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FORE:I sat on the edge of the bed, in the moonlight, wishing I knew what their way was. I considered my small stock of facts. The one that appalled me most was the inward guilt which I brought with me to this ordeal. I wanted to say my childhood prayers and I could not. For I could not repent; at least the emotion of repentance would not come. Moreover, every now and then there leapt across this blackness of guilt a forked lightning of fright, as I realized that I could no more plan than I could pray. No doubt Coralie Rothvelt, by this time in Fayette, was telling some Federal commander that a certain Confederate courier, now asleep at the house of Lucius Oliver, had let slip to her the fact that his despatches were written to be captured, and that, read with that knowledge, they would be of guiding value. What mine host himself might have in view for me I could not guess, but most likely those three rapscallions down at the quarters were already plotting my murder. So now for a counterplot--alas! the counterplot would not unfold for me! "Then we have had glimpses of the way the people spin cotton, and perform other work in the manufacturing line. Their apparatus is very[Pg 299] simple, and it is rather surprising than otherwise that they can accomplish so much with so little machinery. Then we have walked about the streets, and several times we have had close escapes from being run over by some of the carts that were carrying heavy loads. With two men to push them, and two pulling at the same time, they will move loads that would be no small matter for a pair of horses. They keep up a great shouting, and at first it puzzles you to know why they do it until you remember that it is desirable they should all pull together. You can hear them a long way off, and if you get in their way it is your own fault, as it was ours.
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