ck on a frosty night. They was firin' all ways at wanst; but
over our hids into the shtrame.

'"Have you got your rifles?" sez Brazenose. "Got 'em!" sez Orth'ris.
"I've got that thief Mulvaney's for all my back-pay, an' she'll kick
my heart sick wid that blunderin' long shtock av hers."--"Go on!"
yells Brazenose, whippin' his sword out. "Go on an' take the town!
An' the Lord have mercy on our sowls!"

[Illustration: 'There was a _melly_ av a sumpshus kind for a
whoile.'--P. 187.]

'Thin the bhoys gave wan divastatin' howl, an' pranced into the dhark,
feelin' for the town, an' blindin' an' stiffin' like Cavalry Ridin'
Masters whin the grass pricked their bare legs. I hammered wid the
butt at some bamboo-thing that felt wake, an' the rest come an'
hammered contagious, while the _jingles_ was jingling, an' feroshus
yells from inside was shplittin' our ears. We was too close under the
wall for thim to hurt us.

'Evenshually, the thing, whatever ut was, bruk; an' the six-and-twinty
av us tumbled, wan after the other, naked as we was borrun, into the
town of Lungtungpen. There was a _melly_ av a sumpshus kind for a
whoile; but whether they tuk us, all white an' wet, for a new breed av
divil, or a new kind av dacoit, I don't know. They ran as though we
was both, an' we wint into thim, baynit an' butt, shriekin' wid
laughin'. There was torches in the shtreets, an' I saw little Orth'ris
rubbin' his showlther ivry time he loosed my long-shtock Martini; an'
Brazenose walkin' into the gang wid his sword, like Diarmid av the
Gowlden Collar--barring he hadn't a stitch av clothin' on him. We
diskivered elephints wid dacoits under their bellies, an', what wid
wan thing an' another, we was busy till mornin' takin' possession av
the town of Lungtungpen.

'Thin we halted an' formed up, the wimmen howlin' in the houses an'
Lift'nint Brazenose blushin' pink in the light av the mornin' sun.
'Twas the most ondasint p'rade I iver tuk a hand in. Foive-and-twenty
privits an' an orficer av the Line in review ordher, an' not as much
as wud dust a fife betune 'em all in the way of clothin'! Eight av us
had their belts an' pouches on; but the rest had gone in wid a handful
av cartridges an' the skin God gave thim. _They_ was as nakid as
Vanus.

'"Number off from the right!" sez the Lift'nint. "Odd numbers fall out
to dress; even numbers pathrol the town till relieved by the dressing
party." Let me tell you, pathrollin' a town wid not