“Yes, sir; cut. Some one has sawed through it with a sharp knife; and I want to know who it was.”
“Some one up here on the platform?”
“No, sir; I’ll answer for that,” said the corporal.
“Some one then in the ammunition chamber?”
“Nay; I don’t believe any one there would do it, sir,” growled Ben, who was now busy splicing the line, which came swinging down by the window.
“How’s that?” said Roy, eagerly.
“What—that rope, sir? One of the lads has swarmed up the flag-staff, and run it over the wheel again,” cried Ben, who now re-attached the flag, well above the splice, and began to haul it up again, the folds gliding from his shoulder, and out of the window, to rise into sight from the platform, where the men greeted it with a hearty cheer.
“Ha!” ejaculated Ben, as the colours reached the top, and he fastened the line. “That don’t look like surrendering, sir.”
“No, Ben; but I want to know who dared to cut it. Who has been here?”
“No one but old Jenk, sir. He came and stopped some time, standing in the door-way, looking on and chattering to us a bit before he went down.”