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"Better the evil that we know..." he answered, with the familiar smile in his voice. "The important thing is to sidetrack the French agent, who could put fifty ruffians on our trail instead of one." "Why not send a provost-marshal's guard to the French agent, then?" "Can't do that. France and Great Britain are allies. Besides, they might retaliate by spiflicating our agent in Damascus.
But suddenly the sergeant recollected that he did not know what to do with us, and we were obliged to remain where we were, till he could find the Provost-Marshal's office, and get instructions. We endeavored to shelter ourselves as best we could from the unbearable cold, which really threatened to prove fatal.
We'll just go over to the Provost-Marshal's and see about him. It may be that I know him." The sharp call of the Sergeant on duty outside to "Turn out the Guard for the General," the clatter of muskets, as he was obeyed, the sudden stiffening up of the men lounging about the entrance into the position of the soldier, and their respectful salutes as the General limped in, conveyed to Lieut.-Col.
We don't keep a cook, so you won't get poisoned. That's settled; I'll tell Mabel you're coming. Tootleloo!" But there was a chance that the brigadier might carry resentment to the point of sending up a provost-marshal's guard to arrest Jeremy on the well-known principle that a bird in the hand can be strafed more easily than one with a medical certificate.
Naturally after this there was a very pretty commotion, and Matthew, vainly protesting that he was deaf, was hurried off to the Provost-Marshal's custody.
The Provost-Marshal's Guard and fatigue-party of Colonel Porter brought up the rear picking up stragglers; blowing up ammunition that had been left by the way; burning feed and forage; smashing barrels of liquids, of which the apparent wanton waste on the ground would at any other time have almost produced a revolt in the ranks; bending the barrels and throwing into the swamp, of muskets dropped by dead and exhausted soldiers; breaking up and burning abandoned wagons, and destroying knapsacks, blankets, and all such other articles that could be of any possible use to an enemy, as had been left behind by the regiments that had passed on to the James River.
"Probably he had a great deal to do with you," thought the Deacon. "He was a terror to evil-doers." "Say, my friend," said the stranger abruptly, "you got a pass. I couldn't. That old rascal of a Provost-Marshal's down on me because I wouldn't let him into a speculation with me. He's on the make every time, and wants to hog everything. Say, you're a sly one.
Ever since Second Bull-Run there has been much straggling in the army, and not a little desertion; and though a fortnight has passed since Antietam was fought, the provost-marshal's men have not yet finished scouring the country, and a sharp lookout is kept for deserters. Those civilians who can readily establish their identity as old residents of the town have no trouble.
"I must get leave to see him, but you had better not speak of Peter to any one." Josiah was already somewhat indisposed to tell to others the story of the North Anna incident, and walked on in silence over the snow until at the provost-marshal's quarters Rivers dismissed him.
At the time of my arrival at Cincinnati, Major-General Wallace was in command. The Queen City of the West was obliged to undergo some of the inconveniences of martial law. Business of nearly every kind was suspended. A provost-marshal's pass was necessary to enable one to walk the streets in security.
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