The unhappy Marcy had made up his mind that he would have to stand punishment of some sort for permitting a prisoner to put his hand under the dead-line; and his worst fears were confirmed when he came within sight of the barracks and saw all the officers of the guard and the commander of the prison standing there, and three Home Guards stationed close by, with muskets in their hands. When the platoon was halted before the door and brought to a front, the captain said:
“No. 12, step out here.”
As that was the number of the post from which Marcy had just been relieved, he moved one pace to the front and saluted.
“So you are the low-down conscript who presumes to set my orders at defiance, are you?” continued the captain. “What were you put in that box for? Why did you allow that prisoner to come to the line?”
“Sir, my orders were——” began Marcy.
“Shut up!” shouted the captain, growing red in the face. “If you talk back to me I’ll put a gag in your mouth. Trice him up, and leave him that way till he learns who’s boss of this camp.”
Without saying a word, one of the three Home Guards before spoken of took Marcy’s musket from his hand, while another unbuckled the belt that held his cartridge-box. Then they laid hold of his arms, and with the officer of the guard marching in front and the third soldier bringing up the rear, led him to a tree that stood before the door of the captain’s quarters. It did not take them more than two minutes to do their cruel work, and when it was over and the officer of the guard moved away with two of his men, leaving the other to keep watch over the culprit with a loaded musket, Marcy Gray was standing on his toes, and his arms were drawn high above his head by a strong cord which had been tied around his thumbs and thrown over a limb of the tree. The pain was intense, but the boy shut his teeth hard and gave no sign of suffering till his head fell over on his shoulder and he fainted dead away. When he came to himself he was lying in his bunk, his wounded hands were resting in a basin of hot water which Bowen was holding for him, and another good-hearted conscript was keeping his head and face wet with water he had just drawn from the well. Their countenances were full of sympathy, and there were signs of rage to be seen as well.
“This is rough on me, boys,” groaned Marcy.
“While you were hanging to that tree I asked some questions about Captain Denning,” whispered Bowen, “and now I know who he is, and where he hails from. He owns a fine plantation about twenty miles from where I live when I am at home, and we shall pass it on our way to the river.”
“O Charley, let’s go to-night,” murmured Marcy. “I shall die if I stay here any longer.”