“I know that fellow, I’m sure,” said Dennis.
“Royal Engineers officer,” said my neighbour. “Mark my words, that means gunpowder,” and the good man, who was stout and steaming with perspiration, seemed to feel like one who has asked for a remedy for toothache and been answered by the dentist—“Gunpowder is what it means! And if our
governor had sent for a cobbler, he’d have said, ‘Nothing like leather,’ and mended the hose of the steam-pump. And that store of mine, sir, didn’t cost a cent less than ——”
But I was watching the engineer officer, and catching fragments of the rapid consultation.
“Quite inevitable, sir, in my opinion.”
“Very good. You have full powers—instruct—colonel—magazine—do your best.”
The engineer officer had very long white hands, which I noticed as one went rapidly to his forehead, whilst with the other he caressed the dark nose of the governor’s horse, which had been rubbing its head against his shoulder. And then the governor rode away and left him.
The word “gunpowder” seemed to have brought soldiers to the spot in a sort of natural sequence. There was more quick saluting and short orders, and then all disappeared but one bronzed-looking sergeant, who followed the engineer stripling up and down as he jerked his head, and pulled his moustache, and seemed to have some design upon the gutters of the house-eaves, which took a good deal of explaining and saluting. Then we heard wheels and running footsteps, and I became sensible of great relief from the pressure of the crowd. The soldiers had come back again, running a hand-cart with four barrels of
gunpowder, and the public made way for them even more respectfully than for the governor. As they set it down and wiped their faces, the sergeant began to give orders rather more authoritatively than his superior, and he also pointed to the gutters; on which the soldiers vanished as before.
“Can’t we help, I wonder?” said I.