Meantime a very different scene was being enacted at the Federal camp. Hardly had General Shields informed himself that the scare created by the boys was a false one, and that he had at present nothing to fear from the dreaded and ubiquitous Jackson, than his attention was arrested by the sudden appearance of his ‘admirable civilian,’ Captain Hopkins, who with disordered dress, flushed features, and breathless from running, rushed unceremoniously into the presence of his commanding officer.
‘Captain Hopkins!’ exclaimed General Shields in astonishment. ‘Back already. Why, you’ve been gone little more than an hour.’ Then as his eye fell upon the captain’s untidy dress and general look of tribulation, he added anxiously: ‘There is nothing wrong, is there?’
‘The despatch!’ panted Hopkins. ‘I ‘——
‘Don’t tell me anything has happened to that,’ interrupted Shields vehemently. ‘Surely not. Surely not.’
‘No,’ got out the captain between his struggles for breath; ‘only a leather-headed sentry—a question of identity—won’t let me pass—send some one back with me.’
‘Take time to breathe, sir, and you will be better able to explain yourself,’ fumed General Shields, adding inconsistently: ‘Go on, sir. Don’t keep me waiting all day. Let me hear your news.’
The captain drew a few deep inspirations and felt better. ‘General,’ he said, ‘there is nothing wrong; only a little provoking delay. I found a sentry just about where I had moored my boat, and because I was in civilian dress, he refused to allow me to pass.’
‘Found a sentry alongside your boat!’ repeated General Shields. ‘I thought you had moored it well above the line.’
‘So I thought myself, sir,’ answered Hopkins; ‘but evidently I was in error, for there the sentry was.’
‘But you had the word,’ said Shields in a puzzled voice.