Part 70 (2/2)
divil, when it's five innocent men ye blew to death with that trumpet-- five--I give ye me word.”
”How was that?” asked Claverton.
”Well, in this way,” went on the other, delighted to find a new listener whom he could regale with Armitage's delinquencies. ”Ye see the fellow kicked up such a s.h.i.+lloo that every one tumbled out like mad, thinkin'
the camp was attacked, and the Fingo levies there, began lettin' off their guns as hard as they could bang. They knocked over five of their own men and winged a lot besides, and the bullets were flying about all over the place. As soon as they could be prevailed on to cease fire, and the cause of the scare was known, no end of fellows came cruising up this way, wanting to find the chap who'd sounded the alarm, but Jack, the villain, he stowed away the old trumpet and joined in the search louder than any of them, and it hasn't been seen or heard of since.
Anyhow, he killed five innocent men wid his infernal old bray, and about thirteen of 'em--well, I was hard at work for hours next morning dhiggin' out the bullets their chums had plugged 'em wid, and nately they'd done it, too. One chap had his--”
”Oh, don't go lugging your old butcher's shop in here, Dennis,”
interrupted Armitage. ”Even at your own trade you're the clumsiest old sawbones that ever hoodwinked the examiners and slipped through.”
”Clumsy, am I? The divil!” cried McShane, who was accompanying the colonial forces in the capacity of surgeon. ”Wait till I get me probes into ye, Master Jack Armitage--some of these days when ye get a couple of pot-legs through ye--and we'll see if it's clumsy I am.”
”Oh, hang it, Jim, only listen to the fellow. Do put an extinguisher on him. If we must have a butcher, at any rate he might leave the shop outside.”
There was a laugh.
”Wait a bit, Jack, me boy. It's meself who'll live to hear ye change your tone, as sure as me name's Dennis McShane!” cried the other.
”Well, this is lively sort of talk,” put in Barlow, who was of a melancholy disposition, except when ”elevated,” and then he was uproarious to a degree. ”Haven't you two fellows ever heard of the proverb, 'Many a true word spoken in jest'?”
”If Jack gets. .h.i.t now at any time, he ought to sue the doctor for big damages,” said Naylor, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
”Or make him put him right for nothing,” said Jim.
”An' that's what I'll do, faith,” said the Irishman, ”an' it's mighty small he'll sing when the time comes.”
”You! I wouldn't have you digging for bullets in me, if I had to carry them for the rest of my natural life,” cried Armitage in withering scorn. ”If it came to that I'd send across for old Pollock. A blacksmith's better than a butcher under those circ.u.mstances, and being a Cornishman he might understand lead mining.”
”An' if it was in your head he had to look for the lead, it's a bull's-eye lanthern he'd want, for he'd find it mighty foggy in there, I'm thinkin',” retorted McShane.
”By Jove, Dennis,” cried Armitage, suddenly, ”It's deuced queer that I never noticed it before; but as you sit there you're the very image of poor Walker--Obadiah Walker.”
”I am, am I? An' who the divil is Obadiah Walker?”
”The man who wouldn't help himself and wouldn't pa.s.s the bottle, though I must say that it's only in the last particular the likeness holds good.”
”The bottle!” cried McShane, amid the roar that followed, for it was not often that even such an old hand as Jack managed to get a rise out of the astute Milesian. ”Is it this one ye mane?” holding it up to the light. ”Because, if so, she's come to an end--as the gossoon said when he slid down the cow's tail and she kicked him into the praist's strawberry bed.”
There was other sign of the bottle having come to an end, and it needed not the misadventure of the too-enterprising youth just quoted, to support the announcement, for Barlow having pa.s.sed out of the confidential stage, during which he had endeavoured to impart to Claverton, who was sitting next to him, his whole family history and circ.u.mstances, was beginning to wax extremely talkative, his utterance increasing in levity in proportion to its thickness. Armitage, who had his eye upon the unconscious sinner, was meditating what practical joke, that would bear the additional charm of originality, he could play off upon him as soon as it should be time to convey him to his own tent, when a tremendous row was heard outside--voices in remonstrance, and, loud above them, one screaming out torrents of imprecation upon everything and everybody. Quickly they all turned out, and there, not half-a-dozen yards off, stood a man of tall, powerful build, brandis.h.i.+ng a revolver, while following on his footsteps, but keeping their respectful distance, were at least a dozen others. The fellow was mad drunk, and, as he stood there in the uncertain light, raving and dancing as he flourished his weapon, and bellowing out the most awful blasphemies, he looked quite formidable enough to afford a very sufficient excuse to the onlookers for their scrupulous and praiseworthy resolve to refrain from interfering in what was not their business. An infuriated drunkard brandis.h.i.+ng a loaded six-shooter, is not an attractive person to interfere with.
Quickly McShane stepped up to the raving giant.
”See here, Flint,” he said, in his persuasive Irish way. ”What's all this about, now?”
The madman glared at him and started back a pace, gnas.h.i.+ng his teeth and foaming at the mouth.
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