Dr. Cameron lay for a moment in a stupor. At length he slowly rose. The clank of the heavy chains seemed to choke him with horror. He sank on the floor, covering his face with his hands and groaned:
"The shame! The shame! O God, that I might have died! My poor, poor wife!"
Captain Gilbert entered and said with a sneer:
"I will take you now to see your wife and friends if you would like to call before setting out for Columbia."
The doctor paid no attention to him.
"Will you follow me while I lead you through this town, to show them their chief has fallen, or will you force me to drag you?"
Receiving no answer, he roughly drew the doctor to his feet, held him by the arm, and led him thus in half-unconscious stupor through the principal street, followed by a drove of negroes. He ordered a squad of troops to meet him at the depot. Not a white man appeared on the streets. When one saw the sight and heard the clank of those chains, there was a sudden tightening of the lip, a clinched fist, and an averted face.
When they approached the hotel, Mrs. Cameron ran to meet him, her face white as death.
In silence she kissed his lips, kissed each shackle on his wrists, took her handkerchief and wiped the bruised blood from the old wound on his arm the iron had opened afresh, and then with a look, beneath which the Captain shrank, she said in low tones:
"Do your work quickly. You have but a few moments to get out of this town with your prisoner. I have sent
