There are besides the sergeant three constables in our police barrack. They are armed as a rule with short round sticks. On very important occasions they carry an inferior kind of firearm called a carbine. There were, I guessed about three hundred men in the church, and they were armed with modern rifles. Godfrey’s faith in the inherent majesty of the law was extremely touching.
“Did he go?” I asked.
“I don’t think he intends to,” said Godfrey, “but he did not give me a decided answer.”
Our police sergeant is a man of sense.
“Did you say,” I asked, “that they’re going to march to Belfast?”
“That’s what the sergeant told me,” said Godfrey.
“Actually walk the whole way?”
Belfast is a good many miles away from us. It would, I suppose, take a quick walker the better part of two days to accomplish the journey.
“He said ‘march,’” said Godfrey. “I suppose he meant to walk.”