"The enemy?" some one asked.
"Na! Donkeys."
"Donkeys! Hoo wis that?"
"Ye see, a' the transport cuddies got loose an' wandered. They got mixed up wi' the wires an' that wis the cause o' the bother. Jist fancy, ten thoosan' roonds tae kill three dizen cuddies."
"Did ye get the V.C.?" queried Tamson.
"V.C.! Nae fear. I got ten days in the nick for openin' fire on His Majesty's cuddies."
"Ach, sure an' I've a better yarn than that," said Paddy Doolan.
"Tell it," ordered the captain.
[pg 44] "It was out in India when I was in the ould Dublin Fusiliers. We were at a place nicknamed 'Holipore,' that's where the Holy Fathers pour medicine down the niggers' necks, an' beer down the sodgers'. The affair happened at night. I was on sentry-go, and about twelve I was startled to see a mad fakir wid fire in his eyes and a sword in his fingers advancing on me.
"'Halt!' ses I, shiverin' in my pants. But he never stopped. On he marched.