SWINDON. We have arranged it for 12 o'clock. Nothing remains to be done except to try him.

BURGOYNE (looking at him with suppressed anger). Nothing--except to save our own necks, perhaps. Have you heard the news from Springtown?

SWINDON. Nothing special. The latest reports are satisfactory.

BURGOYNE (rising in amazement). Satisfactory, sir! Satisfactory!!

(He stares at him for a moment, and then adds, with grim intensity) I am glad you take that view of them.

SWINDON (puzzled). Do I understand that in your opinion---

BURGOYNE. I do not express my opinion. I never stoop to that habit of profane language which unfortunately coarsens our profession. If I did, sir, perhaps I should be able to express my opinion of the news from Springtown--the news which YOU (severely) have apparently not heard. How soon do you get news from your supports here?--in the course of a month eh?

SWINDON (turning sulky). I suppose the reports have been taken to you, sir, instead of to me. Is there anything serious?

BURGOYNE (taking a report from his pocket and holding it up).

Springtown's in the hands of the rebels. (He throws the report on the table.)

SWINDON (aghast). Since yesterday!

BURGOYNE. Since two o'clock this morning. Perhaps WE shall be in their hands before two o'clock to-morrow morning. Have you thought of that?

SWINDON (confidently). As to that, General, the British soldier will give a good account of himself.

BURGOYNE (bitterly). And therefore, I suppose, sir, the British officer need not know his business: the British soldier will get him out of all his blunders with the bayonet. In future, sir, I must ask you to be a little less generous with the blood of your men, and a little more generous with your own brains.

SWINDON. I am sorry I cannot pretend to your intellectual eminence, sir. I can only do my best, and rely on the devotion of my countrymen.

BURGOYNE (suddenly becoming suavely sarcastic). May I ask are you writing a melodrama, Major Swindon?

SWINDON (flushing). No, sir.

BURGOYNE. What a pity! WHAT a pity! (Dropping his sarcastic tone and facing him suddenly and seriously) Do you at all realize, sir, that we have nothing standing between us and destruction but our own bluff and the sheepishness of these colonists? They are men of the same English stock as ourselves: six to one of us (repeating it emphatically), six to one, sir; and nearly half our troops are Hessians, Brunswickers, German dragoons, and Indians with scalping knives. These are the countrymen on whose devotion you rely! Suppose the colonists find a leader! Suppose the news from Springtown should turn out to mean that they have already found a leader! What shall we do then? Eh?

SWINDON (sullenly). Our duty, sir, I presume.

BURGOYNE (again sarcastic--giving him up as a fool). Quite so, quite so. Thank you, Major Swindon, thank you. Now you've settled the question, sir--thrown a flood of light on the situation. What a comfort to me to feel that I have at my side so devoted and able an officer to support me in this emergency! I think, sir, it will probably relieve both our feelings if we proceed to hang this dissenter without further delay (he strikes the bell), especially as I am debarred by my principles from the customary military vent for my feelings. (The sergeant appears.) Bring your man in.

SERGEANT. Yes, sir.

BURGOYNE. And mention to any officer you may meet that the court cannot wait any longer for him.

SWINDON (keeping his temper with difficulty). The staff is perfectly ready, sir. They have been waiting your convenience for fully half an hour. PERFECTLY ready, sir.

BURGOYNE (blandly). So am I. (Several officers come in and take their seats. One of them sits at the end of the table furthest from the door, and acts throughout as clerk to the court, making notes of the proceedings. The uniforms are those of the 9th, 2Oth, 21st, 24th, 47th, 53rd, and 62nd British Infantry.

One officer is a Major General of the Royal Artillery. There are also German officers of the Hessian Rifles, and of German dragoon and Brunswicker regiments.) Oh, good morning, gentlemen.

Sorry to disturb you, I am sure. Very good of you to spare us a few moments.

SWINDON. Will you preside, sir?

BURGOYNE (becoming additionally, polished, lofty, sarcastic and urbane now that he is in public). No, sir: I feel my own deficiencies too keenly to presume so far. If you will kindly allow me, I will sit at the feet of Gamaliel. (He takes the chair at the end of the table next the door, and motions Swindon to the chair of state, waiting for him to be seated before sitting himself.)

SWINDON (greatly annoyed). As you please, sir. I am only trying to do my duty under excessively trying circumstances. (He takes his place in the chair of state.)

Burgoyne, relaxing his studied demeanor for the moment, sits down and begins to read the report with knitted brows and careworn looks, reflecting on his desperate situation and Swindon's uselessness. Richard is brought in. Judith walks beside him. Two soldiers precede and two follow him, with the sergeant in command. They cross the room to the wall opposite the door; but when Richard has just passed before the chair of state the sergeant stops him with a touch on the arm, and posts himself behind him, at his elbow. Judith stands timidly at the wall. The four soldiers place themselves in a squad near her.

BURGOYNE (looking up and seeing Judith). Who is that woman?

SERGEANT. Prisoner's wife, sir.

SWINDON (nervously). She begged me to allow her to be present; and I thought--

BURGOYNE (completing the sentence for him ironically). You thought it would be a pleasure for her. Quite so, quite so.

(Blandly) Give the lady a chair; and make her thoroughly comfortable.

The sergeant fetches a chair and places it near Richard.

JUDITH. Thank you, sir. (She sits down after an awe-stricken curtsy to Burgoyne, which he acknowledges by a dignified bend of his head.)

SWINDON (to Richard, sharply). Your name, sir?