Just so
might some general of Napoleon, some general from the Midi, have shown
his emotion on the eve of battle, an emotion which did not detract from
courage and resolution. But the Puritan general, Johnston, raised a
deprecatory hand.
"It is enough, General Beauregard," he said. "The young prisoner will
tell us nothing. That is evident. As he sees his duty he does it,
and I wish that our young men when they are taken may behave as well.
Mr. Mason, you are excused. You remain in the custody of your uncle,
but I warn you that there is none who will guard better against the
remotest possibility of your escape."
It was involuntary, but Dick gave his deepest military salute, and said
in a tone of mingled admiration and respect:
"General Johnston, I thank you."
The commander-in-chief of the Southern army bowed courteously in return,
and Dick, following his uncle, left the ravine.
The six generals returned to their council, and the boy who would not
answer was quickly forgotten. Long they debated the morrow. Several
have left accounts of what occurred. Johnston, although he had laid the
remarkable ambush, and was expecting victory, was grave, even gloomy.
But Beauregard, volatile and sanguine, rejoiced. For him the triumph
was won already. After their great achievement in placing their army,
unseen and unknown, within cannon shot of the Union force, failure was
to him impossible.
Breckinridge, like his chief, Johnston, was also grave and did not say
much.
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