“Jones,” said he, “you were right from a purely prudential point of view in testing the negro well; but in your place I should have trusted him the instant I learned that he was a slave.”

“But, Father,” said Lydia; “you surely don’t think that all the slaves wish to be free.”

“No, I don’t; but I believe that every man slave, who has independence of character sufficient to cause him to be alone at night between two hostile armies, wishes to be free.”

“You are right, Doctor,” said I; “but you must admit, I think, that at the time I could hardly reason so clearly as you can now.”

This must have been said very sleepily, for Lydia exclaimed, “Father, Mr. Berwick needs rest.”

“Yes, madam; he needs rest, but not such as you are thinking of.  Let me fully unburden himself in a mild and gentlemanly way; then he can sleep the sleep of the just.”

“Oh, Father, your words sound like a funeral service.”

“I am alive, Miss Lydia; and you know the Doctor believes that the just live forever.”

“The just?  I believe everybody lives forever, and always did live.”

“Even, the rebels?” then I thought that I should have said “slaveholders.”

“Rebels will live forever, but they will cease to be rebels, that is, after they have accomplished their purposes, and rebellion becomes unnecessary.”

“Then, you admit at last that rebellion, and consequently war, are necessary?”

“No, I don’t see how you can draw such an inference,” said the Doctor; “rebellion cannot make war necessary, and hostility to usurped authority is always right.”

“How can there be such without war as a consequence?” I asked languidly.

“Father,” said Lydia, “please let Mr. Berwick rest.”

“Madam, you are keeping him from going to sleep; I am only making him sleepy.”

Lydia retired.

I wondered if the Doctor knew to the full what he was saying.  He continued:  “Well, Jones, I’ll let you off now on that subject; but I warn you that it is the first paper on the programme for to-morrow.  By the way, you will have but a few days’ rest now; your regiment is expected on the tenth.”

“Glad to hear it, Doctor.”

“So you think the Confederate lines are very strong?”

“Yes, they are certainly very strong, at least that part of them that I saw.  What they are near Yorktown, I cannot say, of course.”

“I can see one thing,” said the Doctor.

“What is that?”

“The map we have is incorrect.”

“How so?”

“It makes the Warwick creek too short and too straight.”

“I found it very long,” said I; “and it is wide, and it is deep, and it cannot be turned on the James River side except by the fleet.”

“The fleet is not going to turn that line; the fleet is doing nothing, and probably will do nothing until the Merrimac is disposed of.”