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Lie still, ye little pinch av dynamite, an' Coort-martial me aftherwards." "Good," sez I; "'tis the likes av him makes the likes av the Commandher-in-Chief, but we must presarve thim. Fwhat d'you want to do, Sorr?" sez I, very politeful. "Kill the beggars kill the beggars!" he shqueaks; his big blue eyes brimmin' wid tears.
Lie still, ye little pinch av dynamite, an' Coort-martial me aftherward. "'Good, sez I; ''tis the likes av him makes the likes av the Commandher-in-Chief, but we must presarve thim. Fwhat d'you want to do, sorr? sez I, very politeful. "'Kill the beggars kill the beggars! he shqueaks; his big blue eyes brimmin' wid tears.
"Ay, be God, they'd be better imployed than pullin' a poor man's thatch about his ears." "Or shootin' his brother, as they did mine." "It was the Impire laid my groanin' mother by the wayside. Her son will rot before he upholds it, and ye can put that in the charge-sheet in the next coort-martial." In vain the three officers begged, menaced, persuaded.
Will there be any doubt at the Coort-Martial? Wud twelve honust sodger-bhoys swear away the life av a dear, quiet, swate-timpered man such as is Mulvaney wid his line av pipe-clay roun' his cot, threatenin' us wid murdher av we overshtepped ut, as we can truthful testify?" "Mary, Mother av Mercy!" thinks I to mesilf; "it is this to have an unruly mimber an' fistes fit to use!
"Ye see," said he, "Misther Russell has committed an offince against our r'y'l prayrogatives, an' ayven his being our cousin doesn't help him, so it doesn't, for ye see it's a toime av danger the habeas corpus is suspindid, thrial by jury's done up; there's only martial law, an', be jabers, there's a coort-martial in session at this blessed momint in the room overhead." "Oh, sire," exclaimed Mrs.
'Well an' far out av harm was a Sargint av the Tyrone sittin' on the little orf'cer bhoy who had stopped Crook from rowlin' the rocks. Oh, he was a beautiful bhoy, an' the long black curses was slidin' out av his innocint mouth like mornin'-jew from a rose! "Fwhat have you got there?" sez I to the Sargint. "Wan av Her Majesty's bantams wid his spurs up," sez he. "He's goin' to Coort-martial me."
'The fork av his hand was black wid the backspit av the machine. So he tuk the orf'cer bhoy's revolver. Ye may look, Sorr, by my faith, there's a dale more done in the field than iver gets into Field Ordhers! "Come on, Mulvaney," sez Crook; "is this a Coort-martial?" The two av us wint back together into the mess an' the Paythans were still standin' up.
'Ye'll have a Disthrict Coort-martial settin' on ye yet, me son, said Mulvaney, 'but' he opened a bottle 'I will not report ye this time. Fwhat's in the mess-kid is mint for the belly, as they say, 'specially whin that mate is dhrink. Here's luck! A bloody war or a no, we've got the sickly season. War, thin! he waved the innocent 'pop' to the four quarters of Heaven. 'Bloody war!
"Ye'll have a Disthrict Coort-martial settin' on ye yet, me son," said Mulvaney, "but" he opened a bottle "I will not report ye this time. Fwhat's in the mess-kid is mint for the belly, as they say, 'specially whin that mate is dhrink, Here's luck! A bloody war or a no, we've got the sickly season. War, thin!" he waved the innocent "pop" to the four quarters of Heaven. "Bloody war!
If I was a Fr-rinchman, I'd be afraid iv no man but th' cab-dhrivers; an' I wudden't be afraid iv thim long, f'r I'd be a cab-dhriver mesilf. "'Wan thing more, an' thin me tistimony's over. Ye want me advice. Ye didn't ask f'r it. If I was prisident iv this coort-martial, I'd say to Cap Dhryfuss: "Cap, get out. Ye may not be a thraitor, but ye're worse. Ye're become a bore."
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