The sergeant hastened away for the paper and a lantern. Hitherto, I had said nothing to any one of my rank; but now, throwing aside my overcoat, I stepped forward, and addressing the mounted officer, asked him if he was Colonel Mosby. The reply came: ‘That is my name, sir.’
I was boiling over with indignation at this bloody action of the guerrilla, and I said: ‘I am an officer and a gentleman; these men are regularly enlisted soldiers of the United States army; surely you are not going to treat them as spies or dogs, because they have fallen into your hands through the fortune of war. What you propose, sir, is not justice; it is assassination.’
I shall never forget the look on Mosby’s face as he turned toward me, and said: ‘What justice would I get if I fell into the hands of your soldiers? I tell you, sir, I value the life of the poorest of my comrades far more than that of twenty Yankees. But I shall only retaliate in kind—man for man, and that I will have. I was not aware, sir, that you were an officer; but surely you can ask no better treatment from me than I give your men?’
I said I wanted nothing more than he would grant to all, and stepped back into my place in the ranks.
The sergeant returned just then, and the awful ‘Lottery of Death,’ as I have ever since called it, began. When my turn came, I drew from the hat a piece of paper; but I could not look at it—my heart stood still, my knees trembled, my hand faltered; but suddenly, as from a horrible dream, I was awakened by the word ‘Blank!—Fall back, sir.’
I was not to die by rope or bullet, at anyrate for a time. I cannot describe to you my terror, my abject fear; nor do I know how I appeared to others; but I do know I shall never suffer the fear of death again so keenly.
The drawing was completed; the five victims separated from us; when, suddenly, a boy’s voice was heard piteously asking for pardon, mercy, anything but death. Colonel Mosby looked toward the little drummer-boy, for he it was, and said: ‘Sergeant, is that boy one of the condemned?’
‘Yes, colonel,’ replied the sergeant.
‘Send him back in the ranks again; he is too young to die yet.’—And, ‘Captain,’ turning to me, ‘since you are so much afraid to die, we will give you another chance.—Sergeant, place two papers—one numbered, the other blank—in your hat, and let the captain and the man next him draw again.’
At this second drawing, although I had only one chance in two of escaping, I did not feel that abject fear that first overcame me, and I stepped forward when ordered and drew another blank piece of paper. My feeling was one of intense pity for the poor fellow who drew the fatal number, and I hardly heard Mosby say: ‘Well, you are a lucky fellow, captain.’