Chapter VIII

And continted and aisy he went, wanst he saw he’d made shift to conthrive
That the message he had in his mind ’ud go safe. For sez I: ‘Man alive,
I’ll be tellin’ your people at home the first chance I can git, good or bad,
How thimselves, and the ould place you quit, was the last thought that ever you had;
And I’ll bid thim be thinkin’ of you, whin they hear the bird cry on our bog.
Your poor mother, an’ father, an’ the childher, an’ their little ould rogue of a dog,
Ne’er a wan you’re forgettin’,’ sez I; and bedad any fool might ha’ known,
For the manin’ he meant wid his call was as clear as a bugle blown.
And our rifles wint crack be the gateway, and now and agin wid a plop
Come a bullet dhruv deep in the sand--’twas the divil dhrill-sowin’ his crop--
And a priest legged it up to the top of the tower, and stood risin’ a yell
For the rest to be sayin’ their prayers, like as if ’twas our angely bell.
But it’s little Jack heeded; for sure his own folk, and th’ ould counthry, and all
Were come nearer than near, and gone further than far, along wid that curlew’s call.