“And when will we be after attacking Matammeh?” asked Grady, as he sat over the bivouac fire.
“Precious soon, I should think; we can’t get on to Khartoum till it’s taken,” said Kavanagh.
“And for why not?” asked Grady again.
“Eh, man!” exclaimed Macintosh, “ye would na go past it and leave all these thousands of heathens in our rear, would ye? With an army at Khartoum in front, and the army here in our rear, we should be between two fires, don’t ye see? Never a mouthful of grub or a cartridge could get to us, and we should be peppered on all sides at once.”
“We might as well risk it and get it over,” said Tarrant.
“We get nothing fit to eat as it is.”
“I call that stupid, talking like that!” cried Dobbs. “I know the rations are a deal better than ever I expected; capital, I call them.”
“So they are,” said Macintosh; “but if Tarrant had sheep’s-head, haggis, and whusky itsel’ for dinner, he would na be contented.”
“Every man to his taste,” growled Tarrant; “and if a chap likes tinned meat he’s welcome. I prefer good beef and mutton, fresh-killed, with plenty of potatoes and white bread.”
“And a little tripe and onions, or a swatebread after it, with pudding and lashings of sherry wine, I’ll be bound,” said Grady.