“Let be--let be,” said Mulvaney. “'Tis only wanst in a way I can talk
about the ould days.” Then to me--“Ye say Dhrumshticks is well, an' his
lady tu'? I niver knew how I liked the gray garron till I was shut
av him an' Asia.”--“Dhrumshticks” was the nickname of the Colonel
commanding Mulvaney's old regiment.--“Will you be seein' him again? You
will. Thin tell him”--Mulvaney's eyes began to twinkle--“tell him wid
Privit--”
“Mister, Terence,” interrupted Dinah Shadd. “Now the Divil an' all his
angils an' the Firmament av Hiven fly away wid the 'Mister,' an' the sin
av makin' me swear be on your confession, Dinah Shadd! Privit, I tell
ye. Wid Privit Mulvaney's best obedience, that but for me the last
time-expired wud be still pullin' hair on their way to the sea.”
He threw himself back in the chair, chuckled, and was silent.
“Mrs. Mulvaney,” I said, “please take up the whiskey, and don't let him
have it until he has told the story.”
Dinah Shadd dexterously whipped the bottle away, saying at the same
time, “'Tis nothing to be proud av,” and thus captured by the enemy,
Mulvaney spake:--
“'Twas on Chuseday week. I was behaderin' round wid the gangs on
the 'bankmint--I've taught the hoppers how to kape step an' stop
screechin'--whin a head-gangman comes up to me, wid about two inches av
shirt-tail hanging round his neck an' a disthressful light in his oi.
'Sahib,' sez he, 'there's a reg'mint an' a half av soldiers up at the
junction, knockin' red cinders out av ivrything an' ivrybody! They
thried to hang me in my cloth,' he sez, 'an' there will be murdher an'
ruin an' rape in the place before nightfall! They say they're comin'
down here to wake us up. What will we do wid our women-folk?'
“'Fetch my throlly!' sez I; 'my heart's sick in my ribs for a wink at
anything wid the Quane's uniform on ut. Fetch my throlly, an' six av the
jildiest men, and run me up in shtyle.'”
“He tuk his best coat,” said Dinah Shadd, reproachfully.
“'Twas to do honour to the Widdy. I cud ha' done no less, Dinah Shadd.
You and your digresshins interfere wid the coorse av the narrative. Have
you iver considhered fwhat I wud look like wid me head shaved as well as
me chin? You bear that in your mind, Dinah darlin'.
“I was throllied up six miles, all to get a shquint at that draf'.
I knew 'twas a spring draf' goin' home, for there's no rig'mint
hereabouts, more's the pity.”
“Praise the Virgin!” murmured Dinah Shadd. But Mulvaney did not hear.
“Whin I was about three-quarters av a mile off the rest-camp, powtherin'
along fit to burrst, I heard the noise av the men, an', on my sowl,
Sorr, I cud catch the voice av Peg Barney bellowin' like a bison wid the
belly-ache. You remimber Peg Barney that was in D Comp'ny--a red, hairy
scraun, wid a scar on his jaw? Peg Barney that cleared out the Blue
Lights' Jubilee meetin' wid the cook-room mop last year?
“Thin I knew ut was a draf' av the Ould Rig'mint, an' I was conshumed
wid sorrow for the bhoy that was in charge. We was harrd scrapin's at
any time. Did I iver tell you how Horker Kelley wint into clink nakid as
Phoebus Apollonius, wid the shirts av the Corp'ril an' file undher his
arrum? An' he was a moild man! But I'm digresshin'. 'Tis a shame both
to the rig'mints and the Arrmy sendin' down little orf'cer bhoys wid
a draf' av strong men mad wid liquor an' the chanst av gettin' shut av
India, an' niver a punishment that's fit to be given right down an' away
from cantonmints to the dock! 'Tis this nonsinse. Whin I am servin' my
time, I'm undher the Articles av War, an' can be whipped on the peg for
thim. But whin I've served my time, I'm a Reserve man, an' the Articles
av War haven't any hould on me. An orf'cer can't do anythin' to a
time-expired savin' confinin' him to barricks. 'Tis a wise rig'lation,
bekaze a time-expired does not have any barricks; bein' on the move
all the time. 'Tis a Solomon av a rig'lation, is that. I wud like to
be inthroduced to the man that made ut. 'Tis easier to get colts from a
Kibbereen horse-fair into Galway than to take a bad draf' over ten miles
av counthry. Consiquintly that rig'lation--for fear that the men wud be
hurt by the little orf'cer bhoy. No matther. The nearer my throlly came
to the rest-camp, the woilder was the shine, an' the louder was the
voice of Peg Barney. ''Tis good I am here,' thinks I to mysilf, 'for Peg
alone is employmint for two or three.' He bein', I well knew, as copped
as a dhrover.
“Faith, that rest-camp was a sight! The tent-ropes was all skew-nosed,
an' the pegs looked as dhrunk as the men--fifty av thim--the scourin's,
an' rinsin's, an' Divil's lavin's av the Ould Rig'mint. I tell you,
Sorr, they were dhrunker than any men you've ever seen in your mortial
life. How does a draf' get dhrunk? How does a frog get fat? They suk ut
in through their shkins.
“There was Peg Barney sittin' on the groun' in his shirt--wan shoe off
an' wan shoe on--whackin' a tent-peg over the head wid his boot, an'
singin' fit to wake the dead. 'Twas no clane song that he sung, though.
'Twas the Divil's Mass.”
“What's that?” I asked.
“Whin a bad egg is shut av the Army, he sings the Divil's Mass for
a good riddance; an' that manes swearin' at ivrything from the
Commandher-in-Chief down to the Room-Corp'ril, such as you niver in your
days heard. Some men can swear so as to make green turf crack! Have you
iver heard the Curse in an Orange Lodge? The Divil's Mass is ten times
worse, an' Peg Barney was singin' ut, whackin' the tent-peg on the head
wid his boot for each man that he cursed. A powerful big voice had Peg
Barney, an' a hard swearer he was whin sober. I stood forninst him, an'
'twas not me oi alone that cud tell Peg was dhrunk as a coot.
“Good mornin', Peg,' I sez, whin he dhrew breath afther dursin' the
Adj'tint-Gen'ral; 'I've put on my best coat to see you, Peg Barney,' sez
I.
“Thin take Ut off again,' sez Peg Barney, latherin' away wid the boot;
'take ut off an' dance, ye lousy civilian!'
“Wid that he begins cursin' ould Dhrumshticks, being so full he dane
disrernimbers the Brigade-Major an' the Judge-Advokit-Gen'ral.
“Do you not know me, Peg?' sez I, though me blood was hot in me wid
being called a civilian.”
“An' him a decent married man!” wailed Dinah Shadd.
“I do not,” sez Peg, “but dhrunk or sober I'll tear the hide off your
back wid a shovel whin I've stopped singin.”
“'Say you so, Peg Barney?' sez I. ''Tis clear as mud you've forgotten
me. I'll assist your autobiography.' Wid that I stretched Peg Barney,
boot an' all, an' wint into the camp. An awful sight ut was!
“'Where's the orf'cer in charge av the detachment?' sez I to Scrub
Greene--the manest little worm that ever walked.
“'There's no orf'cer, ye ould cook,' sez Scrub; 'we're a bloomin'
Republic.'
“'Are you that?' sez I; 'thin I'm O'Connell the Dictator, an' by this
you will larn to kape a civil tongue in your rag-box.'
“Wid that I stretched Scrub Greene an' wint to the orf'cer's tent. 'Twas
a new little bhoy--not wan I'd iver seen before. He was sittin' in his
tent, purtendin' not to 'ave ear av the racket.
“I saluted--but for the life av me I mint to shake hands whin I went in.
'Twas the sword hangin' on the tent-pole changed my will.
“'Can't I help, Sorr?' sez I; ''tis a strong man's job they've given
you, an' you'll be wantin' help by sundown.' He was a bhoy wid bowils,
that child, an' a rale gintleman.
“'Sit down,' sez he.
“'Not before my orf'cer,' sez I; an' I tould him fwhat my service was.
“'I've heard av you,' sez he. 'You tuk the town av Lungtungpen nakid.'
“'Faith,' thinks I, 'that's Honour an' Glory'; for 'twas Lift'nint
Brazenose did that job. 'I'm wid ye, Sorr,' sez I, 'if I'm av use. They
shud niver ha' sent you down wid the draf'. Savin' your presince, Sorr,'
I sez, ''tis only Lift'nint Hackerston in the Ould Rig'mint can manage a
Home draf'.'
“'I've niver had charge of men like this before,' sez he, playin' wid
the pens on the table; 'an' I see by the Rig'lations--'
“'Shut your oi to the Rig'lations, Sorr,' I sez, 'till the throoper's
into blue wather. By the Rig'lations you've got to tuck thim up for the
night, or they'll be runnin' foul av my coolies an' makin' a shiverarium
half through the counthry. Can you trust your noncoms, Sorr?'
“'Yes,' sez he.
“'Good,' sez I; 'there'll be throuble before the night. Are you
marchin', Sorr?'
“'To the next station,' sez he.
“'Betther still,' sez I; 'there'll be big throuble.'
“'Can't be too hard on a Home draf,' sez he; 'the great thing is to get
thim in-ship.'
“'Faith, you've larnt the half av your lesson, Sorr,' sez I, 'but av you
shtick to the Rig'lations you'll niver get thim inship at all, at all.
Or there won't be a rag av kit betune thim whin you do.'
“'Twas a dear little orf'cer bhoy, an' by way av kapin' his heart up, I
tould him fwhat I saw wanst in a draf in Egypt.”
“What was that, Mulvaney?” said I.
“Sivin an' fifty men sittin' on the bank av a canal, laughin' at a poor
little squidgereen av an orf'cer that they'd made wade into the slush
an' pitch things out av the boats for their Lord High Mightinesses. That
made me orf'cer bhoy woild wid indignation.
“'Soft an' aisy, Sorr,' sez I; 'you've niver had your draf' in hannd
since you left cantonmints Wait till the night, an' your work will be
ready to you. Wid your permission, Sorr, I will investigate the camp,
an' talk to me ould frinds. 'Tis no manner av use thryin' to shtop the
divilmint now.'
“Wid that I wint out into the camp an' inthrojuced mysilf to ivry man
sober enough to remimber me. I was some wan in the ould days, an' the
bhoys was glad to see me--all excipt Peg Barney wid a eye like a tomata
five days in the bazar, an' a nose to match. They come round me an' shuk
me, an' I tould thim I was in privit employ wid an income av me own,
an' a drrrawin'-room fit to bate the Quane's; an' wid me lies an'
me shtories an' nonsinse gin'rally, I kept 'em quiet in wan way an'
another, knockin' roun' the camp. 'Twas bad even thin whin I was the
Angil av Peace.
“I talked to me ould non-coms--they was sober--an' betune me an' thim
we wore the draf' over into their tents at the proper time. The little
orf'cer bhoy he conies round, dacint an' civil-spoken as might be.
“'Rough quarthers, men,' sez he, 'but you can't look to be as
comfortable as in barricks. We must make the best av things. I've shut
my eyes to a dale av dog's thricks to-day, an' now there must be no more
av ut.'
“No more we will. Come an' have a dhrink, me son,' sez Peg Barney,
staggerin' where he stud. Me little orf'cer bhoy kep' his timper.
“'You're a sulky swine, you are,' sez Peg Barney, an' at that the men in
the tent began to laugh.
“I tould you me orf'cer bhoy had bowils. He cut Peg Barney as near as
might be on the oi that I'd squshed whin we first met. Peg wint spinnin'
acrost the tent.
“Peg him out, Sorr,' sez I, in a whishper.
“Peg him out!' sez me orf'cer bhoy, up loud, just as if 'twas battalion
p'rade an' he pickin' his wurrds from the Sargint.
“The non-coms tuk Peg Barney--a howlin' handful he was--an' in three
minut's he was pegged out--chin down, tight-dhrawn--on his stummick, a
tent-peg to each arm an' leg, swearin' fit to turn a naygur white.
“I tuk a peg an'' jammed ut into his ugly jaw--'Bite on that, Peg
Barney,' I sez; 'the night is settin' frosty, an' you'll be wantin'
divarsion before the mornin'. But for the Rig'lations you'd be bitin' on
a bullet now at the thriangles, Peg Barney,' sez I.
“All the draf' was out av their tents watchin' Barney bein' pegged.
“''Tis agin the Rig'lations! He strook him!' screeches out Scrub Greene,
who was always a lawyer; an' some of the men tuk up the shoutin'.
“'Peg out that man!' sez me orf'cer bhoy, niver losin' his timper; an'
the non-coms wint in and pegged out Scrub Greene by the side av Peg
Barney.
“I cud see that the draf' was comin' roun'. The men stud not knowin'
fwhat to do.
“'Get to your tents!' sez me orf'cer bhoy. 'Sargint, put a sinthry over
these two men.'
“The men wint back into the tents like jackals, an' the rest av the
night there was no noise at all excipt the stip av the sinthry over the
two, an' Scrub Greene blubberin' like a child. 'Twas a chilly night, an'
faith, ut sobered Peg Barney.
“Just before Revelly, me orf'cer bhoy comes out an' sez: 'Loose those
men an' send thim to their tents!' Scrub Greene wint away widout a word,
but Peg Barney, stiff wid the cowld, stud like a sheep, thryin' to make
his orf'cer undherstand he was sorry for playin' the goat.
“There was no tucker in the draf' whin ut fell in for the march, an'
divil a wurrd about 'illegality' cud I hear.
“I wint to the ould Colour-Sargint and I sez:--'Let me die in glory,'
sez I. 'I've seen a man this day!'
“'A man he is,' sez ould Hother; 'the draf's as sick as a herrin'.
They'll all go down to the sea like lambs. That bhoy has the bowils av a
cantonmint av Gin'rals.'
“'Amin,' sez I, 'an' good luck go wid him, wheriver he be, by land or by
sea. Let me know how the draf' gets clear.'
“An' do you know how they did? That bhoy, so I was tould by letter from
Bombay, bully-damned 'em down to the dock, till they cudn't call their
sowls their own. From the time they left me oi till they was 'tween
decks, not wan av thim was more than dacintly dhrunk. An' by the Holy
Articles av War, whin they wint aboord they cheered him till they cudn't
spake, an' that, mark you, has not come about wid a draf' in the mlm'ry
av livin' man! You look to that little orf'cer bhoy. He has bowils. 'Tis
not ivry child that wud chuck the Rig'lations to Flanders an' stretch
Peg Barney on a wink from a brokin an' dilapidated ould carkiss like
mysilf. I'd be proud to serve--”
“Terence, you're a civilian,” said Dinah Shadd warningly.
“So I am--so I am. Is ut likely I wud forget ut? But he was a gran' bhoy
all the same, an' I'm only a mudtipper wid a hod on me shoulthers.
The whiskey's in the heel av your hand, Sorr. Wid your good lave we'll
dhrink to the Ould Rig'mint--three fingers--standin' up!” And we drank.