a mark.

"What do they do with the pea-shooters?" inquires Tom.

"Do wi' 'em! why, peppers every one's faces as we comes near, 'cept
the young gals, and breaks windows wi' them, too, some on 'em shoots
so hard. Now 'twas just here last June, as we was a driving up the
first-day boys,[48] they was mendin' a quarter-mile of road, and there
was a lot of Irish chaps, reg'lar roughs, a breaking stones. As we
comes up, 'Now boys,' says young gent on the box (smart young fellow,
and desper't reckless), 'here's fun! let the Pats have it about the
ears.' 'God's sake, sir,' says Bob (that's my mate the coachman),
'don't go for to shoot at 'em, they'll knock us off the coach.'
'Coachee,' says young my lord, 'you ain't afraid; hoora, boys! let 'em
have it.' 'Hoora!' sings out the others, and fill their mouths chuck
full of peas to last the whole line. Bob, seeing as 'twas to come,
knocks his hat over his eyes, hollers to his 'osses, and shakes 'em
up, and away we goes up to the line on 'em, twenty miles an hour. The
Pats begin to hoora, too, thinking it was a runaway, and first lot on
'em stands grinnin' and wavin' their old hats as we comes abreast on
'em; and then you'd ha' laughed to see how took aback and choking
savage they looked, when they gets the peas a stinging all over 'em.
But bless you, the laugh weren't all of our side, sir, by a long way.
We was going so fast, and they was so took aback, that they didn't
take what was up till we was half-way up the line. Then 'twas 'Look
out all,' surely. They howls all down the line fit to frighten you,
some on 'em runs arter us and tries to clamber up behind, only we hits
'em over the fingers and pulls their hands off; one as had had it very
sharp act'ly[49] runs right at the leaders, as though he'd ketch 'em
by the heads, only luck'ly for him he misses his tip[50] and comes
over a heap o' stones first. The rest picks up stones, and gives it us
right away till we gets out of shot, the young gents holding out werry
manful with the pea-shooters and such stones as lodged on us, and a
pretty many there was, too. Then Bob picks hisself up again, and looks
at young gent on box werry solemn. Bob'd had a rum un[51] in the ribs,
which'd like to ha' knocked him off the box, or made him drop the
reins. Young gent on box picks hisself up, and so does we all, and
looks round to count damage. Box's head[52] cut open and his hat
gone; 'nother young gent's hat gone; mine knocked in at the side,