“Is he the only one of that name that you know?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“There he is,” answered Russell, pointing toward me.
The officer walked over to me and said:
“Sir, you will have to come along with me.”
“All right,” said I.
He then went to the door and called in a soldier he had left standing guard outside, and said:
“Take charge of that man.”
I asked the officer if I would be permitted to call at my home in order to acquaint my family with the cause of my absence. He said I would not; that I must go to the Provost-Marshal’s office. I obtained permission to send a note to my wife, stating that I was under arrest. Putting on my hat and coat, I was marched to the corner of Eighth Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. Here we halted, and the officer called out to another soldier, who stood there holding his sword, which he took from the man and buckled on. Placing me between the two guards, we all marched up Pennsylvania Avenue to the Provost-Marshal’s office. The Marshal was not in, but his assistant said: