“A journalist from Boston, a violent Abolitionist with the confounded spirit of Lincoln.”
“And his name?”
“Jonathan Halliburtt.”
“Poor wretch!” exclaimed James, suppressing his emotion; “whatever he may have done one cannot help pitying him. And you think that he will be shot?”
“I am sure of it,” replied Beauregard. “What can you expect? War is war, one must defend oneself as best one can.”
“Well, it is nothing to me,” said the Captain; “I shall be far enough away when this execution takes place.”
“What! you are thinking of going away already.”
“Yes, General, business must be attended to; as soon as my cargo of cotton is on board I shall be out to sea again. I was fortunate enough to enter the bay, but the difficulty is in getting out again. The ‘Dolphin’ is a good ship; she can beat any of the Federal ships for speed, but she does not pretend to distance cannon-balls, and a shell in her hull or engine would seriously affect my enterprise.”
“As you please, Captain,” replied Beauregard; “I have no advice to give you under such circumstances. You are doing your business, and you are right. I should act in the same manner were I in your place; besides a stay at Charleston is not very pleasant, and a harbour where shells are falling three days out of four is not a safe shelter for your ship; so you will set sail when you please; but can you tell me what is the number and the force of the Federal ships cruising before Charleston?”
James Playfair did his best to answer the General, and took leave of him on the best of terms; then he returned to the “Dolphin” very thoughtful and very depressed from what he had just heard.