“Yis, sor. I beg pardon. It was me excitement.”
But the enemy did not come on again; the lesson had been too terrible, and we all stood there, hot with excitement and fretting against the inaction; while preparations were being rapidly made behind us for evacuating the residency, the infantry now manned the roof, keeping down observations by a shot or two now and then at any of the enemy who appeared at the windows of the houses near.
But I knew that before long they must know of our intention to retreat, and I stood there with my men on the strain, and watching the people who came to the help of the wounded and carried them away.
“Oh, murther!” muttered Brian, at last, as if his tongue would not rest without speaking; “if Oi were a fut-artilleryman, I should desart. I couldn’t stand much of this.”
“Will you be silent, sir!” I cried sternly.
“Sure, sor, it isn’t me; it’s me tongue, bad luck to it. But, beggin’ your hanner’s pardon, would ye order one of the naygers to bring round a dhrink o’ wather.”
I ordered a bucketful to be fetched, for we were all suffering from thirst and from the unnecessary heat produced by our clothes, which, like those provided for the British soldier, were utterly unsuited for our work, everything being sacrificed for show.
The men drank the cool water with avidity, Brian looking at me with twinkling eyes as he helped himself to a second pannikin.
“Talk about yer port wines and champagnes, sor,” he said; “there’s ownly two things fit to dhrink, and one’s whiskey, and the other’s wather.”
“Why, you said the other day there was nothing like tay,” cried one of the men.