To this they readily assented. How delicious the food tasted when it was served to them at the officers’ mess; and how comfortable but strange they felt when, an hour later, they were arrayed in all the glory of clean underclothes, shoes, nice suits and naval caps. When they came on deck again, how the sailors did cheer. And Waggie! How fine and cheerful he looked, to be sure, all decked out in ribbons provided by the tars; and how pleased he felt with the whole world since he had eaten—but it would take too long to detail the menu with which the dog had been regaled. The wonder was that he survived the spoiling that he received during the next four days.
At the end of that time he accompanied his master and Watson, who were sent on a government vessel to New York. From New York they traveled by rail to Washington, where they were to relate their experiences, and the result of the railroad chase, to President Lincoln.
First they saw Mr. Stanton, the Secretary of War, who made them dine and spend the night as his guests, and who the next morning took them to the White House. George trembled when he was ushered into the private office of Mr. Lincoln. He felt nervous at the thought of encountering the man who, more than any one else, held in his hand the destiny of the nation. But, when a tall, gaunt person, with wonderful, thoughtful eyes and a homely face, illumined by a melancholy but attractive smile, walked up to him and asked: “Is this George Knight?” all the boy’s timidity vanished. As he answered, “Yes, I am George Knight,” he felt as if he had known the President for years.
Mr. Lincoln listened to the narrative of the two fugitives—now fugitives no longer—and put to them many questions. When the recital was over the President asked: “Do you know that poor General Mitchell has died from yellow fever?”
They answered in the affirmative, for Mr. Stanton had given them this unwelcome information upon their arrival in Washington.
Mr. Lincoln pulled a paper from one of the pockets of his ill-fitting black coat and handed it to Watson.
“Here is a commission for you as a Captain in the regular army,” he explained. “I know of no one who could deserve it more than Captain Watson.”
“How can I ever thank you, Mr. President?” cried Watson.
“The thanks are all on my side,” answered the President, smiling. “That reminds me of a little story. When——”
Mr. Stanton, who was standing immediately behind his chief, began to cough in a curious, unnatural way.