The appearance of these ladies at camp always put the Colonel on his mettle—he would go about our part of the quarters, his actions totally altered from his usual slow and quiet manner.
Our sailor-boy chum, whom we called Lanyard, had not enjoyed the society of ladies so much as the Colonel, probably on account of his sea-faring life, and was rather inclined to resent the intrusion of the ladies. Through the Colonel's gallantry and cheek, our little mess was pretty well remembered by the visiting sisters.
It was through visits of this character that we became acquainted with a nice young lady, whom we will call Capitola, because that wasn't her name. She was a typical Southern girl. I can not describe her, except to say that she was a beautiful brunette, who had attended boarding school somewhere near Baltimore, and probably through this fact she became interested in the Maryland refugees. As I have said, the Colonel was a gallant fellow, and also a good manager, who was not slow to take advantage of the opportunity this pretty girl's visits to our camp afforded. She, of course, made her visits in company with a bevy of other pretty girls, some of whom were equally as handsome as herself, but Capitola is the girl of this part of our story.
One day our fair visitors made a special call on our officers to notify us, in their charming way, of an entertainment which was to be given at one of the halls in the city, to which Marylanders especially were invited. The Colonel in his courteous way accepted the invitation for us.
When the ladies were ready to return, the Colonel persistently escorted them to the gate—as he always did—while we bashful boys stood back and envied his easy manners, as he escorted them away from us. He always came back to us with a broad grin on his face, but, kept a taunting silence as to the conversation that seemed to be so interesting and amusing.
We put in the balance of that day preparing for the evening's entertainment. As a general thing, we were demoralized after the visit and could do nothing else. It so happened that it rained one of those cold, misty, half-rain and half-sleet storms, that are so disagreeable always, and especially so when they interfere with one's efforts to get himself up in his best shape. The storm did not, however, prevent a full attendance at the ball, for it was a sort of ball or reception, after some introductory addresses, accompanied by the music of "Dixie" and "Maryland, my Maryland."
Mrs. President Davis was present. Though I had frequently seen her, she never looked to my eyes other than a very ordinary matronly lady.
It was a tableau, in which our girl was representing "Maryland enslaved." She was attired, not exactly in the costume of the Greek slave, but in a sombre mourning garb, with her head bowed as if in great sorrow and distress. She walked on to the stage, and, with a pathetic appeal, lifted toward heaven as beautiful a face as I have ever seen, stretching out her bared arms, which were shackled by chains. It was a beautiful and a striking picture, presented with great effect, and I don't suppose there was a person in the vast crowd who did not feel ready to make a desperate effort to release the pretty Maryland girl from those dreadful chains. I'm quite sure I should have done so if I'd had the opportunity, and would have been glad to have picked "Maryland" up and carried her away from such dreadful people, but we were not to be given this privilege.
At the proper moment, Mr. President Davis stepped forward, and, like an accomplished actor, played his part excellently well, wrenching the chains from "Maryland" and setting her free. "Maryland" horrified all the battery boys by immediately throwing her arms around her rescuer.
"We three roughish chaps together," came away from that show with our empty heads in a whirl. It was still sleeting and quite cold. Lanyard, with an assumed shudder, proposed that we go to some saloon to get something hot to prevent our taking cold.