From the Flashman Papers of 1856-1858 by George MacDonald Fraser

A noteable excerpt from the relief of Lucknow

I could hear Kavanaugh breathing heavily—the brute positively panted in Irish—and whispered to him again to remember to leave any talking to me. "Oi will, Flashy, Oi will," says he, lumbering along and stumbling over his ridiculous sword.

...The thing was a farce from the start. By the time we had slipped over the rampart and made our way threough the pitch dark down to the bank of the Goomtee, I had realised that I was in company with an irresonsible lunatic, who had no real notion of what he was doing. Even while we were stripping for our swim, he suddenly jerked his head up, at the sound of a faint plop out on the water.

..."That's trout afther minnow," says he, and then there was another louder plop. "An' that's otter afther trout," says he with satisfaction. "Are ye a fisherman, are ye?". Before I could hush his babbling, he had suddenly seized my hand—and him standing there bollock-naked with his togs piled on his head—and said fervently:

..."D'ye know what—we're goin' to doi wan o' the deeds that saved the Impoire, so we are! An' Oi don't moind tellin' ye somethin' else—for the first toime in me loife, Oi'm scared!"

..."The first time!" squeaks I, but already he was plunging in with a splash like the launching of the Great Eastern, puffing and striking out in the dark, leaving me with the appalling realisation that for once I was in the company of someone as terrified as myself. It was desperate—I mean, on previous enterprises of this kind I'd been used to relying on some gallant idiot who could keep his head, but here I was with this buffoon who was not only mad Irish, but was plainly drunk with the idea of playing Dick Champion, the Saviour of the Side, and was trembling in his boots at the same time. Furthermore, he was given to daydreaming about trouts and otters at inappropriate moments, and had no more idea of moving silently than a bear with a ball and chain. But there was nothing for it now; I slid into the freezing waterand swam the half-furlong to the far bank, where he was standing on one leg in the mud, hauling his clothes on, and making a deuce of a row about it.

	Comment:
	Being partly of Irish stock myself (from the right side of the border) I can appreciate Kavanaugh's glibness and somewhat self-righteously adamant sense of what is right!
	Maybe that's what wins V.C.'s.
	As a side note to the html menu's introductory words on Wellington: Arthur Wellesley was born in Dublin.