The officers
lay down again. There was no need to walk any more. Their men were
soothing themselves thunderously, thus -
St. Mary in Heaven has written the vow
That the land shall not rest till the heretic blood,
From the babe at the breast to the hand at the plough,
Has rolled to the ocean like Shannon in flood!
"I'll speak to you after all's over," said Father Dennis
authoritatively in Dan's ear. "What's the use of confessing to me
when you do this foolishness? Dan, you've been playing with fire!
I'll lay you more penance in a week than -"
"Come along to Purgatory with us, Father dear. The Boneens are on
the move; they'll let us go now!"
The regiment rose to the blast of the bugle as one man; but one
man there was who rose more swiftly than all the others, for half
an inch of bayonet was in the fleshy part of his leg.
"You've got to do it," said Dan grimly. "Do it decent, anyhow;"
and the roar of the rush drowned his words, for the rear companies
thrust forward the first, still singing as they swung down the
slope -
From the child at the breast to the hand at the plough
Shall roll to the ocean like Shannon in flood!
They should have sung it in the face of England, not of the
Afghans, whom it impressed as much as did the wild Irish yell.
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