The general, who was always on the alert, ordinarily began his work with the sun, and rarely did he stop with the setting of it, either. The next morning, therefore, he was at his headquarters at an unusually early hour.

Fortune had favored him in that one of the harbor patrol boats, making a daring reconnaissance about midnight, to discover if possible what had happened to the David, had captured a whale boat from one of the union ships, bound on a similar errand, and had brought her crew to the city. By questioning them Beauregard learned of the blowing up of the Housatonic, and the almost certain loss of the torpedo boat. He was sorry that he missed the Wabash and the admiral, and intensely grieved over the lack of any tidings from the David or her men, which, however, caused him little surprise, but he was glad, indeed, they had been so brilliantly successful in eliminating the magnificent new steam sloop-of-war Housatonic from the force blockading them.

Incidentally he learned, with some additional satisfaction, that Admiral Vernon was to be relieved of his command on account of illness and was going North with his flagship in a few days. The admiral had shown himself so intensely enterprising and pugnacious that Beauregard hoped and expected that any change in opponents would be for the betterment of the situation from the Southern point of view.

When he had digested the important news of the morning, he sent for his prisoner of the night before. The general had been very indignant on the wharf, and justly so, but he instinctively felt that there was something in the situation, which, if he could get at it, might relieve from the odium of his position the young officer, whose family history, no less than his personal character, absolutely negatived the idea of cowardice or treachery.

General Beauregard hoped that by questioning him quietly and calmly, and by representing to him the critical situation in which he found himself, that he might induce him to clear up the mystery. He spoke to him kindly, therefore, when he was ushered into the room and bade him be seated. He marked with soldierly appreciation of the lieutenant's feelings the evidences of his sleepless night, the anguish of his soul, in the haggard look upon his face.

"Mr. Sempland," he began with impressive and deliberate gravity, carefully weighing his words that they might make the deeper impression upon the younger man, for whom he felt profound pity, "you bear one of the noblest names in the commonwealth. I knew your father and your grandfather. They were men of the highest courage and of unimpeachable honor. Their devotion to the South cannot be questioned. I grieve more than I can say to find you in so equivocal a position. I am convinced that there is some explanation for it, and I ask you, not as your general, but as your friend, to disclose it to me."

"You called me a coward last night, sir."

"In the heat of my disappointment and surprise I did make use of that term, sir. It was a mistake. I regret it," said the general, magnanimously. "I do not believe your failure to take out the David arose from any fear."

This was a great concession indeed, and Sempland was intensely relieved, and an immense load was lifted from his breast by the general's reassuring words.

"Sir, I thank you. I could have borne anything than that."

"But, my boy," continued the general, severely, "you must remember that you still lie under the imputation of treachery to the South, and you will recognize readily that such an accusation is scarcely less terrible than the other."

"General Beauregard, believe me, sir," burst out Sempland, impetuously, "I pledge you my word of honor, I am not a traitor to the South, I would die for my country gladly if it would do her service. I fully intended to take out the David. I begged for the detail, and was thankful beyond measure to you for giving it to me. I was overwhelmed with anger and dismay and horror at my failure. I swear to you, sir, by all that is good and true, by everything holy, that it was not my fault that I was not there—I—I—was detained."

"Detained? By whom?"

Sempland only bit his lip and looked dumbly at the general.

"Come, my boy, I want to help you," said the veteran officer, persuasively. "Who, or what, detained you? Where were you detained? It must have been some man—or was it a woman? Tell me, and, by heavens, I'll make such an example of the traitor as will never be forgotten in South Carolina or the Confedera............