stains, the gold threads on the crowned harp were frayed and
discoloured, and the Red Bull, the totem of the Mavericks, was
coffee-hued. The stiff, embroidered folds, whose price is human
life, rustled down slowly. The Mavericks keep their colours long
and guard them very sacredly.

"Vittoria, Salamanca, Toulouse, Waterloo, Moodkee, Ferozshah, an'
Sobraon - that was fought close next door here, against the very
beggars he wants us to join. Inkerman, The Alma, Sebastopol! 'What
are those little businesses compared to the campaigns of General
Mulcahy? The Mut'ny, think o' that; the Mut'ny an' some dirty
little matters in Afghanistan; an' for that an' these an' those" -
Dan pointed to the names of glorious battles - "that Yankee man
with the partin' in his hair comes an' says as easy as 'have a
drink' . . . Holy Moses, there's the captain!"

But it was the mess-sergeant who came in just as the men clattered
out, and found the colours uncased.

From that day dated the mutiny of the Mavericks, to the joy of
Mulcahy and the pride of his mother in New York - the good lady
who sent the money for the beer. Never, so far as words went, was
such a mutiny. The conspirators, led by Dan Grady and Horse Egan,
poured in daily. They were sound men, men to be trusted, and they
all wanted blood; but first they must have beer. They cursed the
Queen, they mourned over Ireland, they suggested hideous plunder
of the Indian country-side, and then, alas - some of the younger
men would go forth and wallow on the ground in spasms of wicked
laughter The genius of the Irish for conspiracies is remarkable.
None the less they would swear no oaths but those of their own