He was searched for more weapons and then marched inside the American lines and taken directly to headquarters. A drum-head court was convened at once and the prisoner led in.
With hands clinched, muscles taut, eyes piercing at the court, he listened to the reading of the charge:
“Caught acting as a spy for the enemy in violation of the Articles of War; armed, with intent to take the life of an American sentry on guard!”
After the testimony had been taken, the prisoner was given a chance to speak, but he absolutely refused to do so, even though addressed in several different languages and dialects.
“He spoke Spanish to us as we captured him,” interjected the corporal.
“GUILTY!”
said the lieutenant-colonel who was presiding, in a firm military tone. “The court fixes the penalty at death, and sentences the prisoner to be shot at sun-rise.”
“Remove him, Sergeant, and detail a firing squad to execute the order of the court!”
As the prisoner was led away, the lieutenant-colonel dropped his chin in the palms of his hands as he rested his elbows on his knees, and muttered in a semi-regretful way: “I hate to do it; but in the past we have always been so chicken-hearted about punishing these blood-thirsty natives that they have now come to regard our kindness as cowardice. I can’t help but feel that it will bring the war to a close quicker if we deal with them hereafter with a good firm hand.”
“I wonder what province the young fellow came from,” said a major who was sitting near.