It was barely daylight the next morning when he was awakened by the
cry, "The Yanks are coming!" He had but a moment to question the
frightened messenger, who pressed on, terror-stricken, in the very
road which he might have known would be the path of the advancing
enemy, instead of riding two miles into the heart of the boundless
pine forest which stretched on either hand, where he would have
been as safe from capture as if he had been in the center of the
pyramid of Cheops.

Potestatem Desmit had his carriage geared up, and went coolly forth
to meet the invaders. He had heard much of their savage ferocity,
and was by no means ignorant of the danger which he ran in thus going
voluntarily into their clutches. Nevertheless he did not falter.
He had great reliance in his personal presence. So he dressed with
care, and arrayed in clean linen and a suit of the finest broadcloth,
then exceedingly rare in the Confederacy, and with his snowy hair
and beard, his high hat, his hands crossed over a gold-headed
cane, and gold-mounted glasses upon his nose, he set out upon his
mission. The night before he had prudently removed from the place
every drop of spirits except a small demi-john of old peach-brandy,
which he put under the seat of his carriage, intending therewith to
regale the highest official whom he should succeed in approaching,
even though it should be the dreaded Sherman himself.

He had proceeded perhaps half a mile, when his carriage was all at
once surrounded by a motley crew of curiously dressed but well-armed
ruffians, whose very appearance disgusted and alarmed him. With oaths
and threats the lumbering chariot, which represented in itself no
little of respectability, was stopped. The appearance of such a