roppin', that girds the
soul av yer.' Aw, the sight it was, the sight it was! The b'ys of the
rigimint shtandin' shoulder to shoulder, an' the faces av 'm blue wid
powder, an' red wid blood, an' the bits o' b'ys droppin' round me loike
twigs of an' ould tree in a shtorm. Just a cry an' a bit av a gurgle
tru the teeth, an' divil the wan o' thim would see the Liffey side anny
more. "'The Roosians are chargin'!' shouts Sergeant-Major Kilpatrick.
'The Roosians are chargin'--here they come!' Shtandin' besoide me was a
bit of a lump of a b'y, as foine a lad as ever shtood in the boots of
me rigimint--aw! the look of his face was the look o' the dead. 'The
Roosians are comin'--they're chargin'!' says Sergeant-Major Kilpatrick,
and the bit av a b'y, that had nothin' to eat all day, throws down
his gun and turns round to run. Eighteen years old he was, only
eighteen--just a straight slip of a lad from Malahide. 'Hould on!
Teddie,' says I, 'hould on! How'll yer face yer mother if yer turn yer
back on the inimy of yer counthry?' The b'y looks me in the eyes long
enough to wink three times, picks up his gun, an' shtood loike a rock,
he did, till the Roosians charged us, roared on us, an' I saw me slip of
a b'y go down under the sabre of a damned Cossack. 'Mother!' I heard him
say, 'Mother!' an' that's all I heard him say--and the mother waitin'
away aff there by the Liffey soide. Aw, wurra, wurra, the b'ys go down
to battle and the mothers wait at home! Some of the b'ys come back, but
the most of thim shtay where the battle laves 'em. Wurra, wurra, many's
the b'y wint down that day by Alma River, an' niver come back! "There
I was shtandin', when hell broke loose on the b'ys of me rigimint, and
divil the wan o' me knows if I killed a Roosian that day or not. But
Sergeant-Major Kilpatrick--a bit of a liar was the Sergeant-Major--says
he: 'It was tin ye killed, Kilquhanity.' He says that to me the noight
that I left the rigimint for ever, and all the b'ys shtandin' round and
liftin' lasses an' saying, 'Kilquhanity! Kilquhanity! Kilquhanity!'
as if it was sugar and honey in their mouths. Aw, the sound of it!
'Kilquhanity,' says he, 'it was tin ye killed;' but aw, b'ys, the
Sergeant-Major was an awful liar. If he could be doin' annybody anny
good by lyin', shure he would be lyin' all the time.

"But it's little I know how many I killed, for I was killed meself that
day. A Roosian sabre claved the shoulder and neck of me, an' down I
wint