“That’s all very well,” broke in Hicks, “but if this man is an English officer, why is he not in the English uniform? I believe he is an Englishman, as you say; he talks like it, but tell me why he is dressed like a civilian.” The others followed Hicks’s lead and began to cry: “Spy! Spy! Spy!” In truth I felt alarm. “This is no spy,” I said. “He is Captain Chudleigh, of the English army.” “He may be Captain Chudleigh and a spy too,” said Hicks coolly. “I am not sure about the Chudleigh part, but I am about the spy part.” “Hang him for good count!” cried some of the others, who seemed to be raw recruits. The talk about the Indian atrocities was fresh in their minds, and they were in a highly inflammatory state. I recognized a real and present danger. “Men,” I cried, “you are going too far! This prisoner is mine, and it is of importance that I take him back to the army.” But my protest only seemed to excite them further. In truth they took it as a threat. Some of them began to demand that I too should be hung, that I was a Tory in disguise. But the body of them did not take up this cry. The bulk of their wrath fell upon Chudleigh, who was undeniably an Englishman. Two or three of the foremost made ready to seize him. I was in no mind to have all my plans spoiled, and I snatched a musket from a stack and threatened to shoot the first man who put a hand on Chudleigh. Chudleigh himself behaved very well, and sat, quite calm. The men hesitated at sight of the rifle, and this gave me a chance to appeal to their reason, which was more accessible now since they seemed to be impressed by my earnestness. I insisted that all I had said was the truth, and they would be doing much injury to our cause if they interfered with us. I fancy that I pleaded our case with eloquence, though I ought not to boast. At any rate they were mollified, and concluded to abandon their project of hanging Chudleigh. “I’ve no doubt he deserves hanging,” said Hicks, “but I guess we’ll leave the job for somebody else.” Chudleigh was about to resent this, but I told him to shut up so abruptly that he forgot himself and obeyed. I was anxious enough to be clear of these men, countrymen though they were; so we bade them adieu and tramped on, much strengthened by the rest and food. “Captain,” said I to Chudleigh, though trying to preserve a polite tone, “you do not seem to appreciate the beauty and virtue of silence.” “I will not have my country or my countrymen insulted,” replied he in most belligerent tones. “Well, at any rate,” I said, “I had to save your life at the risk of my own.” “It was nothing more than your duty,” he replied. “I am your prisoner, and you are responsible for my safety.” Which I call rank ingratitude on Chudleigh’s part, though technically true.