When at last she could collect her thoughts, she wondered how it was that the rebels had discovered her sex, and what had put it into their heads that her name was Bridget Martin. At last her perspicacity penetrated the truth of the matter—some wounded rebel on the field near them had overheard the conversation between Justin and herself, and had mistaken her unfamiliar name of Britomarte for the common one of Bridget Martin. Farther it appeared that they did not know the name under which she had served in the Union army; so, with a smile, Britomarte resolved to leave them in ignorance of her identity, and under their mistake in regard to her name.
She had scarcely formed this resolution when her cell-door was opened and one of the prison guard brought in her breakfast. It was only a small tin cup of Indian corn meal gruel; and it was unsalted; but Britomarte was more than half-famished, and she ate this simple food with a good relish. She asked the guard if there were many prisoners in the building. He answered:
“Yes, Miss; four or five in every cell; but you are put here alone, because you are a woman.”
So, then, even her guard knew her sex! But, of course! the name inscribed upon the prison books was Bridget Martin.
She then asked the guard if she might be permitted to see the officer in command of the prison.
He answered that he would find out as soon as she should be relieved.
When he took the empty cup away, and Britomarte found herself again alone, she took off her military coat, ripped open its padding and took out a number of greenbacks; and then she put on her coat again.
Late in the forenoon the commander of the prison, or some other officer evidently in authority, came into the cell.
Britomarte arose from her sitting posture on the mattress, and stood up to receive her visitor.
There was neither chair nor stool, so she could not ask him to sit down.