Rising, he led the way, and two of the men closed in behind me, according to the prescribed rule. Thus we marched back to my room, where I was locked in and left to wait for food, spending such time as I chose meanwhile in reflections upon the fate of a man condemned to death, an advantage that I had never enjoyed in the first person before. I can say with the utmost respect for the truth that my chief sensation was still one of curiosity. I was not accustomed to such adventures, and, as I knew of no precedents, I could make no predictions.
All such thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Crothers with my supper; and I perceived that a man under sentence of death may become as hungry as one with freedom and many years to enjoy. While Crothers spread the banquet, another soldier walked up and down in the hall, and just before Crothers shut the door I caught the steel-blue of his rifle-barrel. Evidently they were keeping a good guard over me, which seemed to me a waste of thought and strength. But they had kept in mind the principle that it costs nothing to be courteous to a dying man, and had sent me a most excellent repast, from which the prospect of dying took no sauce.
"Mr. Crothers," said I, as I poured a cup of hot coffee and sniffed the aroma of a piece of fresh and well-cooked venison, all mine, "how long have you served Colonel Hetherill?"
"I enlisted in his regiment in '61," replied Crothers, "and he's still my commanding officer. That makes thirty-five years by my reckoning."
"How much longer do you expect to serve him?" I asked.
"Until the war is over," he replied, briefly.
Evidently here was a man of the colonel's own mind and temper.
The very good dinner put me in an excellent humor.
"Mr. Crothers," I asked, "am I to be shot or hanged?"
"You'll have to ask the colonel," he replied, "though I think it's commoner to hang spies than to shoot 'em."