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Updated: June 30, 2025
"How is Captain Pecklar?" "He has come to himself, but he is no better. I am afraid he is going to die." replied Spottswood, coming near the bulkhead, and speaking in a low tone. "That's bad," added the major, shaking his head. "There's the steamer, sir!" called one of the soldiers.
He threw one hand to his forehead as though to clear his brain, and caught a chair with the other. Advancing swiftly toward him, he saw the white vision of Ruth Spottswood the night of the ball when he had lost her. The same dress, the same rounded throat, only the bust a little fuller, and the same beautiful bare arms with the delicate wrists and tapering fingers.
The gas works, injured by fire, are not working, and "ile" has not been struck in the Confederacy. Not a white man appears until we reach the Spottswood, there before the entrance is a conclave of officers, then, at last, entering, we stand in that most famous of Southern hotels, the interior of which is filled with the very aroma of the Rebellion.
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