“I didn't drift. I was going to the Fort.”
“The Fort, is it?”
“Yes. I want to see the general.”
“Wadn't the liftenant do ye? Or shure there's the adjutant; he's a foine man.”
“Silence, Flanigan,” said the young officer sharply. Then turning to Mrs. Bunker he said, “Don't mind HIM, but let his wife take you to the canteen, when we get in, and get you some dry clothes.”
But Mrs. Bunker, spurred to convalescence at the indignity, protested stiffly, and demanded on her arrival to be led at once to the general's quarters. A few officers, who had been attracted to the pier by the rescue, acceded to her demand.
She recognized the gray-haired, handsome man who had come ashore at her house. With a touch of indignation at her treatment, she briefly told her story. But the general listened coldly and gravely with his eyes fixed upon her face.
“You say you recognized in the leader of the party a man you had seen before. Under what circumstances?”
Mrs. Bunker hesitated with burning cheeks. “He came to take Colonel Marion from our place.”
“When you were hiding him,—yes, we've heard the story. Now, Mrs. Bunker, may I ask you what you, as a Southern sympathizer, expect to gain by telling me this story?”