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Updated: May 8, 2025
Many of them are armed with nothing more deadly than picks and shovels." "And pikes," corrected Hempel. "Several carry pikes, sir." "Ay, that's so, they've bin 'ammerin' out bits of old iron all the mornin'," agreed Ocock. "It's said they 'aven't a quarter of a firearm apiece. And the drillin'! Lord love yer! 'Alf of 'em don't know their right 'and from their left.
At this the True Treds arose, and quite seriously gave their salute. So impressed was old Captain Dave, that he also tilted himself out of his tip chair, and likewise saluted. No one smiled they were now engaged in serious work as True Treds. "That's fine," he said heartily. "I tell you my boys can't beat that at drillin'. I just wish I could get a girl's team working some day," he complimented.
I could always tell which was our rijimint drillin' half a mile away by the sound of the voices. What a ringin' voice Capt. Scudder had. It beat the bugle. You could hear him sing out, 'Co. C, on right, into line! Forward, guide right March! farther'n you could the bugle. The last time I heard him wuz as we wuz' going up Snodgrass Hill.
Henry, anxious lest his father should overtax his strength, sat at the foot of the bed. "An' what are you drillin' for?" Mr. Quinn demanded of John. "We must defend ourselves, Mr. Quinn...." "Defend me granny! An' who's goin' to harm you?" Henry made a motion as if he would quieten his father, but the old man shook him off. "Leave me alone, Henry," he said, "an' let me have my say!"
It's drillin' drillin' with 'em all the time, an' red-tape an' knee breeches, an' when they ain't drillin' they're dancin'. They have signs an' countersigns, worl' without end, ah-men. An' I've knowed many of them to put all his three months' pay into a Sunday uniform for dress parade. "Weepons?
It'll take the men at the top all their time to hold the bottom ones down. It ought never to have been allowed to begin with. The minute they started their drillin' an' palaver, they ought to 'a' been stopped. Have you seen John Marsh lately, Henry?" "I saw him when I was in Dublin a few months ago with Gilbert Farlow. He's drilling, too!..." "It's fearful, that's what it is.
When I'm drillin' along ahead I can't think of nothin' but my feet." Because there was now no road and scarcely a trail, Bartley began to choose his footing, dodging the rougher places. The muscles of his calves ached under the unaccustomed strain of walking without heels. Cheyenne dogged along behind, suffering keenly from blistered feet, but centering his attention on Bartley's bobbing shadow.
Seem' that you an' the squire did n't like my drillin', I've left the company, an I won't go back, I pass you my word." "'T is nothing to me what you do," responded Janice, crushingly. "Don't say that, Miss Janice," entreated Phil. "Is thee not ashamed," exclaimed Tabitha, "to seek to marry a girl against her wishes? If I were Janice, I'd never so much as look at thee."
"I'm tired o' drillin' rocks; I want to be in the fields again; I want to see the grain growin'; I want the dirt in the furrows at home; I want old Pensylvanny; I want my folks; I'm done, boys, I'm done, I'm done . . .!" And with these words he buried his face in his hands. "Oh, mother, an-gel mother, are you waitin' " sang the Minstrel, dolefully.
Seeing as how I was drillin' around at 6:30 in a doorway up opposite the Café Caroni it looked like I would. But I'd seen Chuck Dempsey drift in all dolled up sporty, and then Mirabelle. As for Vincent, he was right on the dot, as usual. He wasn't tickled to death to find me waitin' for him, either. "Oh, I say, Torchy!" he protests. "You wouldn't want to make it a threesome, eh?" I suggests.
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