“We will give you another chance. We cannot pass over the murder of a brother officer. Only strict measures have prevented many citizens in our ranks, who esteemed Major Slocum as one of their political leaders and of popular qualities, from taking summary vengeance upon you. We make this offer to you: make a clean breast of it, tell us who committed the murder, give us such assistance as may enable us to track the perpetrator, and, on his capture, we will set you free.”
“And if I refuse,” asked Morton, “what then?”
“You will be hanged at evening parade.”
“With that alternative, so revolting to a soldier, I refuse your offer. What the circumstances are which bind me to silence, I cannot, as a man of honor, tell, but I again affirm my innocence.”
“Lieutenant Morton, what say you: the gallows or your informing us of a cruel murderer: which do you choose?”
“I choose neither; I alike deny your right to take my life or to extort what I choose not to tell.”
“Withdraw the prisoner,” ordered the presiding-officer, “while the court consults,” and Morton was led a few yards away from the tent. He could hear the voice of eager debate and one speaker in his warmth fairly shouted, “He must be made to tell; we’ll squeeze it out of him,” and then followed a long colloquy. An hour had passed when he was recalled.
“We have deliberated on the evidence in your case, Lieutenant Morton; and the clerk will read the finding of the court.”
From a sheet of foolscap the clerk read a long minute, finding the prisoner guilty on each count.
Standing up and adjusting his sword, the presiding officer said, “It only remains to pronounce sentence: it is, that you be hanged between the hours of five and six o’clock this day.”