th
fixed bayonets, half British infantry, half Hessians, tramp quickly
into the middle of the market place, driving the crowd to the sides.

SERGEANT. Halt. Front. Dress. (The soldiers change their column into a
square enclosing the gallows, their petty officers, energetically led
by the sergeant, hustling the persons who find themselves inside the
square out at the corners.) Now then! Out of it with you: out of it.
Some o' you'll get strung up yourselves presently. Form that square
there, will you, you damned Hoosians. No use talkin' German to them:
talk to their toes with the butt ends of your muskets: they'll
understand that. GET out of it, will you? (He comes upon Judith,
standing near the gallows.) Now then: YOU'VE no call here.

JUDITH. May I not stay? What harm am I doing?

SERGEANT. I want none of your argufying. You ought to be ashamed of
yourself, running to see a man hanged that's not your husband. And he's
no better than yourself. I told my major he was a gentleman; and then
he goes and tries to strangle him, and calls his blessed Majesty a
lunatic. So out of it with you, double quick.

JUDITH. Will you take these two silver dollars and let me stay?

The sergeant, without an instant's hesitation, looks quickly and
furtively round as he shoots the money dexterously into his pocket.
Then he raises his voice in virtuous indignation.

SERGEANT. ME take money in the execution of my duty! Certainly not. Now
I'll tell you what I'll do, to teach you to corrupt the King's officer.
I'll put you under arrest until the execution's over. You just stand
there; and don't let me see you as much as move from that spot until
you're let. (With a swift wink at her he points to the corner of the
square behind the gallows on his right, and turns noisily away,
shouting) Now then dress up and keep 'em back, will you?

Cries of Hush and Silence are heard among the townsfolk; and the sound
of a military band, playing the Dead March from Saul, is heard. The
crowd becomes quiet at once; and the sergeant and petty officers,
hurrying to the back of the square, with a few whispered orders and
some stealthy hustling cause it to open and admit the funeral
procession, which is protected from the crowd by a double file of
soldiers. First come Burgoyne and Swindon, who, on entering the square,
glance with distaste at the gallows, and avoid passing under it by
wheeling a little to the right and stationing themselves on that side.
Then M