He continued in this serious strain, while the jangle of the bells lasted; and as he and I were walking side by side, he kept pouring into my ear the beautiful thoughts about church bells, home, and all its attendant happiness, that I began to feel quite homesick.
"Those evening bells, those evening bells,
How many a tale their music tells
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time,
When last I heard their soothing chime."
The doctor suggested that we all go to church, but seeing that his recommendation did not meet with a very eager second, he amended it by adding the word "first," observing by way of explanation, that it would be a good way to put in the time for awhile. There were objections: one said he was an Episcopalian—their church did not have services at night; he was supported in this evasion by another who declared he was a Catholic. The doctor, appealing to me, asked if I were not an Episcopalian, too; I assented to it, when he mildly observed:
"I thought so; you and the other Episcopalian swear and lie alike so superbly."
Of course the boys wanted to get into some of the "society" of Richmond, and, as I had been there during the winter season, they expected me to introduce them.
I had entertained them about my experiences, which naturally aroused their curiosity, and excited their interest to learn more, and, perhaps, they desired to participate a little in the social enjoyments.
There was a great deal of society in Richmond in the winter of 1861, as I have said heretofore—people of all classes and all kinds were there in throngs, from every portion of the South, principally New Orleans, Baltimore, and other large cities. To my mind, unsophisticated as I was, there was but one—the beautiful little brunette, our Capitola—the Maryland slave.
I had talked to these fellows about Capitola so much that I was urged in the most seductive way to permit them to make her acquaintance, on my account. That sort of talk was all very nice, but it didn't have exactly the desired effect. I'd been fooled that way once before, twice before by being inveigled into introducing the Mississippi Lieutenant, who was anxious to see her on my account, and also who had cut me out entirely, on his own account. I didn't tell the Texas fellows this part of the story, though.
A spy who allows himself to get mixed up with a lady in his work, and loses his heart and parts with his judgment, is worse, decidedly worse, than one who loses his head with drink.
Personally, I wanted very much to call on Capitola, and would have been delighted with the excuse that was offered to present my friends, but for the fact that she knew me only as Mr. B——, while my friends called me Mr. A——.