"Help, help, Uncle Sep! Help, sojers! Help; you'll never hang him, for he'll drown hisself, sure as death!"
A dozen redcoats answered Tom's bawling, and Sergeant Bradridge also ran to the spot as fast as he was able.
"He's done for me—I shall die!" cried Putt, holding his face; "I know'd how 'twould be. He leapt up like lightning, and then struck me with his handcuffed hands. I'll swear my jaw's broke. 'Death by water's better'n hanging!' he says, an' flings hisself into the river!"
"There's his hat," said a soldier; "but his head isn't under it."
"Get in the water! Get in the water!" shouted Sergeant Bradridge. "With his hands fast together he'll be drownded like a dog wi' a brick round his neck!"
"If he's carried under the bridge you'll lose him sure as death. Oh, my head! an' I never said a hard word to the man."
They waded in the rolling reaches of Dean Burn, but found nothing; then, at the sergeant's direction, his men prepared to make a drag that they might scrape the bottom of the river.
"There's scarce water to drown a sheep," said a soldier. "Are you sure of this chap?" he added, and looked at Putt.
Tom, still nearly up to his waist in the river, took the insult ill.
"Sure o' me, you gert cock-eyed lobster! Sure o' me! Ban't your officer my own uncle? Better you comed in the water to help than talk against your betters. But you'm too frightened of wetting your pipe-clay and getting more work! Do a man have his jaw split for fun? I hope as you'll be shot first time ever you go to war; an' a good riddance!"