“Hurry up!  If you don’t soon bring on that coat I’ll frail you out.  You think I can wait out here naked and freeze?”

But still the hunt goes on, haversacks once again thrown aside, knapsacks overhauled for the third time, while beads of perspiration begin to drop from the brow of Jess.  The real facts began to dawn more surely upon him.  Then Jess spoke, or I might say gave a wail—­

“Marse John, ’fore God in heaven, if some grand rascal ain’t done stole your clothes.”  His great white eyes shone out from the dark recesses of the car like moons in a bright sky.

Nance was speechless.  Raising himself in a more erect position, he only managed to say:  “Jess, don’t tell me that uniform is gone.  Don’t!  Go dig your grave, nigger, for if you black imp of Satan has gone to sleep and let some scoundrel steal my clothes, then you die.”

Such a laugh, such a shout as was set up from one end of the train to the other was never heard before or since of the “Lone Pine Tree State.”  All of us thought at first, and very naturally, too, that it was only a practical joke being played upon the Captain, and that all would be right in the end.  But not so.  What became of that uniform forever remained a mystery.  If the party who committed the theft had seen or knew the anguish of the victim for one-half hour, his conscience would have smote him to his grave.

But all is well that ends well.  His wife failed to reach him in time, so he wore the faded and tattered garments, as momentous of the Valley, through all the tangled swamps and morasses of the Saltkahatchie, the Edisto, and the Santee with as much pride as if clothed in the finest robes of a king.

We remained at Branchville for several days, and from thence we were transported by rail to Charleston and took up quarters on the “Mall.”  The citizens hailed us with delight and treated us with the greatest hospitality.  The greater number of the best-to-do citizens had left the city, and all that lived on the bay and in reach of the enemies guns had moved to safer quarters in the city or refugeed in the up country.  But every house stood open to us.  Flags and handkerchiefs waved from the windows and housetops, and all was bustle and commotion, notwithstanding the continual booming of cannon at Sumter and on Sullivan’s Island.  Every minute or two a shell would go whizzing overhead or crashing through the brick walls of the buildings.  Soldiers were parading the streets, citizens going about their business, while all the little stores and shops were in full blast, the same as if the “Swamp Angel” was not sending continually shells into the city.  The people had become accustomed to it and paid little attention to the flying shells.

On one occasion, while a bridal ceremony was being performed in one of the palatial residences in the city, the room filled with happy guests, a shell came crashing into the apartment, bursting among the happy bridal party, killing one of the principals and wounding several of the guests.