Clifford flushed angrily at Drayton’s words, but he had the grace to refrain from further remark. After all Captain Drayton ate but little. He trifled with the food, and was distrait and plainly ill at ease. Usually he enjoyed a tilt of words with Clifford, but after the first crossing of lances he said but little.
The meal was over at length, and Drayton faced them as he rose from the table.
“I have a most painful duty to perform,” he said unsteadily. “I feel like a thief in the night sitting here listening to your innocent mirth, knowing what I must do.”
“What is it, John?” asked Mr. Owen, as they all turned wonderingly toward the captain startled by his seriousness. “We know,” he continued kindly, “that thou wouldst do naught that would be disagreeable for any of us were it not in the line of duty. Speak out, lad.”
“I am come to take Clifford back to the barracks,” spoke Drayton, unconsciously using Clifford’s given name.
“But why?” asked Clifford quickly. “I have passed my word not to try to escape. And I am ‘Clifford,’ sir, only to my friends.”
“I beg your pardon, Captain Williams,” spoke Drayton courteously. “I spoke without thinking.” He passed his hand across his brow as though in doubt how to proceed, then he began to speak rapidly: “All of you know how poor Fairfax Johnson met his death at the hands of the loyalists in New Jersey. Well, we have been able to obtain no satisfaction from the enemy for the outrage which they acknowledge was unjustifiable; so Congress hath determined to select an officer from among the English prisoners who shall be executed in retaliation for Johnson’s death.
“Therefore, thirteen officers from among the prisoners of war have been ordered to report at the Black Bear Tavern this morning in order that a victim may be chosen for retaliation. Captain Williams is among those so ordered to report.”