When these fellows laughed, they opened great black cavernous mouths, and threw their legs straight out in front of them, as if afraid of the cramp. No wonder that the very night-birds screamed and flew flapping away from the neighbouring trees at the sounds.
More and more bottle! more merriment!
Jack greatly feared they were going to make a night of it, but did not dare to stir.
Further applications of the bottle; then one fellow volunteered a song.
Neither words nor music appealed to Jack, who was hoping the man would choke. The melody—save the mark!—was like the rattling of a lot of pebbles in a frying-pan. The words were a kind of Irish stew or pan-hagglety of German, Chinese, Turkish, and Sanscrit, with a little Gaelic and broad Scotch thrown in to give it smoothness.
But now from a wallet the soldier who seemed in command drew forth some papers. He looked at and counted them, then put them carefully away again. They appeared to Jack to be plans, and he at once formed the daring resolve of possessing himself of them by hook or by crook.
Jack hoped it would be by hook.
The sergeant placed the wallet on the moss behind him, and very handy for Jack.
Then the sergeant had another drink. The man next him said something while he drank; upon which, without for a moment taking the bottle from his lips, the officer let out from the shoulder with his left, and the soldier rolled back on the moss. The others guffawed, and the boisterous merriment continued.
Jack was getting uneasy, for time was important, and it was now well on in the night.