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Updated: June 11, 2025
'Twas all in the way av fair fight, though, for niver did I raise my hand excipt whin they had provoked me to ut. "'Tis all well," sez wan av thim, "but who's to do this shootin'?" "Fwhat matther?" sez Vulmea. "'Tis Mulvaney will do that at the Coort-Martial." "He will so," sez the man, "but whose hand is put to the trigger in the room?"
Thin he threw up his head an' made the men swear by ivry oath known to stand by him not alone in the room but at the Coort-Martial that was to set on me! He tould off five av the biggest to stretch me on my cot whin the shot was fired, an' another man he tould off to put out the light, an' yet another to load my rifle.
'Twas all in the way av fair fight, though, for niver did I raise my hand excipt whin they had provoked me to ut. "'Tis all well, sez wan av thim, 'but who's to do this shootin'? "'Fwhat matther? sez Vulmea. 'Tis Mulvaney will do that at the Coort-martial. "'He will so, sez the man, 'but whose hand is put to the trigger in the room?
"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, but, 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.
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 number an' fistes fit to use!
"'An' then," continued Horse Egan, for the peppery Major's peculiarities of speech and manner were as well known as his tanned face; "'an' then, ye dissolute, half-baked, putty-faced scum o' Connemara, if I find a man so much as lookin' confused, begad, I'll coort-martial the whole company. A man that can't get over his liquor in six hours is not fit to belong to the Mavericks!"
'Arry Wagstaff, as wos in Number Two Squordron 'e pulls a bit o' chork aht of 'is pocket, an' 'e marks on 'is bowlder in big, fat letters 'Lucky soors in bed ev'ry night' but old Doolally 'appened to turn rahnd an' cop 'im at it. Drum-'ead coort-martial 'Arry gort for that, an' drew ten d'ys Number One Field Punishment.
'Are you sure you've got the hang av the manewvers? sez he, or wurrds to that effec', as the coort-martial sez. 'Sure as death, sez she, 'but I misdoubt 'tis cruel hard on my father. 'Damn your father, sez he, or anyways 'twas fwhat he thought, 'the arrangement is as clear as mud.
"Are you sure you've got the hang av the manewvers?" sez he, or wurrds to that effec', as the coort-martial sez. "Sure as death," sez she, "but I misdoubt 'tis cruel hard on my father." "Damn your father," sez he, or anyways 'twas fwhat he thought, "the arrangement is as clear as mud.
"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.
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