CHAPTER XVII
I CHOOSE DEATH
I KNEW the town well, and few changes had occurred since last I walked those streets hand in hand with my father. It had not grown any larger, and thus far the war had wrought little damage, although many of the shops were closed, and occasionally I observed marks of fire. The majority of the men on the street were in uniform, very few civilians and no women being visible, although I caught glimpses of curious faces peering at us through closed windows. Lewisburg had been strongly Southern in sentiment, and doubtless the majority of her male population were bearing arms in the Confederate ranks, or had taken to the mountains in guerrilla warfare. The most of life in the sleepy old town centered about the Frost Hotel, a three-story wooden structure, where the officers of the garrison lodged, and the court house, a dignified edifice of red brick, a block beyond, where in other days my father presided on the bench, now completely surrounded by a military camp. There were more Federal soldiers here than I had expected to see, but a remark exchanged between two of my
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