“Well, at any rate,” I said, “I had to save your life at the risk of my own.”
“It was nothing more than your duty,” he replied. “I am your prisoner, and you are responsible for my safety.”
Which I call rank ingratitude on Chudleigh’s part, though technically true.
It was late in the day when we met the detachment, and dark now being near at hand, it was apparent that we would have to sleep in the woods, which, however, was no hardship for soldiers, since the nights were warm and the ground dry. When the night arrived I proposed to Chudleigh that we stop and make our beds on the turf, which was rather thick and soft at that spot. He assented in the manner of one who had made up his mind to obey me in every particular.
But before lying down I had the forethought to ask from Chudleigh a guarantee that he would not walk away in the night while I was asleep. I reminded him of his pledge that he would not attempt to escape, barring a rescue.
But he took exceptions with great promptness, claiming with much plausibility, I was fain to admit, that his pledge did not apply in such a case. He argued that if I lay down and went to sleep he was no longer guarded; consequently he was not a prisoner; consequently he would go away. Since he chose to stick to his position, I had no way to drive him from it, whether reasonable or unreasonable.
“Then I will bind you hand and foot,” I said.
He reminded me with an air of triumph that I had nothing with which to bind him, which unfortunately was true.