Publisher's Synopsis
'Mary, Mother av Mercy, fwhat the divil possist us to take an' kape this melancolious counthry?Answer me that, Sorr.'It was Mulvaney who was speaking. The time was one o'clock of a stifling June night, and theplace was the main gate of Fort Amara, most desolate and least desirable of all fortresses in India.What I was doing there at that hour is a question which only concerns M'Grath the Sergeant of theGuard, and the men on the gate.'Slape, ' said Mulvaney, 'is a shuparfluous necessity. This gyard'll shtay lively till relieved.' Hehimself was stripped to the waist; Learoyd on the next bedstead was dripping from the skinful ofwater which Ortheris, clad only in white trousers, had just sluiced over his shoulders; and a fourthprivate was muttering uneasily as he dozed open-mouthed in the glare of the great guard-lantern.The heat under the bricked archway was terrifying.'The worrst night that iver I remimber. Eyah! Is all Hell loose this tide?' said Mulvaney. A puff ofburning wind lashed through the wicket-gate like a wave of the sea, and Ortheris swore.'Are ye more heasy, Jock?' he said to Learoyd. 'Put yer 'ead between your legs. It'll go orf in aminute.''Ah don't care. Ah would not care, but ma heart is plaayin' tivvy-tivvy on ma ribs. Let me die! Oh, leave me die!' groaned the huge Yorkshireman, who was feeling the heat acutely, being of fleshlybuild.The sleeper under the lantern roused for a moment and raised himself on his elbow.-'Die and bedamned then!' he said. 'I'm damned and I can't die!''Who's that?' I whispered, for the voice was new to m
