"Captain Jackson," said that officer, addressing one of the few who wore the regular uniform of the United States army, "I should like much to converse with this man, in whom I confess, as in some degree the preserver of his life, I feel an interest. Moreover, as the only uninjured among our prisoners, he is the one most calculated to give us information in regard to the actual force of those whom we have this day had the good fortune to defeat, as well as of the ultimate destination of the British General. Notes of both these important particulars, if I can possibly obtain them, I wish to make in a despatch of which I intend you to be the bearer."
The Aid-de-camp, for in that capacity was he attached to the person of Colonel Forrester, immediately quitted the room, and presently afterwards returned ushering in the prisoner.
Although Gerald was dressed, as we have said, in the uniform of the private grenadier, there was that about him which, in defiance of a person covered from head to foot with the slimy mud of the trenches, and a mouth black as ink with powder from the cartridges he had bitten, at once betrayed him for something more than he appeared.
There was a pause for some moments after he entered. At length Colonel Forrester inquired, in a voice strongly marked by surprise:
"May I ask, sir, what rank you hold in the British army?"
"But that I have unfortunately suffered more from your mud than your fire," replied Gerald, coolly, and with undisguised bitterness of manner, "the question would at once be answered by a reference to my uniform."
"I understand you, sir; you would have me to infer you are what your dress, and your dress alone, denotes—a private soldier?"
Gerald made no answer.
"Your name, soldier?"
"My name!"