It all appeared so unnatural that I felt strangely saddened by the change, and continued aimlessly drifting about the town as curiosity led, resolved to leave its confines at the earliest opportunity.  I stared long at the strange vessels of war, whose like I had never before seen, and finally, as I now remember, paused upon the ragged grass of the Place d’Armes, watching the evolutions of a battery of artillery.  This was all new to me, representing as it did a line of service seldom met with in the wilderness; and soon quite a number of curious loiterers gathered likewise along the edge of the parade.  Among them I could distinguish a few French faces, with here and there a woman of the lower orders, ill clad and coarse of speech.  A party of soldiers, boisterous and quarrelsome from liquor, pressed me so closely that, hopeful of avoiding trouble, I drew farther back toward the curb, and standing thus, well away from others, enjoyed an unobstructed view across the entire field.

The battery had hitched up preparatory to returning to their quarters before I lost interest in the spectacle and reluctantly turned away with the slowly dispersing crowd.  Just then I became aware of the close proximity of a well-dressed negro, apparently the favored servant in some family of quality.  The fellow was observing me with an intentness which aroused my suspicion.  That was a time and place for exercising extreme caution, so that instinctively I turned away, moving directly across the vacated field.  Scarcely had I taken ten steps before I saw that he was following, and as I wheeled to front him the fellow made a painful effort to address me in English.

“Mornin’, sah,” he said, making a deep salutation with his entire body.  “Am you dat Englisher Massa Benteen from up de ribber?”

Leaning upon my rifle, I gazed directly at him in astonishment.  How, by all that was miraculous, did this strange black know my name and nationality?  His was a round face, filled with good humor; nothing in it surely to mistrust, yet totally unknown to me.

“You speak correctly,” I made reply, surprise evident in the tones of my voice.  “I have no reason to deny my name, which is held an honest one here in New Orleans.  How you learned it, however, remains a mystery, for I never looked upon your face before.”

“No, sah; I s’pects not, sah, ’cause I nebber yet hab been in dem dere parts, sah.  I was sent yere wid a most ’portant message fer Massa Benteen, an’ I done reckon as how dat am you, sah.”

“An important message for me?  Surely, boy, you either mistake, or are crazy.  Yet stay!  Does it come from Nick Burton, the flatboat-man?”

“No, sah; it am a lady wat sent me yere.”

He was excessively polite, exhibiting an earnestness which caused me to suspect his mission a grave one.

“A lady?”

I echoed the unexpected word, scarcely capable of believing the testimony of my own ears.  Yet as I did so my heart almost ceased its throbbing, while I felt the hot blood rush to my face.  That was an age of social gallantry; yet I was no gay courtier of the town, but a hunter of the woods, attired in rough habiliments, little fitted to attract the attention of womanly eyes amid the military glitter all about.