On the other side was Braxton Bragg, brother-in-law of Jefferson Davis, who could never forget Bragg’s kinship, and the service that he had done fifteen years before at Buena Vista, when he had broken with his guns the last of Santa Anna’s squares, deciding the victory. By the side of him was Hardee, the famous tactician, taught in the best schools of both America and Europe. Then there was Polk, who, when a youth, had left the army to enter the church and become a bishop, and who was now a soldier again and a general. Next to the bishop-general sat the man who had been Vice-President of the United States and who, if the Democracy had held together would now have been in the chair of Lincoln, John C. Breckinridge, called by his people the Magnificent, commonly accounted the most splendid looking man in America.
“Bring the prisoner forward, Colonel Kenton,” said General Johnston, a general upon whom the South, with justice, rested great hopes.
Dick stepped forward at once and he held himself firmly, as he felt the eyes of the six generals bent upon him. He was conscious even at the moment that chance had given him a great opportunity. He was there to see, while the military genius of the South planned in the shadow of a dark ravine a blow which the six intended to be crushing.
“Where was the prisoner taken?” said Johnston to Colonel Kenton.
“Sergeant Robertson and three other men of my command seized him as he was about to enter the Northern lines. He was coming from the direction of Buell, where it is likely that he had gone to take a dispatch.”
“Did you find any answer upon him.”
“My men searched him carefully, sir, but found nothing.”
“He is in the uniform of a staff officer. Have you found to what regiment in the Union army he belongs?”
“He is on the staff of Colonel Arthur Winchester, who commands one of the Kentucky regiments. I have also to tell you, sir, that his name is Richard Mason, and that he is my nephew.”
“Ah,” said General Johnston, “it is one of the misfortunes of civil war that so many of us fight against our own relatives. For those who live in the border states yours is the common lot.”
But Dick was conscious that the six generals were gazing at him with renewed interest.
“Your surmise about his having been to Buell is no doubt correct,” said Beauregard quickly and nervously. “You left General Buell this morning, did you not, Mr. Mason?”
Dick remained silent.
“It is also true that Buell’s army is worn down by his heavy march over muddy roads,” continued Beauregard as if he had not noticed Dick’s failure to reply.
Dick’s teeth were shut firmly, and he compressed his lips. He stood rigidly erect, gazing now at the flickering flames of the little fire.
“I suggest that you try him on some other subject than Buell, General Beauregard,” said the bishop-general, a faint twinkle appearing in his eyes. Johnston sat silent, but his blue eyes missed nothing.
“It is true also, is it not,” continued Beauregard, “that General Grant has gone or is going tonight to Savannah to meet General Buell, and confer with him about a speedy advance upon our army at Corinth?”
Dick clenched his teeth harder than ever, and a spasm passed over his face. He was conscious that six pairs of eyes, keen and intent, ready to note the slightest change of countenance and to read a meaning into it, were bent upon him. It was only by a supreme effort that he remained master of himself, but after the single spasm his countenance remained unmoved.
“You do not choose to answer,” said Bragg, always a stern and ruthless man, “but we can drag what you know from you.”
“I am a prisoner of war,” replied Dick steadily. “I was taken in full uniform. I am no spy, and you cannot ill treat me.”
“I do not mean that we would inflict any physical suffering upon you,” said Bragg. “The Confederacy does not, and will never resort to such methods. But you are only a boy. We can question you here, until, through very weakness of spirit, you will be glad to tell us all you know about Buell’s or any other Northern force.”