The president, trusting, I suppose, to his influence with the other members, proceeded (without taking any notice of the total want of evidence against Henry) to recommend the prisoners to acknowledge the crime laid to their charge, and throw themselves on the mercy of the court. Poor Henry was so struck with the flagrant injustice of this proceeding, that he could scarcely muster courage sufficient to say that he had heard no evidence against him. The president did not allow him to finish what he had to say, before he opened on him with a string of the most abusive epithets; and then, addressing himself to the members of the court—‘Gentlemen,’ said he, ‘this is one of the most insolent dogs in my company. You may take my word for it, he is guilty—he confessed to me that he was, before I confined him, which I can prove.’ The members sat mute, as is generally the case while under the influence of a superior officer’s rhetoric; and Henry had bade farewell to hope, when one of the officers, who was but a young subaltern, bursting through the blind deference too often cringingly paid to power, even in matters where discipline is not concerned, and giving way to the words which a natural love of justice prompted,—‘We have no right, Captain S——,’ said he, ‘sitting here as we do, to try the case according to the evidence laid before us, to presume that the prisoner is guilty, in the absence of all evidence. Nor are we entitled to pay attention to any representation which you may feel inclined to make, prejudicial to his character. Sitting where you do as president of this court—either sufficient evidence must be produced against the prisoner, or we are bound to acquit him.’