The general said to his staff, “Wait here, gentlemen.”  He rode through the crowd of soldiers, saying, “Keep back, my men; keep away—­all of you.”  Then he dismounted and walked to where the girl—­she was hardly more—­still knelt wailing and beating the air with uplifted hands.  “Stand up, my good girl, and tell me what is wrong.”

The voice was low and of a certain gentleness, rarely rising even in moments of peril.  She stood up, “I can’t—­I can’t—­let me go—­I want to die!”

The figure, still slight of build in those days, bent over her pitiful.  “I am General Grant.  Look up at me.  There shall be justice done, but I must know.”

She looked up a moment at the kind grave face, then with bent head and hands over her eyes she sobbed out what none but the general could hear.  His voice grew even more distinctly soft as touching her shoulder he said, “Look at that man.  Oh, bring him near—­nearer.  Now, be sure, is that the man?  Look again!  I must be certain.”

With a quick motion she pushed his hand from her shoulder as she stood, and pointing to the brute held by two soldiers cried, “That’s him—­oh, my God!  Take him away—­kill him.  Le’ me go.  Don’t you keep me.”  She looked about like some hopelessly trapped, wild-eyed animal.

“You may go, of course,” said the low-voiced man.  “I will set a guard over your house.”

“Don’t want no Yankee guard—­le’ me go—­I’ve got nothin’ to guard—­I want to die.”  She darted away and through the parting groups of men who were clear enough about what they knew had happened and what should be done.

The dark grey eyes of the General followed her flight for a pitying instant.  Then he remounted, and said to the scared captive, “What have you got to say?”

“It’s all a lie.”

The general’s face grew stern.  He turned and asked for an officer of the Provost Guard.  A captain rode up and saluted.  “I have no time to lose in trying this scoundrel.  We can’t take along the only witness.”  He hesitated a moment.  “Let your men tie him to a tree near the road.  Let two of the guard watch him until the rear has gone by.  Put a paper on his breast—­make his crime clear, clear.”  He said a word or two more to the officer, and then “put on it, ‘Left to the justice of General Lee.’”

“Is that all, sir?” said the amazed officer.

“No—­put below, ‘U.S.  Grant.’  The girl will tell her story.  When the cavalry pass, leave him.  Now, gentlemen, the men have had a rest, let us ride on.”

Josiah a hundred feet away heard, “Fall in—­fall in.”  The tired soldiers rose reluctant and the long line tramped away.  Josiah interested sat still and saw them go by under the dust-laden air.  The girl had gone past her home and into the woods.  The guards curiously watched by the marching men passed near Josiah with their prisoner and busied themselves with looking among the hazel, scrub oak and sassafras for a large enough tree near to the road.  As they went by, he saw the man.