_SHIP-CHANDLERS AND GROCERS._
It was three stories high, and, I was told, eighty feet in width and a
hundred and ten in depth. In front, the first story was on a level with
the street, allowing space for a tier of dungeons under the sidewalk;
but in the rear the land sloped away till the basement-floor rose
above-ground. Its unpainted walls were scorched to a rusty brown, and
its sunken doors and low windows, filled here and there with a dusky
pane, were cobwebbed and weather-stained, giving the whole building a
most uninviting and desolate appearance. A flaxen-haired boy, in ragged
"butternuts" and a Union cap, and an old man, in gray regimentals, with
a bent body and a limping gait, were pacing to and fro before it, with
muskets on their shoulders; but no other soldiers were in sight.
"If Ben Butler knew that Richmond was defended by only such men, how
long would it be before he took it?" I said, turning to the Judge.
"Several years. When these men give out, our women will fall in. Let
Butler try it!"
Opening a door at the right, he led us into a large, high-studded
apartment, with a bare floor, and greasy brown walls hung round with
battle-scenes and cheap lithographs of the Rebel leaders. Several
officers in "Secession gray" were lounging about this room, and one of
them, a short, slightly-built, youthful-looking man, rose as we entered,
and, in a half-pompous, half-obsequious way, said to Judge Ould,--
"Ah! Colonel Ould, I am very glad to see you."
The Judge returned the greeting with a stateliness that was in striking
contrast with his usual frank and cordial manner, and then introduced
the officer to us as "Major Turner, Keeper of the Libby." I had heard of
him, and it was with some reluctance that I took his proffered hand.
However, I did take it, and at the same time inquired,--
"Are you related to Dr. Turner, of Fayetteville?"
"No, Sir. I am of the old Virginia family." (I never met a negro-whipper
nor a negro-trader who did not belong to that family.) "Are you a
North-Carolinian?"
"No, Sir"--