Mohun; Or, the Last Days of Lee and His Paladins.: Final Memoirs of a Staff Officer Serving in Virginia. from the Mss. of Colonel Surry, of Eagle's Nest.Cooke, John Esten
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Mohun; Or, the Last Days of Lee and His Paladins.: Final Memoirs of a Staff Officer Serving in Virginia. from the Mss. of Colonel Surry, of Eagle's Nest.
Cooke, John Esten
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction; Virginia -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction; War stories
“Well, I think we will be able to do him a very great service by
attending to a little matter in which he is interested, colonel. Are you
disengaged, and willing to accompany me?”
X.
THE WAY THE MONEY WENT.
I looked intently at Nighthawk. He was evidently very much in earnest.
“I am entirely disengaged, and perfectly willing to accompany you,” I
said; “but where?”
Nighthawk smiled.
“You know I am a mysterious person, colonel, both by character and
profession. I fear the habit is growing on me, in spite of every
exertion I make. I predict I will end by burning my coat, for fear it
will tell some of my secrets.”
“Well,” I said with a smile, “keep your secret then, and lead the way. I
am ready to go far to oblige Mohun in any thing.”
“I thank you, colonel, from my heart. You have only to follow me.”
And Nighthawk set out at a rapid pace, through the grounds of the
capitol, toward the lower part of the city.
There was something as singular about the walk of my companion, as about
his appearance. He went at a great pace, but his progress was entirely
noiseless. You would have said that he was skimming along upon invisible
wings.
In an incredibly short time we had reached a street below the capitol,
and my companion, who had walked straight on without turning his head
to the right or the left, all at once paused before a tall and
dingy-looking house, which would have appeared completely uninhabited,
except for a bright red light which shone through a circular opening in
the door.
At this door Nighthawk gave a single tap. The glass covering the
circular space glided back, and a face reconnoitred. My companion
uttered two words; and the door opened, giving access to a stairs, which
we ascended, the janitor having already disappeared.
At the head of the stairs was a door which Nighthawk opened, and we
found ourselves in an apartment where a dozen persons were playing faro.
Upon these Nighthawk threw a rapid glance--some one whom he appeared to
be seeking, was evidently not among the players.
Another moment he returned through the door, I following, and we
ascended a second flight of stairs, at the top of which was a second
door. Here another janitor barred the way, but my companion again
uttered some low words,--the door opened; a magnificently lit apartment,
with a buffet of liquors, and every edible, presented itself before us;
and in the midst of a dozen personages, who were playing furiously, I
recognized--Mr. Blocque, Mr. Croker, Mr. Torpedo, and Colonel Desperade.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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