"It is an accusation against you, that, being an officer of the enemy,
you passed the pickets of the American army at the White Plains, in
disguise, on the 29th of October last, whereby you are suspected of
views hostile to the interests of America, and have subjected yourself
to the punishment of a spy."
The mild but steady tones of the speaker, as he slowly repeated the
substance of this charge, were full of authority. The accusation was so
plain, the facts so limited, the proof so obvious, and the penalty so
well established, that escape seemed impossible. But Henry replied, with
earnest grace,--
"That I passed your pickets in disguise, is true; but--"
"Peace!" interrupted the president. "The usages of war are stern enough
in themselves; you need not aid them to your own condemnation."
"The prisoner can retract that declaration, if he please," remarked
another judge. "His confession, if taken, goes fully to prove
the charge."
"I retract nothing that is true," said Henry proudly.
The two nameless judges heard him in silent composure, yet there was no
exultation mingled with their gravity. The president now appeared,
however, to take new interest in the scene.
"Your sentiment is noble, sir," he said. "I only regret that a youthful
soldier should so far be misled by loyalty as to lend himself to the
purposes of deceit.
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