Soldiers Three - Part 2

“‘Ye’re callin’ the wrong man,’ he sez, wid his gentleman’s smile; ‘Larry has been dead these three years. They call him “Love-o’-Women” now,’ he sez. By that I knew the ould divil was in him yet, but the ind av a fight is no time for the beginnin’ av confession, so we sat down an’ talked av times.’

“‘They tell me you’re a married man,’ he sez, puffing slow at his poipe. ‘Are ye happy?’

“‘I will be whin I get back to Depot,’ I sez. ‘’Tis a reconnaissance honeymoon now.’

“‘I’m married too,’ he sez, puffin’ slow an’ more slow, an’ stopperin’ wid his forefinger.

“‘Sind you happiness,’ I sez. ‘That’s the best hearin’ for a long time.’

“‘Are ye av that opinion?’ he sez; an’ thin he began talkin’ av the campaign. The sweat av Silver’s Theatre was not dhry upon him, an’ he was prayin’ for more work. I was well contint to lie and listen to the cook-pot lids.

“Whin he got up off the ground he shtaggered a little, an’ laned over all twisted.

“‘Ye’ve got more than ye bargained for,’ I sez. ‘Take an inventory, Larry. ‘Tis like you’re hurt.’

“He turned round stiff as a ramrod an’ damned the eyes av me up an’ down for an impartinent Irish-faced ape. If that had been in barricks, I’d ha’ stretched him an’ no more said; but ‘twas at the Front, an’ afther such a fight as Silver’s Theatre I knew there was no callin’ a man to account for his timpers. He might as well ha’ kissed me. Aftherwards I was well pleased I kept my fistes home. Then our Captain Crook — Cruik-na-bul-leen — came up. He’d been talkin’ to the little orf’cer bhoy av the Tyrone. ‘We’re all cut to windystraws,’ he sez, ‘but the Tyrone are damned short for noncoms. Go you over there, Mulvaney, an’ be Deputy-Sergeant, Corp’ral, Lance, an’ everything else ye can lay hands on till I bid you stop.’

“‘I wint over an’ tuk hould. There was wan sergeant left standin’, an’ they’d pay no heed to him. The remnint was me, an’ ‘twas high time I came. Some I talked to, an’ some I did not, but before night the bhoys av the Tyrone stud to attention, begad, if I sucked on my poipe above a whishper. Betune you an’ me an’ Bobs, I was commandin’ the company, an’ that was what Cruik had thransferred me for, an’ the little orf’cer bhoy knew ut, and I knew ut, but the comp’ny did not. And there, mark you, is the vartue that no money an’ no dhrill can buy — the vartue av the ould soldier that knows his orf’cer’s work an’ does ut — at the salute!

“Thin the Tyrone, wid the Ould Rig’mint in touch, was sint maraudin’ and prowlin’ acrost the hills promishcuous an’ unsatisfactory. ‘Tis my privit opinion that a gin’ral does not know half his time fwhat to do wid three-quarthers his command. So he shquats on his hunkers an’ bids thim run round an’ round forninst him while he considhers on ut. Whin by the process av nature they get sejuced into a big fight that was none av their seekin’, he sez: ‘Obsarve my shuparior janius! I meant ut to come so.’ We ran round an’ about, an’ all we got was shootin’ into the camp at night, an’ rushin’ empty sungars wid the long bradawl, an’ bein’ hit from behind rocks till we was wore out — all except Love-o’-Women. That puppy-dog business was mate an’ dhrink to him. Begad, he cud niver get enough av ut. Me well knowin’ that it is just this desultorial campaignin’ that kills the best men, an’ suspicionin’ that if I was cut the little orf’cer bhoy wud expind all his men in thryin’ to get out, I wud lie most powerful doggo whin I heard a shot, an’ curl my long legs behind a bowlder, an’ run like blazes whin the ground was clear. Faith, if I led the Tyrone in rethreat wanst I led them forty times. Love-o’-Women wud stay pottin’ an’ pottin’ from behind a rock, and wait till the fire was heaviest, an’ thin stand up an’ fire man-height clear. He wud lie out in camp too at night snipin’ at the shadows, for he niver tuk a mouthful av slape. My commandin’ orf’cer — save his little soul! — cud not see the beauty av of my strategims, an’ whin the Ould Rig’mint crossed us, an’ that was wanst a week, he’d throt off to Cruik, wid his big blue eyes as round as saucers, an’ lay an information against me. I heard thim wanst talkin’ through the tent-wall, an’ I nearly laughed.

“‘He runs — runs like a hare,’ sez the little orf’cer bhoy. ‘’Tis demoralisin’ my men.’

“‘Ye damned little fool,’ sez Cruik, laughin’. ‘He’s larnin’ you your business. Have ye been rushed at night yet?’

“‘No,’ sez the child, wishful that he had been.

“‘Have you any wounded?’ sez Cruik.

“‘No,’ he sez. ‘There was no chanst for that. They follow Mulvaney too quick,’ he sez.

“‘Fwhat more do you want, thin?’ sez Cruik. ‘Terence is bloodin’ you neat an’ handy,’ he sez. ‘He knows fwhat you do not, an’ that’s that there’s a time for ivrything. He’ll not lead you wrong,’ he sez, ‘but I’d give a month’s pay to larn fwhat he thinks av you.’

“That kept the babe quiet, but Love-o’-Women was pokin’ at me for ivrything I did, an’ specially my manoeuvres.

“‘Mr. Mulvaney,’ he sez wan evenin’, very contempshus, ‘you’re growin’ very jeldy wid your feet. Among gentlemen,’ he sez, ‘among gentlemen that’s called no pretty name.’

“‘Among privits ‘tis different,’ I sez. ‘Get back to your tent. I’m sergeant here,’ I sez.

“There was just enough in the voice av me to tell him he was playin’ wid his life betune his teeth. He wint off, an’ I noticed that this man that was contempshus set off from the halt wid a shunt as tho’ he was bein’ kicked behind. That same night there was a Paythan picnic in the hills about, an’ firin’ into our tents fit to wake the livin’ dead. ‘Lie down all,’ I sez. ‘Lie down an’ kape still. They’ll no more than waste ammunition.’

“I heard a man’s feet on the ground, an’ thin a ‘Tini joinin’ in the chorus. I’d been lyin’ warm, thinkin’ av Dinah an’ all, but I crup out wid the bugle for to look round in case there was a rush, an’ the ‘Tini was flashin’ at the fore-ind av the camp, an’ the hill near by was fair flickerin’ wid long-range fire. Undher the starlight I beheld Love-o’-Women settin’ on a rock wid his belt and helmet off. He shouted wanst or twice, an’ thin I heard him say: ‘They should ha’ got the range long ago. Maybe they’ll fire at the flash.’ Thin he fired again, an’ that dhrew a fresh volley, and the long slugs that they chew in their teeth came floppin’ among the rocks like tree-toads av a hot night. ‘That’s better,’ sez Love-o’-Women. ‘Oh Lord, how long, how long!’ he sez, an’ at that he lit a match an’ held ut above his head.

“‘Mad,’ thinks I, ‘mad as a coot,’ an’ I tuk wan stip forward, an’ the nixt I knew was the sole av my boot flappin’ like a cavalry gydon an’ the funny-bone av my toes tinglin’. ‘Twas a clane-cut shot — a slug — that niver touched sock or hide, but set me bare-fut on the rocks. At that I tuk Love-o’-Women by the scruff an’ threw him under a bowlder, an’ whin I sat down I heard the bullets patterin’ on that good stone.

“‘Ye may dhraw your own wicked fire,’ I sez, shakin’ him, ‘but I’m not goin’ to be kilt too.’

“Ye’ve come too soon,’ he sez. ‘Ye’ve come too soon. In another minute they cud not ha’ missed me. Mother av God,’ he sez, ‘fwhy did ye not lave me be? Now ‘tis all to do again,’ an’ he hides his face in his hands.

“‘So that’s it,’ I sez, shakin’ him again. ‘That’s th manin’ av your disobeyin’ ordhers.’

“‘I dare not kill meself,’ he sez, rockin’ to and fro. ‘My own hand wud not let me die, and there’s not a bullet this month past wud touch me. I’m to die slow,’ he sez. ‘I’m to die slow. But I’m in hell now,’ he sez, shriekin’ like a woman. ‘I’m in hell now!’

“‘God be good to us all,’ I sez, for I saw his face. ‘Will ye tell a man the throuble. If ‘tis not murder, maybe we’ll mend it yet.’

“At that he laughed. ‘D’you remimber fwhat I said in the Tyrone barricks about comin’ to you for ghostly consolation. I have not forgot,’ he sez. ‘That came back, an’ the rest av my time is on me now, Terence. I’ve fought ut off for months an’ months, but the liquor will not bite any more, Terence,’ he sez. ‘I can’t get dhrunk.’

“Thin I knew he spoke the truth about bein’ in hell, for whin liquor does not take hould, the sowl av a man is rotten in him. But me bein’ such as I was, fwhat could I say to him?

“‘Di’monds an’ pearls,’ he begins again. ‘Di’monds and pearls I have thrown away wid both hands — an’ fwhat have I left? Oh, fwhat have I left?’

“He was shakin’ an’ thremblin’ up against my shouldher, an’ the slugs was singin’ overhead, an’ I was wonderin’ whether my little bhoy wud have sinse enough to kape his men quiet through all this firin’.

“‘So long as I did not think,’ sez Love-o’-Women, ‘so long I did not see — I wud not see — but I can now, what I’ve lost. The time an’ the place,’ he sez, ‘an’ the very words I said whin ut pleased me to go off alone to hell. But thin, even thin,’ he sez, wrigglin’ tremenjus, ‘I wud not ha’ been happy. There was too much behind av me. How cud I ha’ believed her sworn oath — me that have bruk mine again an’ again for the sport av seein’ thim cry. An’ there are the others,’ he sez. ‘Oh, what will I do — what will I do’?’ He rocked back an’ forward again, an’ I think he was cryin’ like wan av the women he dealt wid.

“The full half av fwhat he said was Brigade Ordhers to me, but from the rest an’ the remnint I suspicioned somethin’ av his throuble. ‘Twas the judgmint av God had grup the heel av him, as I tould him ‘twould in the Tyrone barricks. The slugs was singin’ over our rock more an’ more, an’ I sez for to divart him: ‘Let bad alone,’ I sez. ‘They’ll be thryin’ to rush the camp in a minut’.’

“I had no more than said that whin a Paythan man crep’ up on his belly wid his knife betune his teeth, not twinty yards from us. Love-o’-Women jumped up an’ fetched a yell, an’ the man saw him an’ ran at him (he’d left his rifle under the rock) wid the knife. Love-o’-Women niver turned a hair, but by the Living Power, for I saw ut, a stone twisted under the Paythan man’s feet an’ he came down full sprawl, an’ his knife wint tinklin’ acrost the rocks! ‘I tould you I was Cain,’ sez Love-o’-Women.’ ‘Fwhat’s the use av killin’ him? He’s an honest man — by compare.’

“I was not dishputin’ about the morils av Paythans that tide, so I dhropped Love-o’-Women’s burt acrost the man’s face, an’ ‘Hurry into camp,’ I sez, ‘for this may be the first av a rush.’

“There was no rush afther all, though we waited undher arms to give thim a chanst. The Paythan man must ha’ come alone for the mischief, an’ afther a while Love-o’-Women wint back to his tint wid that quare lurchin’ sind-off in his walk that I cud niver undherstand. Begad, I pitied him, an’ the more bekaze he made me think for the rest av the night av the day whin I was confirmed Corp’ril, not actin’ Lef’tenant, an’ my thoughts was not good.

“Ye can undherstand that afther that night we came to talkin’ a dale together, an’ bit by bit ut came out fwhat I’d suspicioned. The whole av his carr’in’s on an’ divilmints had come back on him hard as liquor comes back whin you’ve been on the dhrink for a wake. All he’d said an’ all he’d done, an’ only he cud tell how much that was, come back, an’ there was niver a minut’s peace in his sowl. ‘Twas the Horrors widout any cause to see, an’ yet, an’ yet — fwhat am I talkin’ av? He’d ha’ taken the Horrors wid thankfulness. Beyon’ the repentince av the man, an’ that was beyon’ the natur av man — awful, awful, to behould! — there was more that was worst than any repentince. Av the scores an’ scores that he called over in his mind (an’ they were dhrivin’ him mad), there was, mark you, wan woman av all, an’ she was not his wife, that cut him to the quick av his marrow. ‘Twas there he said that he’d thrown away di’monds an’ pearls past count, an’ thin he’d begin again like a blind byle in an oil-mill, walkin’ round an’ round, to considher (him that was beyond all touch av being happy this side hell!) how happy he wud ha’ been wid her. The more he considhered, the more he’d consate himself that he’d lost mighty happiness, an’ thin he wud work ut all backwards, an’ cry that he niver cud ha’ been happy anyways.

“Time an’ time an’ again in camp, on p’rade, ay, an’ in action, I’ve seen that man shut his eyes an’ duck his head as you wud duck to the flicker av a bay’nit. For ‘twas thin he tould me that the thought av all he’d missed came an’ stud forninst him like red-hot irons. For what he’d done wid the others he was sorry, but he did not care; but this wan woman that I’ve tould of, by the Hilts av God she made him pay for all the others twice over! Niver did I know that a man cud enjure such tormint widout his heart crackin’ in his ribs, an’ I have been” — Terence turned the pipe-stem slowly between his teeth — “I have been in some black cells. All I iver suffered tho’ was not to be talked of alongside av him... an’ what could I do? Paternosters was no more than peas for his sorrow.

“Evenshually we finished our prom’nade acrost the hills, and thanks to me for the same, there was no casualties an’ no glory. The campaign was comin’ to an ind, an’ all the rig’mints was bein’ drawn together for to be sint back home. Love-o’-Women was mighty sorry bekaze he had no work to do, an’ all his time to think in. I’ve heard that man talkin’ to his belt-plate an’ his side-arms while he was soldierin’ thim, all to prevint himself from thinkin’, an’ ivry time he got up afther he had been settin’ down or wint on from the halt, he’d start wid that kick an’ traverse that I tould you of — his legs sprawlin’ all ways to wanst. He wud niver go see the docthor, tho’ I tould him to be wise. He’d curse me up an’ down for my advice; but I knew he was no more a man to be reckoned wid than the little bhoy was a commandin’ orf’cer, so I let his tongue run if it aised him.

“Wan day — ‘twas on the way back — I was walkin’ round camp wid him, an’ he stopped an’ struck ground wid his right fut three or four times doubtful. ‘Fwhat is ut?’ I sez. ‘Is that ground?’ sez he; an’ while I was thinkin’ his mind was goin’, up comes the docthor, who’d been anatomisin’ a dead bullock. Love-o’-Women starts to go on quick, an’ lands me a kick on the knee while his legs was gettin’ into marchin’ ordher.

“Hould on there,’ sez the docthor; an’ Love-o’-Women’s face, that was lined like a gridiron, turns red as brick.

“‘Tention,’ says the docthor; an’ Love-o’-Women stud so. ‘Now shut your eyes,’ sez the docthor. ‘No, ye must not hould by your comrade.’

“‘Tis all up,’ sez Love-o’-Women, trying to smile. ‘I’d fall, docthor, an’ you know ut.’

“‘Fall?’ I sez. ‘Fall at attention wid your eyes shut! Fwhat do you mane?’

“The docthor knows,’ he sez. ‘I’ve hild up as long as I can, but begad I’m glad ‘tis all done. But I will die slow,’ he sez, ‘I will die very slow.’

“I cud see by the docthor’s face that he was mortial sorry for the man, an’ he ordhered him to hospital. We wint back together, an’ I was dumbstruck; Love-o’-Women was cripplin’ and crumblin’ at ivry step. He walked wid a hand on my shoulder all slued sideways, an’ his right leg swingin’ like a lame camel. Me not knowin’ more than the dead fwhat ailed him, ‘twas just as though the docthor’s word had done ut all — as if Love-o’-Women had but been waitin’ for the ordher to let go.

“In hospital he sez somethin’ to the docthor that I could not catch.

“‘Holy shmoke!’ sez the docthor, ‘an’ who are you to be givin’ names to your diseases? ‘Tis ag’in’ all the regulations.’

“‘I’ll not be a privit much longer,’ sez Love-o’-Women in his gentleman’s voice, an’ the docthor jumped.