After he had left them, the following brief dialogue took place between these two worthies:—
“Hourigan, blazes to me but I'm shot.”
“Hell's perdition to the unlucky villain—so am I—where are you shot, Mark?”
“By japers, the blood's pourin' out from me in the thigh, an' I'm afeard I'm done for—blast his unlucky hand, the villain; I wisht I had my dagger in him. Where are you shot, Darby?”
“Oh, vo—vo—on the right hip—but—oh, sweet Jasus, what will become of us if we're to die here—may the devil clap his cruibs (* Talons; claws) in the sowl of him that done it!”
“Amin, I pray the blessed Saviour this night! Do you think, Darby, he was a traitor, and done it a purpose?”
“Oh, mavrone, oh!—if I die widout the priest, what 'ud become o' me, an' all the sins I have to answer?”
“I say, was the villain a traitor, do you think?”
“Mavrone, oh!—blessed Lord forgive me—well—I can hardly think so—didn't he volunteer along wid yourself an' myself—oh, sweet Jasus! what a life I lead—oh, Mark Ratigan, Mark Ratigan, what will become o' me!—-I swore away the lives of two innocent men—I proved three alibis for three of as black villains as ever stretched a rope or charged a blunderbush! 'Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come'—oh, Lord! forbid that yet a while! could you join in a Leadhan wurrah?”
“Blast you, you thick-headed vagabone! don't you know it's wrong to call me Mark Ratigan—isn't Phil Hart my name now?—no, I tell you, that I can't join you in a Leadhan wurrah—nor I didn't think you wor such a d—d cowardly hound as you are—can't you die—if you're goin' to die—like a man, an' not like an ould woman? Be my sowl, Darby, my boy, afther this night I'll never trust you again. It's yourself that 'ud turn traitor on your country and her cause, if you got the rope and hangman at your nose.”