JOHN TALBOT. Who gives commands here? Sit you down, Fenton! To
your place, Myles Butler!
BUTLER. Captain of the Gate! D'ye mark the high tone of him,
Dick?
JOHN TALBOT (_tying a fresh bandage about his hand_). You're out
there, Myles. There is but one Captain of the Gate of
Connaught--he who set me here--my cousin, Hugh Talbot.
BUTLER (_muttering_). Aye, and it's a deal you'll need to be
growing, ere you fill Hugh Talbot's shoes.
JOHN TALBOT. And that's a true word! But 'twas Hugh Talbot's will
that I should command, here at the Bridge of Cashala. And as long
as breath is in me I--
DRISCOLL (_raising his head heavily_). Water! Water! Myles! Dick!
Will ye give me to drink, lads? Jack Talbot! I'm choked wi'
thirst.
JOHN TALBOT. There's never a drop of water left us, Phelimy, lad.
FENTON. Owen Bourke drained the last of it, God rest him!
BUTLER. 'Tis likely our clever new Captain of the Gate will hit
on some shift to fill our empty casks.
(DRISCOLL _rises heavily._)
JOHN TALBOT. Not the new Captain of the Gate. The old Captain of
the Gate--Hugh Talbot. He'll be here this day--this hour, maybe.
FENTON. That tale grows something old, Jack Talbot.