‘Thin I will assume that ye have not. _I_ did. In the days av my youth,
as I have more than wanst tould you, I was a man that filled the eye an’
delighted the sowl av women. Niver man was hated as I have bin. Niver
man was loved as I--no, not within half a day’s march av ut! For the
first five years av my service, whin I was what I wud give my sowl to be
now, I tuk whatever was within my reach an’ digested ut--an that’s
more than most men can say. Dhrink I tuk, an’ ut did me no harm. By the
Hollow av Hiven, I cud play wid four women at wanst, an’ kape them from
findin’ out anythin’ about the other three, an’ smile like a full-blown
marigold through ut all. Dick Coulhan, av the battery we’ll have down on
us to-night, could drive his team no betther than I mine, an’ I hild
the worser cattle! An’ so I lived, an’ so I was happy till afther
that business wid Annie Bragin--she that turned me off as cool as a
meat-safe, an’ taught me where I stud in the mind av an honest woman.
‘Twas no sweet dose to swallow.
‘Afther that I sickened awhile an’ tuk thought to my reg’mental work;
conceiting mesilf I wud study an’ be a sergint, an’ a major-gineral
twinty minutes afther that. But on top av my ambitiousness there was an
empty place in my sowl, an’ me own opinion av mesilf cud not fill ut.
Sez I to mesilf, “Terence, you’re a great man an’ the best set-up in the
reg’mint. Go on an’ get promotion.” Sez mesilf to me, “What for?” Sez
I to mesilf, “For the glory av ut!” Sez mesilf to me, “Will that fill
these two strong arrums av yours, Terence?” “Go to the devil,” sez I
to mesilf. “Go to the married lines,” sez mesilf to me. “‘Tis the same
thing,” sez I to mesilf. “Av you’re the same man, ut is,” said mesilf
to me; an’ wid that I considhered on ut a long while. Did you iver feel
that way, sorr?’
I snored gently, knowing that if Mulvaney were uninterrupted he would
go on. The clamour from the bivouac fires beat up to the stars, as the
rival singers of the companies were pitted against each other.
‘So I felt that way an’ a bad time ut was. Wanst, bein’ a fool, I
wint into the married lines more for the sake av spakin’ to our ould
colour-sergint Shadd than for any thruck wid women-folk. I was a
corp’ril then--rejuced aftherwards, but a corp’ril then. I’ve got a
photograft av mesilf to prove ut. “You’ll take a cup av tay wid us?” sez
Shadd. “I will that,” I sez, “tho’ tay is not my divarsion.”
‘“‘Twud be better for you if ut were,” sez ould Mother Shadd, an’
she had ought to know, for Shadd, in the ind av his service, dhrank
bung-full each night.
‘Wid that I tuk off my gloves--there was pipe-clay in thim, so that they
stud alone--an’ pulled up my chair, lookin’ round at the china ornaments
an’ bits av things in the Shadds’ quarters. They were things that
belonged to a man, an’ no camp-kit, here to-day an’ dishipated next.
“You’re comfortable in this place, sergint,” sez I. “‘Tis the wife
that did ut, boy,” sez he, pointin’ the stem av his pipe to ould Mother
Shadd, an’ she smacked the top av his bald head apon the compliment.
“That manes you want money,” sez she.
‘An’ thin--an’ thin whin the kettle was to be filled, Dinah came in--my
Dinah--her sleeves rowled up to the elbow an’ her hair in a winkin’
glory over her forehead, the big blue eyes beneath twinklin’ like
stars on a frosty night, an’ the tread av her two feet lighter than
waste-paper from the colonel’s basket in ord’ly-room whin ut’s emptied.
Bein’ but a shlip av a girl she went pink at seein’ me, an’ I twisted me
moustache an’ looked at a picture forninst the wall. Niver show a
woman that ye care the snap av a finger for her, an’ begad she’ll come
bleatin’ to your boot-heels!’
‘I suppose that’s why you followed Annie Bragin till everybody in the
married quarters laughed at you,’ said I, remembering that unhallowed
wooing and casting off the disguise of drowsiness.
‘I’m layin’ down the gin’ral theory av the attack,’ said Mulvaney,
driving his boot into the dying fire. ‘If you read the Soldier’s
Pocket Book, which niver any soldier reads, you’ll see that there
are exceptions. Whin Dinah was out av the door (an’ ‘twas as tho’ the
sunlight had shut too)--“Mother av Hiven, sergint,” sez I, “but is that
your daughter?”--“I’ve believed that way these eighteen years,” sez ould
Shadd, his eyes twinklin’; “but Mrs. Shadd has her own opinion, like
iv’ry woman,”--“‘Tis wid yours this time, for a mericle,” sez Mother
Shadd. “Thin why in the name av fortune did I niver see her before?”
sez I. “Bekaze you’ve been thrapesin’ round wid the married women these
three years past. She was a bit av a child till last year, an’ she shot
up wid the spring,” sez ould Mother Shadd. “I’ll thrapese no more,” sez
I. “D’you mane that?” sez ould Mother Shadd, lookin’ at me side-ways
like a hen looks at a hawk whin the chickens are runnin’ free. “Try me,
an’ tell,” sez I. Wid that I pulled on my gloves, dhrank off the tay,
an’ went out av the house as stiff as at gin’ral p’rade, for well I knew
that Dinah Shadd’s eyes were in the small av my back out av the scullery
window. Faith! that was the only time I mourned I was not a cav’lry-man
for the pride av the spurs to jingle.
‘I wint out to think, an’ I did a powerful lot av thinkin’, but ut all
came round to that shlip av a girl in the dotted blue dhress, wid the
blue eyes an’ the sparkil in them. Thin I kept off canteen, an’ I kept
to the married quarthers, or near by, on the chanst av meetin’ Dinah.
Did I meet her? Oh, my time past, did I not; wid a lump in my throat as
big as my valise an’ my heart goin’ like a farrier’s forge on a Saturday
morning? ‘Twas “Good day to ye, Miss Dinah,” an’ “Good day t’you,
corp’ril,” for a week or two, and divil a bit further could I get bekaze
av the respect I had to that girl that I cud ha’ broken betune finger
an’ thumb.’
Here I giggled as I recalled the gigantic figure of Dinah Shadd when she
handed me my shirt.
‘Ye may laugh,’ grunted Mulvaney. ‘But I’m speakin’ the trut’, an
‘tis you that are in fault. Dinah was a girl that wud ha’ taken the
imperiousness out av the Duchess av Clonmel in those days. Flower hand,
foot av shod air, an’ the eyes av the livin’ mornin’ she had that is my
wife to-day--ould Dinah, and niver aught else than Dinah Shadd to me.
‘’Twas after three weeks standin’ off an’ on, an’ niver makin’ headway
excipt through the eyes, that a little drummer-boy grinned in me face
whin I had admonished him wid the buckle av my belt for riotin’ all over
the place. “An’ I’m not the only wan that doesn’t kape to barricks,”
sez he. I tuk him by the scruff av his neck,--my heart was hung on a
hair-thrigger those days, you will onderstand--an’ “Out wid ut,” sez I,
“or I’ll lave no bone av you unbreakable.”--“Speak to Dempsey,” sez he
howlin’. “Dempsey which?” sez I, “ye unwashed limb av Satan.”--“Av the
Bob-tailed Dhragoons,” sez he. “He’s seen her home from her aunt’s
house in the civil lines four times this fortnight.”--“Child!” sez
I, dhroppin’ him, “your tongue’s stronger than your body. Go to your
quarters. I’m sorry I dhressed you down.”
‘At that I went four ways to wanst huntin’ Dempsey. I was mad to think
that wid all my airs among women I shud ha’ been chated by a basin-faced
fool av a cav’lry-man not fit to trust on a trunk. Presintly I found
him in our lines--the Bobtails was quartered next us--an’ a tallowy,
topheavy son av a she-mule he was wid his big brass spurs an’ his
plastrons on his epigastrons an’ all. But he niver flinched a hair.
‘“A word wid you, Dempsey,” sez I. “You’ve walked wid Dinah Shadd four
times this fortnight gone.”
‘“What’s that to you?” sez he. “I’ll walk forty times more, an’ forty on
top av that, ye shovel-futted clod-breakin’ infantry lance-corp’ril.”
‘Before I cud gyard he had his gloved fist home on my cheek an’ down
I went full-sprawl. “Will that content you?” sez he, blowin’ on his
knuckles for all the world like a Scots Greys orf’cer. “Content!” sez
I. “For your own sake, man, take off your spurs, peel your jackut, an’
onglove. ‘Tis the beginnin’ av the overture; stand up!”
‘He stud all he know, but he niver peeled his jackut, an’ his shoulders
had no fair play. I was fightin’ for Dinah Shadd an’ that cut on my
cheek. What hope had he forninst me? “Stand up,” sez I, time an’ again
whin he was beginnin’ to quarter the ground an’ gyard high an’ go large.
“This isn’t ridin’-school,” I sez. “O man, stand up an’ let me get in
at ye.” But whin I saw he wud be runnin’ about, I grup his shtock in
my left an’ his waist-belt in my right an’ swung him clear to my right
front, head undher, he hammerin’ my nose till the wind was knocked out
av him on the bare ground. “Stand up,” sez I, “or I’ll kick your head
into your chest!” and I wud ha’ done ut too, so ragin’ mad I was.
‘“My collar-bone’s bruk,” sez he. “Help me back to lines. I’ll walk wid
her no more.” So I helped him back.’
‘And was his collar-bone broken?’ I asked, for I fancied that only
Learoyd could neatly accomplish that terrible throw.
‘He pitched on his left shoulder-point. Ut was. Next day the news was in
both barricks, an’ whin I met Dinah Shadd wid a cheek on me like all the
reg’mintal tailor’s samples there was no “Good mornin’, corp’ril,”
or aught else. “An’ what have I done, Miss Shadd,” sez I, very bould,
plantin’ mesilf forninst her, “that ye should not pass the time of day?”
‘“Ye’ve half-killed rough-rider Dempsey,” sez she, her dear blue eyes
fillin’ up.
‘“May be,” sez I. “Was he a friend av yours that saw ye home four times
in the fortnight?”
‘“Yes,” sez she, but her mouth was down at the corners. “An’--an’ what’s
that to you?” she sez.
‘“Ask Dempsey,” sez I, purtendin’ to go away.
‘“Did you fight for me then, ye silly man?” she sez, tho’ she knew ut
all along.
‘“Who else?” sez I, an’ I tuk wan pace to the front.
‘“I wasn’t worth ut,” sez she, fingerin’ in her apron,
‘“That’s for me to say,” sez I. “Shall I say ut?”
‘“Yes,” sez she in a saint’s whisper, an’ at that I explained mesilf;
and she tould me what ivry man that is a man, an’ many that is a woman,
hears wanst in his life.
‘“But what made ye cry at startin’, Dinah, darlin’?’” sez I.
‘“Your--your bloody cheek,” sez she, duckin’ her little head down on my
sash (I was on duty for the day) an’ whimperin’ like a sorrowful angil.
‘Now a man cud take that two ways. I tuk ut as pleased me best an’ my
first kiss wid ut. Mother av Innocence! but I kissed her on the tip
av the nose an’ undher the eye; an’ a girl that let’s a kiss come
tumble-ways like that has never been kissed before. Take note av that,
sorr. Thin we wint hand in hand to ould Mother Shadd like two little
childher, an’ she said ‘twas no bad thing, an’ ould Shadd nodded behind
his pipe, an’ Dinah ran away to her own room. That day I throd on
rollin’ clouds. All earth was too small to hould me. Begad, I cud ha’
hiked the sun out av the sky for a live coal to my pipe, so magnificent
I was. But I tuk recruities at squad-drill instid, an’ began wid general
battalion advance whin I shud ha’ been balance-steppin’ them. Eyah! that
day! that day!’
A very long pause. ‘Well?’ said I.
‘’Twas all wrong,’ said Mulvaney, with an enormous sigh. ‘An’ I know
that ev’ry bit av ut was my own foolishness. That night I tuk maybe the
half av three pints--not enough to turn the hair of a man in his natural
senses. But I was more than half drunk wid pure joy, an’ that canteen
beer was so much whisky to me. I can’t tell how it came about, but
BEKAZE I had no thought for anywan except Dinah, BEKAZE I hadn’t slipped
her little white arms from my neck five minuts, BEKAZE the breath of her
kiss was not gone from my mouth, I must go through the married lines
on my way to quarters an’ I must stay talkin’ to a red-headed Mullingar
heifer av a girl, Judy Sheehy, that was daughter to Mother Sheehy, the
wife of Nick Sheehy, the canteen-sergint--the Black Curse av Shielygh be
on the whole brood that are above groun’ this day!
“‘An’ what are ye houldin’ your head that high for, corp’ril?” sez Judy.
“Come in an’ thry a cup av tay,” she sez, standin’ in the doorway. Bein’
an ontrustable fool, an’ thinkin’ av anything but tay, I wint.
‘“Mother’s at canteen,” sez Judy, smoothin’ the hair av hers that was
like red snakes, an’ lookin’ at me cornerways out av her green cats’
eyes. “Ye will not mind, corp’ril?”
‘“I can endure,” sez I; ould Mother Sheehy bein’ no divarsion av mine,
nor her daughter too. Judy fetched the tea things an’ put thim on the
table, leanin’ over me very close to get thim square. I dhrew back,
thinkin’ av Dinah.
‘“Is ut afraid you are av a girl alone?” sez Judy.
‘“No,” sez I. “Why should I be?”
‘“That rests wid the girl,” sez Judy, dhrawin’ her chair next to mine.
‘“Thin there let ut rest,” sez I; an’ thinkin’ I’d been a trifle
onpolite, I sez, “The tay’s not quite sweet enough for my taste. Put
your little finger in the cup, Judy. ‘Twill make ut necthar.”
‘“What’s necthar?” sez she.
“‘Somethin’ very sweet,” sez I; an’ for the sinful life av me I cud not
help lookin’ at her out av the corner av my eye, as I was used to look
at a woman.
‘“Go on wid ye, corp’ril,” sez she. “You’re a flirrt.”
‘“On me sowl I’m not,” sez I.
‘“Then you’re a cruel handsome man, an’ that’s worse,” sez she, heaving
big sighs an’ lookin’ crossways.
‘“You know your own mind,” sez I.
‘“‘Twud be better for me if I did not,” she sez.
‘“There’s a dale to be said on both sides av that,” sez I, unthinkin’.
‘“Say your own part av ut, then, Terence, darlin’,” sez she; “for begad
I’m thinkin’ I’ve said too much or too little for an honest girl,” an’
wid that she put her arms round my neck an’ kissed me.
‘“There’s no more to be said afther that,” sez I, kissin’ her back
again--Oh the mane scutt that I was, my head ringin’ wid Dinah Shadd!
How does ut come about, sorr, that when a man has put the comether on
wan woman, he’s sure bound to put it on another? ‘Tis the same thing at
musketry. Wan day ivry shot goes wide or into the bank, an’ the next,
lay high lay low, sight or snap, ye can’t get off the bull’s-eye for ten
shots runnin’.’
‘That only happens to a man who has had a good deal of experience. He
does it without thinking,’ I replied.
‘Thankin’ you for the complimint, sorr, ut may be so. But I’m doubtful
whether you mint ut for a complimint. Hear now; I sat there wid Judy
on my knee tellin’ me all manner av nonsinse an’ only sayin’ “yes” an’
“no,” when I’d much better ha’ kept tongue betune teeth. An’ that was
not an hour afther I had left Dinah! What I was thinkin’ av I
cannot say. Presintly, quiet as a cat, ould Mother Sheehy came in
velvet-dhrunk. She had her daughter’s red hair, but ‘twas bald in
patches, an’ I cud see in her wicked ould face, clear as lightnin’, what
Judy wud be twenty years to come. I was for jumpin’ up, but Judy niver
moved.
‘“Terence has promust, mother,” sez she, an’ the could sweat bruk out
all over me. Ould Mother Sheehy sat down of a heap an’ began playin’ wid
the cups. “Thin you’re a well-matched pair,” she sez very thick. “For
he’s the biggest rogue that iver spoiled the queen’s shoe-leather” an’--
‘“I’m off, Judy,” sez I. “Ye should not talk nonsinse to your mother.
Get her to bed, girl.”
‘“Nonsinse!” sez the ould woman, prickin’ up her ears like a cat an’
grippin’ the table-edge. “‘Twill be the most nonsinsical nonsinse for
you, ye grinnin’ badger, if nonsinse ‘tis. Git clear, you. I’m goin’ to
bed.”
‘I ran out into the dhark, my head in a stew an’ my heart sick, but I
had sinse enough to see that I’d brought ut all on mysilf. “It’s this to
pass the time av day to a panjandhrum av hell-cats,” sez I. “What I’ve
said, an’ what I’ve not said do not matther. Judy an’ her dam will hould
me for a promust man, an’ Dinah will give me the go, an’ I desarve ut. I
will go an’ get dhrunk,” sez I, “an’ forget about ut, for ‘tis plain I’m
not a marrin’ man.”
‘On my way to canteen I ran against Lascelles, colour-sergint that was
av E Comp’ny, a hard, hard man, wid a torment av a wife. “You’ve the
head av a drowned man on your shoulders,” sez he; “an’ you’re goin’
where you’ll get a worse wan. Come back,” sez he. “Let me go,” sez I.
“I’ve thrown my luck over the wall wid my own hand!”--“Then that’s not
the way to get ut back again,” sez he. “Have out wid your throuble, ye
fool-bhoy.” An’ I tould him how the matther was.
‘He sucked in his lower lip. “You’ve been thrapped,” sez he. “Ju Sheehy
wud be the betther for a man’s name to hers as soon as can. An’ we
thought ye’d put the comether on her,--that’s the natural vanity of the
baste, Terence, you’re a big born fool, but you’re not bad enough
to marry into that comp’ny. If you said anythin’, an’ for all your
protestations I’m sure ye did--or did not, which is worse,--eat ut
all--lie like the father of all lies, but come out av ut free av Judy.
Do I not know what ut is to marry a woman that was the very spit
an’ image av Judy whin she was young? I’m gettin’ old an’ I’ve larnt
patience, but you, Terence, you’d raise hand on Judy an’ kill her in a
year. Never mind if Dinah gives you the go, you’ve desarved ut; never
mind if the whole reg’mint laughs you all day. Get shut av Judy an’ her
mother. They can’t dhrag you to church, but if they do, they’ll dhrag
you to hell. Go back to your quarters and lie down,” sez he. Thin over
his shoulder, “You MUST ha’ done with thim.”
‘Next day I wint to see Dinah, but there was no tucker in me as I
walked. I knew the throuble wud come soon enough widout any handlin’ av
mine, an’ I dreaded ut sore.
‘I heard Judy callin’ me, but I hild straight on to the Shadds’
quarthers, an’ Dinah wud ha’ kissed me but I put her back.
‘“Whin all’s said, darlin’,” sez I, “you can give ut me if ye will, tho’
I misdoubt ‘twill be so easy to come by then.”
‘I had scarce begun to put the explanation into shape before Judy an’
her mother came to the door. I think there was a verandah, but I’m
forgettin’.
‘“Will ye not step in?” sez Dinah, pretty and polite, though the Shadds
had no dealin’s with the Sheehys. Ould Mother Shadd looked up quick, an’
she was the fust to see the throuble; for Dinah was her daughter.
‘“I’m pressed for time to-day,” sez Judy as bould as brass; “an’ I’ve
only come for Terence,--my promust man. ‘Tis strange to find him here
the day afther the day.”
‘Dinah looked at me as though I had hit her, an’ I answered straight.
‘“There was some nonsinse last night at the Sheehys’ quarthers, an’
Judy’s carryin’ on the joke, darlin’,” sez I.
‘“At the Sheehys’ quarthers?” sez Dinah very slow, an’ Judy cut in wid:
“He was there from nine till ten, Dinah Shadd, an’ the betther half av
that time I was sittin’ on his knee, Dinah Shadd. Ye may look and ye may
look an’ ye may look me up an’ down, but ye won’t look away that Terence
is my promust man. Terence, darlin’, ‘tis time for us to be comin’
home.”
‘Dinah Shadd niver said word to Judy. “Ye left me at half-past
eight,” she sez to me, “an I niver thought that ye’d leave me for
Judy,--promises or no promises. Go back wid her, you that have to be
fetched by a girl! I’m done with you,” sez she, and she ran into her own
room, her mother followin’. So I was alone wid those two women and at
liberty to spake my sentiments.
‘“Judy Sheehy,” sez I, “if you made a fool av me betune the lights you
shall not do ut in the day. I niver promised you words or lines.”
‘“You lie,” sez ould Mother Sheehy, “an’ may ut choke you where you
stand!” She was far gone in dhrink.
‘“An’ tho’ ut choked me where I stud I’d not change,” sez I. “Go home,
Judy. I take shame for a decent girl like you dhraggin’ your mother out
bare-headed on this errand. Hear now, and have ut for an answer. I gave
my word to Dinah Shadd yesterday, an’, more blame to me, I was wid you
last night talkin’ nonsinse but nothin’ more. You’ve chosen to thry to
hould me on ut. I will not be held thereby for anythin’ in the world. Is
that enough?”
‘Judy wint pink all over. “An’ I wish you joy av the perjury,” sez she,
duckin’ a curtsey. “You’ve lost a woman that would ha’ wore her hand to
the bone for your pleasure; an’ ‘deed, Terence, ye were not thrapped...”
Lascelles must ha’ spoken plain to her. “I am such as Dinah is--‘deed
I am! Ye’ve lost a fool av a girl that’ll niver look at you again, an’
ye’ve lost what he niver had,--your common honesty. If you manage your
men as you manage your love-makin’, small wondher they call you the
worst corp’ril in the comp’ny. Come away, mother,” sez she.
‘But divil a fut would the ould woman budge! “D’you hould by that?” sez
she, peerin’ up under her thick gray eyebrows.
‘“Ay, an’ wud,” sez I, “tho’ Dinah give me the go twinty times. I’ll
have no thruck with you or yours,” sez I. “Take your child away, ye
shameless woman.”
“‘An’ am I shameless?” sez she, bringin’ her hands up above her head.
“Thin what are you, ye lyin’, schamin’, weak-kneed, dhirty-souled son
av a sutler? Am _I_ shameless? Who put the open shame on me an’ my child
that we shud go beggin’ through the lines in the broad daylight for
the broken word of a man? Double portion of my shame be on you, Terence
Mulvaney, that think yourself so strong! By Mary and the saints, by
blood and water an’ by ivry sorrow that came into the world since the
beginnin’, the black blight fall on you and yours, so that you may niver
be free from pain for another when ut’s not your own! May your heart
bleed in your breast drop by drop wid all your friends laughin’ at the
bleedin’! Strong you think yourself? May your strength be a curse to you
to dhrive you into the divil’s hands against your own will! Clear-eyed
you are? May your eyes see clear ivry step av the dark path you take
till the hot cindhers av hell put thim out! May the ragin’ dry thirst
in my own ould bones go to you that you shall niver pass bottle full
nor glass empty. God preserve the light av your onderstandin’ to you,
my jewel av a bhoy, that ye may niver forget what you mint to be an’ do,
whin you’re wallowin’ in the muck! May ye see the betther and follow the
worse as long as there’s breath in your body; an’ may ye die quick in
a strange land, watchin’ your death before ut takes you, an’ enable to
stir hand or foot!”
‘I heard a scufflin’ in the room behind, and thin Dinah Shadd’s hand
dhropped into mine like a rose-leaf into a muddy road.
‘“The half av that I’ll take,” sez she, “an’ more too if I can. Go home,
ye silly talkin’ woman,--go home an’ confess.”
‘“Come away! Come away!” sez Judy, pullin’ her mother by the shawl.
“‘Twas none av Terence’s fault. For the love av Mary stop the talkin’!”
“‘An’ you!” said ould Mother Sheehy, spinnin’ round forninst Dinah.
“Will ye take the half av that man’s load? Stand off from him,
Dinah Shadd, before he takes you down too--you that look to be a
quarther-master-sergeant’s wife in five years. You look too high, child.
You shall WASH for the quarther-master-sergeant, whin he plases to give
you the job out av charity; but a privit’s wife you shall be to the end,
an’ ivry sorrow of a privit’s wife you shall know and niver a joy but
wan, that shall go from you like the running tide from a rock. The pain
av bearin’ you shall know but niver the pleasure av giving the breast;
an’ you shall put away a man-child into the common ground wid niver a
priest to say a prayer over him, an’ on that man-child ye shall think
ivry day av your life. Think long, Dinah Shadd, for you’ll niver have
another tho’ you pray till your knees are bleedin’. The mothers av
childher shall mock you behind your back when you’re wringing over the
wash-tub. You shall know what ut is to help a dhrunken husband home an’
see him go to the gyard-room. Will that plase you, Dinah Shadd, that
won’t be seen talkin’ to my daughter? You shall talk to worse than
Judy before all’s over. The sergints’ wives shall look down on you
contemptuous, daughter av a sergint, an’ you shall cover ut all up wid a
smiling face when your heart’s burstin’. Stand off av him, Dinah Shadd,
for I’ve put the Black Curse of Shielygh upon him an’ his own mouth
shall make ut good.”
‘She pitched forward on her head an’ began foamin’ at the mouth. Dinah
Shadd ran out wid water, an’ Judy dhragged the ould woman into the
verandah till she sat up.
‘“I’m old an’ forlore,” she sez, thremblin’ an’ cryin’, “and ‘tis like I
say a dale more than I mane.”
‘“When you’re able to walk,--go,” says ould Mother Shadd. “This house
has no place for the likes av you that have cursed my daughter.”
‘“Eyah!” said the ould woman. “Hard words break no bones, an’ Dinah
Shadd’ll kape the love av her husband till my bones are green corn. Judy
darlin’, I misremember what I came here for. Can you lend us the bottom
av a taycup av tay, Mrs. Shadd?”
‘But Judy dhragged her off cryin’ as tho’ her heart wud break. An’ Dinah
Shadd an’ I, in ten minutes we had forgot ut all.’
‘Then why do you remember it now?’ said I.
‘Is ut like I’d forget? Ivry word that wicked ould woman spoke fell
thrue in my life aftherwards, an’ I cud ha’ stud ut all--stud ut
all--excipt when my little Shadd was born. That was on the line av march
three months afther the regiment was taken with cholera. We were betune
Umballa an’ Kalka thin, an’ I was on picket. Whin I came off duty the
women showed me the child, an’ ut turned on uts side an’ died as I
looked. We buried him by the road, an’ Father Victor was a day’s march
behind wid the heavy baggage, so the comp’ny captain read a prayer.
An’ since then I’ve been a childless man, an’ all else that ould Mother
Sheehy put upon me an’ Dinah Shadd. What do you think, sorr?’
I thought a good deal, but it seemed better then to reach out for
Mulvaney’s hand. The demonstration nearly cost me the use of three
fingers. Whatever he knows of his weaknesses, Mulvaney is entirely
ignorant of his strength.
‘But what do you think?’ he repeated, as I was straightening out the
crushed fingers.
My reply was drowned in yells and outcries from the next fire, where
ten men were shouting for ‘Orth’ris,’ ‘Privit Orth’ris,’ ‘Mistah
Or--ther--ris!’ ‘Deah boy,’ ‘Cap’n Orth’ris,’ ‘Field-Marshal Orth’ris,’
‘Stanley, you pen’north o’ pop, come ‘ere to your own comp’ny!’ And the
cockney, who had been delighting another audience with recondite and
Rabelaisian yarns, was shot down among his admirers by the major force.
‘You’ve crumpled my dress-shirt ‘orrid,’ said he, ‘an’ I shan’t sing no
more to this ‘ere bloomin’ drawin’-room.’
Learoyd, roused by the confusion, uncoiled himself, crept behind
Ortheris, and slung him aloft on his shoulders.
‘Sing, ye bloomin’ hummin’ bird!’ said he, and Ortheris, beating time
on Learoyd’s skull, delivered himself, in the raucous voice of the
Ratcliffe Highway, of this song:--
My girl she give me the go onst,
When I was a London lad,
An’ I went on the drink for a fortnight,
An’ then I went to the bad.
The Queen she give me a shillin’
To fight for ‘er over the seas;
But Guv’ment built me a fever-trap,
An’ Injia give me disease.
Chorus.
Ho! don’t you ‘eed what a girl says,
An’ don’t you go for the beer;
But I was an ass when I was at grass,
An’ that is why I’m ‘ere.
I fired a shot at a Afghan,
The beggar ‘e fired again,
An’ I lay on my bed with a ‘ole in my ‘ed;
An’ missed the next campaign!
I up with my gun at a Burman
Who carried a bloomin’ dah,
But the cartridge stuck and the bay’nit bruk,
An’ all I got was the scar.
Chorus.
Ho! don’t you aim at a Afghan
When you stand on the sky-line clear;
An’ don’t you go for a Burman
If none o’ your friends is near.
I served my time for a corp’ral,
An’ wetted my stripes with pop,
For I went on the bend with a intimate friend,
An’ finished the night in the ‘shop.’
I served my time for a sergeant;
The colonel ‘e sez ‘No!
The most you’ll see is a full C. B.’
[Footnote: Confined to barracks.]
An’...very next night ‘twas so.
Chorus.
Ho! don’t you go for a corp’ral
Unless your ‘ed is clear;
But I was an ass when I was at grass,
An’ that is why I’m ‘ere.
I’ve tasted the luck o’ the army
In barrack an’ camp an’ clink,
An’ I lost my tip through the bloomin’ trip
Along o’ the women an’ drink.
I’m down at the heel o’ my service
An’ when I am laid on the shelf,
My very wust friend from beginning to end
By the blood of a mouse was myself!
Chorus.
Ho! don’t you ‘eed what a girl says,
An’ don’t you go for the beer;
But I was an ass when I was at grass,
An’ that is why I’m ‘ere.
‘Ay, listen to our little man now, singin’ an’ shoutin’ as tho’
trouble had niver touched him. D’you remember when he went mad with the
home-sickness?’ said Mulvaney, recalling a never-to-be-forgotten season
when Ortheris waded through the deep waters of affliction and behaved
abominably. ‘But he’s talkin’ bitter truth, though. Eyah!
‘My very worst frind from beginnin’ to ind
By the blood av a mouse was mesilf!’
When I woke I saw Mulvaney, the night-dew gemming his moustache, leaning
on his rifle at picket, lonely as Prometheus on his rock, with I know
not what vultures tearing his liver.