Willing or unwilling, he met me with much kindness. “What is it, Craven?” he said. “But I fear, I very much fear that I know your errand.”
“If you could see me alone, my lord?” I said.
“Certainly I will.” He nodded to Haldane and in a moment we were left together.
I told him the story, all the story; and he heard me with sympathy. I have said that he was a man of my age, not yet thirty, but authority had given him force and decision, and the patience that goes with those qualities. “In Lord Cornwallis’s absence, it lies with you, my lord,” I concluded, when I had told my tale, “to confirm the finding and sentence. The man’s life is forfeit, I cannot deny it. I do not attempt to say otherwise. But the circumstances are such—he gave me my life, I am taking his—that I am compelled to put forward my own services and implore on my own account what I cannot ask, my lord, on his. If he were confined in the West Indies, for the duration of the war, or were sent to England—”
He stopped me. “My dear Craven, the thing is impossible,” he said gently. “Impossible! You must see that for yourself. In another man’s case you would see it. I should be unworthy of command, unworthy of the post I hold, unworthy of the obedience of the men whose lives are in my hands, if I listened to you! Frankly, I could not hold up my head if I did this. And that is not all,” he continued in a firmer tone. “I have news, by express this moment. Wemyss’s force has been repulsed, badly repulsed near Fishdam. He is wounded and a prisoner. The account that we have is confused, but it is certain that the enemy knew that the attack was coming and awaited it a gunshot behind their campfires; so that when our poor lads ran in they came under a heavy fire from the woods. I have not a doubt, therefore, that this man, Wilmer, had a confederate in the camp, and short as his time was, contrived to pass on tidings of the change of date.”
It was a home blow and I reeled under it. I had had little hope before; I had none now. Still I had made up my mind as to my duty, and I strove afresh to move him. He listened for a moment. Then he cut me short.
“No!” he replied, more curtly, “No! you have no case. The punishment of a spy is known, fixed, unalterable, Craven. It was carried out in the case of Major André, a hard, an extreme case. But it was carried out. This is a flagrant case. You ask an impossibility, man, and you ought to know it!”
“Then I will trouble your lordship for one moment only,” I said. “I have a duty to the King—I have discharged it by informing against Captain Wilmer; I have discharged it at great cost to myself. But I have a duty, also, to the man who saved my life at the price, as it has turned out, of his own! That duty I have not discharged until I have done all that it is in my power to do to save him. May I remind your lordship that my father has supported the government steadily and consistently in the House with two votes, and has never sought a return in place or pension. Were he here, I will answer for it, that he would not only indorse the request I make that this man’s life be spared, but that he would consider its allowance a full return for all his services in the past.”
“And, by God!” Rawdon replied, striking the table with his hand, “I would not grant that request, no, not if Lord North himself endorsed it, Major Craven. In his Excellency’s absence I command here, mine is the responsibility! I will not make that responsibility immeasurably more heavy, sir, by stooping to a weakness which must rob me, and rightly rob me, of the confidence of every soldier in the camp. I should deserve to be shot, if I did so! There, I have been patient, Craven—I have been patient because I know your position. I have given you a good hearing, but I can hear no more. The thing you ask is impossible. The man must suffer.”
“Then, my lord,” I replied, “I am compelled to take the only other step open to me. Since neither my own services nor my father’s are thought to be sufficient to entitle me to a thing which I have so much at heart, I beg leave to resign his Majesty’s commission. Here is my sword, my lord, and I no longer consider myself—”