'I think,' said Sir Bates, 'that if I am not absolutely nec—cess—cessary, I would rather return to Ely. The saddle somehow does not fit the horse.'
'We must have a magistrate with us,' said the officer in command of the dragoons.
The canon looked piteously about him, drew out a silk pocket-handkerchief, and wiped his brow.
'It is of the horse I am thinking. A gall is so painful, so very pup—pup—painful to the horse. I will do my dud—dud—duty, however painful it may be to the horse.'
The soldiery trotted on to Littleport. There the rioters had overthrown a waggon across the road, and by means of bundles of straw had composed a rude barricade. The resistance offered by them was feeble and half-hearted. The sight of the dragoons overawed the men, and several, after firing from behind the bundles, slunk away.
The soldiers speedily passed the barricade and dashed among the men who remained. A shot from behind a garden paling broke a dragoon's arm, another brought down one of the chargers. This encouraged the men for a moment, and they sprang at the heads of the horses, whilst others assailed the riders with pitchforks. There ensued a brief hand-to-hand scuffle. But when one of the rioters was shot through the head, and the men saw that the soldiers were determined no longer to trifle with them, they fled in all directions.
Numerous arrests were made, and then the dragoons returned towards Ely, Sir Bates jogging before them, and their captives well guarded in their midst.