Draw Swords! Part 19

"Oh, they're giving him another trial."

"They're not going to flog?"

"No. Double allowance of cells, and the doctor is to take him in hand.

The poor beggar must be a bit off his head, I suppose. Diachylon says, though, he's as right as any man in the troop."

"Who's he?" asked d.i.c.k wonderingly.

"Old Sticking-plaster--the doctor. So Bob's got off again. Bread and water. Not savoury fare. The water's so bad."

An hour later d.i.c.k encountered the sergeant striding along, making the wind whistle with his big silver-mounted riding-whip, while his spurs jingled loudly.

He halted and saluted as d.i.c.k drew near.

"Heard about Black Bob, I suppose, sir?" he said.

"Yes, Stubbs; it's a bad business."

"Bad isn't the word for it, sir. Wish to goodness he'd desert."

"What? Why, his punishment would be ten times worse," cried d.i.c.k.

"Yes, sir," said the sergeant, twisting up his fierce mustachios; "much worse."

"Then why do you wish that?"

"Well, sir, between you and me, you can't punish a man till you catch him."

"No; but he would be sure to be caught."

"India's a big place, sir," said the sergeant.

"Of course it is, but no English soldier could hide himself without being caught sooner or later."

"Depends upon them as is looking for him, sir."

"What? Oh, I see, you mean that the men wouldn't try to find him."

"That's it, sir. I believe the boys would all go blind when they went after him, and come back time after time to report that they hadn't seen him."

"They wouldn't find him, then?"

"That's it, sir; and the officers wouldn't say anything. They don't want to punish the men."

"Of course not, unless they are obliged."

"Of course, sir. They want the whole of the troop to s.h.i.+ne as bright as their helmets and b.u.t.tons before the people here. It's our character that carries everything. You've seen, sir, how the authorities, from the Governor-general downward, encourage the officers and men in their sports as well as the fighting, pig-sticking, hunting, and tiger-shooting, and the rest of it. They like the native princes and the people to think that there's no one like an Englishman, and that makes 'em contented with being ruled over by us. There's a tiger killing the poor women and children about a village, and the Hindu chaps run away. English officer hears of it, and he gets up a hunt. Perhaps he rides on an elephant; perhaps he walks the brute down, and shoots him. Don't matter what it is, we're there--the best riders and the most daring over everything; while, when it comes to one of our little wars, and a rajah brags that he's going to drive us out of the country, he collects his thousands, and comes to drive us; and the general laughs, sends a hundred or so of us, and we drive him. 'Tain't brag, sir; we do it. We've done it again and again, and before long you'll be seeing for yourself."

"Ah!" cried d.i.c.k eagerly. "Then you've heard news?"

"Only rumbles, sir. There's a storm brewing somewhere, but it hasn't broke. But you may make sure of one thing; that sooner or later we shall have one: so, if I was you, I'd give orders to the armourer to grind my sword up to the finest edge and point."

d.i.c.k nodded, and looked thoughtful.

"That's a thing, sir, that we neglect, and the natives don't. An Indian's proud of his sword, and gets it made of the finest steel. Why, a man might almost shave with some of the tulwars they wear. I think Government ought to see that we have as good, but it don't."

"Where do you think the war will be, Stubbs?" said d.i.c.k.

"Don't know, sir. Haven't an idea. I only feel that there really is something coming."

"With real fights instead of sham, Stubbs?"

"That's it, sir; and that's why I want to see you carrying sword that isn't all show."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

OUT OF HIS CAGE.

The first thing d.i.c.k did on retiring to his quarters that night was to take his sword out of its case and admire its appearance once more. The next, to draw it and hold it close to the lamp, about which the night-moths were buzzing and a mosquito was sounding its miniature cheerful horn.

The brightly-burnished blade flashed in the soft, mellow light, and d.i.c.k thought it was very beautiful; but now, for the first time, it struck him that it was shockingly blunt.

He was devoted to his profession, and proud of being a soldier, but he had never had a bloodthirsty thought. But now a fresh train of ideas had been started by the old sergeant's words. That beautiful, specklessly-bright blade, with its damascening, was meant to cut; and it was perfectly plain that, though it might have divided a pear or a pumpkin with a very vigorous blow, it would not cut it; while, as to the result of a thrust with the point, its effect would have been almost _nil_.

The idea seemed rather horrible--that of cutting flesh, or running an enemy through; but d.i.c.k felt that it was too late to think about such things as that. He was a soldier, and he had his duty to do.

And besides, in all the sword-exercise and fencing, he had been most carefully taught to look upon his sword as a weapon of defence as well as of offence.

"If we come to fighting at close quarters at any time, I've got to take care of myself," thought the lad, "so you'll have to be sharpened up."

He was in the act of sheathing his blade, and had it half back in the scabbard, when the report of a carbine rang out across the barrack-yard.

_Clang_! went the sabre as the hilt was driven home, and, quick as thought, the young officer began to buckle on the belt; but before he had raised it to his waist another carbine raised the echoes of the place, the shouting for the guard to turn out followed through the open window, and, as soon as the belt was fastened, d.i.c.k caught at his sword, hooked it up, put on his cap, and hurried down.

"That you?" cried Wyatt from out of the darkness.

"Yes. What's the matter? Enemy?"

"Enemy! Nonsense! Black Bob again for a tenner."

The lieutenant was right, as they found after doubling to the cells.

The prisoner had broken out again after once more outwitting the sentry and knocking him down: and, worse still, they found on reaching the gateway, where a sergeant, along with the guard, was standing with a couple of lanterns, that the sentry had been knocked down there as well, and the prisoner had pa.s.sed out.

Wyatt heard all this as they came up, the sergeant being engaged in bullying the second sentry with all his might.

"You might have stopped him if you had tried, you mop-headed idiot!"

cried the sergeant.