The lamp-light shone upon his face. It was the worthy Mr. Blocque--Mr.
Blocque, emitting howls of anguish! Mr. Blocque, shaking his clenched
hands, and maligning all created things! Mr. Blocque, devoting, with
loud curses and imprecations, the assembled wisdom of the "city
fathers," and the entire police force of the Confederate capital, to
the infernal deities!
"I am robbed--murdered!" screamed the little Jewish-looking personage,
in a shrill falsetto which resembled the shriek of a furious old woman,
"robbed! rifled!--stripped of every thing!--garroted!--my money
taken!--I had ten thousand dollars in gold and greenbacks on my
person!--not a Confederate note in the whole pack--not one! gold and
greenbacks!--two watches!---I am ruined! I will expose the police! I
was going to my house like a quiet citizen! I was harming nobody! and I
am to be set on and robbed of my honest earnings by a highwayman
--choked, strangled, knocked down, my pockets picked, my money taken
--and this in the capital of the Confederacy, under the nose of the
police!"
It was a shrill squeak which I heard--something unutterably ludicrous.
I could scarce forbear laughing, as I looked at the little
blockade-runner, with disordered hair, dirty face, torn clothes, and
bleeding nose, uttering curses, and moaning in agony over the loss of
his "honest earnings!"
I consoled him in the best manner I could, and asked him if he had lost
every thing.
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