"That is good, Terence; and now, do you think that you could bring me up
just a taste of the cratur?"

"The divil a drop, O'Grady; if Daly and O'Flaherty both say that you are
not to have it, it is certain that it is bad for you. But I'll tell you
what I will do; I have one bottle of whisky left, and I will promise you
that it sha'n't be touched till you are well enough to drink it, and if we
are marched away, as I suppose we shall be, I will hand it over to
O'Flaherty to give you when you are fit to take it. He tells me that he
will be left to look after the wounded when we move."

"I could not trust him, Terence; I would hand over a bag of gold uncounted
to him, but as for whisky, the temptation would be too great for an
Irishman to resist. Look here, you put it into a wooden box and nail it up
securely, and write on it 'O'Grady's arm,' and hand it over to him
solemnly, and tell him that I have a fancy for burying the contents
myself, which will be true enough, though it is me throat I mean to bury
it in."

Knowing that it was best they should be left in quiet, Terence soon left
them and returned to the regiment.

"Well, Dick, what did you think of a battle?" he asked his chum.

"I don't quite know what I did think. It does not seem to me that I
thought much about it at all, what with the noise of the firing and the
shouting of the men, and the whistle overhead of the French round shot,
and the men cheering, the French shouting and the excitement, there was no
time for thinking at all. From the time the skirmishers came running up