Border and Bastille

by George A. Lawrence

When we started, I bore no sort of malice to that same Dolley; but, before we had got through the twenty-three miles that brought us to New Creek, I hated him intensely, as one hates the man—friend or foe—that bores you to death's door. That he should be puffed up with vainglory, was neither unlikely nor unreasonable. His own shots were the only ones he had ever seen fired in anger. It was natural, too, that he should over-estimate the importance of his capture; he had suffered from the war, in purse, if not in person, and had lost two sons in the Northern army from disease, one of whom had been imprisoned for six months by the Confederates. After his first excitement had passed away, he bore himself not unkindly towards me; though, at Greenland, he did greatly bewail the darkness that had caused him to take a costly life instead of a worthless one; Falcon would have fetched five hundred dollars in those parts; even at my own valuation, I could not have been appraised so highly. So I listened to him twice or thrice with great patience, while he told how well he had deserved of his country; but, when he persisted in repeating the same tale, not only to me, but to every creature he encountered, the iteration became simply "damnable." He spoke of his dead sons in the same pompous tones of self-exultation with which he reckoned all other items standing to the credit side of his patriotism. Fortunately for my equanimity, I was not present when he told his own tale at New Creek; it must have been a grand romance of history.

Yet my poor Dolley made a bad night's work of it after all. His three days' fame in local papers cost him dear. Immediately on getting out of prison, I heard—not without a savage satisfaction—that Imboden's horsemen had harried his homestead thoroughly in their last raid; Dolley only saving his life by "running like a hare." The Southerners know everything that goes on near their lines, and are wonderfully regular in settling scores with any registered debtor.

At New Creek I was confronted with Colonel Mulligan. His attire was anything but military; black overalls crammed into high butcher boots, a Garibaldi shirt of the brightest emerald green; but his bearing was unmistakably that of a soldier and gentleman. He treated me with the utmost courtesy. I also met with no small kindness from the adjutant of the artillery corps, an old Crimean. Unluckily, Colonel Mulligan could not deal with my case, so, after a brief examination, and liberal refreshment, Shipley and myself were forwarded by rail to Wheeling, two hundred miles further west, where the district Provost Marshal was stationed.

We reached Wheeling in the early morning, and there were indulged with a most welcome bath, and breakfast. Soon afterwards we stood in the presence of the Provost Marshal, Major Darr.

The figure of this functionary certainly resembles, in its square obesity, that of the great Emperor in his latter days. Possibly for this reason, Major Darr affects a Napoleonic curtness and decision of speech. Nevertheless, he was amenable to reason, and on my agreeing to pay the expenses of an escort, consented to forward me to Baltimore, to be identified. Shipley was committed at once to the military prison.

It was a long, weary journey of twenty-three hours, and I was so harassed by want of sleep, that I scarcely appreciated some really fine scenery on the Laurel and Chestnut ranges. We reached Baltimore about three, A. M., and I dispatched two notes immediately, one to the British Consul, another to my most intimate acquaintance in the city.

Both came down without delay, proffering all possible assistance. I had a regular levee before my guards conveyed me to the office of the Chief of Gen. Schenck's staff, to whose mercies I was consigned. Colonel Cheesebrough was civil enough; but, in his turn, professed himself unable to deal with my case, and referred it to the General. Cæsar was not less dilatory than Felix. I never saw the potentate before whose nod Baltimore trembles (he was unwell, I believe, or unusually sulky), but I underwent a lengthened interrogatory at the mouth of a very young and girlish-looking aide-de-camp. In the midst of this, rather an absurd incident occurred. General Schenck's headquarters are at the Eutaw House. The fair daughter of a house at which I had been very intimate—was to be married that same day, and at that same house the bridegroom's party were staying. Suddenly, through an opening door, two or three of these my friends debouched upon the scene. They had not heard one word of my misadventures, so that they were naturally rather surprised at finding me there, in such company. I really think that the sympathy lavished upon me in that brief interview was not so refreshing as the palpable discomfort of the unhappy aide, under a galling glance-fire maintained by Southern eyes, not careful to dissemble their hatred and scorn.

I was so perfectly used to being ballotte by this time, that it did not in anywise surprise me, to hear that I was to be sent down to Washington, to be examined by the Judge-Advocate-General. There was so much delay in making out commitment papers that we lost the afternoon train. No other started before eight, P. M., so that, by the time we reached Washington, all offices would have been closed, and we must have spent the night in the Central Guard-house. I had heard enough of the foul abominations of that refuge for the imprisoned destitute, to make me determined never to cross the threshold unless under actual coercion. I said as much to the cavalry sergeant who had me in charge; suggesting that, by taking the four A. M. train on the following morning, we should arrive hours before the Provost Marshal's or Judge Advocate's offices were open. He was civilly rational about the whole question, and, on my parole not to attempt escape, readily consented to accompany me to a house, where I was more at home than anywhere else in Baltimore. There I remained till long after midnight: though none of us were in the best of spirits or tempers, that brief return to social life was an indescribable rest and restorative. I mention this unimportant incident chiefly because one of the charges brought against me afterwards was founded on "my having bribed my escort, and spent the whole night at the house of a notorious Secessionist." The poor sergeant was reduced to the ranks for dereliction of duty; and I the more regret this, because his good-nature was not mercenary.

We reached Washington about six, A. M. No offices were open before nine. I employed the interval, partly in breakfasting with what appetite I might, partly in a visit to Percy Anderson, whose slumbers I was compelled to break by the most disagreeable of all morning apparitions—a friend in trouble. I could only just stay long enough to receive condolences, and promises of all possible assistance—private or diplomatic; then I betook myself to the Provost Marshal's office, which I did not enter; thence to that of the Judge-Advocate-General.

I look back upon that interview with feelings of unmitigated self-contempt, I confess to have been utterly deluded by that sleek official's sham bonhommie; so that when he prayed me to be frank and explicit—"Anything that you say, I shall receive with perfect confidence," &c., &c.,—I did strive, to the best of my powers, to forget no important incident or word relative to my conduct since I landed in America; only making reservations where confession might implicate others. An artless boy might easily have been gulled by the portly presence, the unctuous voice, and eyes that twinkled merrily through gold-rimmed glasses; but no man of mature age can remember such a gross mistake without a hot flush of shame.