At that time there was published in San Francisco a paper called the American Flag. It perished peacefully after the war ended, but while it lasted, outclassed every publication of the North in downright ferocity, not alone to the cause of the South, but to every person of Southern parentage. It demanded that we be tried on a charge of piracy--a capital offense. But the closest examination of the law proved that no such accusation was tenable. The final indictment was for high treason. That also used to be a capital crime, but such a multitude of treason charges were brought during the war that Congress stayed the hand of the executioner and made the offense punishable only by imprisonment and fine. Even that charge might have come to naught. Against us was the accomplice Law, whose unsupported evidence was not sufficient. The armament found on the Chapman might have been intended for a filibuster expedition against a Central American State. The false custom-house papers might be explained in the same way, also the secret preparations for leaving the port, for the United States Government was bound to intercept any illicit expeditions against friendly powers. Some general literature of an inflammatory “secesh” character was found on us, but our natural inclinations were a matter of public knowledge in San Francisco. Finally the scraps of torn paper collected on the Chapman by Captain Lees and pasted together, while incriminating, were not complete and hardly admissible in a court of justice. In other words, while there was an ocean of suspicion, the prosecution could offer very little proof. Our best friends knew that the indictment was true enough, but to maintain it according to the rules of evidence was another thing. The needed testimony, however, was supplied through some senseless talk of Greathouse. I have always contended that a man’s worst enemy is his mouth, and there never was a better illustration. Greathouse visited us one day at the Broadway jail. He was handsomely caparisoned, full of spirits and I think had just risen from a good dinner, or rather lunch. Libby asked him anxiously about our prospects. “Well,” said Greathouse, “they are not exactly flattering. I guess all of us will have to go to prison for a long term, but,” he added somewhat grandly, “I will be able to buy my way out.” He didn’t say a word about the rest of us.