Some of the grey prisoners walked up and down, up and down; others sat alone, or in twos and threes, in the shadow of the wall. There was talk, but not loud talking. There was no briskness in the yard, no crisp bubbling of word and action. Languor reigned, and all the desirable lay without the walls. One tree-top showed above them, just the bushy head of an airy, mocking giant.
At ten, the yard being filled, there came in through the gate, where were double guards, three or four officers in blue and a Catholic priest. The yard knew the inspecting officers, and bestirred itself to only a perfunctory recognition—perfunctory, not listless; it being a point of honour not to look listless or broken in presence of the opposing colour. One of these blue officers the yard liked very well, a bluff and manly fellow, with a frown for the very many things he could not alter and a helping hand with the few that he could. The grey made a subtle difference to show here in their greeting.
For the priest—they had never seen him before; and as novelty in prison is thrice novelty, the various groups welcomed with an interested gaze the stout-built, rusty-black figure with a strong face, rosy and likable. “Holy Virgin!” said the priest. “If the South is any warmer than this, sure ye’ll be afther thanking the Saints and us for bringing you North! Are there any sons of the Church in sound of my voice?”
There was one—a lieutenant in the last stages of consumption. He sat in the sun with a red spot in each cheek and eyes bright as a bird’s. The well-liked blue officer brought the priest to this boy. He was but nineteen, and evidently had not a month to live. “Good morning, Lieutenant!” said the officer. “Father Tierney’s a cordial in himself! And if, being a Catholic, you’d like—”
“Were he twenty times a Ribil,” said Father Tierney, sotto voce, “he’s a sick human crathure and a dying man.”
“Then I’ll leave you with him for a little,” said the officer, and walked away.
“Peace go with you!” said Father Tierney. “My poor son, if you’ve done any harm in the flesh, the Lord having taken away the flesh will take away that, too.—You are not one of those who—” Father Tierney spoke for thirty seconds in a lowered voice.
“No,” said the lieutenant, “I used to try, but I gave it up when I saw that I was going to get out anyhow. But a lot of us are still trying—There’s one over there that’s trying, I’m certain. He’s been awful good to me. If he could—if you could now—”
“The man standing in the shadow of the wall?”
The man standing in the shadow of the wall was only a stride or two away. The blue officers had their backs turned; the grey prisoners were listlessly minding their own business; guards and sentries had their eyes on their superiors. The sun blazed down, the green tree-top just nodded.