from view, he could see numbers huddled about their fires, and children
wrapped in blankets asleep upon the ground, while here and there tired
mothers were nursing and soothing their fretful babes.

Little attention was paid to the young courier as he moved from place
to place, except an occasional glance at his curious costume. In fact,
most of these exiles were strangers to one another, as they had come on
different ships, and had only met for the first time on the day of
their landing. The ones who had sailed on the same vessels, and had
thus become acquainted, naturally kept together as much as possible.
But they were all comrades in distress, sufferers in a common cause,
united by the golden bond of sympathy.

Down by the water men were sorting out and piling up their household
effects, which had been carelessly dumped upon the shore. But others
not so engaged were gathered in little groups around camp-fires, either
discussing their present prospects, or relating their experiences on
the vessels, and their hardships during and after the war. To some of
these tales Dane listened with wide-eyed wonder, and a burning
indignation in his heart. What stories he would have to tell when he
went back to his woodland home.

All that he heard, however, was not of a sad or gloomy nature. These
sturdy men enjoyed humorous yarns, and as Dane listened to several, he
joined in the laughter that ensued. One, especially, appealed to him.
It was told by a big strapping fellow, who hitherto had taken little
part in the talk.

"Your yarns can't equal that of the shoemaker of Richmond, Virginia" he
began. "When the rebels were passing through the town he stood in the