University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.
THE RAVENELS FIND CAPTAIN COLBURNE IN GOOD QUARTERS.

The spring and summer of 1862 was a time of such
peace and pleasantness to the Tenth Barataria as if there
had been no war. With the Major General commanding
Carter was a favorite, as being a man who had seen service,
a most efficient officer, an old regular and a West
Pointer. The Tenth was a pet, as being clean, admirably
accoutred, well-disciplined and thoroughly instructed in
those formal niceties and watchful severities of guard

duty which are harder to teach to new soldiers than the
minutiæ of the manual, or the perplexities of field evolutions,
or the grim earnestness of fighting. The Colonel
was appointed Major of New Orleans, with a suspicion of
something handsome in addition to his pay; the regiment
was put on provost duty in the city, instead of being sent
into the malarious mud of Camp Parapet or the feverish
trenches of Vicksburgh. Colburne's letters of those days
are full of braggadocio about the splendid condition of
the Tenth and the peculiar favor with which it was
viewed by the commanding general. Doctor Ravenel, in
his admiration for the young captain, unwisely published
some of these complacent epistles, thereby eliciting retorts
and taunts from the literary champions of rival regiments,
the esprit du corps having already grown into a strong and
touchy sentiment among the volunteer organizations.

In this new Capua, the only lap of luxury that our
armies found during the war, Carter, a curious compound
of hardihood and sybaritism, forgot that he wanted to be
Hannibal, and that he had not yet fought his Cannæ.
He gave himself up to lazy pleasures, and even allowed his
officers to run to the same, in which they were not much
discountenanced by the commanding general, whose grim,
practical humor was perhaps gratified by the spectacle of
freeborn mudsills dwelling in the palaces and emptying
the wine-cellars of a rebellious aristocracy. If, indeed, an
undesirable cub over-stepped some vague boundary, he
found himself court-martialed and dismissed the service.
But the mass of the regimental officers, being jealous in
their light duties and not prominently obnoxious in
character, were permitted to live in such circumstances of
comfort as they chose to gather about them from the property
of self-exiled secessionists. Thus the regiment went
through the season: no battles, no marches, no privations,
no exposures, no anxieties: not even any weakening loss
from the perilous climate. That terrible guardian angel
of the land, Yellow Jack, would not come to realize the

fond predictions of the inhabitants and abolish the alien
garrison as a similar seraph destroyed the host of Sennacherib.

“Don't you find it hot?” said a citizen to Captain Colburne.
“You'll find it too much for you yet.”

“Pshaw!” answered the defiant youth. “I've seen it hotter
than this in Barataria with two feet of snow on the
ground.”

During the spring Colburn wrote several long letters to
the Doctor, with his mind, you may believe, fixed more
on Miss Ravenel than on his nominal correspondent. It
was a case of moral strabismus, which like many a physical
squint, was not without its beauty, and was even
quite charming to the gaze of sentimental sympathy. It
was a sly carom on the father, with the intention of pocketing
the daughter, but done with a hand rendered so timorous
by anxiety that the blows seemed to be struck at
random. The Captain enjoyed this correspondence; at
times he felt all by himself as if he were talking with the
young lady; his hazel eyes sparkled and his clear cheeks
flushed with the excitement of the imaginary interview;
he dropped his pen and pushed up his wavy brown hair
into careless tangles, as was his wont in gleesome conversation.
But this happiness was not without its counterweight
of trouble, so that there might be no failure of
equilibrium in the moral balance of the universe. After
Colburne had received two responses to his epistles, there
ensued a silence which caused him many lugubrious misgivings.
Were the Ravenels sick or dead? Had they
gone to Canada or Europe to escape the jealous and exacting
loyalty of New England? Were they offended at
something which he had written? Was Lillie to be married
to young Whitewood, or some other conveniently propinquitous
admirer?

The truth is that the Doctor had obtained a permit from
the government to go to New Orleans, and that the letter
in which he informed Colburne of his plan had miscarried,

as frequently happened to letters in those days of wide-spread
confusion. On a certain scorching day in June he
knocked at the door of the neat little brick house which
had been assigned to the Captain as his quarters. It was
opened by an officer in the uniform of a second-lieutenant,
a man of remarkable presence, very dark and saturnine in
visage, tall and broad-shouldered and huge chested, with
the limbs of a Heenan and the ringing bass voice of a
Susini. He informed the visitor that Captain Colburne
was out, but insisted with an amicable boisterousness upon
his entering. He had an elaborate and ostentatious
courtesy of manner which puzzled the Doctor, who could
not decide whether he was a born and bred gentleman or
a professional gambler.

“Nearly dinner time, sir,” he said in a rolling deep
tone like mellow thunder. “The Captain will be in soon
for that good and sufficient reason. You will dine with
us, I hope. Give you some capital wine, sir, out of Monsieur
Soulé's own cave. Take this oaken arm-chair, sir,
and allow me to relieve you of your chapeau. What
name, may I ask?—Ah! Doctor Ravenel.—My God, sir!
the Captain has a letter for you. I saw it on his table a
moment ago.”

He commenced rummaging among papers and writing
materials with an exhilaration of haste which caused Ravenel
to suspect that he had taken a bottle or so of the
Soulé sherry.

“Here it is,” he exclaimed with a smile of triumph and
friendliness. “You had better take it while you see it.
If you are a lawyer, sir, you are aware that possession is
nine tenths of a title. I beg pardon; of course you are
not a lawyer. Or have I the honor to address an L. L.
D.?”

“Merely an M. D.,” observed Ravenel, and took his
letter.

“A magnificent profession!” rejoined the sonorous lieutenant.
“Most ancient and honorable profession. The

profession of Esculapius and Hippocrates. The physician
is older than the lawyer, and more useful to humanity.”

Ravenel looked at his letter and observed that it was
not post-marked nor sealed; he opened it, and found that
it was from Colburne to himself—intended to go, no
doubt, by the next steamer.

“I hope it gives you good news from home, sir,” observed
the lieutenant in the most amicable manner.

The Doctor bowed and smiled assent as he put the letter
in his pocket, not thinking it worth while to explain
matters to a gentleman who was so evidently muddled by
the Soulé vintages. As his interlocutor rattled on he
looked about the room and admired the costly furniture
and tasteful ornaments. There were two choice paintings
on the paneled walls, and a dozen or so of choice engravings.
The damask curtains edged with lace were superb,
and so were the damask coverings of the elaborately
carved oaken chairs and lounges. The marble mantels
and table, and the extravagant tortoise-shell tiroir, were
loaded with Italian cameos, Parisian bronzes, Bohemian
glass-ware, Swiss wood-sculpture, and other varieties of
European gimcracks. Against the wall in one corner
leaned four huge albums of photographs and engravings.
The Doctor thought that he had never before seen a house
in America decorated with such exquisite taste and lavish
expenditure. He had not been in it before, and did not
know who was its proprietor.

“Elegant little box, sir,” observed the lieutenant. “It
belongs to a gentleman who is now a captain in the rebel
service. He built and furnished it for his affinity, an actress
whom he brought over from Paris, which disgusted
his wife, I understand. Some women are devilish exacting,
sir.”

Here the humor of a satyr gleamed in his black eyes
and grinned under his black mustache.

“You will see her portrait (the affinity's—not the wife's)
all over the house, as she appeared in her various characters.

And here she is in her morning-gown, in her own
natural part of a plain, straight-forward affinity.”

He pointed with another satyr-like grin to a large photograph
representing the bust and face of a woman apparently
twenty-eight or thirty years of age, who could not
have been handsome, but, judging by the air of life and
cleverness, might have been quite charming.

“Intelligent old girl, I should say, sir,” continued the
cicerone, regardless of the Doctors look of disgust; “but
not precisely to my taste. I like them more youthful and
innocent, with something of the down of girlhood's purity
about them. What is your opinion, sir?”

Thus bullied, the Doctor admitted that he entertained
much the same preferences, at the same time wishing
heartily in his soul that Colburne would arrive.

“We have devilish fine times here, sir,” pursued the
other in his remorseless garrulity. “We finished the rebel
captain's wine-cellar long ago, and are now living on old
Soulé's. Emptied forty-six bottles of madeira and champagne
yesterday. Select party of loyal friends, sir, from
our own regiment, the bullissimo Tenth Barataria.”

“Ah! you belong to the Tenth?” inquired the Doctor
with interest.

“Yes, sir. Proud to own it, sir. The best regiment in
either service. Not that I enlisted in Barataria. I had
the honor of being the first man to join it here. I was in
the rebel service, sir, an unwilling victim, dragged as an
innocent sheep to the slaughter, and took a part much
against my inclinations in the defence of Fort Jackson. It
seemed to me, sir, that the day of judgment had come,
and the angel was blowing particular hell out of his
trumpet. Those shells of Porter's killed men and buried
them at one rap. My eyes stuck out so to watch for
them that they havn't got back into their proper place yet.
After the fleet forced the passage I was the first man to
raise the standard of revolt, and bid defiance to my officers.
I theu made the best time on record to New Orleans,

and enlisted under the dear old flag of my country
in Captain Colburne's company. I took a fancy to the
captain at first sight. I saw that he was a born gentleman
and a scholar, sir. I was first made sergeant for good
conduct, obedience to orders, and knowledge of my business;
and when the second-lieutenant of the company died
of bilious fever I was promoted to the vacancy. Our colonel,
sir, prefers gentlemen for officers. I am of an old
Knickerbocker family, one of the aboriginal Peter Stuyvesant
Knickerbockers, as you may infer from my name—
Van Zandt, at your service, sir—Cornelius Van Zandt,
second-lieutenant, Co. I, Tenth Regiment Barataria Volunteers.
I am delighted to make your acquaintance, and
hope to see much of you.”

I hope not, thought the Doctor with a shudder; but he
bowed, smiled, and continued to wait for Colburne.

“Hope to have the pleasure of receiving you here often,”
Van Zandt went on. “Always give you a decent bottle
of wine. When the Soulé cave gives out, there are others
to be had for the asking. By the way—I beg a thousand
pardons—allow me to offer you a bumper of madeira. You
refuse! Then, sir, permit me the pleasure of drinking
your health.”

He drank it in a silver goblet, holding as much as a
tumbler, to the astonishment if not to the horror of the
temperate Doctor.

“I was remarking, I believe, sir,” he resumed, “that I
am a descendant of the venerable Knickerbockers. If you
doubt it, I beg leave to refer you to Colonel Carter, who
knew my family in New York. I am sensitive on the subject
in all its bearings. I have a sort of feud, an ancestral
vendetta, with Washington Irving on account of his
Knickerbocker's History of New York. It casts an undeserved
ridicule on the respectable race from which I am
proud to trace my lineage. My old mother, sir—God
bless her!—never could be induced to receive Washington
Irving at her house. By the way, I was speaking of Colonel

Carter, I think, sir. He's a judge of old blue blood,
sir; comes of an ancient, true-blue cavalier strain himself;
what you might call old Virginia particular. A splendid
man, sir, a born gentleman, an officer to the back-bone,
the best colonel in the service, and soon will be the best
general. When he comes to show himself in field service,
these militia-generals will have to take the back seats. I
assume whatever responsibility there may be in predicting
it, and I request you to mark my words. I am willing to
back them with a fifty or so; though don't understand
me as being so impertinent as to offer you a bet—I am
perfectly well aware of the respect due to your clerical
profession, sir—I was only supposing that I might fall into
conversation on the subject with a betting character. I
feel bound to tell you how much I admire Captain Colburne,
of whom I think I was speaking. He saw that I
was a gentleman and a man of education. (By the way,
did I tell you that I am a graduate of Columbia College?)
He saw that I was above my place in the ranks, and he
started me on my career of promotion. I would go to the
death for him, sir. He is a man, sir, that you can depend
on. You know just where to find him. He is a man that
you can tie to.”

The Doctor looked gratified at this statement, and listened
with visible interest.

“He would have died in the cause of total abstinence,
but for Colonel Carter,” continued Van Zandt. “The
Colonel came in when he was at his lowest.”

“Sick!” exclaimed the Doctor. “Has he been sick?”

“Sick, sir? Yes, sir! Wofully broken up—slow bilious
typhoid fever—and wouldn't drink, sir—conscientious
against it. `You must drink, by —! sir,' says the Colonel;
`you must drink and wear woollen shirts.' `But,'
says the Captain, `if I drink and get well, my men will
drink and go to hell.' By the way, those were not his
exact words, sir. I am apt to put a little swearing into a
story. It's like lemon in a punch. Don't you think so,

sir?—Where was I? Oh, I remember. `How can I
punish my men,' says the Captain, `for doing what I do
myself?' `It's none of their dam business what you do,'
says the Colonel. `If they get drunk and neglect duty
thereby, it's your business to punish them. And if you
neglect duty, it's my business to punish you. But don't
suppose it is any affair of your men. The idea is contrary
to the Regulations, sir.' Those are the opinions of Colonel
Carter, sir, an officer, a gentleman and a philosopher. Nothing
but good old Otard brandy and woollen shirts
brought the Captain around—woollen shirts and good old
Otard brandy with the Soule seal on it. He was dying of
bilious night-sweats, sir. Horrible climate, this Louisiana.
But perhaps you are acquainted with it. By the way, I
was speaking of Colonel Carter, I believe. He knows how
to enjoy himself. He keeps the finest house and most hospitable
board in this city. He has the prettiest little
French—boudoir—”

He was about to utter quite another word, but recollected
himself in time to substitute the word boudoir,
while a saturnine twinkle in his eye showed that he felt
the humor of the misapplication. Then, tickled with his
own wit, he followed up the idea on a broad grin.

“I am more envious of the Colonel's boudoir, sir, than
of his commission. Nothing like a trim little French
boudoir for a bachelor. You are a man of the world, sir,
and understand me.”

And so on, prattling ad nauseam, meanwhile pouring
down the madeira. The Doctor, who wanted to say, “Sir,
your goose has come for you,” had never before listened
to such garrulity nor witnessed such thirst. When Colburne
entered, Van Zandt undertook to introduce the
two, although they met each other with extended hands
and friendly inquiries. The Captain was somewhat embarrassed,
knowing that his surroundings were of a nature
to rouse suspicion as to the perfect virtuousness of his life,
and thinking, perhaps in consequence of this knowledge,

that the Doctor surveyed him with an investigating expression.
Presently he turned his eyes on Van Zandt;
and, gently as they had been toned by nature, there was
now a something in them which visibly sobered the bacchanalian;
he rose to his feet, saluted as if he were still a
private soldier, and left the room murmuring something
about hurrying up dinner. The Doctor noticed with interest
the authoritative demeanor which had usurped the
place of the old New Boston innocence.

“And where is Miss Ravenel?” was of course one of the
first questions.

“She is in the city,” was the answer.

“Is it possible? (With a tremendous beating of the
heart.)

“Yes. You may suppose that I could not get her to
stay behind when it was a question of re-visiting New Orleans.
She is as fierce a rebel as ever.”

Colburne laughed, with the merest shadow of hysteria
in his amusement, and, patriot as he was, felt that he
hated Miss Ravenel none the worse for the announcement.
There is a state of the affections in which every peculiarity
of the loved object, no matter how offensive primarily
or in itself, becomes an additional charm. People who
really like cats like them all the better for their cattishness.
A mother who dotes on a deformed child takes an
interest in all lame children because they remind her of
her own unfortunate.

“Besides, there was no one to leave her with in New
Boston,” continued the Doctor.

“Certainly,” assented Colburne in a manifestly cheerful
humor.

“But I am truly sorry to see you so thin and pale,” the
Doctor went on. “You are suffering from our horrible
climate. You positively must be careful. Let me beg of
you to avoid as much as possible going out in the night air.”

Colburne could not help laughing outright at the recommendation.

“I dare say it's good advice,” said he. “But when I
am officer of the day I must make my rounds after midnight.
It puts me in mind of the counsel which one of
our Union officers who was in the siege of Vicksburg received
from his mother. She told him that the air near
the ground is always unhealthy, and urged him never to
sleep lower than the third story. This to a man who lay
on the ground without even a tent to cover him.”

“War is a dreadful thing, even in its lesser details,” observed
the Doctor.

“What can I do for you?” asked Colburne after a
moment's silence.

“I really don't know at present. Perhaps much. I have
come here, of course, to get together the fragments of my
property. I may be glad of some introductions to the
military authorities.”

“I will do my best for you. Colonel Carter can do
more than I can. But, in the first place, you must dine
with me.”

“Thank you; no. I dine at five with a relation of
mine.”

“Dine twice, then. Dine with me first, for New Boston's
sake. You positively must.”

“Well, if you insist, I am delighted of course.—But
what a city! I must break out with my amazement. Who
could have believed that prosperous, gay, bragging New
Orleans would come to such grief and poverty! I seem to
have walked through Tyre and witnessed the fulfillment
of the predictions of the prophets. I have been haunted
all day by Ezekiel. Business gone, money gone, population
gone. It is the hand of the Almighty, bringing to
shame the counsels of wicked rulers and the predictions of
lying seers. I ask no better proof than I have seen to-day
that there is a Divine Ruler. I hope that the whole land
will not have to pay as heavy a price as New Orleans to
be quit of its compact with the devil. We are are all
guilty to some extent. The North thought that it could

make money out of slavery and yet evade the natural
punishments of its naughty connivance. It thought that it
could use the South as a catspaw to pull its chesnuts out
of the fires of hell. It hoped to cheat the devil by doing
its dirty business over the planter's shoulders. But he is
a sharp dealer. He will have his bond or his pound of
flesh. None of us ought to get off easily, and therefore
I conclude that we shall not.”

Now who would suppose that the Doctor had in his
mind all the while a moral lecture to Colburne? Yet so
it was: for this purpose had he gone back to Tyre and
Babylon; with this object in view had he descanted on
divine providence and the father of evil. It was his manner
to reprove and warn persons whom he liked, but not
bluntly nor directly. He touched them up gently, around
the legs of other people, and over the shoulders of events
which lost their personal interest to most human beings
thousands of years ago. Please to notice how gradually,
delicately, yet surely he descended upon Colburne through
epochal spaces of time, and questions which involved the
guilt and punishment of continents.

“Just look at this city,” he continued, “merely in its
character as a temptation to this army. Here is a chance
for plunder and low dissipation such as most of your simply
educated and innocent country lads of New England
never before imagined. I have no doubt that there is
spoil enough here to demoralize a corps of veterans. I
don't believe that any thing can be more ruinous to a
military force than free licence to enrich itself at the
expense of a conquered enemy. There is nobody so needed
here at this moment as John the Baptist. You remember
that when the soldiers came unto him he exhorted
them, among other things, to be content with their wages.
I suppose the counsel was an echo of the military wisdom
of his Roman rulers. The greatest blessing that could
be vouchsafed this army would be to have John the Baptist
crying night and day in this wilderness of temptation,

Be content with your wages! I have hardly been here
forty-eight hours, and I have already heard stories of cotton
speculations and sugar speculations, as they are slyly
called, yes, and of speculations in plate, pictures, furniture,
and even private clothing. It is sure disgrace and probable
ruin. Please to understand that I am not pleading
the cause of the traitors who have left their goods exposed
to these peculations, but the cause of the army which
is thus exposed to temptation. I want to see it subjected
to the rules of honor and common sense. I want it protected
from its opportunities.”

The Doctor had not alluded to plundered wine-cellars,
but Colburne's mind reverted to the forty-six emptied bottles
of yesterday. John the Baptist had not made mention
of this elegant little dwelling, but this convicted legionary
glanced uneasily over its furniture and gimeracks.
He had not hitherto thought that he was doing any thing
irregular or immoral. In his opinion he was punishing rebellion
by using the property of rebels for the good or the
pleasure of loyal citizens. The subject had been presented
to him in a new and disagreeable light, but he was
too fair-minded and conscientious not to give it his instant
and serious consideration. As for the forty-six bottles
of wine, he might have stated, had he supposed it to
be worth while, that he had drunk only a couple of glasses,
and that he had quitted the orgie in disgust during its early
stages.

“I dare say this is all wrong,” he admitted. “Unquestionably,
if any thing is confiscated, it should be for the
direct and sole benefit of the government. There ought
to be a system about it. If we occupy these houses we
ought to receipt for the furniture and be responsible for it.
I wonder that something of the sort is not done. But you
must remember charitably how green most of us are, from
the highest to the lowest, in regard to the laws of war, the
rights of conquerors, the discipline of armies, and every

thing that pertains to a state of hostilities. It is very
much as if the Quakers had taken to fighting.”

“Oh, I don't say that I am right,” answered the Doctor.
“I don't pretend to assert. I only suggest.”

“I am afraid there is occasion to offer apologies for my
Lieutenant,” continued Colburne.

“A very singular man. I should say eccentric,” admitted
the Doctor charitably.

“He annoys me a good deal, and yet he is a valuable
officer. When he is drunk he is the drunkest man since
the discovery of alcohol. He isn't drunk to-day. You
have heard of three-bottle men. Well, Van Zandt is something
like a thirty bottle man. I don't think he has had
above two quarts of sherry this morning. I let him have
it to keep him from swallowing camphene or corrosive
sublimate. But with all his drink he is one of the best
officers in the regiment, a good drill-master, a first-rate disciplinarian,
and able to do army business. He takes a
load of writing off my hands. I never saw such a fellow
for returns and other official documents. He turns them
off in a way that reminds you of those jugglers who
pull dozens of yards of paper out of their mouths. He was
once a bank accountant, and he has seen five years in the
regular army. That explains his facility with the pen and
the musket. Then he speaks French and Spanish. I believe
he is a reprobate son of a very respectable New York
family.”

This brief biography of Van Zandt furnished Ravenel
the text for a discourse on the dangers of intemperance,
illustrated by reminiscences of New Orleans society, and
culminating in the assertion that three-quarters of the
southern political leaders whom he remembered had died
drunkards. The Doctor was more disposed than most
Anglo-Saxons towards monologue, and he had a mixture
of enthusiasm and humor which made people in general
listen to him patiently. His present oration was interrupted
by a mulatto lad who announced dinner.

The meal was elegantly cooked and served. Louisiana
has inherited from its maternal France a delicate taste in
convivial affairs, and the culinary artist of the occasion
was he who had formerly ministered to the instructed appetites
of the rebel captain and his Parisian affinity. To
Colburne's mortification Van Zandt had paraded the rarest
treasures of the Soulé wine-cellar; hermitage that could
not have been bought then in New York for two dollars a
bottle, and madeira that was worth three times as much;
not to enlarge upon the champagne for the dessert, and
the old Otard brandy for the pousse-cafe. He seemed to
have got quite sober, as if by some miracle; or as if there
was a fresh Van Zandt always ready to come on when one
got over the bay; and he now recommenced to get himself
drunk again ab initio. He governed his tongue, however,
and behaved with good breeding. Evidently he
was not only grateful to Colburne, but stood in professional
awe of him as his superior officer. After dinner,
still amazingly sober, although with ten or twenty dollars'
worth of wine in him, he sat down to the piano, and
thundered out some pretty-well executed arias from popular
operas.

“Four o'clock!” exclaimed the Doctor. “I have just
time to get home and see my daughter dine. Captain, we
shall see you soon, I hope.”

“Certainly. What is the earliest time that I can call
without inconveniencing you?”

“Any time. This evening.”

The Doctor bade Van Zandt a most amicable good afternoon,
but did not ask him to accompany Colburne in
the projected visit.

No sooner was he gone than the Captain turned upon
the Lieutenant.

“Mr. Van Zandt, I must beg you to be extremely prudent
in your language and conduct before that gentleman.”

“By Jove!” roared Van Zandt, “it came near being

the cursedest mess. I have had to pour down the juice of
the grape to keep from fainting.”

“What is the matter?”

“Why, Parker brought his — cousin here this
morning. You've heard of the girl he calls his cousin?
She's in the smoking-room now. I've been so confoundedly
afraid you would show him the smoking-room! I've been
sweating with fright during the whole dinner, and all
the time looking as if every thing was lovely and the
goose hung high. She couldn't get out, you know; the
side entrance has never been unlocked yet—no key, you
know.”

“What in Heaven's name did you let her in here for?”
demanded Colburne in a passion.

“Why—Parker, you see—I didn't like to insult Parker
by refusing him a favor. He only wanted to leave her
while he ran around to head-quarters to report something.
He swore by all his gods that he wouldn't be gone an
hour.”

“Well, get her out. See that the coast is clear, and
then get her out. Tell her she must go. And hereafter,
if any of my brother officers want to leave their —
cousins here, remember, sir, to put a veto on it.”

The perspiration stood on his brow at the mere thought
of what might have been the Doctor's suspicions if he had
gone into the smoking-room. Van Zandt went about his
delicate errand with a very meek and sheepish grace.
When he had accomplished it, Colburne called him into
the sitting-room and held the following Catonian discourse.

“Mr. Van Zandt, I want you to take an inventory of
the furniture of the house and the contents of the wine-cellar,
so that when I leave here I can satisfy myself that
not a single article is missing. We shall leave soon. I
shall make application to-day to have my company quartered
in the custom-house, or in tents in one of the
squares.”

“Upon my honor, Captain!” remonstrated the dismayed
Van Zandt, “I pledge you my word of honor that
nothing of this kind shall happen again.”

He cast a desperate glare around the luxurious rooms,
and gave a mournful thought to the now forbidden paradise
of the wine-cellar.

“And I give you mine to the same effect,” answered the
Captain. “The debauch of yesterday answers my purpose
as a warning; and I mean to get out of temptation
for my sake and yours. Besides, this is no way for soldiers
to live. It is poor preparation for the field. More
than half of our officers are in barracks or tents. I am
as able and ought to be as willing to bear it as they.
Make your preparations to leave here at the shortest notice,
and meantime remember, if you please, the inventory.
The company clerk can assist you.”

Poor Van Zandt, who was a luxurious brute, able to
endure any hardship, but equally able to revel in any sybaritism,
set about his unwelcome task with a crest-fallen
obedience. I do not wish to be understood, by the way,
as insinuating that all or even many of our officers then
stationed in New Orleans were given up to plunder and
debauchery. I only wish to present an idea of the
temptations of the place, and to show how our friend Colburne
could resist them, with some aid from the Doctor,
and perhaps more from Miss Ravenel.

As the Doctor walked homeward he put his hand into
his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his brow, and discovered
a paper. It was Colburne's letter to him, and he
read it through as he strolled onward.

“How singular!” he said. “He doesn't even mention
that he has been sick. He is a noble fellow.”

The Doctor was too fond of the young man to allow his
faith in him to be easily shaken.