" He spoke of his
dead sons in the same pompous tones of self-exultation with which he
reckoned all other items standing to the credit side of his patriotism.
Fortunately for my equanimity, I was not present when he told his own
tale at New Creek; it must have been a grand romance of history.
Yet my poor Dolley made a bad night's work of it after all. His three
days' fame in local papers cost him dear. Immediately on getting out of
prison, I heard--not without a savage satisfaction--that Imboden's
horsemen had harried his homestead thoroughly in their last raid; Dolley
only saving his life by "running like a hare." The Southerners know
everything that goes on near their lines, and are wonderfully regular in
settling scores with any registered debtor.
At New Creek I was confronted with Colonel Mulligan. His attire was
anything but military; black overalls crammed into high butcher boots, a
Garibaldi shirt of the brightest emerald green; but his bearing was
unmistakably that of a soldier and gentleman. He treated me with the
utmost courtesy. I also met with no small kindness from the adjutant of
the artillery corps, an old Crimean. Unluckily, Colonel Mulligan could
not deal with my case, so, after a brief examination, and liberal
refreshment, Shipley and myself were forwarded by rail to Wheeling, two
hundred miles further west, where the district Provost Marshal was
stationed.
Pages:
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171