by this remark, when it was at once perceived, although
it had hitherto escaped the observation even of the
officers, that, not only the shoes were those usually
worn by the soldiers, and termed ammunition or store
shoes, but also, the trowsers were of the description of
coarse grey, peculiar to that class.

"By the piper that played before Moses, and ye're right,
Dick Doherty," exclaimed another Irishman; "sure, and it
isn't the officer at all! Just look at the great black
fist of him too, and never call me Phil Shehan, if it
ever was made for the handling of an officer's spit."

"Well said, Shehan," observed the man who had so warmly
reproved Will Burford, and who had formerly been servant
to De Haldimar; "the captain's hand is as white and as
soft as my cross-belt, or, what's saying a great deal
more, as Miss Clara's herself, heaven bless her sweet
countenance! and Lieutenant Valletort's nigger's couldn't
well be much blacker nor this."

"What a set of hignoramuses ye must be," grunted old
Mitchell, "not to see that the captain's hand is only
covered with dirt; and as for the ammunition shoes and
trowsers, why you know our officers wear any thing since
we have been cooped up in this here fort."

"Yes, by the holy poker," (and here we must beg to refer
the reader to the soldier's vocabulary for any terms that
may be, in the course of this dialogue, incomprehensible