Peek ended his narrative, and Vance, taking the proffered letter, slowly drew it from the envelope and unfolded it. There dropped out four strands of hair: one white, one iron-gray, one a fine and thick flaxen, and one a rich brown-black. “I cut off those strands of hair, thinking that Captain Onslow might prize them,” said Peek. “You did well,” remarked Vance. “And since you have authority to permit it, I will read this letter.” He then read aloud as follows:— “Stricken down by a death-wound, I write this. When it reaches you, my son, you will be the last survivor of your family. The faithful negro who bears this letter will tell you all. You may rely on what he says. This crafty, this Satanic Slave Power has—I can use the pen no longer. But I can dictate. The negro must be my amanuensis.” And then, in a different handwriting, the letter proceeded:— “This Slave Power, which, for many weeks past, has been hunting down and hanging Union men, has at last laid its bloody hand on our innocent household. Should you meet Colonel A. J. Hamilton,[34] he will tell you something of what the pro-slavery butchers have been doing. “Yesterday three men called on me. They brought forged letters from one I knew to be my friend. The trick succeeded. I admitted them to my confidence. They left and denounced me to the Confederate leaders. My only crime was a secret sympathy with the Union cause. Not a finger had I lifted or threatened to lift against the ruling powers of the State. But I did not love slavery,—that was the crime of crimes in the eyes of Jeff Davis’s immediate partisans and friends. “To-day they came with ropes to hang us,—to hang us, remember, not for resistance to authority, however usurped, not for one imprudent act or threat against slavery, but simply because we were known at heart to disapprove of slavery, and consequently to love the old flag. And many hundreds have been hung here for no other offence. We knew we could expect no better fate than our neighbors had bravely encountered; and we resolved, men and women, to sell our lives dearly. Your brother fell wounded, and was hung; then your sister, resisting outrage, was slain; then your mother, striving to protect Emily, received a mortal blow. And I am lying here wounded, soon to be dragged forth and hung—for what?—for unbelief, not in a God, but in the Southern Confederacy and its corner-stone!