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"Yes," said the voice of him whom she had known as Elisha Braggs, "yes, and I knew YOUR face, Jim Seabright, ex-whaler, slaver, pirate, and bo's'n of the Highflyer, marooned in the South Pacific, where you found the Lord ha! ha! and became the psalm-singing, converted American sailor preacher!" "I am not ashamed before men of my past, which every one knows," returned Seabright slowly.
I started Ewings division in advance, with orders to turn aside toward Trenton, to make the enemy believe we were going to turn Braggs left by pretty much the same road Rosecrans had followed; but with the other three divisions I followed the main road, via the Big Trestle at Whitesides, and reached General Hooker's headquarters, just above Wauhatchee, on the 20th; my troops strung all the way back to Bridgeport.
I will not ask you to put the Board of Supervisors to the trouble of meeting, unless you can get a quorum at Baton Rouge. With great respect, your friend, By course of mail, I received the following answer from Governor Moore, the original of which I still possess. It is all in General Braggs handwriting, with which I am familiar Executive Office, BATON ROUGE, LOUISIANA, January 23, 1861
Virgil believed in ghosts, and so did Joe Braggs, and I, by oft reading the one and listening to the other, had preserved an open mind. Apparently Sultan had his doubts, for he shivered and whinnied. I pulled his head round away from the ghost, drew out a pistol, and watched the unchancy thing's movements. It was evidently meant for me, for it made a slight turn and came straight towards me.
In her own excited consciousness it seemed to Cissy that some actual struggle between good and evil like unto the casting out of devils was shaking the little building. She cast a hurried glance behind her and saw Mr. Braggs sitting erect, white and scornful.
Sir Griffith was a brisk, apple-cheeked man of forty or thereabouts, very fluent of speech in somewhat uncertain English, with fewer ideas in his head than there are pips in a codlin, but what there were of them singularly clear and precise. He reminded me of Joe Braggs, who could only whistle three tunes, but whistled them like a lark.
Braggs was seated in one of the benches near the door, and from the fact of his holding a handkerchief to his mouth, and being gazed at by his neighbors, it was evident that it was he who had coughed. Perhaps he had come to West Woodlands to talk to her aunt! With the preacher before her, and her probable suitor behind her, she felt herself again blushing. Brother Seabright continued.
The gate was open, so that I could at least begin by pitching into Joe Braggs for his negligence, and the windows of the house-place shimmered a welcome because of the cheerful blaze within. Not a soul stirred. I jumped down, threw the reins over the gate-post, and walked stealthily into the yard and up to the window. Still not a soul stirred. I peeped in.
The countryside was still and calm as a frozen sea, and war and its terrors seemed so impossible that for a moment I felt as if it was only a dream-life that I was living and that I must wake soon and hear Joe Braggs trolling out his morning song in honour of Jane.
Elisha Braggs, whose name was generously and euphoniously translated by his native neighbors into "Don Eliseo," although a heretic, had given largess to the church in the way of restoring its earthquake-shaken tower, and in presenting a new organ to its dilapidated choir.
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