‘That’s the pike,’ said a choking voice from the other end of the Brigadier-General. ‘Lend a hand, your Grace, to a drowning soldier.’
David kept tight hold of the pike with one hand, put his baton over his shoulder, and began walking up the bank. The Brigadier-General came up out of the water with a loud pop, just as if a cork had been drawn.
‘That’s the ginger-beer, your Grace,’ he said.
‘Is it? It was lemonade this morning,’ said David. ‘This is an awfully strong pike. Turn up the light, somebody.’
David rescues the Brigadier-General
‘That’s all very well,’ said a discontented voice from the ranks. ‘But where is the blooming light? This is the darkest guard of honour I ever honoured.’
‘There’s a door in the ground,’ said David, being jumped about by the pike. ‘It’s either water or light, but I can’t remember which.’
‘I’ve had enough water for the present,’ said the Brigadier-General, shaking himself like a dog. He began with his head, and shook all down his body, and finished up with his sword.
There was a good deal of conversation going on in the ranks, and David determined to show himself an iron disciplinarian when the pike had finished bouncing him about. He kept tripping up in his sword, and his cocked hat, which he knew he had on his head, kept coming forward over his eyes, and rows on rows of medals jingled on his breast. The pike, of which he was resolved not to let go, had dragged him away into the flower-bed, and every now and then a bell jingled from the sleeping flowers.