"You've only got to point to a bottle of water, or to the fire, or whatever else you want, and swear at them, and they understand directly.

I've tried it myself, over and over again." "There, Tim, it's no use standing talking any longer.

Bring in the moonshee." From that moment, the little man had his permanent post in a corner of the boys' room; and, when they were not on duty, they were constantly engaged in studying the language, writing down the names of every object they came across and getting it by heart, and learning every sentence, question, and answer which occurred to them as likely to be useful.
As for Tim, he quite lost patience at this devotion to study on the part of his master; who, he declared to his comrades, went on just as if he intended to become a nigger and a hathen himself.
"It's just awful to hear him, Corporal M'Bean, jabbering away in that foreign talk, with that little black monkey moonshine.

The little cratur a-twisting his shrivelled fingers about, that looks as if the bones were coming through the skin.

I wonder what the good father at Blarney, where I come from, you know, Corporal, would say to sich goings on.