"'The two battalions
advanced against each other cannonading, until the French, coming to a
hollow way, imagined that the English would not venture to pass it. But
Major Lawrence ordered the sepoys and artillery--the sepoys and artillery
to halt and defend the convoy against the Morattoes"--Morattoes Orme
calls 'em. Ho! ho! I could repeat whole pages, sir."
"It is the best book that ever was written," calls out Clive. The Colonel
said he had not read it, but he was informed Mr. Mill's was a very
learned history; he intended to read it. "Eh! there is plenty of time
now," said the good Colonel. "I have all day long at Grey Friars,--after
chapel, you know. Do you know, sir, when I was a boy I used what they
call to tib out and run down to a public-house in Cistercian Lane--the
Red Cowl sir,--and buy rum there? I was a terrible wild boy, Clivy. You
weren't so, sir, thank Heaven! A terrible wild boy, and my poor father
flogged me, though I think it was very hard on me. It wasn't the pain,
you know: it wasn't the pain, but----" Here tears came into his eyes and
he dropped his head on his hand, and the cigar from it fell on to the
floor, burnt almost out, and scattering white ashes.
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