After settling ourselves with our friends to tell our adventures I had a chance to hear James Martin's story. After the failure of my son to follow James and the porter up stairs, James was of course entirely in the hands of the enemy. At the head of the stairs they were met by an elderly gentleman with a lamp, who offered to conduct James to the sick room, and he was told to enter the first right hand door. On opening the door he found no one inside. "Oh," said his guide, "they have moved him to the next room, as was suggested by the council of physicians this afternoon; we will find him there; and opening the door the stranger assumed an attitude of command and told him to go in." James, however, replied: "I shall not go in, sir; you can see as well as I that the room is empty." The stranger gave a surprised look at the interior of the room and said: "Oh, I guess they moved him to the farther room, as some one suggested, after all. As there is no other room he can be in, you will certainly find him there." By this time, of course, James began thoroughly to distrust his conductor, and hesitated about going farther; but desiring to make all the discoveries possible, and thinking if violence was attempted he could run down stairs to us, he passed on to the third door, and throwing it wide open found this room also empty. He was about turning back when two other men suddenly appeared through a door at the left, and the three surrounded him, one leveling a revolver at his head, another at his breast, and the third pointing a dirk at his side, all indulging in an indiscriminate volley of oaths and threats. Said his grey-haired guide (who afterwards proved to be John P. Chester, Elsie's master, the same who had enacted to me the role of the sympathetic physician), "If you stir or speak one word we'll kill you. Go into that room, or you're a dead mail." In this position they entered the room and locked the door. "Now, Hamilton, we've got you, damn you." "My name is not Hamilton, but James Martin," was James' reply. "Damn you," rejoined Chester, "I know you; you were once a slave in Tennessee." "No, sir, I never was a slave, nor was I ever in a slave state. I was born and brought up in the State of New York." "Then you're a d----d spy, and I've a great mind to shoot you this minute," said Chester. "If you call me a spy because I came here to see Mr. John Bayliss for Mr. Hamilton, then you can do so, for this is why I am here, and I came here with no intention of harm to any one, I am entirely unarmed, I have not so much as a penknife with which to defend myself, but I tell you, gentlemen, I have friends here in this house." At this they dropped their weapons as by an electric shock, and Chester exclaimed, "You shan't be hurt! you shan't be hurt!" Then turning to his son: "Tom, put up your pistol." "But," says Tom, "I propose to search him and see whether he's clear of arms." "No! you shan't do it. I reckon it's as he says."