"Hark you, good fellow—you're but a small man to look out for danger, and there's too little of you, after all, for me to look after. I let you off this time; but you're on ticklish territory, and if you move but one side or the other, you're but a lost man after all. It's not a safe chance to show rebel signs on the king's highway, and you have an ugly squinting at disaffection. My eyes are on you now, and if I but see you wink, or hear you hint, treason,—ay, treason, rebellion—I see it in your eyes, I tell you,—but wink it or look it again, and you know it's short work, very short work, and a shorter journey, to the tight rope and the branching tree."
The speaker looked round significantly upon the company as he uttered a warning and threat, which, though addressed particularly to the refractory countryman, were yet evidently as much meant for the benefit of the rest. Not that the worthy sergeant had any reason for uttering language which, in all respects, seemed so gratuitous; but this was of a piece with the wantonly injudicious habit of his superiors, from whom, with the readiness of inferiority and sycophancy, he made free to borrow; and, with as little discrimination, quite as frequently employed it, not less for the gratification of his vanity than for the exercise of his power. The speech had something of its usual effect,—keeping in silence those whose love to talk might have prompted to occasional remark, though without any serious feeling in the matter; and subduing thoroughly all demonstrations of dislike on the part of the few, who, feeling things more deeply, might be disposed rather to act than to speak, when under such provocation. Whatever the persons around may have felt at the moment, they were generally prudent enough to be silent. Old Humphries alone, with uplifted hands, now somewhat touched with liquor, and seeing all danger over, came forward, and hobbling up to the sergeant, cried out, in reply—
"Why, bless us, sergeant, you talk as if you were among the enemies of his majesty, and not among his good friends and well-wishers. Now, I'm sure I can answer for all here. There's Jones and Baxter, Lyons and Tom Walker there—all for the crown,—right loyal good fellows, who drink the health of King George—God bless him!—whenever they can get a drink; and as for Jack Davis, bless us, ser-
