“Well, Tim, it is only three months since I
joined, and I don’t suppose I have changed much
in that time; but of course I cannot play tricks now
as I used to do, before I got my commission.”
“That is so, yer honour; the rigiment misses
your tricks, though they did bother us a bit.
Three times were we turned out at night, under arms,
when we were at Athlone, once on a wet night too,
and stood there for two hours till the colonel found
out it was a false alarm, and there was me and Mr.
Ryan, and two or three others as was in the secret,
nigh choking ourselves with laughter, to hear the
men cursing and swearing at being called out of bed.
That was a foine time, yer honour.”
“Attention, Tim!” Terence said, sharply.
They had now entered the village, and the burst of
laughter in which Hoolan indulged at the thought of
the regiment being turned out on a false alarm was
unseemly, as he was accompanying an officer. So
Tim straightened himself up, and then followed in
Terence’s footsteps with military precision
and stiffness.
“There is a time for all things, Tim,”
the latter said, as he took the little portmanteau
from him. “It won’t do to be laughing
like that in sight of head-quarters. I can’t
ask you to have a drink now; there is no drink to
be had, but the first time we get a chance I will make
it up to you.”
“All right, yer honour! I was wrong entirely,
but I could not have helped it if the commander-in-chief
had been standing there.”
Terence went up to the attic that he and Trevor shared.
There was no changing for dinner, but after a wash
he went below again.
“You are just in time,” Trevor said, “and
we are in luck. The head man of the village sent
the general a couple of ducks, and they will help out
our rations. I have been foraging, and have got
hold of half a dozen bottles of good wine from the
priest.
“We always try to get the best of things in
the village, if they will but part with them.
That is an essential part of our duties. To-morrow
it will be your turn.”
“But our servants always did that sort of thing,”
Terence said, in some surprise.
“I dare say, O’Connor, but it would not
do for the general’s servant to be going about
picking up things. No matter what he paid, we
should have tales going about in no time of the shameful
extortion practised by our servants, who under threats
compelled the peasantry to sell provisions for the
use of their masters at nominal prices.”
“I did not think of that,” Terence laughed.
“Yes, as the Portuguese have circulated scores
of calumnious lies on less foundation, one cannot be
too particular. I will see what I can do to-morrow.”
A FALSE ALARM
