As for William Connor, when he left Suakim, his foot was light, his figure straight, and he sent a running fire of laughter through his company by one or two “insinsible remarks,” as Coolin called them.
Three hours’ marching in the Soudan will usually draw off the froth of a man’s cheerfulness, but William Connor was as light of heart at Tofrik as at Suakim, and he saw with pleasure two sights—the enemy in the distance and the 15th Sikhs on their right flank, with Subadar Goordit Singh in view.
“There’s work ‘ere to-day for whoever likes it on the ‘op!” said Henry Withers, of the Sick Horse Depot, as he dragged his load of mimosa to the zeriba; for he had got leave to come on with his regiment.
“You’ll find it ‘otter still when the vedettes and Cossack Posts come leadin’ in the Osnum Digners. If there ain’t hoscillations on that rectangle, strike me in the night-lights!” said Corporal Bagshot, with his eye on the Bengalese. “Blyme, if the whole bloomin’ parallogram don’t shiver,” he added; “for them Osnum Digners ‘as the needle, and they’re ten to one, or I’m a bloater!”
“There’s Gardner guns fer the inimy an’ Lushai dandies fer us,” broke in Connor, as he drove a stake in the ground, “wet without and dry within—an’ Gardner guns are divils on the randan. Whin they get to work it’s like a self-actin’ abbatoir.”
“I ‘opes ye like it, Connor. Bloomin’ picnic for you when the Osnum Digners eat sand. What ho!”
“I have no swarms of conscience there, Billy Bag; shot. For the bones uv me frinds that’s lyin’ in this haythen land, I’ll clane as fur as I can reach. An’ I’ll have the run uv me belt to-day, an—” he added, then stopped short as the order came from McNeill that the Berkshires should receive dinner by half-battalions.
“An’ ‘igh time,” said Corporal Bagshot. “What with marchin’ and zeribakin’ and the sun upon me tank since four this mornin’, I’m dead for food and buried for water. I ain’t no bloomin’ salamanker to be grilled and say thank-ye, and I ain’t no bloomin’ camomile to bring up me larder and tap me tank when Coolin’s commissaryat hasn’t no orders.”
“Shure ye’ll run better impty, Billy boy,” said Connor. “An’ what fer do ye need food before y’r execution?” he added, with a twist of his mouth.
“Before execution, ye turkey-cock—before execution is the time to eat and drink. How shall the bloomin’ carnage gore the Libyan sands, if there ain’t no refreshment for the vitals and the diagrams?”