"You've come here, Colooney, to offer yourself as a volunteer in the cause of your country?"
Here a yell of "Ireland for ever!" was always raised by the bystanders, which drowned the reply in its enthusiasm, and the examination went on:
"You'll be true and faithful to that cause till you secure for your country the freedom of America and the happiness of France? Kiss the cross. Are you used to fire-arms?"
"Isn't he?—maybe not! I'll be bound he knows a musket from a mealy pratie!"
Such and such like were the comments that rang on all sides, so that the modest "Yis, sir" of the patriot was completely lost.
"Load that gun, Tom," said the officer.
Here Colooney, deeming that so simple a request must necessarily be only a cover for something underhand—a little clever surprise or so—takes up the piece in a very gingerly manner, and examines it all round, noticing that there is nothing, so far as he can discover, unusual nor uncommon about it.
"Load that gun, I say."
Sharper and more angrily is the command given this time.
"Yis, sir, immediately."