The order for mustering out the remaining volunteer officers was long anticipated, and anxiously looked for by these officers, and by none more than by Major Delany, who, as sub-assistant commissioner of the Bureau distinct of Hilton Head would be affected by this. At last it was received, as will be seen by the following document. While upon this subject, a humorous anecdote, bearing on this subject, may be related.
While awaiting the order, about the middle of December, he visited the headquarters of the assistant commissioner at Charleston.
On entering the department of the adjutant general, a group of officers surrounded the desk of the acting adjutant, who, at the time, was reading out the names of the officers mustered out by special orders, which had just been received from the war department that morning, erasing them from the roster suspended on the wall before him, among which was his own name.
“How is this, major?” asked the chief clerk; “I do not see your name among them. Do you report regularly?”
“I do; my report for this month was sent on now more than ten days,” he replied.
“How is it that you are not among these named in the special order just received?” inquired the acting assistant adjutant general, with much interest.
“I suppose,” said the major, very quaintly, “that I am in the position of the old black man, a devoted Second Adventer, during the Millerite excitement, who, disposing of his earthly effects, betook himself to a cellar, with simply food and fuel sufficient to sustain him comfortably, the season being winter. While waiting, a snow storm came on, the drift completely embanking that side of the street, burying everything beneath it.
“Thus isolated, and enveloped in darkness for several days, except the light of his little fire, without the sound of a footstep or voice above, the old man believed that the final consummation of all things had taken place, and he was actually left in his tomb.
“Presently the scavengers reached his cellar door, when, first hearing footsteps, succeeded by scraping and prying, then light ushering in through the cracks as the snow was removed. Suddenly bursting up the cellar door, the old man exclaimed, ‘Is de end come?’ Being answered in the negative, ‘O!’ said he, ‘I thought de end was come, an’ all you white folks was gone up, an’ forgot dis old black saint.’ Now,” concluded the major, turning to the assistant adjutant general, “I suppose de end is come, an’ all you white folks is _gone up_, an’ forgot dis black saint,” amidst a roar of laughter among the officers.