does so his housekeeper comes out with her pan of flour, for it is baking day and time to knead the dough. We all of us find that now and then we need the dough. But the one necessary ingredient is the yeast, and down South they get it in a jug in liquid form; rarely ever in the compressed tablets used in the North. And the yeast being missing it is up to the old vet to amble off to the corner grocery after it. He puts on his bat and his old service coat, and, leaning heavily on his cane, starts away on his errand. Here we are at the country store, and you know very well that before you is a bunch of "old boys" fighting over their battles. With miniature fort and parapet built of sand and with tiny flags to indicate the various positions of the troops they have the entire field plotted out, and in their dimming eyes they can actually see the bloody fray as they saw it in reality years ago. All are intensely interested and even the storekeeper joins the group as the battle progresses. But here is our old friend, "Zeke." See how reverently he kisses the flag and how they all bear homage to it. And now he has forgotten all about the yeast. He takes a chair and starts to tell the story which will now be unfolded in beautiful pictures before your eyes. I am going to tell it to yon just as "Zeke" told it on that day. "Yes, boys, I well remember the day I started for the war. The roses were in bloom about the cottage door and my old mother and father, God bless them, were there to say good-bye. But hard as it was to leave the old folks, it almost broke my heart when I had to say the final parting word to my dear wife, my bride of but two short months. I joined Mosby's men, as you all know, for I knew horseflesh in those days and I just naturally drifted into the cavalry. Well, we all w'ant no regular troop. We just skirmished around where we thought we could do the most good and we camped in barns and farm buildings wherever they were handy. One day during the second year of the fighting we were on scouting duty when our Colonel, Mosby, found that the Union forces were making a forced march intending to cut out a big store of supplies which we had in a town some twenty miles south. It was up to him to notify the general. Well I remember it. We were just getting ready to have a snack to eat, under the shelter of the old flag, when Mosby comes out and says: 'Boys, who'll take this message to headquarters? The Yanks have cut us off and it will be a risky thing, but it's got to be did and I want a MAN to do it. Well, you'd oughter hear the yell. We all volunteered, every man of us. And, boys, it was me he picked out. He knew I could ride like the devil and he knew I was a bit of an actor and had some old wigs and whiskers in my kit. He says to me. 'Zeke, you're the boy. You fix up like an old peddler and with a little luck you can get through the lines.' So I starts out. I made pretty good going until I got in sight of the Yankee pickets, when I took to the brush, but I didn't know then that I was being trailed by a Yankee spy. I didn't learn that till years later. But he nearly got me. I'll give him credit for that. I ducked into the brush because I wanted to change my face and the highway was no place for that. Afore long we comes to the Yankees' headquarters. I makes an awful fuss about it and out comes General Grant himself, smoking a black cigar, just as I had always seen him in the pictures. I shows him a paper saying I am a poor old man on my way to Fredericksburg to see my sick daughter and would he kindly give me a pass. He looks me over and sees nothing wrong. I makes believe to faint again and that fetches him. He puts a loaf of bread in my basket, gives me a pass and sends me along. Good fellow, that Grant, the greatest general of them all. It was only a short run to the river opposite Fredericksburg and I knew it was up to me to swim. I didn't waste no time about it, either. They were close behind me and I could feel the bullets whizzing past my head. But they didn't hit me and I swum on. They took to the water, too, and swum after me. I'll give those fellows credit for being as game as they make 'em. Swimming with all your clothes on is no fun, let me tell you, and I was about all in when I reached the opposite shore. But those there Yankees with their guns were right behind me, and they'd have caught me right then and there if I hadn't tried a trick I learned at fox hunting and doubled my tracks. I threw them off and that was the last I saw of them there Yanks. I guess they had a wet time getting back. Well, I delivered that message and I was just in time, too. Our general said: 'Zeke, you are a hero.' Yes sir, that's just what he said." And so the story ends and all the boys are cheering, when an unexpected interruption occurs. The bread is waiting for the yeast. A female tyrant appears and the hero who forgot his errand is walked off by the ear, while the air rings with the shouts and laughter of his old cronies. - The Moving Picture World, February 27, 1909
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