JOHN TALBOT (_with the anger of a man whose nerves are strained almost beyond endurance_). What should I see but Cromwell's watch-fires along the boreen? What else should I see, and the night as black as the mouth of hell? What else should I see, and a pest choke your throat with your fool's questions, Dick Fenton! (_Resumes his watch._) FENTON (_as who should say: "I thank you!"_). God 'a' mercy--_Captain_ Talbot! (_Resumes his singing._) DRISCOLL. God's love! I bade ye have a care, Myles Butler. BUTLEK (_tying the last bandage_). It's a stout heart you have in you, Phelimy Driscoll--you to be crying out for a scratch. It's better you would have been, you and the like of you, to be stopping at home with your mother. (_Rises and takes up his musket from the corner by the fireplace._) DRISCOLL. You--you dare--you call me--coward? Ye black liar! I'll lesson ye! I'll-- (_Tries to rise, but in the effort sways weakly forward and rests with his head upon the stool which_ BUTLER _has quitted._) BUTLER. A'Heaven's name, ha' done with that hanging tune! Ha' done, Dick Fenton! We're not yet at the gallows' foot. (_Joins_ JOHN TALBOT _at the shot-windows._) FENTON. Nay, Myles, for us 'tis like to be nothing half so merry as the gallows. BUTLER. Hold your fool's tongue! NEWCOMBE (_crying out in his sleep_). Oh! Oh! JOHN TALBOT. What was that? FENTON. 'Twas naught but young Newcombe that cried out in the clutch of a nightmare. BUTLER. 'Tis time Kit Newcombe rose and stood his watch. JOHN TALBOT (_leaving the window_). Nay, 'tis only a boy. Let him sleep while he can! Let him sleep! BUTLER. Turn and turn at the watch, 'tis but fair. Stir yonder sluggard awake, Dick! FENTON. Aye. (_Starts to rise._) JOHN TALBOT. Who gives commands here? Sit you down, Fenton! To your place, Myles Butler! BUTLER. Captain of the Gate! D'ye mark the high tone of him, Dick? JOHN TALBOT (_tying a fresh bandage about his hand_). You're out there, Myles. There is but one Captain of the Gate of Connaught--he who set me here--my cousin, Hugh Talbot. BUTLER (_muttering_). Aye, and it's a deal you'll need to be growing, ere you fill Hugh Talbot's shoes. JOHN TALBOT. And that's a true word! But 'twas Hugh Talbot's will that I should command, here at the Bridge of Cashala. And as long as breath is in me I-- DRISCOLL (_raising his head heavily_). Water! Water! Myles! Dick! Will ye give me to drink, lads? Jack Talbot! I'm choked wi' thirst. JOHN TALBOT. There's never a drop of water left us, Phelimy, lad. FENTON. Owen Bourke drained the last of it, God rest him! BUTLER. 'Tis likely our clever new Captain of the Gate will hit on some shift to fill our empty casks. (DRISCOLL _rises heavily._) JOHN TALBOT. Not the new Captain of the Gate. The old Captain of the Gate--Hugh Talbot. He'll be here this day--this hour, maybe. FENTON. That tale grows something old, Jack Talbot. JOHN TALBOT. He swore he'd bring us succor. He--