I was looking out from behind a door, and you bet I was proud of old Gerald. Wouldn't the mater have just loved to see him there, the only white-skinned chap among them, and wouldn't the old pater have grinned and chuckled to think he'd been the father of him. I could just imagine him patting Gerald's naked shoulder and tipping him a sovereign.
There were more yells.
'Come out, Billums, they want you!'
I went cold all over.
'Come out, you ass! Take your hat off too—let 'em see your straw thatching.'
I went and stood beside him, and it was the proudest thing that ever happened to me; it was nothing but a sea of brown heads and white hats, rifles and bayonets, and then they yelled and waved their hats—even those of the wounded who could stand, stood up and shouted, 'Viva los Hermanos!'[#]
[#] Hermanos = brothers.
When the noises stopped a bit, I sang out, 'Gracias! Gracias! Muchas Gracias!'—about the only Spanish words I knew. They cheered more than ever.
'Quite effective show, that,' Gerald smiled cynically, as he went back to dress, 'you and I standing there by the side of the insurgent flag. They love anything like that.'
I hadn't really noticed the flag—I'd been much too nervous.