“Just at this moment the dragoons came in sight; they came galloping up, shouting like madmen. One look was enough for my fellows; they sprang to their legs from their devotions, fired a volley straight at the new moon, and ran like men.
“I was knocked down in the rush. As I regained my legs, Tom O’Flaherty was standing beside me, laughing like mad.
“‘Eh, Monsoon! I’ve kept my word, old fellow! What legs they have! We shall make no prisoners, that’s certain. Now, lads, here it is! Put the horses to, here. We shall take but one, Monsoon; so that your gallant defence of the rest will please the Junta. Good-night, good-night! I will drink your health every night these two months.’
“So saying, Tom sprang to his saddle; and in less time than I’ve been telling it, the whole was over and I sitting by myself in the gray moonlight, meditating on all I saw, and now and then shouting for my Portuguese friends to come back again. They came in time, by twos and threes; and at last the whole party re-assembled, and we set forth again, every man, from the intendant to the drummer, lauding my valor, and saying that Don Monsoon was a match for the Cid.”
“And how did the Junta behave?”
“Like trumps, Charley. Made me a Knight of Battalha, and kissed me on both cheeks, having sent twelve dozen of the rescued wine to my quarters, as a small testimony of their esteem. I have laughed very often at it since. But hush, Charley? What’s that I hear without there?”
“Oh, it’s my fellow Mike. He asked my leave to entertain his friends before parting, and I perceive he is delighting them with a song.”
“But what a confounded air it is! Are the words Hebrew?”
“Irish, Major; most classical Irish, too, I’ll be bound!”
“Irish! I’ve heard most tongues, but that certainly surprises me. Call him in, Charley, and let us have the canticle.”