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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 481/821
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—
An
imperial
yeomanry
,
says
Lenehan
,
to
celebrate
the
occasion
.
—
Half
one
,
Terry
,
says
John
Wyse
,
and
a
hands
up
.
Terry
!
Are
you
asleep
?
—
Yes
,
sir
,
says
Terry
.
Small
whisky
and
bottle
of
Allsop
.
Right
,
sir
.
Hanging
over
the
bloody
paper
with
Alf
looking
for
spicy
bits
instead
of
attending
to
the
general
public
.
Picture
of
a
butting
match
,
trying
to
crack
their
bloody
skulls
,
one
chap
going
for
the
other
with
his
head
down
like
a
bull
at
a
gate
.
And
another
one
:
Black
Beast
Burned
in
Omaha
,
Ga
.
A
lot
of
Deadwood
Dicks
in
slouch
hats
and
they
firing
at
a
Sambo
strung
up
in
a
tree
with
his
tongue
out
and
a
bonfire
under
him
.
Gob
,
they
ought
to
drown
him
in
the
sea
after
and
electrocute
and
crucify
him
to
make
sure
of
their
job
.
—
But
what
about
the
fighting
navy
,
says
Ned
,
that
keeps
our
foes
at
bay
?
—
I
’
ll
tell
you
what
about
it
,
says
the
citizen
.
Hell
upon
earth
it
is
.
Read
the
revelations
that
’
s
going
on
in
the
papers
about
flogging
on
the
training
ships
at
Portsmouth
.
A
fellow
writes
that
calls
himself
Disgusted
One
.
So
he
starts
telling
us
about
corporal
punishment
and
about
the
crew
of
tars
and
officers
and
rearadmirals
drawn
up
in
cocked
hats
and
the
parson
with
his
protestant
bible
to
witness
punishment
and
a
young
lad
brought
out
,
howling
for
his
ma
,
and
they
tie
him
down
on
the
buttend
of
a
gun
.
—
A
rump
and
dozen
,
says
the
citizen
,
was
what
that
old
ruffian
sir
John
Beresford
called
it
but
the
modern
God
’
s
Englishman
calls
it
caning
on
the
breech
.
And
says
John
Wyse
:
