Close
behind him came two sturdy assistants--men who had once been drummers,
and were specially selected in an army where flogging was the chief
punishment for their prowess with the cat-o'-nine-tales.
Woe to the sutler, whatever his rank or nation, who fell foul of the
terrible provost! Summary arrest, the briefest trial, and a sharp
sentence peremptorily executed, in the shape of four dozen, was the
certain treatment of all who offended against martial law.
"Hullo, McKay!" cried Shervinton, a big, burly, pleasant-faced man,
whose cheery manner was in curious contrast with his formidable
functions. "What brings a swell from headquarters into this den of
iniquity? Lost your servant, or looking out for one? Don't engage any
one without asking me. They are an abominable lot, and deserve to be
hanged, all of them."
"You are the very fellow to help me, Shervinton," and McKay, taking
the provost-marshal aside, told him his errand.
"I firmly believe every second man here is a spy, or would be if he
had the pluck."
"Are any of them, do you think, in communication with the Russians?"
"Lots. They come and go through the lines, I believe, as they please."
"I wish I could find a few fellows of this sort."
"Perhaps I can put you in the way; only I doubt whether you can trust
to a single word that they will tell you.
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