“Well, he got up in New York an’ met a lot iv other des’prite men like himsilf, an’ they wint across th’ bordher singin’ songs an’ carryin’ on, an’ all th’ militia iv New York was undher ar-rms; f’r it ’d been just like thim to turn round an’ do their fightin’ in New York.  ’Twas little me uncle Mike cared where he fought.

“But, be hook or crook, they got to where th’ other Fenians was, an’ jined th’ army.  They come fr’m far an’ near; an’ they were young an’ old, poor lads, some iv thim bent on sthrikin’ th’ blow that ’d break th’ back iv British tyranny an’ some jus’ crazed f’r fightin’.  They had big guns an’ little guns an’ soord canes an’ pitchforks an’ scythes, an’ wan or two men had come over armed with baseball bats.  They had more gin’rals thin ye cud find in a Raypublican West Town convintion, an’ ivry private was at laste a colonel.  They made me uncle Mike a brigadier gin’ral.  ’That ‘ll do f’r a time,’ says he; ‘but, whin th’ fun begins, I’ll pull Dorney off his horse, an’ be a major gin’ral,’ he says.  An’ he’d ’ve done it, too, on’y they was no fightin’.

“They marched on, an’ th’ British run away fr’m thim; an’, be hivins, me uncle Mike cud niver get a shot at a redcoat, though he searched high an’ low f’r wan.  Thin a big rain-storm come, an’ they was no tents to protect thim; an’ they set aroun’, shiverin’ an’ swearin’.  Me uncle Mike was a bit iv a politician; an’ he organized a meetin’ iv th’ lads that had come over with him, an’ sint a comity to wait on th’ major gin’ral.  ‘Dorney,’ says me uncle Mike, f’r he was chairman iv th’ comity, ‘Dorney,’ he says, ‘me an’ me associated warriors wants to know,’ he says.  ‘What d’ye mane?’ says Dorney.  ’Ye brought us up here,’ says me uncle Mike, ‘to fight the British,’ he says.  ’If ye think,’ he says, ‘that we come over,’ he says, ’to engage in a six days’ go-as-you-please walkin’ match,’ he says, ‘ye’d betther go an’ have ye’er head looked into,’ he says.  ’Have ye anny British around here?  Have ye e’er a Sassenach concealed about ye’er clothes?’ he says.  ‘We can’t do annything if they won’t stand f’r us,’ says Dorney.  ‘Thin,’ says me uncle Mike, ‘I wash me hands iv th’ whole invasion,’ he says.  ‘I’ll throuble ye f’r me voucher,’ he says.  ’I’m goin back to a counthry where they grow men that ‘ll stand up an’ fight back,’ he says; an’ he an’ his la-ads wint over to Buf-falo, an’ was locked up f’r rivolution.

“Me uncle Mike come home on th’ bumpers iv a freight car, which is th’ way most rivolutioners come home, excipt thim that comes home in th’ baggage car in crates.  ‘Uncle Mike,’ says I to him, ’what’s war like, annyhow?’ ‘Well,’ says he, ‘in some rayspicts it is like missin’ th’ last car,’ he says; ‘an’ in other rayspicts ‘tis like gettin’ gay in front iv a polis station,’ he says.  An’, by dad, whin I come to think what they call wars nowadays, I believe me uncle Mike was right.  ’Twas different whin I was a lad.  They had wars in thim days that was wars.”