Damme, gentlemen, we must all die some time, or another, eh ?' The voice coughed, and said no more.
Joe walked into the room.

A group of half-a-dozen fellows had gathered together in the taproom, and were listening with greedy ears.

One of them, a carter in a smockfrock, seemed wavering and disposed to enlist.
The rest, who were by no means disposed, strongly urged him to do so (according to the custom of mankind), backed the serjeant's arguments, and grinned among themselves.

'I say nothing, boys,' said the serjeant, who sat a little apart, drinking his liquor.

'For lads of spirit'-- here he cast an eye on Joe--'this is the time.