“Sergeant O’Rooke’s gone, sorr,” cried a voice. “Never mind, lads,” said Captain Foley. “He’s died like a soldier, fighting for his Queen.”
“Down with the Queen!” shouted a hoarse voice from the ranks.
But the roar of the Gardner and the typewriter-like clicking of the hopper burst in at the tail of the words. Captain Foley heard them, and Subalterns Grice and Murphy heard them; but there are times when a deaf ear is a gift from the gods.
“Steady, Mallows!” cried the captain, in a pause of the grunting machine-gun. “We have the honour of Ireland to guard this day.”
“And well we know how to guard it, captin!” cried the same ominous voice; and there was a buzz from the length of the company.
The captain and the two subs. came together behind the marching line.
“They seem a bit out of hand,” murmured the captain.
“Bedad,” said the Galway boy, “they mean to scoot like redshanks.”
“They nearly broke when the blacks showed on the hill,” said Grice.
“The first man that turns, my sword is through him,” cried Foley, loud enough to be heard by five files on either side of him. Then, in a lower voice, “It’s a bitter drop to swallow, but it’s my duty to report what you think to the chief, and have a company of Jollies put behind us.” He turned away with the safety of the square upon his mind, and before he had reached his goal the square had ceased to exist.