Owing probably to a lack of the faculty of organization at Richmond--a lack which, if we are to believe the various historians who have tried to describe and account for some of the results of that period, was the cause of many bitter controversies, and of many disastrous failures in the field--a month or more passed away before the Hillsborough company received orders to go to the front. Fort Sumter had been fired on, troops from all parts of the South had gathered in Virginia, and the war was beginning in earnest. Captain Jack Walthall of the Hillsborough Guards chafed at the delay that kept his men resting on their arms, so to speak; but he had ample opportunity, meanwhile, to wonder what had become of Little Compton. In his leisure moments he often found himself sitting on the dry-goods boxes in the neighborhood of Little Compton's store. Sitting thus one day, he was approached by his body-servant. Jake had his hat in his hand, and showed by his manner that he had something to say. He shuffled around, looked first one way and then another, and scratched his head. "Marse Jack," he began. "Well, what is it?" said the other, somewhat sharply. "Marse Jack, I hope ter de Lord you ain't gwine ter git mad wid me; yit I mos' knows you is, kaze I oughter done tole you a long time ago." "You ought to have told me what?" "'Bout my drivin' yo' hoss en buggy over ter Rockville dat time--dat time what I ain't never tole you 'bout. But I 'uz mos' 'blige' ter do it. I 'low ter myse'f, I did, dat I oughter come tell you right den, but I 'uz skeer'd you mought git mad, en den you wuz out dar at de camps, 'long wid dem milliumterry folks." "What have you got to tell?" "Well, Marse Jack, des 'bout takin' yo' hoss en buggy. Marse Compton 'lowed you wouldn't keer, en w'en he say dat, I des went en hich up de hoss en kyar'd 'im over ter Rockville." "What under heaven did you want to go to Rockville for?" "Who? me, Marse Jack? 'Twa'n't me wanter go. Hit 'uz Marse Compton." "Little Compton?" exclaimed Walthall. "Yes, sir, dat ve'y same man." "What did you carry Little Compton to Rockville for?" "Fo' de Lord, Marse Jack, I dunno w'at Marse Compton wanter go fer. I des know'd I 'uz doin' wrong, but he tuck'n 'low dat hit'd be all right wid you, kaze you bin knowin' him so monst'us well. En den he up'n ax me not to tell you twell he done plum out'n yearin'." "Didn't he say anything? Didn't he tell you where he was going? Didn't he send any word back?" This seemed to remind Jake of something. He clapped his hand to his head, and exclaimed: "Well, de Lord he'p my soul! Ef I ain't de beatenest nigger on de top side er de yeth! Marse Compton gun me a letter, en I tuck'n shove it un' de buggy seat, en it's right dar yit ef somebody ain't tored it up." By certain well-known signs Jake knew that his Marse Jack was very mad, and he was hurrying out. But Walthall called him.