"Bring forth the prisoner," he said, with a wave of the hand.
The sentinels dropped the points of their bayonets towards the judges,
and Henry Wharton advanced, with a firm step, into the center of the
apartment. All was now anxiety and eager curiosity. Frances turned for a
moment in grateful emotion, as the deep and perturbed breathing of
Dunwoodie reached her ears; but her brother again concentrated all her
interest in one feeling of intense care. In the background were arranged
the inmates of the family who owned the dwelling, and behind them,
again, was a row of shining faces of ebony, glistening with pleased
wonder. Amongst these was the faded luster of Caesar Thompson's
countenance.
"You are said," continued the president, "to be Henry Wharton, a captain
in his Britannic Majesty's 60th regiment of foot."
"I am."
"I like your candor, sir; it partakes of the honorable feelings of a
soldier, and cannot fail to impress your judges favorably."
"It would be prudent," said one of his companions, "to advise the
prisoner that he is bound to answer no more than he deems necessary;
although we are a court of martial law, yet, in this respect, we own the
principles of all free governments."
A nod of approbation from the silent member was bestowed on this remark,
and the president proceeded with caution, referring to the minutes he
held in his hand.
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