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"Faith you've larnt the half av your lesson, Sorr," sez I, "but av you shtick to the Rig'lations you'll niver get thim in-ship at all, at all. Or there won't be a rag av kit betune thim whin you do." ''Twas a dear little orf'cer bhoy, an' by way av kapin' his heart up, I tould him fwhat I saw wanst in a draf' in Egypt. 'What was that, Mulvaney? said I.

"'Faith, thinks I, 'that's Honour an' Glory'; for 'twas Lift'nint Brazenose did that job. 'I'm wid ye, Sorr, sez I, 'if I'm av use. They shud niver ha' sent you down wid the draf'. Savin' your presince, Sorr, I sez, ''tis only Lift'nint Hackerston in the Ould Rig'mint can manage a Home draf'.

"Just before Revelly, my orf'cer bhoy comes out an' sez: 'Loose those men an' send thim to their tents! Scrub Greene wint away widout a word, but Peg Barney, stiff wid the cowld, stud like a sheep, thryin' to make his orf'cer understhand he was sorry for playin' the goat. "There was no tucker in the draf' whin ut fell in for the march, an' divil a wurrd about 'illegality' cud I hear.

"Sivin an' fifty men sittin' on the bank av a canal, laughin' at a poor little squidgereen av an orf'cer that they'd made wade into the slush an' pitch the things out av the boats for their Lord High Mightinesses. That made me orf'cer bhoy woild wid indignation. "'Soft an' aisy, sorr, sez I; 'you've niver had your draf' in hand since you left cantonmints.

An' he was a moild man! But I'm digreshin'. 'Tis a shame both to the rig'mints and the Arrmy sendin' down little orf'cer bhoys wid a draf' av strong men mad wid liquor an' the chanst av gettin' shut av India, an' niver a punishment that's fit to be given right down an' away from cantonmints to the dock! 'Tis this nonsince.

"I tuk a peg an'' jammed ut into his ugly jaw 'Bite on that, Peg Barney, I sez; 'the night is settin' frosty, an' you'll be wantin' divarsion before the mornin'. But for the Rig'lations you'd be bitin' on a bullet now at the thriangles, Peg Barney, sez I. "All the draf' was out av their tents watchin' Barney bein' pegged. "''Tis agin the Rig'lations!

An' be was a moild man! But I'm digresshin'. 'Tis a shame both to the rig'mints and the Arrmy sendin' down little orf'cer bhoys wid a draf' av strong men mad wid liquor an' the chanst av gettin' shut av India, an' niver a punishment that's fit to be given right down an' away from cantonmints to the dock! 'Tis this nonsinse.

Can you trust your non-coms, Sorr?" "Yes," sez he. "Good," sez I; "there'll be throuble before the night. Are you marchin', Sorr?" "To the next station," sez he. "Better still," sez I; "there'll be big throuble." "Can't be too hard on a Home draf'," sez he; "the great thing is to get thim in-ship."

"The Tyrone was recruited any fashion in the ould days. A draf from Connemara a draf from Portsmouth a draf from Kerry, an' that was a blazin' bad draf here, there and iverywhere but the large av thim was Oirish Black Oirish. Now there are Oirish an' Oirish. The good are good as the best, but the bad are wurrst than the wurrst. 'Tis this way.

Can you trust your noncoms, Sorr? "'Yes, sez he. "'Good, sez I; 'there'll be throuble before the night. Are you marchin', Sorr? "'To the next station, sez he. "'Betther still, sez I; 'there'll be big throuble. "'Can't be too hard on a Home draf, sez he; 'the great thing is to get thim in-ship.