“Yes; and it was a lively one, I tell you. I didn’t know the boys had so much pluck. But there were three thousand of the mob and only about eighty of them, and so they had no show.”
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Bert. “What became of our boys?”
“We don’t know, for we lost no time in getting out of that when we found that there were bullets flying through the air; but some of the strikers told us that they whipped the cadets, and that those of them who could get away ran like sheep.”
“Corporal, go into the sentry’s box and get the key,” said Bert. “I shall have to ask you to make your report to the officer of the guard.”
“All right,” said the man who did the talking. “That’s what we came here for; but we want to be as sly as we can in getting in and out, for if we should be seen here, we’d have trouble directly. Bridgeport is in a tumult of excitement, and there are lots of spies here. We came up from Town Line on a hand-car with a lot of them. The lads must have got in some pretty good work before they were whipped, or else the strikers would not be so mad at them.”
“Was there a fight, sure enough?” said Bert, as the corporal came up with the key and opened the gate. He was so astounded and terrified that, although he heard all the man said to him, he did not seem to comprehend it.
“Well, I should say there was a fight. I tell you, it must have been hot in that car, and I don’t see how a single boy in it could possibly come out alive!”
“Then some of our friends must have been hurt?” faltered Bert.
“Of course. I don’t believe a dozen of the whole company came out uninjured.”