psychological moment that was being prepared by the shrieking
shrapnel. Therefore the Mavericks lay down in open order on the
brow of a hill to watch the play till their call should come.
Father Dennis, whose duty was in the rear, to smooth the trouble
of the wounded, had naturally managed to make his way to the
foremost of his boys, and lay like a black porpoise, at length on
the grass. To him crawled Mulcahy, ashen-gray, demanding
absolution.

"'Wait till you're shot," said Father Dennis sweetly. "There's a
time for everything."

Dan Grady chuckled as he blew for the fiftieth time into the
breech of his speckless rifle. Mulcahy groaned and buried his head
in his arms till a stray shot spoke like a snipe immediately above
his head, and a general heave and tremour rippled the line. Other
shots followed and a few took effect, as a shriek or a grunt
attested. The officers, who had been lying down with the men, rose
and began to walk steadily up and down the front of their
companies.

This manoeuvre, executed, not for publication, but as a guarantee
of good faith, to soothe men, demands nerve. You must not hurry,
you must not look nervous, though you know that you are a mark for
every rifle within extreme range, and above all if you are smitten
you must make as little noise as possible and roll inwards through
the files. It is at this hour, when the breeze brings the first
salt whiff of the powder to noses rather cold at the tip, and the
eye can quietly take in the appearance of each red casualty, that
the strain on the nerves is strongest. Scotch regiments can endure