'“Cows!” said he. “If they 're cows, begad they must have got at that sixty-three gallons of poteen you talked of; for they're all drunk.”
'With that, he snatched the candle out of my hand and looked down into the pit. Never was such a sight seen before or since. Dan was pitching into poor Ffrench, who, thinking he had an enemy before him, was hitting out manfully at an old turf-creel, that rocked and creaked at every blow, as he called out—
'“I'll smash you! I'll ding your ribs for you, you' infernal scoundrel!”
'Eyre was struggling in the hay, thinking he was swimming for his life; and poor Joe M'Mahon was patting him on the head, and saying, “Poor fellow! good dog!” for he thought it was Towzer, the bull-terrier, that was prowling round the calves of his legs.
'“If they don't get tired, there will not be a man of them alive by morning!” said Tom, as he closed the door. “And now, if you 'll allow me to sleep on the carpet, I'll take it as a favour.”
'By this time they were all quiet in the parlour; so I lent Tom a couple of blankets and a bolster, and having locked my door, went to bed with an easy mind and a quiet conscience. To be sure, now and then a cry would burst forth, as if they were killing somebody below-stairs, but I soon fell asleep and heard no more of them.
'By daybreak next morning they made their escape; and when I was trying to awake at half-past ten, I found Colonel M'Morris, of the Mayo, with a message from the whole four.
'“A bad business this, Captain Mahon,” said he; “my friends have been shockingly treated.”
'“It's mighty hard,” said I, “to want to shoot me because I hadn't fourteen feather-beds in the house.”
'“They will be the laugh of the whole country, sir.”