“What have you to say to this, Mr. Englishman?”
“That I am sorry I tried to take you in,” shot out Stark crisply. “I am an American officer, and proud of my commission.”
“So, since when has it been the duty of American officers to come skulkingly disguised within the lines of neutral forces?”
“Our errand here was one of curiosity only and purely of a non-combative nature,” protested Stark.
“Bah! sir. Bah!” exclaimed the general angrily, impatiently, “do not bandy words with me.”
He drew a whistle from his belt and blew it. Instantly a score of soldiers entered the courtyard. Their bayonets were fixed and their expressions fierce.
“Make those men prisoners,” ordered the general in Spanish.
“Surely you do not intend to make captive four American citizens?” asked Stark.
“I do, sir, and shall likewise call a summary court-martial to decide upon your fate.”
Even the courageous Stanley’s lips went white at this. A court-martial meant only one thing—a mockery of trial, and then—a file of insurgents and a hasty grave.