It was not far from eleven o'clock at night when we took leave of the
Rebel President, and, arm in arm with Judge Ould, made our way through
the silent, deserted streets to our elevated quarters in the Spotswood
Hotel at Richmond. As we climbed the long, rickety stairs which led to
our room in the fourth story, one of us said to our companion,--
"We can accomplish nothing more by remaining here. Suppose we shake the
sacred soil from our feet to-morrow?"
"Very well. At what hour will you start?" he replied.
"The earlier, the better. As near daybreak as may be,--to avoid the
sun."
"We can't be ready before ten o'clock. The mules are quartered six miles
out of town."
That sounded strange, for Jack, our ebony Jehu, had said to me only the
day before, "Dem _is_ mighty foine mules, Massa. I 'tends ter dem mules
myself; _we keeps 'em right round de corner_." Taken together, the
statements of the two officials had a bad look; but Mr. Davis had just
given me a message to his niece, and Mr. Benjamin had just intrusted
Colonel Jaquess with a letter--contraband, because three pages long--for
delivery within the limits of the "United States"; therefore the
discrepancy did not alarm me, for the latter facts seemed to assure our
safe deliverance from Dixie. Merely saying, "Very well,--ten o'clock,
then, let it be,--we'll be ready,"--we bade the Judge good-night at the
landing, and entered our apartment.
We found the guard, Mr. Javins, stretched at full length on his bed, and
snoring like the Seven Sleepers. Day and night, from the moment of our
first entrance into the Rebel dominions, that worthy, with a revolver in
his sleeve, our door-key in his pocket, and a Yankee in each one of his
eyes, had implicitly observed his instructions,--"Keep a constant watch
upon them"; but overtasked nature had at last got the better of his
vigilance, and he was slumbering at his post. Not caring to disturb him,
we bolted the door, slid the key under his pillow, and followed him to
the land of dreams.
It was a little after two o'clock, and the round, ruddy moon was looking
pleasantly in at my window, when a noise outside awoke me. Lifting the
sash, I listened. There was a sound of hurrying feet in the neighboring
street, and a prolonged cry of murder! It seemed the wild, strangled
shriek of a woman. Springing to the floor, I threw on my clothes, and
shook Javins.
"Wake up! Give me the key! They're murdering a woman in the street!" I
shouted, loud enough to be heard in the next world.
But he did not wake, and the Colonel, too, slept on, those despairing
cries in his ears, as peacefully as if his great dream of peace had been
realized. Still those dreadful shrieks, mingled now with curses hot from
the bottomless pit, came up through the window. No time was to be
lost,--so, giving another and a desperate tug at Javins, I thrust my
hand under his pillow, drew out his revolver and the door-key, and,
three steps at a time, bounded down the stairways. At the outer entrance
a half-drunken barkeeper was rubbing his eyes, and asking, "What's the
row?"--but not another soul was stirring. Giving no heed to him, I
hurried into the street. I had not gone twenty paces, however, before a
gruff voice from the shadow of the building called out,--
"Halt! Who goes thar'?"
"A friend," I answered.
"Advance, friend, and give the countersign."
"I don't know it."
"Then ye carn't pass. Orders is strict."
"What is this disturbance? I heard a woman crying murder."
The stifled shrieks had died away, but low moans, and sounds like
hysterical weeping, still came up from around the corner.
"Oh! nothin',--jest some nigger fellers on a time. Thet's all."
"And you stood by and saw it done!" I exclaimed, with mingled contempt
and indignation.
"Sor it? How cud _I_ holp it? I hes my orders,--ter keep my eye on thet
'ar' door; 'sides, thar' war' nigh a dozen on 'em, and these Richmond
nigs, now thet the white folks is away, is more lawless nor old Bragg
himself. My life 'ou'dn't ha' been wuth a hill o' beans among 'em."
By this time I had gradually drawn the sentinel to the corner of the
building, and looking down the dimly lighted street whence the sounds
proceeded, I saw that it was empty.
"They are gone now," I said, "and the woman may be dying. Come, go down
there with me."
"Carn't, Cunnel. I 'ou'dn't do it fur all the women in Richmond."
"Was your mother a woman?"
"I reckon, and a right peart 'un,--ye mought bet yer pile on thet."
"I'll bet my pile she'd disown you, if she knew you turned your back on
a woman."
He gave me a wistful, undecided look, and then, muttering something
about "orders," which I did not stop to bear, followed me, as I hurried
down the street.
Not three hundred yards away, in a narrow recess between two buildings,
we found the woman. She lay at full length on the pavement, her neat
muslin gown torn to shreds, and her simple lace bonnet crushed into a
shapeless mass beside her. Her thick, dishevelled hair only
half-concealed her open bosom, and from the corners of her mouth the
blood was flowing freely. She was not dead,--for she still moaned
pitifully,--but she seemed to be dying. Lifting her head as tenderly as
I could, I said to her,--
"Are you much hurt? Can't you speak to me?"
She opened her eyes, and staring at the sentinel with a wild, crazed
look, only moaned,--
"Oh! don't! Don't,--any more! Let me die! Oh! let me die!"
"Not yet. You are too young to die yet. Come, see if you can't sit up."
Something, it may have been the tone of my voice, seemed to bring her to
her senses, for she again opened her eyes, and, with a sudden effort,
rose nearly to her feet. In a moment, however, she staggered back, and
would have fallen, had not the sentinel caught her.
"There, don't try again. Rest awhile. Take some of this,--it will give
you strength"; and I emptied my brandy-flask into her mouth. "Our
General" had filled it the morning we set out from his camp; but two
days' acquaintance with the Judge, who declared "_such_ brandy
contraband of war," had reduced its contents to a low ebb. Still, there
was enough to do that poor girl a world of good. She shortly revived,
and sitting up, her head against the sentinel's shoulder, told us her
story. She was a white woman, and served as nursery-maid in a family
that lived hard by. All of its male members being away with the array,
she had been sent out at that late hour to procure medicine for a sick
child, and, waylaid by a gang of black fiends, had been gagged and
outraged in the very heart of Richmond! And this is Southern
civilization under Jefferson I.!
At the end of a long hour, I returned to the hotel. The sentry was
pacing to and fro before it, and, seating myself on the door-step, I
drew him into conversation.
"Do such things often happen in Richmond?" I asked him.
"Often! Ye's strange yere, I reckon," he replied.
"No,--I've been here forty times, but not lately. Things must be in a
bad way here, now."
"Wai, they is! Thar' 's nary night but thair' 's lots o' sech doin's. Ye
see, thar' ha'n't more 'n a corporal's-guard o' white men in the hull
place, so the nigs they hes the'r own way, and ye'd better b'lieve they
raise the Devil, and break things, ginerally."
"I've seen no other able-bodied soldier about town; how is it that you
are here?"
"I ha'n't able-bodied," he replied, holding up the stump of his left
arm, from which the sleeve was dangling. "I lost thet more 'n a y'ar
ago. I b'long ter the calvary,--Fust Alabama,--and bein' as I carn't
manage a nag now, they 's detailed me fur provost-duty."
"First Alabama? I know Captains Webb and Finnan of that regiment."
"Ye does? What! old man Webb, as lives down on Coosa?"
"Yes, at Gadsden, in Cherokee County. Streight burnt his house, and both
of his mills', on his big raid, and the old man has lost both of his
sons in the war. It has wellnigh done him up."
"I reckon. Stands ter natur' it sh'u'd. The Yankees is all-fired fiends.
The old man use' ter hate 'em loike----. I reckon he hates 'em wuss 'n
ever now."
"No, he don't. His troubles seem to have softened him. When he told me
of them, he cried like a child. He reckoned the Lord had brought them on
him because he'd fought against the Union."
"Wal, I doan't know. This war's a bad business, anyhow. When d'ye see
old Webb last?"
"About a year ago,--down in Tennessee, nigh to Tullahoma."
"Was he 'long o' the rigiment?"
That was a home question, for I had met Captain Webb while he was a
prisoner, in the Court-House at Murfreesboro'. However, I promptly
replied,--
"No,--he'd just left it."
"Wal, I doan't blame him. Pears loike, ef sech things sh'u'd come onter
me, I'd let the war and the kentry go ter the Devil tergether."
My acquaintance with Captain Webb naturally won me the confidence of the
soldier; and for nearly an hour, almost unquestioned, he poured into my
ear information that would have been of incalculable value to our
generals. Two days later I would have given my right hand for liberty to
whisper to General Grant some things that he said; but honor and honesty
forbade it.
A neighboring clock struck four when I rose to go. As I did so, I said
to the sentinel,--
"I saw no other sentry in the streets; why are you guarding this hotel?"
"Wal, ye knows old Brown's a-raisin' Cain down thar' in Georgy. Two o'
his men bes come up yere ter see Jeff, and things ha'n't quite
satisfactory, so we's orders ter keep 'em tighter 'n a bull's-eye in
fly-time."
So, not content with placing a guard in our very bedchamber, the
oily-tongued despot over the way had fastened a padlock over the
key-hole of our outside-door! What _would_ happen, if he should hear
that I had picked the padlock, and prowled about Richmond for an hour
after midnight! The very thought gave my throat a preliminary choke, and
my neck an uneasy sensation. It was high time I sought the embrace of
that hard mattress in the fourth story. But my fears were groundless.
When I crept noiselessly to bed, Javins was sleeping as soundly and
snoring as sweetly as if his sins were all forgiven.
When I awoke in the morning, breakfast was already laid on the
centre-table, and an army of newsboys were shouting under our windows,
"'Ere's the 'En'quirer' and _the_ 'Dis'patch.' Great news from the
front. Gin'ral Grant mortally killed,--shot with a cannon." Rising, and
beginning my toilet, I said to Javins, in a tone of deep concern,--
"When did that happen?"
"Why, o' Saturday. I hearn of it afore we left the lines. 'Twas all over
town yesterday," he replied, with infinite composure.
"And you didn't tell us! That was unkind of you, Javins,--very unkind.
How _could_ you do it?"
"It's ag'in' orders to talk news with you;--besides, I thought you
knowed it."
"How should we know it?"
"Why, your boat was only just ahead of his'n, comin' up the river. He
got shot runnin' that battery. Hit in the arm, and died when they
amputated him."
"Amputated him! Did they cut off his head to save his arm?"
Whether he saw a quiet twinkle in my eye, or knew that the news was
false, I know not. Whichever it was, he replied,--
"I reckon. Then you don't b'lieve it?"
"Why should I doubt it? Don't your papers always tell the truth?"
"No, they never do; lyin' 's their trade."
"Then you suppose they're whistling now to keep up their courage? But
let us see what they say. Oblige me with some of your currency."
He kindly gave me three dollars for one, and ringing the bell, I soon
had the five dingy half-sheets which every morning, "Sundays excepted,"
hold up this busy world, "its fluctuations and its vast concerns," to
the wondering view of beleaguered Richmond.
"Dey's fifty cents apiece, Massa," said the darky, handing me the
papers, and looking wistfully on the poor specimen of lithography which
remained after the purchase; "what shill I do wid dis?"
"Oh! keep it. I'd give you more, but that's all the lawful money I have
about me."
He hesitated, as if unwilling to take my last half-dollar; but self soon
got the better of him. He pocketed the shin-plaster, and said nothing;
but "Poor gentleman! I's sorry for _you_! Libin' at do Spotswood, and no
money about you!" was legible all over his face.
We opened the papers, and, sure enough, General Grant _was_ dead, and
laid out in dingy sheets, with a big gun firing great volleys over him!
The cannon which that morning thundered Glory! Hallelujah! through the
columns of the "Whig" and the "Examiner" no doubt brought him to life
again. No such jubilation, I believe, disgraced our Northern journals
when Stonewall Jackson fell.
Breakfast over, the Colonel and I packed our portmanteaus, and sat down
to the intellectual repast. It was a feast, and we enjoyed it. I always
have enjoyed the Richmond editorials. If I were a poet, I should study
them for epithets. Exhausting the dictionary, their authors ransack
heaven, earth, and the other place, and into one expression throw such a
concentration of scorn, hate, fury, or exultation as is absolutely
stunning to a man of ordinary nerves. Talk of their being bridled! They
never had a bit in their mouths. Before the war they ran wild, and now
they ride rough-shod over decorum, decency, and Davis himself. But the
dictator endures it like a philosopher. "He lets it pass," said Judge
Ould to me, "like the idle wind, which it is."
At last, ten o'clock--the hour when we were to set out from
Dixie--struck from a neighboring steeple, and I laid down the paper, and
listened for the tread of the Judge on the stairs. I had heard it often,
and it had always been welcome, for he is a most agreeable companion,
but I had not _listened_ for it till then. Then I waited for it as "they
that watch for the morning," for he was to deliver us from the "den of
lions,"--from "the hold of every foul and unclean thing." Ten, twenty,
thirty minutes I waited, but he did not come! Why was he late, that
prompt man, who was always "on time,"--who put us through the streets of
Richmond the night before on a trot, lest we should be a second late at
our appointment? Did he mean to bake us brown with the mid-day sun? or
had the mules overslept themselves, or moved their quarters still
farther out of town? Well, I didn't know, and it was useless to
speculate, so I took up the paper, and went to reading again. But the
stinging editorials had lost their sting, and the pointed paragraphs,
though sharper than a meat-axe, fell on me as harmless as if I had been
encased in a suit of mail.
At length eleven o'clock sounded, and I took out my watch to
count the minutes. One, two, three,--how slow they went! Four,
five,--ten,--fifteen,--twenty! What was the matter with the watch? Even
at this day I could affirm on oath that it took five hours for that
hour-hand to get round to twelve. But at last it got there, and
then--each second seeming a minute, each minute an hour--it crept slowly
on to one; but still no Judge appeared! Why did he not come? The reason
was obvious. The mules were "quartered six miles out of town," because
he had to see Mr. Davis before letting us go. And Davis had heard of my
nocturnal rambling, and concluded we had come as spies. Or he had, from
my cross-questioning the night before, detected _my_ main object in
coming to Dixie. Either way _my_ doom was sealed. If we were taken as
spies, it was hanging. If held on other grounds, it was imprisonment;
and ten days of Castle Thunder, in my then state of health, would have
ended my mortal career.
I had looked at this alternative before setting out. But then I saw it
afar off; now I stood face to face with it, and--I thought of home,--of
the brave boy who had said to me, "Father, I think you ought to go. If I
was only a man, _I_'d go. If you never come back, _I_'ll take care of
the children."
These thoughts passing in my mind, I rose and paced the room for a few
moments,--then, turning to Javins, said,--
"Will you oblige me by stepping into the hall? My friend and I would
have a few words together."