“But the worst of it was the loss of our colours, that hung dangling in the church of San Nicholas, where the brave Sir Samuel Auchmuty had suffered so much, and was compelled to surrender; but that was a sad job to make the most of it, and all through the treachery and cowardice of Whitelocke, bad luck to his powthered fiz-hog. But the colours, your honour, oh, didn’t they stick in my gizzard, sure? and so I spoke a word or two about it to my ould comrade, Corporal Blacketer. ‘What’s to be done,’ says he. ‘Arrah, dacently walk off with them,’ says I. ‘How’s that?’ says he. So seeing he had no liking to the matter, I was obliged to close my chather-box, and soon after we sailed down the river. “Well, about two years afterwards, an ill wind blow’d me there again, and I couldn’t help going to take a sly peep. Oh, didn’t I get into a big rage, sure, when they struck like a blight upon my eyes? ‘Oh Paddy, (says I) twig ’em, and take shame to yourself for not dislodging them from their height;’ and so it bothered me night and day, your honour, that I couldn’t slape a wink, nor ever cease to think of it while waking. “Well, one evening Jerry Driscoll and meself were ashore, taking a sup of the cratur. Jerry was a broth of a boy, and knew that two and two made five when his own ugly mug was shoved in to balance the account. He was a blue jacket, your honour, belonging to a sloop of war. ‘Arrah Jerry, (says I) shall we do the thing?’--‘Faith and we will, (says he) and the more by token that they have stuck the bunting up!’ as indeed they had, your honour, with R. M. B. on it, for Royal Marine Battalion. So when night came, off we set with a long rope and got safe into the middle of the centre of the church, and clapped ourselves in ambush clane out of sight where nobody could see us.