“You surprise me, my son.  Still, admitting all you say, the men who should surprise the North some fine morning with a present of Jeff Davis on their breakfast-plates, wouldn’t be without honor, to say nothing of promotion and profit”

“Oh, if we can carry Jeff off without compromising the safety of the prisoners, I’ll join you heartily.  But first of all we must rescue them.”

“Unquestionably; now, here’s the programme:  Butler’s forces will be within gunshot of Magruder’s lines on Warwick Creek Thursday—­that’s three days from now.  The prisoners will be out of the sewer Wednesday after midnight.  You know the roads eastward.  You will lead them to the swamps near Williamsburg.  There we will have boats to take part down the river; the rest will make through the swamps under my lead.  I have been spying out the land for a week.  At a place called Rosedale we pick up young Boone, who is really the object of my journey.  I couldn’t find him for weeks, and inquired of all the prisoners.  Mrs. Lanview finally put me on the track, and I saw Wes Boone as I came up here.  He thought the chances were better with a big party than alone.  I saw him again yesterday, and he told me that Davis and Lee, his chief of staff, were to be at a party in the Rosedale house on Thursday next.  Now, we can pick up Davis just as well as Boone.  There is the whole plan.”

“Oh, that’s a different matter.  Davis will not be near the city, and his keeping will not add to our danger.  I see no reason why we shouldn’t grab him.  Heavens, what a sensation it will make!  We shall be the wonder of the North—­we shall he like the men that discovered Andre and Arnold—­Paulding and—­and”—­but here Barney’s historical facts came to an end—­“we shall be famous for—­forever!”

“For a week, my son; wonders don’t live long in these fast days.  For a week the North will glorify us; then, if they find that we voted for Douglas, as I did, they will say we had some sinister design in bringing Davis North, and likely send us to Fort Lafayette.”

Barney stopped dead; they had come under a gas-lamp between Grace and Franklin Streets.  He looked at the man.  He was quite sober.  His eyes answered the young man’s indignant protesting glance, openly, unshrinkingly, humorously.

“I should be sorry to think that, Mr. Jones.”

“Well, wait.  When you get North you will see a mighty change in things.  Sentiment, my boy, follows the main chance.  It’s money, my boy, money.  Enough money would have made Judas respectable; he was fool enough to put his price too low.”

“Ugh!—­you almost make me hate the North!  Who can have heart to fight for such heartless traffickers?”

“The North doesn’t ask your heart.  It has counted the cost, and finds that it can pay a million of men thirteen dollars a month for three years, and still make a good thing out of it—­that’s about the breadth of it.  Here’s an oasis in the desert of darkness.  Come and have a drink?”