Railroads were not in running order, nor likely to be for some months. The war had destroyed their rolling stock. Some were left without cars; nearly all without good locomotives. Bridges were burnt; rails were torn up and twisted for miles and miles; the companies themselves were utterly impoverished; and unless they could get unlooked-for aid, most of them would have to go into liquidation. * * * * * To the courtesies of a serenade, drives, rides, dinners, and innumerable calls, the officials added a review of the entire military force in and about Mobile, in honor of the Chief Justice. The Mobile men gathered about the corners, or sullenly contemplated the pageant from their windows, but scarcely a lady could be seen. They had neither smiles nor glances, just then, for the garrison of the conqueror. One needed indeed to be sanguine, as he watched the scene, and especially as he studied the bearing of the inhabitants, not to think of Warsaw. General Granger, a fine, soldierly-looking person, with face browned by many a campaign, and a history through the war, from its very inception down to his last action, at the head of the land forces co-operating with Farragut in the attack on Mobile, that makes soldiers always ready to follow where he leads, took his station, with the Chief Justice by his side, and a showy staff surrounding them, at the crossing of the principal streets. Regiment after regiment marched past, whose banners, as they drooped low in salute, showed names of nearly every battle in the war. One came up with swinging, steady tramp, but with ranks sadly thinned, though often recruited. Its tattered and stained standards were crowned with the name of the first great conflict of the West. In their young, fresh beauty they had waved where Lyon fell. Infantry, artillery, and cavalry streamed by, and then came the sight which brought curses to the mouths of nearly all the onlookers. The negro troops marched very handsomely, and made, perhaps, the best appearance of any regiments in the column; but every citizen seemed to consider their appearance as a personal insult to himself. That the “miserable runaway niggers” behaved so handsomely only aggravated the offense. “There’s my Tom,” muttered a plethoric old citizen, while the natural red of his face inflamed to purple. “How I’d like to cut the throat of the dirty, impudent good-for-nothing!”