“I have ruined him!” cried Frances, clasping her hands in terror.
“Gentlemen, what is your pleasure?” asked the president.
One of the judges placed in his hand a written sentence, and declared it to be the opinion of himself and his companion.
It briefly stated that Henry Wharton had been detected in passing the lines of the American army as a spy, and in disguise.
That thereby, according to the laws of war, he was liable to suffer death, and that this court adjudge him to the penalty, recommending him to be executed, by hanging, before nine o’clock on the following morning.
“This is short notice,” said the veteran, holding the pen in his hand, in a suspense that had no object; “not a day to fit one so young for heaven.”
“The royal officers gave Hale[106] but an hour,” returned his comrade; “we have granted the usual time. But Washington has the power to extend it, or to pardon.”
“Then to Washington will I go,” cried the colonel, returning the paper with his signature; “and if the services of an old man like me, or that brave boy of mine, entitle me to his ear, I will yet save the youth.”
So saying, he departed, full of the generous intentions in favor of Henry Wharton.