“Oh, that’s all right,” said Yates. “Never mind him, general. He’s a learned man who doesn’t know when to talk and when not to. As you march up to our tent, general, you will see an empty jug, which will explain everything. Renmark’s drunk, not to put too fine a point upon it; and he imagines himself a British subject.”
The Fenian general looked up at the professor.
“Are you a Canadian?” he asked.
“Certainly I am.”
“Well, in that case, if I let you leave camp, you must give me your word that, should you fall in with the enemy, you will give no information to them of our position, numbers, or of anything else you may have seen while with us.”
“I shall not give my word. On the contrary, if I should fall in with the Canadian troops, I will tell them where you are, that you are from eight hundred to one thousand strong, and the worst looking set of vagabonds I have ever seen out of jail.”
General O’Neill frowned, and looked from one to the other.
“Do you realize that you confess to being a spy, and that it becomes my duty to have you taken out and shot?”
“In real war, yes. But this is mere idiotic fooling. All of you that don’t escape will be either in jail or shot before twenty-four hours.”
“Well, by the gods, it won’t help you any. I’ll have you shot inside of ten minutes, instead of twenty-four hours.”