“My ire was roused as well as my curiosity, and I indignantly demanded to know the cause of my arrest, and where I was being carried.
“‘Come, sir,’ said one of the men, ‘none of your airs here now. If you know what’s good for you, I guess you’ll keep your mouth shut, unless you can talk with a little more sense.’
“I leaned back in my seat, and tried to collect my scattered thoughts; but I was so confused that I scarcely could tell whether I was dreaming or not. It was very plain, however, that the duel had nothing to do with my arrest; but what was the cause, was the all-absorbing question now to be settled. They spoke of hanging; what on earth could it mean? They talked about escapes and irons, etc., etc. What had I to do with all this?
“The train rattled on; the lamp cast a faint light through the coach, as the gray streaks of dawn began to steal through the windows. One officer coiled himself up on a seat just in front of me, and began to snore so loud that it could be heard above the rattle of the train. The other one sat by my side with a navy six in his belt, keeping guard while his companion slept. Every now and then he took a drink of whisky from a flask which he carried in his pocket. The train did not stop until we reached Grenada. I was then directed to follow the officers to the hotel dining-room for breakfast. I drank a cup of coffee, but could not eat; my head was aching as if it would burst, and I had a burning fever. We waited at Grenada two hours, when the south-bound train on the Mississippi Central Railroad arrived. I was conducted aboard, and again found myself flying on at the rate of fifty miles an hour. It was late in the evening when I was taken off the train, at a small wayside station, and conducted to a stage-coach that was ready to start toward the east. Myself and the two officers were the only passengers. The driver popped his whip, and we began to move on. Where am I going, and what is to be my fate? was my mental question. What will General Galloway think of me when I fail to make my appearance at Horn Lake? He will think I have fled from mere cowardice. What will Lottie think when they tell her that I have sneaked off and hidden myself to avoid a fight? My letter will be handed to her at eight o’clock this evening, and they will tell her that I have run away. My mental sufferings were very great, while my physical torture continued to increase. The fever was burning me with excessive violence, and I knew that I was going to be seriously ill. My companions were both in a beastly state of intoxication, one of them stretched on the floor of the coach, while the other nodded and snored by my side. The driver was so drunk that he could scarcely keep his seat, and when I begged him to stop and get me a drink of water, he replied with an oath that he ‘had no time to fool away.’ The road was rough and hilly, and the horses would go up the rise at a snail gallop and then go down at full speed, jolting and tossing me about like a foot-ball. My sufferings were indescribable. It was after midnight when the coach halted in front of a large brick building in the village of P——, and I was ordered to get out. I made an effort to obey, but was so ill that I could not rise from my seat.
“You will have to assist me, gentlemen” said I, “for I am very ill.’
“None of your shamming now’ growled one of the drunken brutes. ‘That’s too thin—it’s too soon to begin that game; out with you, and be quick about it, too!’
“I am really very ill, sir; and without help I am not able to stand alone.’
“Come along with you, then,—I believe you are trying to play the same old dodge; but we’ll fix you this time so you won’t get away.”
As he muttered these words he dragged me from the coach and led me into the house, which proved to be the county jail. They carried me up a pair of stairs and placed me in a dungeon, closed the door, and left me in total darkness. I sank down on the floor completely exhausted, and almost crazed with misery. The blood in my veins seemed to be boiling hot, while the fever continued to increase. My stomach felt as if it were on fire, and I was nearly famished for water. I began to crawl about the floor, hoping to find water; for I had called as loud as I could several times, begging for some to be brought, but no one had answered my cries. After searching about in the dark for some time, I found a stone jug of water that was very warm, but it was better than none. During the search for the water I found a little bundle of straw in one corner of the room, with a blanket spread over it. Throwing myself down on it, I groaned in despair. No mental torture could be greater than I suffered then; the mysterious manner of my arrest, the knowledge that I was on the eve of a dangerous spell of fever, the disgrace that would attach to my name, the opinion that General Calloway would have of me, the sorrow that would fall on my darling Lottie, all combined to drive me down to the lowest depths of despair. While all this mental anguish was conspiring to drive me mad, the burning fever was scorching and parching my blood. I well knew from the symptoms that I was seriously threatened with brain fever; I rolled and tossed myself about on the straw until I felt my brain grow dizzy. My mind commenced to wander; I cried aloud for help, but none came. With Lottie’s sweet name on my lips, her picture in my hand, I fell into a state of unconsciousness. When I regained consciousness I was a mere skeleton, unable to lift my head from my pillow, and it was a long time after my reason returned before I could remember where I was, or what had happened. A little negro boy came to the door and shoved a dish of provisions through the bars of iron, then placed a pitcher of water where I could reach it, and was turning away, when I called to him in a voice so feeble that I was astonished at the sound of it. He heard me, however, and returned to the door, and inquired what I wanted.
“‘How long have I been here?’ I whispered.