“I hope not,” returned the officer, sincerely.
“At all events you’ll be a dead man before long if you don’t attend to what I say,” continued the woman. “Your young master in the hut there told me to tell you that he is tired and wants a good long rest, so you are not to disturb him in the morning till he calls you. D’you hear?”
“I hear, and will obey.”
“Eh? What? Speak out. I’m deaf.”
“I hear, and will attend to your wishes.”
“Humph! it will be worse for you if you don’t,” muttered the old hag, as she turned away, hobbled into the woods, and slowly disappeared.
It need scarcely be said that the lieutenant and his sub did not sleep much that night. They discussed the subject of witches, their powers and propensities, and the bad luck likely to attend those who actually had the misfortune to see them, until the hair on their heads betrayed a tendency to rise, and the grey dawn began to appear. Then they lay down and indulged in some fitful slumber. But the discomforts of the night were as nothing to the anxieties of the morning, for the lazy Cormac seemed to have gone in for an extent of slumber that was out of all reason, considering his circumstances. The ordinary breakfast hour arrived, but there was no intimation of his having awoke. Hours passed, but there was no call from the hut, and the officer, with ever-increasing anxiety, bade his men to kick up a row—or words to that effect. No command they ever received was more easy of fulfilment. They laughed and talked; they cut down trees and cleaned their breakfast utensils with overwhelming demonstration; they shouted, they even sang and roared in chorus, but without effect. Noon arrived and passed, still Cormac slept on. It was worse than perplexing—it was becoming desperate!
The officer commanding the party was a brave man; so was the sub. Their native courage overcame their superstitious fears.
“I’ll be battle-axed!” exclaimed the first, using a very objectionable old British oath, “if I don’t rouse him, though all the witches in Albion should withstand me.”
“And I’ll back you up,” said the sub with a frown that spoke volumes—perhaps, considering the times, we should have written—rolls of papyrus.