Four years

Young Dr. Mudd raised himself up on his elbow and listened.
     "That's somebody at the door," he said. . . .
     Lightly he stooped and gave his wife a kiss that just grazed her temple. "I'll be back in a minute, lovey."
     Four years, lovey. They will arrest him for treason and assassination, imprison him, stick his head in a padded canvas bag through the hottest days of summer, chain him and try him before a corrupt jury. Then they will sentence and ship him away to a dungeon in a fortress on the Dry Tortugas, where death grows, and disease, rich as verdure. He'll be back. But he won't be the same again, lovey. Never again.
     --From The Spur