“When do you propose to make the expedition?”
“We should leave this at eleven to-night, and as no suspicion is aroused, we shall probably capture the lot, still and all.”
I pushed the materials towards the gauger, who required very little persuasion to avail himself of the opportunity to brew a hot tumbler of punch. On many former occasions I had by judicious hospitality kept this functionary at bay until it became too late, or the weather set in too bad, to make a start, thus saving my men the harassing duty we all disliked.
Now, however, the summons was imperative; and I accordingly turned out my picquet, and started with the revenue officer and his assistant for a mountain some five or six miles distant from my post.
The moon was shining brightly, and the sharp frosty air of the night was most exhilarating. The light and springy step of my riflemen suggested the idea of being on a poaching lark rather than a solemn expedition for the vindication of the law.
We had left the highway and ascended a few hundred yards of the mountain-road, when the gauger pointed out to me a light curling white cloud, distant about a quarter of a mile, rising as if from the ground. That was the still.
Extending my small force, I formed a cordon round the point, gradually closing in, till within fifty yards of our object. This operation completed, I left further proceedings to the gauger.
Suddenly my attention was attracted by the melancholy wailing of a woman, and, on investigation, I discovered an old hag who might easily have been great-grandmother of all the stills in the district.
“Och-hone, och-hone! We’ll all be kilt entirely. We’ll all be kilt outright wid dem soldiers. Och-hone!”
The gauger now reappeared. His search, both for men and machinery, had been fruitless. At once the old woman opened upon him a broadside of execrations such as are rarely heard even from the lips of an infuriated Irish beldame, strangely mixed with benedictions—the curses for the gauger, the blessings for me.