‘As a prisoner of war,’ said the President, ‘you will now receive the same treatment as your comrades of the same rank. Some have been already exchanged, and some have given bail for their appearance to answer any future charges against them.’
‘I am quite ready, sir, to accept my freedom on parole,’ said I; ‘of course, in a country where I am an utter stranger, bail is out of the question.’
‘I’m willing to bail him, your worship; I’ll take it on me to be surety for him,’ cried a coarse, husky voice from the body of the court; and at the same time a man dressed in a greatcoat of dark frieze pressed through the crowd and approached the table.
‘And who are you, my good fellow, so ready to impose yourself on the Court?’ asked Peters.
‘I’m a farmer of eighty acres of land, from the Black Pits, near Baldoyle, and the adjutant there, Mr. Moore, knows me well.’
‘Yes,’ said the adjutant, ‘I have known you some years, as supplying forage to the cavalry, and always heard you spoken of as honest and trustworthy.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Moore; that’s as much as I want.’
‘Yes; but it’s not as much as we want, my worthy man,’ said Peters; ‘we require to know that you are a solvent and respectable person.’
‘Come out and see my place, then; ride over the land and look at my stock; ask my neighbours my character; find out if there’s anything against me.’
‘We prefer to leave all that trouble on your shoulders,’ said Peters; ‘show us that we may accept your surety, and we ‘ll entertain the question at once.’