The sergeant whispered to him, and his eye ranged the little chamber
till it fell on me.

"Ha!" he cried. "You here! Sergeant, here's one prisoner for you, at any
rate."

Two soldiers seized me, and I was marched away towards Dublin. About
noon the party halted, and the soldiers lay down and chatted on a patch
of grass, while my own thoughts turned sadly back to the friend I had
known.

Suddenly I heard a song sung by a voice I knew, and afterwards a loud
clapping of hands. Darby M'Keown was there in the midst of the soldiers,
and as I turned to look at him, my hand came in contact with a
clasp-knife. I managed with it to free my arms from the ropes that
fastened them, but what was to be done next?

"I didn't think much of that song of yours," said one of the soldiers.
"Give us 'The British Grenadiers.'"

"I never heard them play but onst, sir," said Darby, meekly, "and they
were in such a hurry I couldn't pick up the tune."

"What d'you mean?"

"'Twas the day but one after the French landed, and the British
Grenadiers was running away."

The party sprang to their legs, and a shower of curses fell upon the
piper.