“He be a real bit of stuff, that ’ere Peter Smallbones,” said one of the men.

“I thinks he be a supernatural himself, for my part,” rejoined Spurey.

“At all events, he ar’n’t afeard of him,” said another.

“We shall see,” replied Coble, squirting out his tobacco-juice under the gun.

“Come, men, we must go to work now.  Shall we, Mr Short?”

“Yes,” replied the commanding officer, and the conference broke up.

In the meantime the consultation was continued between Smallbones and the corporal.  The latter had received instruction to take on shore Mr Vanslyperken’s dirty linen to the washerwoman, and of course, as a corporal, he was not obliged to carry it, and would take Smallbones for that purpose.  Then he could easily excuse taking the dog on shore, upon the plea of taking care of it.  It was therefore so arranged; the dog would follow the corporal in the absence of his master, but no one else.  In a few minutes the corporal, Smallbones, Snarleyyow, and a very small bundle of linen, were in the boat, and shoved off with as many good wishes and as much anxiety for their success, as probably Jason and his followers received when they departed in search of the Golden Fleece.

The three parties kept in company, and passed through the town of Portsmouth.  The washerwoman lived outside the Lines, and there they proceeded, Snarleyyow very much in spirits at being able to eat the grass, which his health very much required.  They walked on until they arrived at a large elm-tree, on the side of the road, which lay between two hedges and ditches.

“This will do,” observed the corporal solemnly.  “Mein Gott!  I wish it was over,” continued he, wiping the perspiration from his bull-forehead.

“How shall we kill him, corporal?” inquired Smallbones.

“Mein Gott! knock him head against de tree, I suppose.”

“Yes, and bury him in the ditch.  Here, dog—­Snarleyyow—­here, dog,” said Smallbones; “come, a poor doggy—­come here.”

But Snarleyyow was not to be coaxed by Smallbones; he suspected treachery.

“He won’t a-come to me, corporal, or I’d soon settle his hash,” observed Smallbones.

The corporal had now got over a little panic which had seized him.  He called Snarleyyow, who came immediately.  Oh! had he imagined what the corporal was about to do, he might have died like Caesar, exclaiming, “Et tu Brute,” which, in plain English means, “and you—­you brute.”

The corporal, with a sort of desperation, laid hold of the dog by the tail, drawing him back till he could swing him round.  In a second or two Snarleyyow was whirling round the corporal, who turned with him, gradually approaching the trunk of the elm-tree, till at last his head came in contact with it with a resounding blow, and the dog fell senseless.  “Try it again, corporal, let’s finish him.”  The corporal again swung round the inanimate body of the dog; again, and again, and again, did the head come in contact with the hard wood; and then the corporal, quite out of breath with the exertion, dropped the body on the grass.  Neither of them spoke a word for some time, but watched the body, as it lay motionless, doubled up, with the fore and hind feet meeting each other, and the one eye closed.