On one side of a long table which stood in the center of the room sat the thirteen young officers from whom the victim was to be selected. Back of them stood the British Major Gordon. A little apart stood Mr. Owen and Robert Dale with the officer of the dragoons. On the side of the table opposite the unfortunate thirteen were John Drayton and the commissary, with two little drummer boys. The scarlet coats of the British made a pleasing note of color against the buff and blue of the Continentals.
“That this drawing may be as fair as possible,” General Hazen was saying, “it has been deemed best that the names of the thirteen officers shall be placed in one hat; in another hat shall be placed thirteen slips of paper of the same size, all of them blank save one on which is written the word, ‘unfortunate.’ These drummer boys are to draw out the slips simultaneously from the hats. The name drawn at the same time that the word unfortunate is drawn will be the victim selected. Gentlemen, I have only to say that no one can regret more deeply than I the course events have taken. Captain Drayton, will you and the commissary take the hats?”
Amid a silence so profound that a pin could have been heard to fall the two officers took the hats, and stood holding them on the table while the drummer boys began the drawing. Into Peggy’s mind darted Thomas Ashley’s words:
“‘There shall be retaliation, Hannah. Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, life for life.’”
She started as though some one had spoken. Retaliation! Was this what it meant? That another innocent life should be taken? How horrible and bloody a thing is war! Because some one else hath committed a crime must another pay the penalty? One, two, three, four, five. Five names drawn. And Clifford’s name not yet. Not yet. Her breath came gaspingly but strangely quiet as that other room was no one noticed it. Harriet was clutching her hand so tightly that it ached for hours afterward, but at the time neither girl knew it.
Six, seven, eight, nine! And still Clifford’s name had not been called. Harriet bent forward as the boy drew the next slip:
“Captain Williams,” he read clearly.
And from the other, hitherto so silent, sounded at the same time a word that fell upon the ear like a knell of doom:
“Unfortunate!”
And then from every American as well as every Englishman present there broke a sob. That is, from every man except Clifford Owen. He was very quiet, very composed, but his gaze was turned upon John Drayton as though he expected triumph at the result. But tears were running down Drayton’s face, and Clifford’s own countenance softened as he saw it. Once before Peggy had heard strong men weep. Then it had been over the defection of a brilliant soldier; now they wept that a fresh young life must be given in reprisal. Once, twice, General Hazen had tried to speak. At last he laid his hand upon Clifford’s shoulder, and turning to the officer of the dragoons, said huskily: