The three parties kept in company, and passed through the town of
Portsmouth. The washerwoman lived outside the Lines, and there they
proceeded, Snarleyyow very much in spirits at being able to eat the
grass, which his health very much required. They walked on until they
arrived at a large elm-tree, on the side of the road, which lay between
two hedges and ditches.
"This will do," observed the corporal solemnly. "Mein Gott! I wish it
was over," continued he, wiping the perspiration from his bull-forehead.
"How shall we kill him, corporal?" inquired Smallbones.
"Mein Gott! knock him head against de tree, I suppose."
"Yes, and bury him in the ditch. Here, dog--Snarleyyow--here, dog," said
Smallbones; "come, a poor doggy--come here."
But Snarleyyow was not to be coaxed by Smallbones; he suspected
treachery.
"He won't a-come to me, corporal, or I'd soon settle his hash," observed
Smallbones.
The corporal had now got over a little panic which had seized him. He
called Snarleyyow, who came immediately. Oh! had he imagined what the
corporal was about to do, he might have died like Caesar, exclaiming, "Et
tu Brute," which, in plain English means, "and you--you brute.
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