I could hardly repress a smile at this decision, for now, thought I, I shall see the chiefest rebel of them all.
We passed through motley crowds of long-haired “butternuts,” to a place called Monterey. The General-in-Chief’s headquarters were in a dilapidated cabin. I was immediately arraigned before a bony-faced old man with a gray moustache, not at all prepossessing in personal appearance. Yet, on closer observation, I could detect a cunning shrewdness and a penetrating forethought in his tones and manner.
Beauregard. “You have been rather unfortunate to-day, sir.”
Geer. “Yes, sir, a little so to-day, but not so much on other days.” (I referred to the four days’ skirmishing prior to the Shiloh fight, in which we had seriously worsted the rebels.)
B. “Sir, they tell me you have not surrendered.”
G. “No, sir; but you have me in your power.”
B. “What are your reasons for not surrendering?”
G. “I decline telling you, sir.”
B. “But you shall tell me!”