Who can blame this man? Who, that has stood before the frowning scaffold, and with a free world before him, can utter words of censure? Only those who have suffered as he did, prostrated as he was, can know the terrible agony through which he passed ere the fatal words were forced from his trembling lips. For myself, I have no judgment to utter. Now, as when the news was first communicated to me, I cannot express an unjust sentence. John Scully and his companion were not heroic martyrs. What then? They were simply men who, after having performed many brave acts of loyalty and duty to their country, failed in a moment of grand and great self-sacrifice. I cannot apologize for them—I cannot judge them. Their trial was a severe one, and they were in sore distress. If they succumbed to a controlling emergency, it was because of a lack of the heroic elements of humanity; and who, in our day, can claim their possession in the very face of death and dishonor?
Let us hasten over these unpleasant and disastrous events. Finding that the worst had occurred, and that further concealment was of no avail, Lewis, too, opened his mouth. He was again visited by the rebel authorities, and at last he, too, added his voice to that of Scully, and made a revelation of his true character, and of the nature of his mission to Richmond. The next day they were respited. They had escaped an ignominious death, but, perhaps, in their lonely cells they suffered a death in life, beside which an actual demise might have seemed a blessing. Leaving them to their reflections, we turn again to Timothy Webster.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Webster Arrested as a Spy.—A Woman's Devotion and a Patriot's Heroism.—Webster is Convicted.—The Execution.—A Martyr's Grave.
After the departure of Lewis and Scully from Webster's room, where they were so closely followed by the Confederate detective and Chase Morton, my trusty operative heard nothing of them for some time. Fearing to make inquiries concerning them, lest he should compromise them still further, as well as bring himself under the suspicion of the rebel authorities, he maintained a strict silence with regard to the movements of his companions. Several days of anxious suspense followed, which, to one in Webster's critical condition, were fraught with agonizing doubts and heartfelt fears for the ultimate safety of himself and his friends. Resolving, however, to utter no word which would compromise them, he bore the solicitude with unmurmuring firmness. Only to the heroic woman, who so faithfully nursed him, did he unburden his mind of the weight of care which oppressed him, and her words of womanly friendship and encouragement were the only influences which supported him through the trying ordeal.
One day, Mrs. Lawton came into his room—as was her custom—but this time there was a gravity about her manner, which, to Webster's quick perceptions, boded no good. Finding him receiving some friendly visitors, the lady withdrew, and repressing his impatience as well as he was able to do, Webster dispatched his friends as quickly as politeness, and a due consideration for their kindly regard, would permit. When they had disappeared, Mrs. Lawton again entered the room.
"You have news for me," said Webster, impatiently; "what is it?"