“Well,” said the other, “the lady was put in for hiding and feeding a conscript.”
“Yes,” savagely rejoined the first, “and if that’s so, she ought to have been hung, and not put into prison.”
Upon returning to prison, I, in company with my tried friend, Captain Studman, went up stairs, where we both saw the lady and gentlemen in question. She had no hope whatever of escaping execution, and her pale, finely-formed face, though sorrowful, was determined in its expression. Her companions shared her imprisonment, because they had defended her, and to defend such an one was death or imprisonment.
When the appointed time for our departure arrived, we were soon ready. While standing in the street, drawn up in a rank, there was near us an old man, who, whenever he had an opportunity, would grossly insult us. The sun was broiling hot, and my temper, not being much cooler, I felt inclined to admonish this old rebel a little. But, not wishing to offend Captain Collins, who had treated me so well, I refrained, and listened for some time to the hoary-headed coward in silence.
A line of female negroes as long as our own, stood close to us watching us, and commented upon our appearance. While thus engaged, a little dog made his way through them, and commenced barking at, and playing with one of our number, a captain from Missouri.
The captain patted the little animal, and said, in half-joking tones:
“Well, puppy, I’ve got one friend in South Carolina, anyhow.”
At this, the old man rushed up to the prisoner, and exclaimed:
“What are you talking about? Them things’ll hang you before you leave this place!”
“Whom do you think he’s talking to, sir?” I asked, in stern tones.