“Proceed with your punishment, sir,” was my rejoinder; “but I shall reveal to you nothing that I think it my duty to withhold.”
“I will refer you to General Bragg,” said Jackson.
“Refer me to whom you please.”
I was then taken before General Bragg. On our way thither, much excitement prevailed in the crowd, to many of whom the sight of a Yankee was as great a curiosity as one of Du Chaillu’s famous gorillas. Various remarks saluted my ear, such as “What a big man he is.” “Why! do Yankees look that thar way?” “Why! golly, they’re better looking fellows nor we are.”
Such expressions are significant of that stratum of society which exists in the South to an almost incredible extent.
When we arrived at General Bragg’s quarters, some men were engaged in placing in a rude box, the body of a man who had been shot by Bragg’s orders, for attempting to escape to our lines. I was not without apprehensions that such would be my own fate. Still, my mind was more occupied as to what was to be the result of the battle that had just begun. The long-haired monster in human shape stood over the dead man’s remains, swearing that “it was good enough for him.” Just as we were entering Bragg’s tent, a rough, uncouth-looking fellow, exclaimed:
“Tarnation! are you going to shoot this ere fellow?” pointing to me.
“No,” said one of the guards, “we are going to keep him for a show, by golly.”
I began soon to realize that the chances for my life were growing less and less. The charges arrayed against me, were for firing and killing six men, after I had been surrounded. I neither affirmed nor denied. The full results of my firing I did not know. I made up my mind, however, that whatever fate was before me, I would exhibit no shrinking or fear. It seemed probable that my doom was to be shot, and I felt impelled to answer their interrogatories in a somewhat defiant manner. The following dialogue ensued:
Bragg. “Well, sir, you are a prisoner.”