"It has come at last!" was my exclamation as I read the note left by an
orderly in uniform notifying me that I was expected to report at the
quarters of the commanding-general the next day at ten o'clock.
Conscious of my innocence of treason or any other crime against the
Government or society, my pugnacity was roused by this summons. Before
the hour set for my appearance at the military headquarters, I was ready
for martyrdom or any thing else except Alcatraz. I didn't like that. The
island was too small, and too foggy and windy, for my taste. I thought
it best to obey the order I had received, and so, punctually at the
hour, I repaired to the headquarters on Washington Street, and ascending
the steps with a firm tread and defiant feeling, I entered the room.
General Mason, provost-marshal, a scholar and polished gentleman,
politely offered me a seat.
"No; I prefer to stand," I said stiffly.
"The General will see you in a few minutes," said he, resuming his work,
while I stood nursing my indignation and sense of wrong.
In a little while General Wright entered--a tall and striking figure,
silver-haired, blue-eyed, ruddy faced, with a mixture of the dash of the
soldier and the benignity of a bishop.
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