But the dictator endures it like a philosopher. "He lets it pass," said Judge Ould to me, "like the idle wind, which it is."
At last, ten o'clock—the hour when we were to set out from Dixie—struck from a neighboring steeple, and I laid down the paper, and listened for the tread of the Judge on the stairs. I had heard it often, and it had always been welcome, for he is a most agreeable companion, but I had not listened for it till then. Then I waited for it as "they that watch for the morning," for he was to deliver us from the "den of lions,"—from "the hold of every foul and unclean thing." Ten, twenty, thirty minutes I waited, but he did not come! Why was he late, that prompt man, who was always "on time,"—who put us through the streets of Richmond the night before on a trot, lest we should be a second late at our appointment? Did he mean to bake us brown with the mid-day sun? or had the mules overslept themselves, or moved their quarters still farther out of town? Well, I didn't know, and it was useless to speculate, so I took up the paper, and went to reading again. But the stinging editorials had lost their sting, and the pointed paragraphs, though sharper than a meat-axe, fell on me as harmless as if I had been encased in a suit of mail.
At length eleven o'clock sounded, and I took out my watch to count the minutes. One, two, three,—how slow they went! Four, five,—ten,—fifteen,—twenty! What was the matter with the watch? Even at this day I could affirm on oath that it took five hours for that hour-hand to get round to twelve. But at last it got there, and then—each second seeming a minute, each minute an hour—it crept slowly on to one; but still no Judge appeared! Why did he not come? The reason was obvious. The mules were "quartered six miles out of town," because he had to see Mr. Davis before letting us go. And Davis had heard of my nocturnal rambling, and concluded we had come as spies. Or he had, from my cross-questioning the night before, detected my main object in coming to Dixie. Either way my doom was sealed. If we were taken as spies, it was hanging. If held on other grounds, it was imprisonment; and ten days of Castle Thunder, in my then state of health, would have ended my mortal career.
I had looked at this alternative before setting out. But then I saw it afar off; now I stood face to face with it, and—I thought of home,—of the brave boy who had said to me, "Father, I think you ought to go. If I was only a man, I'd go. If you never come back, I'll take care of the children."
These thoughts passing in my mind, I rose and paced the room for a few moments,—then, turning to Javins, said,—
"Will you oblige me by stepping into the hall? My friend and I would have a few words together."
As he passed out, I said to the Colonel,—
"Ould is more than three hours late! What does it mean?"
All this while he had sat, his spectacles on his nose, and his chair canted against the window-sill, absorbed in the newspapers. Occasionally he would look up to comment on something he was reading; but not a movement of his face, nor a glance of his eye, had betrayed that he was conscious of Ould's delay, or of my extreme restlessness. When I said this, he took off his spectacles, and, quietly rubbing the glasses with his handkerchief, replied,—
"It looks badly, but—I ask no odds of them. We may have to show we are men. We have tried to serve the country. That is enough. Let them hang us, if they like."
"Colonel," I exclaimed, with a strong inclination to hug him, "you are a trump! the bravest man I ever knew!"
"I trust in God,—that is all," was his reply.
This was all he said,—but his words convey no idea of the sublime courage which shone in his eye and lighted up his
