Could it be? New Orleans in the hands of the Vandals,—the “miserable miscreants,”—the “hyenas,” as President Davis and Robert Toombs were wont to stigmatize the whole people of the North? Where was the great ram that was to work such wonders? Where were the Confederate gunboats? Were not Forts Jackson and St. Philip impregnable? Could not the Chalamette batteries sink any Yankee fleet that floated? Had not the fire-eaters,—the last-ditch men,—resolved that New Orleans should be laid in ashes before the detested flag, emblematic of Yankee rule, should wave from the public buildings? And here was a black rascal in uniform, flaunting that flag in the very face of one of the foremost of the chivalry! Let the universe slide after this! Let chaos return!
The company drifted in groups of two and three through the suite of rooms. Sam disappeared suddenly. The women were in the front room. Ratcliff, supposing that he was unnoticed, rose to escape. But Victor the hound, was on hand. He had been lying partly under the bed, with his muzzle out and resting on his fore paws, affecting to be asleep, but really watching the man whom his subtle instincts had told him was the game for which he was responsible; and now the beast darted up with an imperious bark, and Ratcliff, furious, but helpless, sank back on his seat.
Colonel Delancy Hyde approached, with the view of making himself agreeable.
“Squire Ratcliff,” said he, “you seem to be in a dam bad way. Kin I do anything fur yer? Any niggers you want kotched, Squire? Niggers is mighty onsartin property jes now, Squire. Gen’ral Butler swars he’ll have a black regiment all uniformed afore the Fourth of July comes round. Wouldn’t give much fer yer Red River gangs jes now, Squire! Reckon they’ll be findin’ thar way to Gen’ral Butler’s head-quarters, sure.”
Ratcliff cowered and groaned in spirit as he thought of the immense sums which, in his confidence in the success of the Rebellion, he had been investing in slaves. Unless he could run his gangs off to Texas, he would be ruined.
“Look at me, Squire,” continued the Colonel; “I’m Kunnle Delancy Hyde,—Virginia born, be Gawd; but, fur all that, I might jest as well been born in hell, fur any gratitude you cust ’ristocrats would show me. Yes, you’re one on ’em. Here I’ve been drudgin’ the last thirty years in the nigger-ketchin’ business, and see my reward,—a half-shaved scalp, an’ be damned to yer! But my time’s comin’. Now Kunnle Delancy Hyde tries a new tack. Instead of ketchin’ niggers, he’s goin’ to free ’em; and whar he kotched one he’ll free a thousand. Lou’siana’s bound to be a free State. All Cotton-dom’s bound to be free. Uncle Sam shall have black regiments afore Sumter soon. Only the freedom of every nigger in the land kn wipe out the wrongs of Delancy Hyde,—kn avenge his half-shaved scalp!”
Here the appearance of Sam, the house-servant, with a large salver containing a pitcher, a sugar-bowl, a decanter, tumblers, and several bottles, put a stop to the Colonel’s eloquence, and drew him away as the loadstone draws the needle.
Onslow came near to Ratcliff, looked him in the face contemptuously, and turned away without acknowledging the acquaintance. After him reappeared Ripper and Mrs. Gentry, arm-in-arm, the lady with her hands clasped girlishly, and her shoulder pressed closely up against that of the auctioneer. It was evident she was going, going, if not already gone. Ripper put up his eye-glass, and, carelessly nodding, remarked, “Such is life, Ratcliff!” (Ratcliff! The beggar presumed to call him Ratcliff!) The couple passed on, the lady exclaiming so that the observation should not be lost on the ears for which it was intended,—“I always said he would be come up with!”
Semmes now happening to pass by, Ratcliff, deeply agitated, but affecting equanimity, said: “How is it, Semmes? Are you going to help me out of this miserable scrape?”
“Our relations must end here, Mr. Ratcliff,” replied the lawyer.