"The rules of war, as applied to a non-commissioned officer, must also govern his superiors. As Sergeant Dudley deserved his bullet you merit yours."
His eyes dropped from Morrison's face and he looked up at Harris.
"A bad witness for your client, Lieutenant," he said grimly, as he nodded his head towards Uncle Billy. "You ought to study law! Take him away," and he picked up a fresh cigar from a box in front of him and tossed the old one out of the window.
Uncle Billy, with a puzzled look on his face, slowly yielded to the touch of the two soldiers who stepped into the room at a gesture from Forbes. He seemed to realize that his testimony had not been of much avail though just why was indeed a mystery. One thing, however, was quite clear.
"'Skuse me, Mars' Gen'l. I—I don't need dat ar pass home now. An' I much obliged to you fer not givin' it to me. Yas, seh. Thank'e, seh." At the doorway he bowed with careful politeness to each occupant of the fatal room. "Good mornin', Mars' Cary. Good mornin', gent'men. Good mornin'."
With the disappearance of bewildered Uncle Billy the General swung around on the officer who no longer wore his shoulder straps.
"Mr. Morrison," he said, in his distinct, even tones. "Your friend and counsel, Lieutenant Harris, has applied to me for your pardon!"
"Pardon?" cried Morrison, springing to his feet with an exclamation of amazement.
"Exactly," was the crisp response. "It comes from him—not from you. But still, as an interested party, have you anything to say in your own behalf?"
The Union officer stared at his general for a moment without replying. Yes, there were many things that might be said—all of them honest arguments in his own behalf, all of them weighted with Right and Humanity but none of them worth putting into words in the face of this deadly machine of war, this grim, austere, unyielding tribunal. He wavered for a moment on his feet as a terrible wave of despair surged over him, then made a faint gesture of negation.