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Updated: June 14, 2025
They were soon up again, and scrambled over the earthworks. For a minute the explosion was succeeded by a deathlike stillness, broken only by the sound of the falling fragments; then from the whole circle of the British lines a great cheer of triumph rose up, while a yell of fury answered them from the enemy's intrenchments. "Any loss?" was Mr. Gubbins' first question.
Anyhow I put it on, an' he looked at me so earnest an' ses with a sigh, `Betsy, ses he, `it minds me o' my grandmother, an' she was a good old soul brought me up, Betsy, she did. Wear it for her sake an' mine. I make a present of it to you." "Ah! Betsy," said Marie, "the Reverend Gubbins must be a wag, I suspect." "W'at's a wag, Marie?" "Don't you know what a wag is?" "Oh, yis, I know.
It took 'em some time to make up their minds about it, but at last it was settled that Peter Gubbins was to stand Bob Pretty the beer; Ted Brown, who was well known for his 'ot temper, and Joe Smith was to 'ave the quarrel; and Henery Walker was to slip in and steal the hamper, and 'ide the things up at his place. Bob Pretty fell into the trap at once.
A little distance from Gubbins' house the procession joined a larger one with the day's victims from the other parts of the garrison a total of twenty-four, young and old. At the head of the procession walked the Rev. Mr. Polehampton, one of the chaplains, who was distinguished for the bravery and self-devotion with which he labored among the sick and wounded.
"Look at Gubbins!" cried one of his comrades; "blest if he hasn't been taking a cast of hisself in clay. Going to have a marble statty, old man?" "You ought to have a photo taken to send home to your sweetheart, Jim." "Pity it's the end of February, and not the beginning; what a lovely valentine he would make, surely."
The Thirty-second men then returned to the brigade messroom, and the garrison of the fort were about to turn in when Mr. Gubbins said cheerfully: "Now, lads, we have done with those fellows for to-day, I fancy. I want some volunteers to bury those horses which were killed yesterday; it's an unpleasant job, but it's got to be done."
Bunnett was passing and Peter Gubbins walked past 'is house one day with ole Mrs. Broad's cat in 'is arms. A bad-tempered old cat it was, and, wot with Peter kissing the top of its 'ead and calling of it Tiddleums, it nearly went out of its mind. "The fust time Mr. Bunnett see Bob Pretty was about a week arter he'd offered that gold watch.
And near hereto's the Gubbins' cave; A people that no knowledge have Of law, of God, or men; Whom Caesar never yet subdued, Who've lawless liv'd; of manners rude; All savage in their den. By whom, if any pass that way, He dares not the least time to stay, For presently they howl; Upon which signal they do muster Their naked forces in a cluster Led forth by Roger Rowle."
"It's easy to laugh at a chap," spluttered Gubbins, "but this stuff tastes awful; and however shall I clean myself for inspection?" "Never mind, old chap, you'll be confined to barracks, and then them Johnnies with the spears can't get at you."
A splendid silver inkstand was made, and engraved with an appropriate inscription; the curate was invited to a public breakfast, at the before-mentioned Goat and Boots; the inkstand was presented in a neat speech by Mr. Gubbins, the ex-churchwarden, and acknowledged by the curate in terms which drew tears into the eyes of all present—the very waiters were melted.
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