“What is all this about?”
It was Lieutenant-Colonel Dalrymple speaking. He had seen the commotion from the window of the council chamber, and hastened to the scene. “Put up your sword,” he said to the lieutenant.
“What have you been doing, sir?” he asked, turning sternly to Robert.
“Suppose you first ask those two fellows what they’ve been doing? Nevertheless, Colonel, lest you might not get a true answer, allow me to say that they insulted a lady, that I knocked one down and tossed the other into the watering-trough, to teach them better manners. For doing it your lieutenant has seen fit to draw his sword and threaten to split my head open.”
It was said quietly and calmly.
“What have you to say to that?” Colonel Dalrymple asked, addressing the soldiers, who made no reply.
“Lieutenant, take them to the guardhouse, and consider yourself under arrest till I can look into this matter. Don’t you know better than to draw your sword against a citizen in this way?”
The lieutenant made no reply, but looked savagely at Robert, as if to say, “I’ll have it out with you sometime,” sheathed his sword and turned away, following the crestfallen soldiers to the guardhouse.
Colonel Dalrymple bowed courteously, as if to apologize for the insult to the lady. Robert came to the conclusion that he was a gentleman.
The negroes were laughing and chuckling and telling the rapidly gathering crowd what had happened. Robert, having no desire to be made conspicuous, walked up Queen Street. He tarried a moment to look at the iron-grated windows and double-bolted doors of the jail, then turned down Hanover Street and made his way to the Green Dragon.