“Very well, we’ll shoot them; but we must do it properly. We’ll have a court-martial upon them, and teach the spies to crawl into our camp like snakes.”
“It’s a lie!” I shouted. “We are no spies.”
“Ah! you understand the beautiful language of my fr’inds,” cried Moriarty. “You are not spies, then?”
“No, neither of us,” I said in Dutch.
“Indade?” said Moriarty. “And perhaps you are not a deserter from our troops?”
Amidst hootings, groans, and yells, I managed to make myself heard.
“No,” I said, “I am not a deserter. I am English, and I refused to fight against my own countrymen.”
A savage yell greeted my plain words; but Moriarty held up his hand.
“Let him condemn himself out of his own lips, brethren,” he cried.—Then, to me, “You preferred to fight against and shoot down the people among whom you dwelt?” he cried.
“I joined my own people,” I replied; “and this gentleman with me is no spy.”