“Oh, Mr. North,” says Kirkland, “why did you stop me? I'd better be dead than stay another night in that place.”
“You'll get it, my lad,” said Gabbett, when the runaway was brought back. “Your blessed hide'll feel for this, see if it don't.”
Kirkland only breathed harder, and looked round for Mr. North, but Mr. North had gone. The new chaplain was to arrive that afternoon, and it was incumbent on him to be at the reception. Troke reported the ex-bank clerk that night to Burgess, and Burgess, who was about to go to dinner with the new chaplain, disposed of his case out of hand. “Tried to bolt, eh! Must stop that. Fifty lashes, Troke. Tell Macklewain to be ready—or stay, I'll tell him myself—I'll break the young devil's spirit, blank him.”
“Yes, sir,” said Troke. “Good evening, sir.”
“Troke—pick out some likely man, will you? That last fellow you had ought to have been tied up himself. His flogging wouldn't have killed a flea.”
“You can't get 'em to warm one another, your honour,” says Troke.
“They won't do it.”
“Oh, yes, they will, though,” says Burgess, “or I'll know the reason why. I won't have my men knocked up with flogging these rascals. If the scourger won't do his duty, tie him up, and give him five-and-twenty for himself. I'll be down in the morning myself if I can.”
“Very good, your honour,” says Troke.
Kirkland was put into a separate cell that night; and Troke, by way of assuring him a good night's rest, told him that he was to have “fifty” in the morning. “And Dawes'll lay it on,” he added. “He's one of the smartest men I've got, and he won't spare yer, yer may take your oath of that.”