ld put up a fight as before.

Like a panther he sprang upon the unfortunate officer and bore him to
the ground, with his powerful hands enclosing the astounded
gentleman's neck, and upon the couple sprang the Sergeant, the
Corporal, and the Hospital Guard, all save the sentry, who
(disciplined, well-drilled man!) brought his carbine to the "order"
and stood stiffly at "attention" in a position favourable for a good
view of the proceedings though strictly on his beat.

Trooper Bear, ejaculating "Why do the heathen rage furiously
together," took a running jump and landed in sitting posture on the
heap, rolled off, and proceeded to seize every opportunity of
violently smiting his superior officers, in his apparent zeal to help
to secure the dangerous criminal-lunatic. Thoughts of having just
_one_ punch at a real Officer (if only a non-combatant still a genuine
Commissioned Officer) flashed across his depraved mind.

It was a Homeric struggle. Captain Blake was himself an old Guy's
Rugger three-quarter and no mean boxer, and the Sergeant, Corporal,
and Guard, were all powerful men, while Dam was a Samson further
endowed with the strength of undeniable madness. When at length he was
dragged from Captain Blake's recumbent form, his hands torn from that
officer's throat, and the group stood for a second panting, Dam
suddenly felled Corporal Prag with such a blow as had been the undoing
of the Gorilla, sent Sergeant Wotting head over heels and, ere the
Guard could again close with him, drove his fist into the face of the
supposed myrmidon of the Snake and sprang upon his body once more....

It was some time before seven strong men could pinion him and carry
him on a stretcher to the Guard-room, and, of those seven strong men,
only Trooper Bear bore no mark of serious damage. (Trooper Bear had
struck two non-commissioned officers with great violence, in his
misdirected zeal, and one Commissioned Officer--though only playfully
and for the satisfaction of being able to say that he had done so.)
That night, half dead, wholly mad, bruised and bleeding, Damocles de
Warrenne lay in the dark cell awaiting trial on a charge of assaulting
an Officer, striking his superior officers, resisting the Guard,
deserting his sentry-post, and being drunk and disorderly.

* * * * *

"What'll he get, d'you think?" sadly asked Trooper Goate of Trooper
Hawker.

"Two stretch 'ard laiber and discharged from the Ar