Part 43 (1/2)
”Know you anything of this pa.s.s?” exhibiting the paper that Dunwoodie had retained when Wharton was taken.
”Nothing-upon my honor, nothing,” cried the father, shrinking from the paper as from contagion.
”On your oath?”
”Nothing.”
”Have you other testimony? This does not avail you, Captain Wharton. You have been taken in a situation where your life is forfeited; the labor of proving your innocence rests with yourself. Take time to reflect, and be cool.”
There was a frightful calmness in the manner of this judge that appalled the prisoner. In the sympathy of Colonel Singleton, he could easily lose sight of his danger; but the obdurate and collected air of the others was ominous of his fate. He continued silent, casting imploring glances towards his friend. Dunwoodie understood the appeal, and offered himself as a witness. He was sworn, and desired to relate what he knew. His statement did not materially alter the case, and Dunwoodie felt that it could not. To him personally but little was known, and that little rather militated against the safety of Henry than otherwise. His account was listened to in silence, and the significant shake of the head that was made by the silent member spoke too plainly what effect it had produced.
”Still you think that the prisoner had no other object than what he has avowed?” said the president, when he had ended.
”None other, I will pledge my life,” cried the major, with fervor.
”Will you swear it?” asked the immovable judge.
”How can I? G.o.d alone can tell the heart; but I have known this gentleman from a boy; deceit never formed part of his character. He is above it.”
”You say that he escaped, and was retaken in open arms?” said the president.
”He was; nay, he received a wound in the combat. You see he yet moves his arm with difficulty. Would he, think you, sir, have trusted himself where he could fall again into our hands, unless conscious of innocence?”
”Would Andre have deserted a field of battle, Major Dunwoodie, had he encountered such an event, near Tarrytown?” asked his deliberate examiner. ”Is it not natural to youth to seek glory?”
”Do you call this glory?” exclaimed the major: ”an ignominious death and a tarnished name.”
”Major Dunwoodie,” returned the other, still with inveterate gravity, ”you have acted n.o.bly; your duty has been arduous and severe, but it has been faithfully and honorably discharged; ours must not be less so.”
During the examination, the most intense interest prevailed among the hearers. With that kind of feeling which could not separate the principle from the cause, most of the auditors thought that if Dunwoodie failed to move the hearts of Henry's judges, no other possessed the power. Caesar thrust his misshapen form forward and his features, so expressive of the concern he felt, and so different from the vacant curiosity pictured in the countenance of the other blacks, caught the attention of the silent judge. For the first time he spoke:-
”Let that black be brought forward.”
It was too late to retreat, and Caesar found himself confronted with a row of rebel officers, before he knew what was uppermost in his thoughts. The others yielded the examination to the one who suggested it, and using all due deliberation, he proceeded accordingly.
”You know the prisoner?”
”I t'ink he ought,” returned the black, in a manner as sententious as that of his examiner.
”Did he give you the wig when he threw it aside?”
”I don't want 'em,” grumbled Caesar; ”got a berry good hair heself.”
”Were you employed in carrying any letters or messages of any kind while Captain Wharton was in your master's house?”
”I do what a tell me,” returned the black.
”But what did they tell you to do?”
”Sometime a one ting-sometime anoder.”