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Updated: May 28, 2025
After his fifth glass, when he would become dignified, "Ould Michael" would drop his brogue and speak of himself as "Sergeant McGrath, late of Her Majesty's Ninety-third Highlanders," Irishman though he was. Though he had passed his sixtieth year, he was still erect and brisk enough in his movement, save for a slight hitch in his left leg. "A touch of a knife," he explained, "in the Skoonder Bag."
"The where?" "Skoonder Bag, forninst the walls the Lucknow to the left over, ye understand." "I'm ashamed to say I don't," I answered, feeling that I was on the track of a yarn. He looked at me pityingly. "Ye've heard av Sir Colin?" He was not going to take anything for granted. I replied hastily: "Sir Colin Campbell, of course."
"Well, we was followin' Sir Colin up to the belagured city when we run into the Skoonder Bag big stone walls and windys high up, and full av min, like a jail, or a big disthillery."
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