Story 4—Chapter 2.
Men enlist for many reasons, the greater number because they are out of work, and do not know how else they are to live. These are the most contented, because they do not expect much, and find themselves, if they are steady, pretty comfortable, well fed, and well clothed. The worst off are lazy fellows, who join, expecting to have an easy, idle life, with little to do. Besides drilling and learning the use of his weapons and the various movements to be performed to get him into a soldier-like shape, with parades and inspections, and field-days, and reviews, and sham fights, and marching out in the winter, and sentinel, fatigue, and picket duties,—he has his appointments and arms to keep in order, and in his turn, his mess things, room, and other places to clean. And often he has heavy work; roads to make, fortifications of various sorts to throw up, and other similar tasks required by an army in the field; still, after all, there is no work harder than most of the men would have had to go through if they had remained at home.
About the end of February, the regiment was ordered to proceed to Ireland. A special train took us to the large town of Liverpool, from which ships sail to all parts of the world. Getting out of the train, we formed, and marched down to the quay by the river Mersey, where a large steamer was waiting for us. We went on board, and she soon began to paddle down the river on her way to Dublin. It was the first time I had ever been at sea with water around on every side, as far as the eye could reach. We soon however caught sight of the Irish coast, and very pretty I thought the bay of Dublin as we steamed into it. I now began to find out one of the advantages of a soldier’s life; that is, visiting new places. I did not then think how many strange places I should see during my time of service. Going on shore, we formed, and marched to a railway-station, when the train carried us westward to Cork. Here the regiment was stationed. Some of the companies, and mine among them, remained at head-quarters, and others were sent out on detachment duty at various places. Soldiers on detachment often meet with adventures of various sorts, especially in Ireland. They are stationed at different small towns and villages, where the inhabitants, especially the fair sex, are apt to make a great deal of them, from not being so accustomed to see red coats as are those in large places. I must hurry over the events at this period, that I may have space to give accounts of those of more stirring times.
I had made up my mind on joining, to be a steady man, and I was glad to remain at head-quarters, because I knew that there my conduct would be observed by my superior officers. There were temptations enough to act differently, but I knew that a few glasses of whiskey or any irregularity would in a minute cloud all my prospects. I had, it must be understood, no advantages above the rest of my comrades. I was but myself a country lad, about the youngest in the regiment, but I had heard an officer remark that there was the making of a good soldier in me; and so I gave my mind and heart to the work, and that made me like it.
I have said nothing about Marshall. He was in a different company from mine, and had been on detachment. After some time his company returned to head-quarters. He seemed much changed, and from being a brisk, lively lad, was sad and silent. We were always friends, though he did not take to soldiering as heartily as I did. I asked him what was the matter. He told me at last. He had lost his heart to a farmer’s daughter. She was very pretty and young and good. He had met her coming home on a car, with her aunt and a female cousin with three men from a “wake.” That is the name given in Ireland, to a burying party. The men, as is generally the case after such meetings, were very drunk. The car broke down. The other women were hurt, and the men could not help them. Marshall arrived at the moment, mended the car, left the drunken men to find their way home as best they could, put the old lady upon it and walked home at its side with Kathleen O’Neil, who had no fancy for again mounting. Kathleen was very grateful, and so was her aunt and cousin, and asked him to come again another day. That of course he did, not only once, but very often. One of the men who had been in the car, Shane McDermot, was, Marshall found, a lover of Kathleen’s, but she did not like him. No wonder, for he was a rough, savage-looking fellow. Kathleen at length showed that she liked Marshall, and she warned him to beware of Shane. Dick was a stout-hearted fellow, and said he did not fear him. A man would think twice before he would attempt to shoot a soldier, not but what officers and men too have been shot in Ireland.
Marshall continued his visits as usual, and the oftener he went the more in love he grew with Kathleen, and the more, it was clear, she loved him.
One evening, after the tattoo had sounded, as he was hurrying home, a shot whistled by his ear, and directly afterwards two men set upon him with their shillalahs. One he knocked over with his fist, and drawing his bayonet, put the other to flight. He was pretty certain that the man he knocked over was Shane, but he could not stop to see; indeed he thought that it was wiser to push on to his quarters. When he told Kathleen the next day, she was very unhappy, and said that she should be the cause of his death. Dick told her not to be afraid, and finished by asking her to marry him. She said that she would with great pleasure, and follow him, like a true good wife, round the world. This made Dick perfectly happy. When he came, however, to speak to the captain of his company, he found that as he was one of the youngest men in the regiment, he had no chance of getting leave; and that if he married without leave, his wife would have none of the privileges of a soldier’s wife, and that he would be treated as a single man. The last time he saw her she promised that she would marry no one else, and ever remain faithful to him.
My company afterwards went on detachment, and I was stationed at the same place that Marshall had been. He had begged me to go and see Kathleen. When her family knew that I was his friend, they treated me very kindly. I went to the house several times. Shane was there one evening. I was not surprised that she did not like him. There was a scowl on his brow and a glance in his eye, as he turned towards me, which made me think that he was very likely to have a shot at me some dark night, if he could get the chance. I would not accuse any man of wishing to do such a thing, and there are thousands of Irish who would be horrified at the thought of taking the life of a fellow-creature, but such deeds are too common in that country. The reason why this is so I must leave to others who ought to know more about the matter than I do, to say. It must be remembered that Shane had already tried his hand at the work, so that I did not think ill of him without cause. Whenever I had spare time I went to see the O’Neils. When I went away at night, I walked quickly along in the middle of the road, feeling pretty sure that Shane would try to treat me as he did Marshall.
I had, I should say, soon after I came to the place, picked a poor boy out of a pond, when more than half drowned, and carried him home; and as I found the family very poor and wretched, I left some money with them. As I never spent any money in liquor or other folly, I had always a few spare shillings in my pocket. Pat Nolan’s mother, as far as words went, seemed very grateful, but I never put much trust in them: and though I had several times gone to see the Nolans, I scarcely thought about what first took me to the cottage.
One day I had been sent by my captain with a letter to a house three miles off. I was kept there some time, and it was nearly dark when, on my way back, I came to a wild, open place, half common and half bog, with nearly a mile of road across it. Just as I got to a small bush near the road, I heard a voice say, “Hist, hist, soldier; turn back and come with me. It’s a long way I’ll be after taking ye, but it’s better than being shot any how.”
“Who are you, and where are you?” I asked, seeing no one.
“It’s me, Pat Nolan, then,” answered the ragged little urchin, creeping from under the bush. “May be he’s not far off just now, with that thief of the world, Dan Fegan, and one or two others looking out for ye.”
I was half inclined to go on in spite of Pat’s warning. “Why should I be afraid of those Irish chaps?” I thought to myself. But little Pat begged so hard that I would not, that I began to think it would be wise to follow his advice.
“Och ahone! ahone! you’ll be kilt entirely if you go now!” exclaimed the boy, crying and pulling at me to go in the direction he wanted.
I felt that it would be foolish to run into danger for no purpose, and that at all events I should have only rather a longer walk than I had expected. “Well, Pat, I’ll go with you,” said I.
The little chap gave a leap with delight. “Arrah! then there’s no time to be lost!” he exclaimed, leading the way down a lane which skirted the edge of the bog.
I followed, and had to step out fast to keep up with him.
“Ye’ll have to lape over some pools may be, but it’s all hard below where I’ll lead ye, so don’t be afraid now,” he whispered, putting his finger to his lips.
I laughed aloud.
“Hist, hist; he’ll be after hearing you,” he said, in the same tone as before; “but come on now.”
He turned and led the way across the bog. I leaped when I saw him leap, and kept directly in his footsteps, and often the ground quaked as I passed, or moved up and down like a raft at sea. As we moved on, the water got up to my ankles; then over them. I thought that Pat had lost his way, but he kept on without stopping or turning to one side or the other. The water got deeper and deeper, indeed there seemed to be nothing but water around; then once more it began to shoal, and at last I found that we were walking on dry ground, but still of a very boggy nature. At last we were in something like a path, with peat-holes on either side. It was quite dark before we reached the heath or dry ground I was looking for. Pat even then, I found, kept away from the road I was to have taken. After going a little way I thought that I saw some figures through the gloom. Pat thought so too, for he pulled at my coat-sleeve, and whispered to me to crouch down. I did so for some time, and then again we pushed on. Pat led the way till we got into a road I knew, leading direct to my quarters. He then told me to hurry on, and before I had time to put my hand in my pockets to give him some money, he was off.
At muster-roll that evening, one of our men, Jackson, did not answer to his name. He had been sent in the direction I had gone. The next morning he did not appear. A party, of which I formed one, was sent out to look for him. Not far from some bushes, with a hole behind them,—a place made for an ambush,—we came upon some blood in the road. We hunted about. There were the marks of men’s feet at the edge of the road. After hunting some time, one of our men cried out, “Here he is!”
There, in a hole, half covered with water, lay our comrade. At first it was thought that he might have fallen in, but two dark marks by the side of his head showed where a brace of slugs had entered it. I felt sure that they had been intended for me. It seemed as if I had wronged him. Poor fellow! we bore him sadly homeward. I judged it right to tell my captain what I knew of the matter, and a warrant was issued for the apprehension of Shane McDermot. Parties were sent out to search for him, but he was not to be found. There were plenty among the country people to help him. The only thing some of them seemed to think that he had done wrong was, that he had shot the wrong man. Kathleen was thankful that I had escaped, but glad to be rid of Shane. It was not likely that he would venture back to the neighbourhood while we were there.
After some time, my company was ordered back to head-quarters, to be relieved by another. Kathleen bade me tell Marshall that she remained faithful to him, and loving as ever.
I gave the message to Marshall. It raised his spirits, and yet he could scarcely believe that so pretty a girl, and one in some respects so superior to himself, should care for a poor soldier. However I told him that it was a good reason why he should attend to his duties more strictly, and try to obtain promotion to be able to support her. The wife of even a non-commissioned officer has a hard time of it; of a man, still worse; but worst off of all is the wife of one who marries without leave.
On getting back, I found a notice posted that all men wishing to go on “furlough” must send in their names to the captains of companies at once. I sent in mine, as I had saved enough pay for my expenses, and through the kindness of the sergeant-major and adjutant obtained a furlough for six weeks, to proceed from Cork to B— in the county of E—, and took my passage in the steamer to London. We had a fine view of the coast from the Land’s End in Cornwall, to the North Foreland in Kent.
Landing in London, I went to an inn, breakfasted, cleaned myself so as to look as smart as I could, and set off home. How different I felt now to what I did leaving home a year ago. I opened the door and looked in. They were all at dinner. What cries of delight and shrieks and laughter there were, though my sisters vowed they scarcely knew me, I had grown so stout and manly. I was made heartily welcome, and had a very happy time of it. I went to see my old friends at the barracks; I was welcomed by them too, but many had been sent off to India.
I must be moving on though with my story. After spending a happy five weeks at home, I returned to Cork at the proper time. I was rather vexed to find the morning after, that all men returned off furlough were to fall in for recruit drill. However, as I was the youngest of any of them, I had no reason to complain. I thought, “I’ll just show that I don’t require it;” so I pulled myself together, and was dismissed recruit drill next day.
Soon after this I gained what it had been my hope from the first to get—that is, promotion,—and was made lance-corporal. I wished that Marshall could have got the same, for Kathleen’s sake, but he was not so fortunate. The difference was this,—I had a taste for soldiering, born with me perhaps: he had not.
I was soon after sent off on detachment duty to Spike Island, in the Cove of Cork or Queenstown Harbour. Our duty was to guard a prison full of convicts, not the pleasantest in the world, though I well knew that there wasn’t a man within those walls who did not richly deserve his lot. I only wish that evil-disposed men knew better than they do what it is to be shut up in a place of the sort; they would take some pains to gain an honest livelihood rather than run the risk of being sent there.
The harbour is a very beautiful one, surrounded almost by high hills, many of them well wooded, and so is the whole way up to Cork. While I was there a new batch of convicts came in; among them I saw a face I felt sure I knew. It was that of Shane Mcdermot. He cast a look of surprise at me, as much as to say, “Why, I thought that I had shot you.” I could not exchange words with him; but the more I watched his countenance, the more certain I was that it was him. I concluded that he had committed a crime in another part of the country, and had been convicted, and sent on here. There he was, and there I hoped, for the sake of my friends, he would remain.
I was not sorry when we were ordered back to head-quarters. Soon afterwards the regiment went to Dublin, where we were stationed, scattered about in different barracks, and doing garrison duty for two years or more. During that time I again went on furlough. If I had been proud of appearing at home before, I was prouder still now to return as a non-commissioned officer, and I felt pretty sure that as I had gained one step I should gain another. I was heartily welcomed, but somehow or other that second going home was not equal to the first, three years before. Many changes had taken place among my friends: some had gone away, some were dead, some married. Still I was very happy, but I had an idea that it might be a long time before I should go back to the old place.
On my return to Dublin I had to go on recruit drill for a day, as before, when the sergeant-major gave me and others a hint, which we wisely took, to have our hair cut for the next parade. For another year after this we were kept here on garrison duty, with some pretty hard field-days in the Phoenix Park, and the usual marchings out in winter.