Our pickets descried a solitary horseman, with a basket on his arm, jogging soberly toward them. He proved a dark mulatto of about thirty-five, and halted at their order.
"Where are you from?"
"Southern army, Cap'n."
"Where are you going?"
"Goin' to you'se all."
"What do you want?"
"Protection, boss. You won't send me back, will you?"
"No, come in. Whose servant are you?"
"Cap'n Rhett's, of South Caroliny. You'se heard of Mr. Barnwell Rhett, Editor of The Charleston Mercury; Cap'n is his brother, and commands a battery."