"Ould is more than three hours late! What does it mean?"
All this while he had sat, his spectacles on his nose, and his chair
canted against the window-sill, absorbed in the newspapers. Occasionally
he would look up to comment on something he was reading; but not a
movement of his face, nor a glance of his eye, had betrayed that he was
conscious of Ould's delay, or of my extreme restlessness. When I said
this, he took off his spectacles, and, quietly rubbing the glasses with
his handkerchief, replied,--
"It looks badly, but--_I_ ask no odds of them. We may have to show we
are men. We have tried to serve the country. That is enough. Let them
hang us, if they like."
"Colonel," I exclaimed, with a strong inclination to hug him, "you are a
trump! the bravest man I ever knew!"
"I trust in God,--that is all," was his reply.
This was all he said,--but his words convey no idea of the sublime
courage which shone in his eye and lighted up his every feature. I felt
rebuked, and turned away to hide my emotion. As I did so, my attention
was arrested by a singular spectacle in a neighboring street. Coming
down the hill, hand in hand with a colored woman, were two little boys
of about eight or nine years, one white, the other black. As they neared
the opposite corner, the white lad drew back and struck the black boy a
heavy blow with his foot. The ebony juvenile doubled up his fist, and,
planting it behind the other's ear, felled him to the sidewalk. But the
white lad was on his feet again in an instant, and showering on the
black a perfect storm of kicks and blows. The latter parried the assault
coolly, and, watching his opportunity, planted another blow behind the
white boy's ear, which sent him reeling to the ground again. Meanwhile
the colored nurse stood by, enjoying the scene, and a score or more of
negroes of all ages and sizes gathered around, urging the young ebony on
with cheers and other expressions of encouragement. I watched the combat
till the white lad had gone down a third time, when a rap came at the
door, and Judge Ould entered.
"Good evening," he said.
"Good evening," we replied.
"Well, Gentlemen, if you are ready, we'll walk round to the Libby," he
added, with a hardness of tone I had not observed in his voice before.
My worst fears were realized! We were prisoners! A cold tremor passed
over me, and my tongue refused its office. A drooping plant turns to the
sun; so, being just then a drooping plant, I turned to the Colonel. He
stood, drawn up to his full height, looking at Ould. Not a feature of
his fine face moved, but his large gray eye was beaming with a sort of
triumph. I have met brave men,--men who have faced death a hundred times
without quailing; but I never met a man who had the moral grandeur of
that man. His look inspired me, for I turned to Ould, and, with a
coolness that amazed myself, said,--
"Very well. We are ready. But here is an instructive spectacle"; and I
pointed to the conflict going on in the street. "That is what you are
coming to. Fight us another year, and that scene will be enacted, by
larger children, all over the South."
"To prevent that is why we are fighting you at all," he replied, dryly.
We shook Javins by the hand, and took up our portmanteaus to go. Then
our hotel-bill occurred to me, and I said to Ould,--
"You cautioned us against offering greenbacks. We have nothing else.
Will you give us some Confederate money in exchange?"
"Certainly. But what do you want of money?" he asked, resuming the free
and easy manner he had shown in our previous intercourse.
"To pay our hotel-bill."
"You have no bill here. It will be settled by the Confederacy."
"We can't allow that. We are not here as the guests of your Government."
"Yes, you are, and you can't help yourselves," he rejoined, laughing
pleasantly. "If you offer the landlord greenbacks, he'll have you
jugged, certain,--for it's against the law."
"That's nothing to us. We are jugged already."
"So you are!" and he laughed again, rather boisterously.
His manner half convinced me that he had been playing on our
sensibilities; but I said nothing, and we followed him down the stairs.
At the outer door stood Jack and the ambulance! Their presence assured
us a safe exit from Dixie, and my feelings found expression somewhat as
follows:--
"How are you, Jack? You're the best-looking darky I ever saw."
"I's bery well, Massa, bery well. Hope you's well," replied Jack,
grinning until he made himself uglier than Nature intended. "I's glad
you tinks I's good-lookin'."
"Good-looking! You're better-looking than any man, black or white, I
ever met."
"You've odd notions of beauty," said the Judge, smiling. "That accounts
for your being an Abolitionist."
"No, it don't." And I added, in a tone too low for Jack to hear, "It
only implies, that, until I saw that darky, I doubted our getting out of
Dixie."
The Judge gave a low whistle.
"So you smelt a rat?"
"Yes, a very big one. Tell us, why were you so long behind time?"
"I'll tell you when the war is over. Now I'll take you to Libby and the
hospitals, if you'd like to go."
We said we would, and, ordering Jack to follow with the ambulance, the
Judge led us down the principal thoroughfare. A few shops were open, a
few negro women were passing in and out among them, and a few wounded
soldiers were limping along the sidewalks; but scarcely an able-bodied
man was to be seen anywhere. A poor soldier, who had lost both legs and
a hand, was seated at a street-corner, asking alms of the colored women
as they passed. Pointing to him, the Judge said,--
"There is one of our arguments against reunion. If you will walk two
squares, I'll show you a thousand."
"All asking alms of black women? That is another indication of what you
are coming to."
He made no reply. After a while, scanning our faces as if he would
detect our hidden thoughts, he said, in an abrupt, pointed way,--
"Grant was to have attacked us yesterday. Why didn't he do it?"
"How should we know?"
"You came from Foster's only the day before. That's where the attack was
to have been made."
"Why wasn't it made?"
"_I_ don't know. Some think it was because you came in, and were
_expected out_ that way."
"Oh! That accounts for your being so late! You think we are spies, sent
in to survey, and report on the route?"
"No, I do not. I think you are honest men, and I've _said so_."
And I have no doubt it was because he "said so" that we got out of
Richmond.
By this time we had reached a dingy brick building, from one corner of
which protruded a small sign, bearing, in black letters on a white
ground, the words,--