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Updated: May 29, 2025
"Will you think me very impolite if I say I do not believe you, my dear Swartz?" Swartz smiled. "Well, that would be speaking without ceremony, my friend but I assure you I am unable to do as you desire." "Aha! you repeat that curious statement, my dear Swartz! Well, oblige me by accompanying me to the provost-marshal's." "You arrest me?" "Precisely." "As a spy?" "Why not?"
"In the provost-marshal's hands?" said his friend: "then it is all over, indeed! When does my poor friend suffer, sir?" "At half-past six o'clock, the day after to-morrow," said the officer, sitting down, and helping himself to wine. "But stop," said he, suddenly; "sure I can't mistake? Yes no yes, it is. My dear friend, my dear Durand! don't you recollect your old schoolfellow, Antoine?"
He's a Knight of the Golden Circle, that we've been watching for for some time, going through with information and other things from the Knights of Indiana to the enemy in Tullahoma. I've got his carpetsack here. I expect it's full of papers and contraband stuff. It feels as if it had lead in it. I am taking him to the Provost-Marshal's for examination."
The hall in which the city council met, now the place of the provost-marshal's court, is furnished in a style that puts to shame the frugality displayed in the council chambers of our expensively governed American cities, where men of power pose as municipal economists.
The provost-marshal's eyes are glittering, and his face is set and eager. He thinks intently one moment, and then turns on the silent colonel and their perplexed landlord. "Keep this thing perfectly quiet, gentlemen; I may have to look further into it; but at this moment, colonel, circumstances point significantly at your friend, the doctor. Do you see nothing suspicious in his conduct?
Brent in his bewilderment had blurted out his wife's words in the hearing of the provost-marshal's people late the night before, and he and his household were yet to be called, and when called would have to say that though they passed and possibly repassed through the salon between the moment of Stuyvesant's departure and that of their going out to dinner, not one of their number noticed even so bright and gleaming an object as Maidie's revolver.
"We might walk over to the Provost-Marshal's," suggested Shorty, "and watch for them fellers as they come out, and take a drop out o' some of 'em." "It'll be a waste o' time," said Si, with a shrug of his shoulders. "They'll all be doing hard labor for the next 30 days, and by that time we'll likely have a good deal else to think about.
Passing the post-office, I found, addressed to the Bishop in my care, a huge document bearing the official stamp of the provost-marshal's office, San Francisco. He opened and read it as we drove slowly along, and as he did so he brightened up, and turning to Henry, said: "Henry, were you ever a slave?" "Yes, sah; in Mizzoory," said Henry, showing his white teeth.
The accents of agony mingled with the drunken chorus, and the sharp crack of the provost-marshal's whip was heard above the boisterous revelling of the debauchee. All was confusion, bustle, and excitement.
The court being sworn, Captain Tremayne was brought in by the provost-marshal's guard and given a stool placed immediately before and a few paces from the table. Perfectly calm and imperturbable, he saluted the court, and sat down, his guards remaining some paces behind him.
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