I hurried forward with Sam. As I caught sight of his face I said, “Wait a minute, it may be his brother.” I watched to see if he had a disabled arm. But when I saw him put that hand to his head I knew the worst. Under guard of two of our men, there he stood with apparent unconcern, in the uniform of a captain of German infantry!
“Oh, Jot!” I cried, forgetful of everything but that here stood my former friend, so dear to me, in peril and disgrace. “How could you, Jot!” I again exclaimed; all my love and sympathy recalled by his once dear face.
He smiled calmly, with an expression that I had never seen on his face before, as if in reply to my call, and with his right hand brushed away his hair clotted with blood from a wound.
I held out my hand to him, while weak hot tears ran down my face; for though I knew of his treason, one of my lifetime idols was now shattered by the sight. Still he smiled calmly and with shameful indifference, or sarcasm, without reply in words.
One singular thing here occurred. Muddy, with his bark of greeting, came leaping and fawning on me; but, without one wag of his tail in greeting for Jot!
“Even the dog,” said Sam, sadly, “has turned against him.”
My heart was heavy with pain. Jot had not offered to take my hand. Had he been hardened in shame by his treason?
A division staff officer had come up, with others, for his questioning. There was evidently about to be a drum-head court martial.
Still preserving his outward indifference, Jot was questioned.
“What is your name?”