THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS
Sec. 7. { Cause } { in forces } Regular forces, (I) { Consipiring } { belonging } Reserve forces, { with other } a mutiny { to Her } Auxiliary forces. { persons to } sedition { Majesty's } Navy. { cause }
When three obscure gentlemen in San Francisco argued on insufficientpremises they condemned a fellow-creature to a most unpleasant death ina far country, which had nothing whatever to do with the United States.They foregathered at the top of a tenement-house in Tehama Street, anunsavoury quarter of the city, and, there calling for certain drinks,they conspired because they were conspirators by trade, officially knownas the Third Three of the I.A.A.--an institution for the propagationof pure light, not to be confounded with any others, though it isaffiliated to many. The Second Three live in Montreal, and work amongthe poor there; the First Three have their home in New York, not farfrom Castle Garden, and write regularly once a week to a small housenear one of the big hotels at Boulogne. What happens after that, aparticular section of Scotland Yard knows too well, and laughs at. Aconspirator detests ridicule. More men have been stabbed with LucreziaBorgia daggers and dropped into the Thames for laughing at Head Centresand Triangles than for betraying secrets; for this is human nature.
The Third Three conspired over whisky cocktails and a clean sheet ofnotepaper against the British Empire and all that lay therein. This workis very like what men without discernment call politics before a generalelection. You pick out and discuss, in the company of congenial friends,all the weak points in your opponents' organisation, and unconsciouslydwell upon and exaggerate all their mishaps, till it seems to you amiracle that the hated party holds together for an hour.
'Our principle is not so much active demonstration--that we leave toothers--as passive embarrassment, to weaken and unnerve,' said the firstman. 'Wherever an organisation is crippled, wherever a confusion isthrown into any branch of any department, we gain a step for thosewho take on the work; we are but the forerunners.' He was a Germanenthusiast, and editor of a newspaper, from whose leading articles hequoted frequently.
'That cursed Empire makes so many blunders of her own that unless wedoubled the year's average I guess it wouldn't strike her anythingspecial had occurred,' said the second man. 'Are you prepared tosay that all our resources are equal to blowing off the muzzle of ahundred-ton gun or spiking a ten-thousand-ton ship on a plain rock inclear daylight? They can beat us at our own game. 'Better join handswith the practical branches; we're in funds now. Try a direct scare in acrowded street. They value their greasy hides.' He was the drag upon thewheel, and an Americanised Irishman of the second generation, despisinghis own race and hating the other. He had learned caution.
The third man drank his cocktail and spoke no word. He was thestrategist, but unfortunately his knowledge of life was limited. Hepicked a letter from his breast-pocket and threw it across the table.That epistle to the heathen contained some very concise directions fromthe First Three in New York. It said--
'The boom in black iron has already affected the eastern markets, whereour agents have been forcing down the English-held stock among thesmaller buyers who watch the turn of shares. Any immediate operations,such as western bears, would increase their willingness to unload.This, however, cannot be expected till they see clearly that foreigniron-masters are witting to co-operate. Mulcahy should be dispatchedto feel the pulse of the market, and act accordingly. Mavericks are atpresent the best for our purpose.--P.D.Q.'
As a message referring to an iron crisis in Pennsylvania, it wasinteresting, if not lucid. As a new departure in organised attack on anoutlying English dependency, it was more than interesting.
The second man read it through and murmured--
'Already? Surely they are in too great a hurry. All that DhulipSingh could do in India he has done, down to the distribution of hisphotographs among the peasantry. Ho! Ho! The Paris firm arranged that,and he has no substantial money backing from the Other Power. Even ouragents in India know he hasn't. What is the use of our organisationwasting men on work that is already done? Of course the Irish regimentsin India are half mutinous as they stand.'
This shows how near a lie may come to the truth. An Irish regiment, forjust so long as it stands still, is generally a hard handful to control,being reckless and rough. When, however, it is moved in the direction ofmusketry-firing, it becomes strangely and unpatriotically content withits lot. It has even been heard to cheer the Queen with enthusiasm onthese occasions.
But the notion of tampering with the army was, from the point of view ofTehama Street, an altogether sound one. There is no shadow of stabilityin the policy of an English Government, and the most sacred oaths ofEngland would, even if engrossed on vellum, find very few buyers amongcolonies and dependencies that have suffered from vain beliefs. Butthere remains to England always her army. That cannot change exceptin the matter of uniform and equipment. The officers may write to thepapers demanding the heads of the Horse Guards in default of cleanerredress for grievances; the men may break loose across a country townand seriously startle the publicans; but neither officers nor men haveit in their composition to mutiny after the continental manner. TheEnglish people, when they trouble to think about the army at all, are,and with justice, absolutely assured that it is absolutely trustworthy.Imagine for a moment their emotions on realising that such and sucha regiment was in open revolt from causes directly due to England'smanagement of Ireland. They would probably send the regiment to thepolls forthwith and examine their own consciences as to their duty toErin; but they would never be easy any more. And it was this vague,unhappy mistrust that the I. A. A. were labouring to produce.
'Sheer waste of breath,' said the second man after a pause in thecouncil, 'I don't see the use of tampering with their fool-army, butit has been tried before and we must try it again. It looks well in thereports. If we send one man from here you may bet your life that othermen are going too. Order up Mulcahy.'
They ordered him up--a slim, slight, dark-haired young man, devouredwith that blind rancorous hatred of England that only reaches its fullgrowth across the Atlantic. He had sucked it from his mother's breast inthe little cabin at the back of the northern avenues of New York; he hadbeen taught his rights and his wrongs, in German and Irish, on the canalfronts of Chicago; and San Francisco held men who told him strange andawful things of the great blind power over the seas. Once, when businesstook him across the Atlantic, he had served in an English regiment, andbeing insubordinate had suffered extremely. He drew all his ideas ofEngland that were not bred by the cheaper patriotic prints from oneiron-fisted colonel and an unbending adjutant. He would go to the minesif need be to teach his gospel. And he went as his instructions advisedp.d.q.--which means 'with speed'--to introduce embarrassment into anIrish regiment, 'already half-mutinous, quartered among Sikh peasantry,all wearing miniatures of His Highness Dhulip Singh, Maharaja of thePunjab, next their hearts, and all eagerly expecting his arrival.' Otherinformation equally valuable was given him by his masters. He was to becautious, but never to grudge expense in winning the hearts of the menin the regiment. His mother in New York would supply funds, and hewas to write to her once a month. Life is pleasant for a man who has amother in New York to send him two hundred pounds a year over and abovehis regimental pay.
In process of time, thanks to his intimate knowledge of drill andmusketry exercise, the excellent Mulcahy, wearing the corporal's stripe,went out in a troopship and joined Her Majesty's Royal Loyal Musketeers,commonly known as the 'Mavericks,' because they were masterless andunbranded cattle-sons of small farmers in County Clare, shoelessvagabonds of Kerry, herders of Bally-vegan, much wanted 'moonlighters'from the bare rainy headlands of the south coast, officered by O'Mores,Bradys, Hills, Kilreas, and the like. Never to outward seeming was theremore promising material to work on. The First Three had chosen theirregiment well. It feared nothing that moved or talked save the colo
neland the regimental Roman Catholic chaplain, the fat Father Dennis, whoheld the keys of heaven and hell, and blared like an angry bull whenhe desired to be convincing. Him also it loved because on occasions ofstress he was used to tuck up his cassock and charge with the rest intothe merriest of the fray, where he always found, good man, that thesaints sent him a revolver when there was a fallen private to beprotected, or--but this came as an afterthought--his own gray head to beguarded.
Cautiously as he had been instructed, tenderly and with much beer,Mulcahy opened his projects to such as he deemed fittest to listen.And these were, one and all, of that quaint, crooked, sweet, profoundlyirresponsible and profoundly lovable race that fight like fiends, arguelike children, reason like women, obey like men, and jest like their owngoblins of the rath through rebellion, loyalty, want, woe, or war. Theunderground work of a conspiracy is always dull and very much the samethe world over. At the end of six months--the seed always falling ongood ground--Mulcahy spoke almost explicitly, hinting darkly in theapproved fashion at dread powers behind him, and advising nothing morenor less than mutiny. Were they not dogs, evilly treated? had they notall their own and their national revenges to satisfy? Who in these dayswould do aught to nine hundred men in rebellion? Who, again, could staythem if they broke for the sea, licking up on their way other regimentsonly too anxious to join? And afterwards... here followed windy promisesof gold and preferment, office, and honour, ever dear to a certain typeof Irishman.
As he finished his speech, in the dusk of a twilight, to his chosenassociates, there was a sound of a rapidly unslung belt behind him. Thearm of one Dan Grady flew out in the gloom and arrested something. Thensaid Dan---
'Mulcahy, you're a great man, an' you do credit to whoever sent you.Walk about a bit while we think of it.' Mulcahy departed elate. He knewhis words would sink deep.
'Why the triple-dashed asterisks did ye not let me belt him?' grunted avoice.
'Because I'm not a fat-headed fool. Boys,'tis what he's been driving atthese six months--our superior corpril with his education and his copiesof the Irish papers and his everlasting beer. He's been sent for thepurpose and that's where the money comes from. Can ye not see? Thatman's a gold-mine, which Horse Egan here would have destroyed with abelt-buckle. It would be throwing away the gifts of Providence not tofall in with his little plans. Of coorse we'll mut'ny till all's dry.Shoot the colonel on the parade-ground, massacree the company officers,ransack the arsenal, and then--Boys, did he tell you what next? He toldme the other night when he was beginning to talk wild. Then we're tojoin with the niggers, and look for help from Dhulip Singh and theRussians!'
'And spoil the best campaign that ever was this side of Hell! Danny, I'dhave lost the beer to ha' given him the belting he requires.'
'Oh, let him go this awhile, man! He's got no--no constructiveness, butthat's the egg-meat of his plan, and you must understand that I'min with it, an' so are you. We'll want oceans of beer to convinceus--firmaments full. We'll give him talk for his money, and one by oneall the boys 'll come in and he'll have a nest of nine hundred mutineersto squat in an' give drink to.'
'What makes me killing-mad is his wanting us to do what the niggersdid thirty years gone. That an' his pig's cheek in saying that otherregiments would come along,' said a Kerry man.
'That's not so bad as hintin' we should loose off on the colonel.'
'Colonel be sugared! I'd as soon as not put a shot through his helmetto see him jump and clutch his old horse's head. But Mulcahy talks o'shootin' our comp'ny orf'cers accidental.'
'He said that, did he?' said Horse Egan.
'Somethin' like that, anyways. Can't ye fancy ould Barber Brady wid abullet in his lungs, coughin' like a sick monkey, an' sayin', "Bhoys,I do not mind your gettin' dhrunk, but you must hould your liquor likemen. The man that shot me is dhrunk. I'll suspend investigations for sixhours, while I get this bullet cut out, an' then--"'
'An' then,' continued Horse Egan, for the peppery Major's peculiaritiesof speech and manner were as well known as his tanned face; "'an' then,ye dissolute, half-baked, putty-faced scum o' Connemara, if I find aman so much as lookin' confused, begad, I'll coort-martial the wholecompany. A man that can't get over his liquor in six hours is not fit tobelong to the Mavericks!"'
A shout of laughter bore witness to the truth of the sketch.
'It's pretty to think of,' said the Kerry man slowly. 'Mulcahy wouldhave us do all the devilmint, and get clear himself, someways. He wudn'tbe takin' all this fool's throuble in shpoilin' the reputation of theregiment--'
'Reputation of your grandmother's pig!' said Dan.
'Well, an' HE had a good reputation tu; so it's all right. Mulcahymust see his way to clear out behind him, or he'd not ha' come so far,talkin' powers of darkness.'
'Did you hear anything of a regimental court-martial among the BlackBoneens, these days? Half a company of 'em took one of the new draftan' hanged him by his arms with a tent-rope from a third story verandah.They gave no reason for so doin', but he was half dead. I'm thinkingthat the Boneens are short-sighted. It was a friend of Mulcahy's, ora man in the same trade. They'd a deal better ha' taken his beer,'returned Dan reflectively.
'Better still ha' handed him up to the Colonel,' said Horse Egan,'onless--but sure the news wud be all over the counthry an' give thereg'ment a bad name.'
'An' there'd be no reward for that man--he but went about talkin',' saidthe Kerry man artlessly.
'You speak by your breed,' said Dan with a laugh. 'There was never aKerry man yet that wudn't sell his brother for a pipe o' tobacco an' apat on the back from a p'liceman.'
'Praise God I'm not a bloomin' Orangeman,' was the answer.
'No, nor never will be,' said Dan. 'They breed MEN in Ulster. Would youlike to thry the taste of one?'
The Kerry man looked and longed, but forbore. The odds of battle weretoo great.
'Then you'll not even give Mulcahy a--a strike for his money,' said thevoice of Horse Egan, who regarded what he called 'trouble' of any kindas the pinnacle of felicity.
Dan answered not at all, but crept on tip-toe, with large strides, tothe mess-room, the men following. The room was empty. In a corner, casedlike the King of Dahomey's state umbrella, stood the regimental Colours.Dan lifted them tenderly and unrolled in the light of the candles therecord of the Mavericks--tattered, worn, and hacked. The white satinwas darkened everywhere with big brown stains, the gold threads on thecrowned harp were frayed and discoloured, and the Red Bull, the totemof the Mavericks, was coffee-hued. The stiff, embroidered folds, whoseprice is human life, rustled down slowly. The Mavericks keep theircolours long and guard them very sacredly.
'Vittoria, Salamanca, Toulouse, Waterloo, Moodkee, Ferozshah, an'Sobraon--that was fought close next door here, against the very beggarshe wants us to join. Inkermann, The Alma, Sebastopol! What are thoselittle businesses compared to the campaigns of General Mulcahy? TheMut'ny, think o' that; the Mut'ny an' some dirty little matters inAfghanistan; an' for that an' these an' those'--Dan pointed to the namesof glorious battles--'that Yankee man with the partin' in his hair comesan' says as easy as "have a drink."... Holy Moses, there's the captain!'
But it was the mess-sergeant who came in just as the men clattered out,and found the colours uncased.
From that day dated the mutiny of the Mavericks, to the joy of Mulcahyand the pride of his mother in New York--the good lady who sent themoney for the beer. Never, so far as words went, was such a mutiny. Theconspirators, led by Dan Grady and Horse Egan, poured in daily. Theywere sound men, men to be trusted, and they all wanted blood; but firstthey must have beer. They cursed the Queen, they mourned over Ireland,they suggested hideous plunder of the Indian country side, and then,alas--some of the younger men would go forth and wallow on the ground inspasms of wicked laughter.
The genius of the Irish for conspiracies is remarkable. None the lessthey would swear no oaths but those of their own making, which were rareand curious, and they were always at pains to impress Mulca
hy with therisks they ran. Naturally the flood of beer wrought demoralisation. ButMulcahy confused the causes of things, and when a very muzzy Mavericksmote a sergeant on the nose or called his commanding officer abald-headed old lard-bladder and even worse names, he fancied thatrebellion and not liquor was at the bottom of the outbreak. Othergentlemen who have concerned themselves in larger conspiracies have madethe same error.
The hot season, in which they protested no man could rebel, came to anend, and Mulcahy suggested a visible return for his teachings. As to theactual upshot of the mutiny he cared nothing. It would be enough if theEnglish, infatuatedly trusting to the integrity of their army, shouldbe startled with news of an Irish regiment revolting from politicalconsiderations. His persistent demands would have ended, at Dan'sinstigation, in a regimental belting which in all probability wouldhave killed him and cut off the supply of beer, had not he been sent onspecial duty some fifty miles away from the cantonment to cool his heelsin a mud fort and dismount obsolete artillery. Then the colonel ofthe Mavericks, reading his newspaper diligently, and scenting Frontiertrouble from afar, posted to the army headquarters and pled with theCommander-in-chief for certain privileges, to be granted under certaincontingencies; which contingencies came about only a week later, whenthe annual little war on the border developed itself and the colonelreturned to carry the good news to the Mavericks. He held the promise ofthe Chief for active service, and the men must get ready.
On the evening of the same day, Mulcahy, an unconsidered corporal--yetgreat in conspiracy--returned to cantonments, and heard sounds of strifeand howlings from afar off. The mutiny had broken out and the barracksof the Mavericks were one white-washed pandemonium. A private tearingthrough the barrack-square, gasped in his ear, 'Service! Active service.It's a burnin' shame.' Oh joy, the Mavericks had risen on the eve ofbattle! They would not--noble and loyal sons of Ireland--serve theQueen longer. The news would flash through the country side and over toEngland, and he--Mulcahy--the trusted of the Third Three, had broughtabout the crash. The private stood in the middle of the square andcursed colonel, regiment, officers, and doctor, particularly the doctor,by his gods. An orderly of the native cavalry regiment clattered throughthe mob of soldiers. He was half lifted, half dragged from his horse,beaten on the back with mighty hand-claps till his eyes watered, andcalled all manner of endearing names. Yes, the Mavericks had fraternisedwith the native troops. Who then was the agent among the latter that hadblindly wrought with Mulcahy so well?
An officer slunk, almost ran, from the mess to a barrack. He was mobbedby the infuriated soldiery, who closed round but did not kill him, forhe fought his way to shelter, flying for the life. Mulcahy couldhave wept with pure joy and thankfulness. The very prisoners in theguard-room were shaking the bars of their cells and howling like wildbeasts, and from every barrack poured the booming as of a big war-drum.
Mulcahy hastened to his own barrack. He could hardly hear himselfspeak. Eighty men were pounding with fist and heel the tables andtrestles--eighty men, flushed with mutiny, stripped to their shirtsleeves, their knapsacks half-packed for the march to the sea, made thetwo-inch boards thunder again as they chanted to a tune that Mulcahyknew well, the Sacred War Song of the Mavericks--
Listen in the north, my boys, there's trouble on the wind; Tramp o' Cossack hooves in front, gray great-coats behind, Trouble on the Frontier of a most amazin' kind, Trouble on the waters o' the Oxus!
Then, as a table broke under the furious accompaniment--
Hurrah! hurrah! it's north by west we go; Hurrah! hurrah! the chance we wanted so; Let 'em hear the chorus from Umballa to MosCOW, As we go marchin' to the Kremling.
'Mother of all the saints in bliss and all the devils in cinders,where's my fine new sock widout the heel?' howled Horse Egan, ransackingeverybody's valise but his own. He was engaged in making up deficienciesof kit preparatory to a campaign, and in that work he steals best whosteals last. 'Ah, Mulcahy, you're in good time,' he shouted. 'We've gotthe route, and we're off on Thursday for a pic-nic wid the Lancers nextdoor.'
An ambulance orderly appeared with a huge basket full of lint rolls,provided by the forethought of the Queen for such as might needthem later on. Horse Egan unrolled his bandage, and flicked it underMulcahy's nose, chanting--
'Sheepskin an' bees' wax, thunder, pitch, and plaster, The more you try to pull it off, the more it sticks the faster. As I was goin' to New Orleans--
'You know the rest of it, my Irish American-Jew boy. By gad, ye have tofight for the Queen in the inside av a fortnight, my darlin'.'
A roar of laughter interrupted. Mulcahy looked vacantly down the room.Bid a boy defy his father when the pantomime-cab is at the door; ora girl develop a will of her own when her mother is putting the lasttouches to the first ball-dress; but do not ask an Irish regiment toembark upon mutiny on the eve of a campaign; when it has fraternisedwith the native regiment that accompanies it, and driven its officersinto retirement with ten thousand clamorous questions, and the prisonersdance for joy, and the sick men stand in the open, calling down allknown diseases on the head of the doctor, who has certified that theyare "medically unfit for active service." At even the Mavericks mighthave been mistaken for mutineers by one so unversed in their naturesas Mulcahy. At dawn a girls' school might have learned deportment fromthem. They knew that their colonel's hand had closed, and that he whobroke that iron discipline would not go to the front: nothing in theworld will persuade one of our soldiers when he is ordered to the northon the smallest of affairs that he is not immediately going gloriouslyto slay Cossacks and cook his kettles in the palace of the Czar. A fewof the younger men mourned for Mulcahy's beer, because the campaign wasto be conducted on strict temperance principles, but as Dan and HorseEgan said sternly, 'We've got the beer-man with us. He shall drink nowon his own hook.'
Mulcahy had not taken into account the possibility of being sent onactive service. He had made up his mind that he would not go under anycircumstances, but fortune was against him.
'Sick--you?' said the doctor, who had served an unholy apprenticeshipto his trade in Tralee poorhouses. 'You're only home-sick, and what youcall varicose veins come from over-eating. A little gentle exercise willcure that.' And later, 'Mulcahy, my man, everybody is allowed to applyfor a sick-certificate ONCE. If he tries it twice we call him by an uglyname. Go back to your duty, and let's hear no more of your diseases.'
I am ashamed to say that Horse Egan enjoyed the study of Mulcahy'ssoul in those days, and Dan took an equal interest. Together they wouldcommunicate to their corporal all the dark lore of death which is theportion of those who have seen men die. Egan had the larger experience,but Dan the finer imagination. Mulcahy shivered when the former spoke ofthe knife as an intimate acquaintance, or the latter dwelt with lovingparticularity on the fate of those who, wounded and helpless, had beenoverlooked by the ambulances, and had fallen into the hands of theAfghan women-folk.
Mulcahy knew that the mutiny, for the present at least, was dead; knew,too, that a change had come over Dan's usually respectful attitudetowards him, and Horse Egan's laughter and frequent allusions toabortive conspiracies emphasised all that the conspirator had guessed.The horrible fascination of the death-stories, however, made him seekthe men's society. He learnt much more than he had bargained for; and inthis manner: It was on the last night before the regiment entrained tothe front. The barracks were stripped of everything movable, and themen were too excited to sleep. The bare walls gave out a heavy hospitalsmell of chloride of lime.
'And what,' said Mulcahy in an awe-stricken whisper, after someconversation on the eternal subject, 'are you going to do to me, Dan?'This might have been the language of an able conspirator conciliating aweak spirit.
'You'll see,' said Dan grimly, turning over in his cot, 'or I rathershud say you'll not see.'
This was hardly the language of a weak spirit. Mulcahy shook under thebed-clothes.
'Be easy with him,' put in Egan from
the next cot. 'He has got hischanst o' goin' clean. Listen, Mulcahy; all we want is for the good sakeof the regiment that you take your death standing up, as a man shud.There be heaps an' heaps of enemy--plenshus heaps. Go there an' do allyou can and die decent. You'll die with a good name THERE. 'Tis not ahard thing considerin'.'
Again Mulcahy shivered.
'An' how could a man wish to die better than fightin'?' added Danconsolingly.
'And if I won't?' said the corporal in a dry whisper.
'There'll be a dale of smoke,' returned Dan, sitting up and ticking offthe situation on his fingers, 'sure to be, an' the noise of the firin''ll be tremenjus, an' we'll be running about up and down, the regimentwill. But WE, Horse and I--we'll stay by you, Mulcahy, and never let yougo. Maybe there'll be an accident.'
'It's playing it low on me. Let me go. For pity's sake let me go. Inever did you harm, and--and I stood you as much beer as I could. Oh,don't be hard on me, Dan! You are--you were in it too. You won't kill meup there, will you?'
'I'm not thinkin' of the treason; though you shud be glad any honestboys drank with you. It's for the regiment. We can't have the shame o'you bringin' shame on us. You went to the doctor quiet as a sick catto get and stay behind an' live with the women at the depot--you thatwanted us to run to the sea in wolf-packs like the rebels none of yourblack blood dared to be! But WE knew about your goin' to the doctor, forhe told in mess, and it's all over the regiment. Bein', as we are, yourbest friends, we didn't allow any one to molest you YET. We will see toyou ourselves. Fight which you will--us or the enemy--you'll never liein that cot again, and there's more glory and maybe less kicks fromfightin' the enemy. That's fair speakin'.'
'And he told us by word of mouth to go and join with the niggers--you'veforgotten that, Dan,' said Horse Egan, to justify sentence.
'What's the use of plaguin' the man? One shot pays for all. Sleep yesound, Mulcahy. But you onderstand, do ye not?'
Mulcahy for some weeks understood very little of anything at all savethat ever at his elbow, in camp, or at parade, stood two big men withsoft voices adjuring him to commit hari-kari lest a worse thing shouldhappen--to die for the honour of the regiment in decency among thenearest knives. But Mulcahy dreaded death. He remembered certain thingsthat priests had said in his infancy, and his mother--not the one at NewYork--starting from her sleep with shrieks to pray for a husband's soulin torment. It is well to be of a cultured intelligence, but in timeof trouble the weak human mind returns to the creed it sucked in at thebreast, and if that creed be not a pretty one trouble follows. Also,the death he would have to face would be physically painful. Mostconspirators have large imaginations. Mulcahy could see himself, as helay on the earth in the night, dying by various causes. They were allhorrible; the mother in New York was very far away, and the Regiment,the engine that, once you fall in its grip, moves you forward whetheryou will or won't, was daily coming closer to the enemy!
They were brought to the field of Marzun-Katai, and with the BlackBoneens to aid, they fought a fight that has never been set down in thenewspapers. In response, many believe, to the fervent prayers of FatherDennis, the enemy not only elected to fight in the open, but made abeautiful fight, as many weeping Irish mothers knew later. They gatheredbehind walls or flickered across the open in shouting masses, and werepot-valiant in artillery. It was expedient to hold a large reserveand wait for the psychological moment that was being prepared by theshrieking shrapnel. Therefore the Mavericks lay down in open order onthe brow of a hill to watch the play till their call should come.Father Dennis, whose duty was in the rear, to smooth the trouble of thewounded, had naturally managed to make his way to the foremost of hisboys and lay like a black porpoise, at length on the grass. To himcrawled Mulcahy, ashen-gray, demanding absolution.
'Wait till you're shot,' said Father Dennis sweetly. 'There's a time foreverything.'
Dan Grady chuckled as he blew for the fiftieth time into the breech ofhis speckless rifle. Mulcahy groaned and buried his head in his armstill a stray shot spoke like a snipe immediately above his head, and ageneral heave and tremour rippled the line. Other shots followed and afew took effect, as a shriek or a grunt attested. The officers, who hadbeen lying down with the men, rose and began to walk steadily up anddown the front of their companies.
This manoeuvre, executed, not for publication, but as a guarantee ofgood faith, to soothe men, demands nerve. You must not hurry, you mustnot look nervous, though you know that you are a mark for every riflewithin extreme range, and above all if you are smitten you must make aslittle noise as possible and roll inwards through the files. It is atthis hour, when the breeze brings the first salt whiff of the powderto noses rather cold at the tip, and the eye can quietly take in theappearance of each red casualty, that the strain on the nerves isstrongest. Scotch regiments can endure for half a day and abate nowhit of their zeal at the end; English regiments sometimes sulk underpunishment, while the Irish, like the French, are apt to run forwardby ones and twos, which is just as bad as running back. The truly wisecommandant of highly strung troops allows them, in seasons of waiting,to hear the sound of their own voices uplifted in song. There is alegend of an English regiment that lay by its arms under fire chaunting'Sam Hall,' to the horror of its newly appointed and pious colonel. TheBlack Boneens, who were suffering more than the Mavericks, on a hillhalf a mile away, began presently to explain to all who cared tolisten--
We'll sound the jubilee, from the centre to the sea, And Ireland shallbe free, says the Shan-van Vogh.
'Sing, boys,' said Father Dennis softly. 'It looks as if we cared fortheir Afghan peas.'
Dan Grady raised himself to his knees and opened his mouth in a songimparted to him, as to most of his comrades, in the strictest confidenceby Mulcahy---the Mulcahy then lying limp and fainting on the grass, thechill fear of death upon him.
Company after company caught up the words which, the I. A. A. say, areto herald the general rising of Erin, and to breathe which, except tothose duly appointed to hear, is death. Wherefore they are printed inthis place.
The Saxon in Heaven's just balance is weighed, His doom like Belshazzar's in death has been cast, And the hand of the venger shall never be stayed Till his race, faith, and speech are a dream of the past.
They were heart-filling lines and they ran with a swirl; the I. A. A.are better served by their pens than their petards. Dan clapped Mulcahymerrily on the back, asking him to sing up. The officers lay down again.There was no need to walk any more. Their men were soothing themselvesthunderously, thus--
St. Mary in Heaven has written the vow That the land shall not rest till the heretic blood, From the babe at the breast to the hand at the plough, Has rolled to the ocean like Shannon in flood!
'I'll speak to you after all's over,' said Father Dennis authoritativelyin Dan's ear. 'What's the use of confessing to me when you do thisfoolishness? Dan, you've been playing with fire! I'll lay you morepenance in a week than--'
'Come along to Purgatory with us, Father dear. The Boneens are on themove; they'll let us go now!'
The regiment rose to the blast of the bugle as one man; but one manthere was who rose more swiftly than all the others, for half an inch ofbayonet was in the fleshy part of his leg.
'You've got to do it,' said Dan grimly. 'Do it decent, anyhow;' andthe roar of the rush drowned his words, for the rear companies thrustforward the first, still singing as they swung down the slope---
From the child at the breast to the hand at the plough Shall roll to theocean like Shannon in flood!
They should have sung it in the face of England, not of the Afghans,whom, it impressed as much as did the wild Irish yell.
'They came down singing,' said the unofficial report of the enemy, bornefrom village to village the next day. 'They continued to sing, and itwas written that our men could not abide when they came. It is believedthat there was magic in the aforesaid song.'
Dan and Horse Egan kept themselves in th
e neighbourhood of Mulcahy.Twice the man would have bolted back in the confusion. Twice he washeaved, kicked, and shouldered back again into the unpaintable infernoof a hotly contested charge.
At the end, the panic excess of his fear drove him into madness beyondall human courage. His eyes staring at nothing, his mouth open andfrothing, and breathing as one in a cold bath, he went forward demented,while Dan toiled after him. The charge checked at a high mud wall. Itwas Mulcahy who scrambled up tooth and nail and hurled down among thebayonets the amazed Afghan who barred his way. It was Mulcahy, keepingto the straight line of the rabid dog, who led a collection of ardentsouls at a newly unmasked battery and flung himself on the muzzle of agun as his companions danced among the gunners. It was Mulcahy who ranwildly on from that battery into the open plain, where the enemy wereretiring in sullen groups. His hands were empty, he had lost helmet andbelt, and he was bleeding from a wound in the neck. Dan and Horse Egan,panting and distressed, had thrown themselves down on the ground by thecaptured guns, when they noticed Mulcahy's charge.
'Mad,' said Horse Egan critically. 'Mad with fear! He's going straightto his death, an' shouting's no use.'
'Let him go. Watch now! If we fire we'll hit him, maybe.'
The last of a hurrying crowd of Afghans turned at the noise of shod feetbehind him, and shifted his knife ready to hand. This, he saw, was notime to take prisoners. Mulcahy tore on, sobbing; the straight-heldblade went home through the defenceless breast, and the body pitchedforward almost before a shot from Dan's rifle brought down the slayerand still further hurried the Afghan retreat. The two Irishmen went outto bring in their dead.
'He was given the point and that was an easy death,' said Horse Egan,viewing the corpse. 'But would you ha' shot him, Danny, if he hadlived?'
'He didn't live, so there's no sayin'. But I doubt I wud have bekaseof the fun he gave us--let alone the beer. Hike up his legs, Horse, andwe'll bring him in. Perhaps 'tis better this way.'
They bore the poor limp body to the mass of the regiment, lollingopen-mouthed on their rifles; and there was a general snigger when oneof the younger subalterns said, 'That was a good man!'
'Phew,' said Horse Egan, when a burial-party had taken over the burden.'I'm powerful dhry, and this reminds me there'll be no more beer atall.'
'Fwhy not?' said Dan, with a twinkle in his eye as he stretched himselffor rest. 'Are we not conspirin' all we can, an' while we conspire arewe not entitled to free dhrinks? Sure his ould mother in New York wouldnot let her son's comrades perish of drouth--if she can be reached atthe end of a letter.'
'You're a janius,' said Horse Egan. 'O' coorse she will not. I wishthis crool war was over an' we'd get back to canteen. Faith, theCommander-in-Chief ought to be hanged in his own little sword-belt formakin' us work on wather.'
The Mavericks were generally of Horse Egan's opinion. So they madehaste to get their work done as soon as possible, and their industry wasrewarded by unexpected peace. 'We can fight the sons of Adam,' said thetribesmen, 'but we cannot fight the sons of Eblis, and this regimentnever stays still in one place. Let us therefore come in.' They camein and 'this regiment' withdrew to conspire under the leadership of DanGrady.
Excellent as a subordinate Dan failed altogether as achief-in-command--possibly because he was too much swayed by the adviceof the only man in the regiment who could manufacture more than one kindof handwriting. The same mail that bore to Mulcahy's mother in New Yorka letter from the colonel telling her how valiantly her son had foughtfor the Queen, and how assuredly he would have been recommended for theVictoria Cross had he survived, carried a communication signed, I grieveto say, by that same colonel and all the officers of the regiment,explaining their willingness to do 'anything which is contrary to theregulations and all kinds of revolutions' if only a little money couldbe forwarded to cover incidental expenses. Daniel Grady, Esquire, wouldreceive funds, vice Mulcahy, who 'was unwell at this present time ofwriting.'
Both letters were forwarded from New York to Tehama Street, SanFrancisco, with marginal comments as brief as they were bitter.The Third Three read and looked at each other. Then the SecondConspirator-he who believed in 'joining hands with the practicalbranches'---began to laugh, and on recovering his gravity said,'Gentlemen, I consider this will be a lesson to us. We're left again.Those cursed Irish have let us down. I knew they would, but'-here helaughed afresh-'I'd give considerable to know what was at the back of itall.'
His curiosity would have been satisfied had he seen Dan Grady,discredited regimental conspirator, trying to explain to his thirstycomrades in India the non-arrival of funds from New York.