United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
Convinced that the apartment was deserted, and discovering no different
means of egress, I crossed the room on tiptoe, and peered cautiously out
into the hall. It was not a pleasing prospect to one in my predicament.
The lower portion, judging from the incessant hum of voices, was filled
with people, who were either unable to find place within the crowded
ballroom, or else preferred greater retirement for conversation. Even
the wide stairway had been partially pre-empted, a young lieutenant,
as I judged from his shoulder-straps, sitting just beneath the landing,
whispering eagerly into the attentive ear of a pronounced blonde who
shared the broad carpeted step with him.
I drew back noiselessly, to figure out the situation and determine what
was best for me to attempt. It would be sheer madness to venture upon a
passage to the front door, clad as I was in travel-worn gray uniform; to
rush through that jam was impossible. If I were to wait until the
dance was concluded the later hours of the night might indeed yield me
somewhat clearer passage, yet it was hardly probable that the house,
used as I knew it to be for a military prison, would be left unguarded.
Besides, such delay must absolutely prevent my getting beyond the
Federal picket lines before daybreak, and would hence render valueless
the news I sought to bear to Lee.
I moved to the only window and glanced out; it opened upon the back of
the house and presented a sheer drop to the ground. At the slight
noise of the moving sash a sentry standing at the corner glanced up
suspiciously. Evidently each side of the great building was abundantly
protected by patrols.
Something had to be attempted, and at once. The room I was in bore
unquestionable evidence of recent occupancy, and at any moment might
be re-entered. My searching eyes fell upon the articles of clothing
carelessly folded over the chair-back. I picked up the garments one by
one and shook them out; they composed the new uniform of a colonel of
artillery, and were resplendent with bright red facings and a profusion
of gold braid. With all my soul I loathed the thought of disguise, and
especially the hated uniform of the enemy. It was repugnant to every
instinct of my being, and would certainly mean added degradation and
danger in the event of capture.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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