Who, when they saw the prosecutor there,
Hung down their heads in deep and sad despair:
No doubt their hearts were wrung, and well they might
When they observ’d their unpropitious plight,—
Especially he who beckon’d on the rest,
And held the pistol straight to George’s breast:
The one who had received a sabre-cut
Sat moaning piteously with eyes half shut,—
For on his thigh the cutlass made a gash,
And struck the bone beneath an inch of flesh: