He gave me another hearty shake of the hand, and the crowd parting, I made my way with the Colonel out of the room.  We were followed by Miles, the landlord, who, when we had reached the front of the entrance-way, said:  ‘I’m right sorry for this row, gentlemen; but th’ boys will hev a time when they git together.’

‘Oh! never mind,’ said the Colonel, who had recovered his coolness; ’but why are all these people here?’

‘Thar’s a barbecue cumin’ off to-morrer on the camp-ground, and the house is cram full.’

‘Is that so?’ said the Colonel, then turning to me he added, ’Moye has taken the railroad somewhere else; I must get to a telegraph-office at once, to head him off.  The nearest one is Wilmington.  With all these rowdies here, it will not do to leave the horses alone—­will you stay and keep an eye on them over to-morrow?’

‘Yes, I will, cheerfully.’

‘Thar’s a mighty hard set round har now, Cunnel,’ said the landlord; ’and the most peaceable git inter scrapes ef they han’t no friends.  Hadn’t ye better show the gentleman some of your’n, ‘fore you go?’

‘Yes, yes, I didn’t think of that.  Who is here?’

‘Wal, thar’s Cunnel Taylor, Bill Barnes, Sam Heddleson, Jo’ Shackelford.  Andy Jones, Rob Brown, and lots of others.’

‘Where’s Andy Jones?’

‘Reckon he’s turned in; I’ll see.’  As the landlord opened a door which led from the hall, the Colonel said to me:  ’Andy is a Union man, but he’d fight to the death for me.’

‘Sal!’ called out the hotel-keeper.

‘Yas, massa, I’se har,’ was the answer from a slatternly woman, awfully black in the face, who soon thrust her head from the door.

‘Is Andy Jones har?’ asked Miles.

‘Yas, massa, he’m turned in up thar on de table.’

We followed the landlord into the apartment.  It was the dining-room of the hotel, and by the dim light which came from a smoky fire on the hearth, I saw it contained about a hundred people, who, wrapped in blankets, bed-quilts and traveling-shawls, and disposed in all conceivable attitudes, were scattered about on the hard floor and tables, sleeping soundly.  The room was a long, low apartment—­extending across the whole front of the house—­and had a wretched, squalid look.  The fire, which was tended by the negro-woman, (she had spread a blanket on the floor, and was keeping a drowsy watch over it for the night,) had been recently replenished with green wood, and was throwing out thick volumes of black smoke, which, mixing with the effluvia from the lungs of a hundred sleepers made up an atmosphere next to impossible to breathe.  Not a window was open, and not an aperture for ventilation could be seen!

Carefully avoiding the arms and legs of the recumbent chivalry, we picked our way, guided by the negro-girl, to the corner of the room where the Unionist was sleeping.  Shaking him briskly by the shoulder, the Colonel called out:  ‘Andy!  Andy! wake up!’