Captain Afleck, on the other hand, was in a state of furious indignation. The moment he got a chance to open his mouth he intended to give the American authorities a piece of his mind, and threaten them with the vengeance of the British nation for committing so unwarrantable an indignity upon one of its honest and loyal members.
A number of cases had precedence of theirs, and they watched the proceedings with very different feelings—Terry wondering, as he heard sentence after sentence pronounced by the magistrate in his hard, dry, monotonous voice, what penalty would be theirs if he and the captain could not clear themselves; while the captain, nursing his wrath to keep it warm, gave vent to a succession of wrathful grunts as he saw the succession of miserable, unwashed, demoralized creatures with whom he was for the time associated.
At length the rest of the docket had been cleared, and their case was called. It had been left to the last because of its being the most serious on the list for the day. Just as the captain and Terry were being arraigned, there appeared in court a middle-aged man, whose carefully-bandaged head, pale countenance, and general air of weakness betokened him to be the victim of the assault.
As the two prisoners stood up to answer to their names and the charge made against them by Policeman No. 399, it was evident that their appearance created a good deal of surprise. They certainly did not look at all like the ordinary criminals. The case promised to be one of special interest, and the spectators adjusted themselves so as to see and hear to the best advantage.
But if they expected an interesting hour of it they were doomed to be disappointed; for no sooner had the injured man raised his eyes to look at the accused of having waylaid him than he gave a start, and the colour mounted to his pallid face.
"These are not the men," he exclaimed. "There's some mistake. The men that assaulted me were short and stout, and they were both men—not a man and a boy."
His words created a decided sensation. The countenance of the zealous bluecoats who had effected the arrest, and expected praise for their efficient performance, grew suddenly long while the magistrate turned upon them a look of stern inquiry, saying,—
"What's the meaning of this? Have you been making some serious blunder?"
Captain Afleck now had his opportunity, and he used it gloriously, pouring forth the vials of his wrath as he told his story, until at last the magistrate, entirely satisfied, stopped the stream of his eloquence with uplifted hand, and proceeded to say, in a tone that showed genuine feeling,—
"You have been the victims of a very unfortunate blunder, for which I wish it were in my power to make some reparation. As it is, all I can do is to express my profound regret, and to put you at once at liberty."