“Well, William, I think we shall be obliged to hang you.”
“All right, General,” answered Nettleton, stepping upon the scaffolding again. “And them darn sneaks shan’t say they never see’d a Yankee die bravely. But, General, let me ask of you one favor. You don’t want to see a good fellow shot for what he didn’t do, and a murderer go clear, do you?”
“Certainly not.”
“Then all I ask is, that you send this handkerchief to Colonel Mann, and tell him the murderer didn’t wash in a basin in his tent, but in the river, and then threw this wiper away; and that the guilty one has two hearts, made with nails, on the sole of each boot. And tell Sally—no, Mamie—that the captain is—Lieutenant Wells—and Walker—the skunk, when I’m dead—that Sally—no, capt’n, won’t think of poor Nettleton—and—”
“Oh stop! stop! William, I can never recollect all this. You had better go yourself and attend to this matter.”
“What, General? Do you mean it?” cried William, as he sprung from the scaffold and gazed earnestly at Price.
“On one condition I will permit you to go.”
“Well, what is it?”
“That as soon as you have given your evidence in the court-martial which will probably be ordered, you will return at once and be hung.”
“I’ll do it; I’m a loafer if I don’t.”