'It is six or seven years ago--would they still prosecute him,
mother? If he came and stood his trial, what would be the
punishment? Surely, he might bring evidence of his great
provocation.' 'It would do no good,' replied Mrs. Hale. 'Some of the sailors
who accompanied Frederick were taken, and there was a
court-martial held on them on board the Amicia; I believed all
they said in their defence, poor fellows, because it just agreed
with Frederick's story--but it was of no use,--' and for the
first time during the conversation Mrs. Hale began to cry; yet
something possessed Margaret to force the information she
foresaw, yet dreaded, from her mother.
'What happened to them, mamma?' asked she.
'They were hung at the yard-arm,' said Mrs. Hale, solemnly. 'And
the worst was that the court, in condemning them to death, said
they had suffered themselves to be led astray from their duty by
their superior officers.' They were silent for a long time.
'And Frederick was in South America for several years, was he
not?' 'Yes. And now he is in Spain. At Cadiz, or somewhere near it. If
he comes to England he will be hung. I shall never see his face
again--for if he comes to England he will be hung.' There was no comfort to be given. Mrs. Hale turned her face to
the wall, and lay perfectly still in her mother's despair.
Nothing could be said to console her. She took her hand out of
Margaret's with a little impatient movement, as if she would fain
be left alone with the recollection of her son. When Mr. Hale
came in, Margaret went out, oppressed with gloom, and seeing no
promise of brightness on any side of the horizon.