Part 18 (2/2)
”Not he, my dear boy. The sentry objected to being knocked down, so he sat up and fired his carbine.”
”He hasn't shot the man?”
”Not he. I dare say he felt savage. Being knocked down hurts a fellow; but, with all his blackguardism, the boys like Black Bob because of the way in which he can fight. Lots of them know how he stands by them in a scrimmage. The sentry only fired his carbine; then the sentry at the gate fired and turned out the guard, and my lord was caught.”
”Did he go buck quietly to the cell?” asked d.i.c.k.
”Did he do what?” cried Wyatt, bursting into a roar of laughter. ”You should go and look at the guards' uniforms. Tattered, dear boy, tattered. The leg of one fellow's overalls was torn right up from bottom to top, another had his jacket dragged off, and two men have got pairs of the most beautiful black eyes you can imagine.”
”Tut, tut, tut!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed d.i.c.k.
”Oh, yes, he went very quietly back to the cells, but they had to sit on him first, three of the lads, for about half-an-hour till he cooled down; and then they had to give him the frog's march--four of them to carry him like on springs, while four more marched alongside, ready to jump on the frog if he tried to hop.”
”I never saw that done,” said d.i.c.k; ”they each take a wrist or an ankle, don't they?”
”That's it, d.i.c.ky, and turn him face downward; and its wonderful how a fellow like that can kick out just like a frog, and drive the bearers here and there. But they got him back safe to his cell, and pitched him in. He's a beauty! Aren't you proud of him?”
”It's disgraceful!” cried d.i.c.k angrily. ”Did he hurt the men much?”
”Can't give fellows black eyes without hurting 'em,” replied Wyatt, swinging his big legs about as he sat on the table; ”but the boys don't bear him any malice for that. What they don't like is having their uniforms damaged.”
”What will happen now?”
”Master Bob will have to take the heroic remedy reserved for bad boys.”
”What do you mean?”
”p.u.s.s.y,” said Wyatt, twisting his abundant moustache.
”The cat? Flogging?”
”That's it, and serve the beggar right. And if that does no good, we shall have to make him a present of his uniform and his liberty after a pleasant little musical ceremony, but his b.u.t.tons and facings will be cut and stripped off. Don't like it, though. Looks so bad before the native troops. I'd rather they put him out of his misery at once.”
”What! shoot him?” cried d.i.c.k, with a look of horror.
”Yes; the poor beggar's irretrievably bad. It would be a soldier's death. Better for him than letting him go on disgracing himself, his corps, and the position of the British army out here.”
”It's very, very horrible,” said d.i.c.k sadly.
”So it is, dear boy; but what can we do? As I've told you before, he has been let off no end of times. Ah, there goes Hulton to have Master Bob haled up before him. Ta-ta.”
d.i.c.k waited anxiously for the result of the military, magisterial examination of the previous night's incident, and in due time he encountered Wyatt again.
”Well?” he said anxiously.
Wyatt laughed.
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