had the
command of two companies--only two companies--of my own regiment.
Call me out to stop these riots--give me the needful authority, and
half-a-dozen rounds of ball cartridge--'

'Ay!' said the other voice. 'That's all very well, but they won't give
the needful authority. If the magistrate won't give the word, what's the
officer to do?'

Not very well knowing, as it seemed, how to overcome this difficulty,
the other man contented himself with damning the magistrates.

'With all my heart,' said his friend.

'Where's the use of a magistrate?' returned the other voice. 'What's
a magistrate in this case, but an impertinent, unnecessary,
unconstitutional sort of interference? Here's a proclamation. Here's a
man referred to in that proclamation. Here's proof against him, and a
witness on the spot. Damme! Take him out and shoot him, sir. Who wants a
magistrate?'

'When does he go before Sir John Fielding?' asked the man who had spoken
first.

'To-night at eight o'clock,' returned the other. 'Mark what follows. The
magistrate commits him to Newgate. Our people take him to Newgate. The
rioters pelt our people. Our people retire before the rioters. Stones
are thrown, insults are offered, not a shot's fired. Why? Because of the
magistrates. Damn the magistrates!'

When he had in some degree relieved his mind by cursing the magistrates
in various other forms of speech, the man was silent, save for a low
growling, still having reference to those authorities, which from time
to time escaped him.

Barnaby, who had wit enough to know that this conversation concerned,
and very nearly concerned, himself, remained perfectly quiet until they
ceased to speak, when he groped his way to the door, and peeping through
the air-holes, tried to make out what kind of men they were, to whom he
had been listening.

The one who condemned the civil power in such strong terms, was a
serjeant--engaged just then, as the streaming ribands in his cap
announced, on the recruiting service. He stood leaning sideways against
a pillar nearly opposite the door, and as he growled to himself, drew
figures on the pavement with his cane. The other man had his back
towards the dungeon, and Barnaby could only see his form. To judge from
that, he was a gallant, manly, handsome fellow, but he had lost his left
arm. It had been taken off between the elbow and the shoulder, and his
empty coat-sleeve hung across his breast.

It was probably this circumsta