The Doctor’s face was calm, but tense.  My heart seemed to have failed.

The burning Congress threw around us a light brighter than the moon; each of us had two shadows.

We sat down to supper, “Doctor,” said I, “how can you be so calm?”

“Why, my boy,” he said, “I counted on such, long ago—­and worse; besides, you know that I believe everything will come right.”

“What is to prevent the Merrimac from destroying our whole fleet and then destroying our coast?”

“God!” said Dr. Khayme.

Lydia, kissed him and burst into weeping.

* * * * *

So far as I can remember, I have passed no more anxious night in my life than the night of the 8th of March, 1862.  My health did not permit me to go out of the tent; but from the gloomy rumours of the camps I knew that my anxiety was shared by all.  Strange, I thought, that my experience in war should be so peculiarly disastrous.  Bull Run had been but the first horror; here was another and possibly a worse one.  The East seemed propitious to the rebels; Grant alone, of our side, could gain victories.

The burning ship cast a lurid glare over land and sea; dense smoke crept along the coast; shouts came to my ears—­great effort, I knew, was being made to get the Minnesota off; nobody could have slept that night.

The Doctor made short absences from his camp.  At ten o’clock he came in finally; a smile was on his face.  Lydia had heard him, and now came in also.

“Jones,” said he, “what will you give me for good news?”

“Oh, Doctor,” said I, “don’t tantalize me.”

Lydia was watching the Doctor’s face.

“Well,” said he, “I must make a bargain.  If I tell you something to relieve your fears, will you promise me to go to sleep?”

“Yes; I shall be glad to go to sleep; the quicker the better.”

“Well, then, the Merrimac will meet her match if she comes out to-morrow.”

“What do you mean, Doctor?”

“I mean that a United States war-vessel, fully equal to the Merrimac, has arrived.”

Lydia left the tent.

I almost shouted.  I could no more go to sleep than I could fly.  I started to get out of bed.  The Doctor put his hand on my head, and gently pressed me back to my pillow.

VIII

THE TWO SOUTHS

     “Yet spake yon purple mountain,
       Yet said yon ancient wood,
     That Night or Day, that Love or Crime,
       Lead all souls to the Good.”—­EMERSON

About two in the morning I was awaked by a noise that seemed to shake the world.  The remainder of the night was full of troubled dreams.