“Tell your officer I am Captain Markham, of Prince Rupert’s cavalry,” said Scarlett, haughtily.
“I beg your pardon, captain,” said Fred, coldly. “Now, then, of what do you complain?”
“Of your scoundrelly rabble, sir,” cried Scarlett, turning upon him fiercely. “You see, they are about to treat me as if I were a dog.”
“They were going to bind you, sir, as your men are bound. In our army, the officers are not above suffering and sharing with their men.”
Scarlett winced at this, and flushed more deeply, but he tried to turn it off by a fierce attack.
“Then this is some cowardly plot of yours to insult one who has fallen into your hands.”
“I am obeying the orders of my superior officer, who placed you and the other prisoners in my charge, with instructions that they were to be conveyed bound to their destination.”
“The men, not their officer, sir.”
“Ah,” replied Fred, coldly. And then, laconically, “Bind him.”
“You insolent dog!” cried Scarlett, in his rage. “It is your malignant spite. You shall not bind me, if I die for it.”