Love-o'-Women

Love-o'-Women

A lamentable tale of things
Done long ago, and ill done.

The horror, the confusion, and the separation
of the murderer from his comrades were all over before I came.
There remained only on the barrack-square the blood of man calling
from the ground. The hot sun had dried it to a dusky gold-beater-
skin film, cracked lozenge-wise by the heat, and as the wind rose
each lozenge, rising a little, curled up at the edges as if it
were a dumb tongue. Then a heavier gust blew all away down wind in
grains of dark-coloured dust. It was too hot to stand in the
sunshine before breakfast. The men were all in barracks talking
the matter over. A knot of soldiers' wives stood by one of the
entrances to the married quarters, while inside a woman shrieked
and raved with wicked filthy words.

A quiet and well-conducted sergeant had shot down in broad
daylight just after early parade one of his own corporals, had
then returned to barracks and sat on a cot till the guard came for
him. He would, therefore, in due time be handed over to the High
Court for trial. Further, but this he could hardly have considered
in his scheme of revenge, he would horribly upset my work; for the
reporting of the trial would fall on me without a relief. What
that trial would be like I knew even to weariness. There would be
the rifle carefully uncleaned, with the fouling marks about breech
and muzzle, to be sworn to by half a dozen superfluous privates;
there would be heat, reeking heat, till the wet pencil slipped
sideways between the fingers; and the punkah would swish and the
pleaders would jabber in the verandahs, and his Commanding Officer
would put in certificates of the prisoner's moral character, while
the jury would pant and the summer uniforms of the witnesses would
smell of dye and soaps; and some abject barrack-sweeper would lose
his head in cross-examination, and the young barrister who always
defended soldiers' cases for the credit that they never brought
him, would say and do wonderful things, and would then quarrel
with me because I had not reported him correctly. At the last, for
he surely would not be hanged, I might meet the prisoner again,
ruling blank account-forms in the Central Jail, and cheer him with
the hope of a wardership in the Andamans.

The Indian Penal Code and its interpreters do not treat murder,
under any provocation whatever,
in a spirit of jest. Sergeant Raines would be very lucky indeed if
he got off with seven years, I thought. He had slept the night
upon his wrongs, and had killed his man at twenty yards before any
talk was possible. That much I knew. Unless, therefore, the case
was doctored a little, seven years would be his least; and I
fancied it was exceedingly well for Sergeant Raines that he had
been liked by his Company.

That same evening - no day is so long as the day of a murder - I
met Ortheris with the dogs, and he plunged defiantly into the
middle of the matter. "I'll be one o' the witnesses," said he. "I
was in the verandah when Mackie came along. 'E come from Mrs.
Raines's quarters. Quigley, Parsons, an' Trot, they was in the
inside verandah, so they couldn't 'ave 'eard nothing. Sergeant
Raines was in the verandah talkin' to me, an' Mackie 'e come along
acrost the square an' 'e sez, 'Well,' sez 'e, ''ave they pushed
your 'elmet off yet, Sergeant?' 'e sez. An' at that Raines 'e
catches 'is breath an' 'e sez, 'My Gawd, I can't stand this!' sez
'e, an' 'e picks up my rifle an' shoots Mackie. See?"

"But what were you doing with your rifle in the outer verandah an
hour after parade?"

"Cleanin' 'er," said Ortheris, with the sullen brassy stare that
always went with his choice lies.

He might as well have said that he was dancing naked, for at no
time did his rifle need hand or rag on her twenty minutes after
parade. Still the High Court would not know his routine.

"Are you going to stick to that - on the Book?" I asked.

"Yes. Like a bloomin' leech."

"All right, I don't want to know any more. Only remember that
Quigley, Parsons, and Trot couldn't have been where you say
without hearing something; and there's nearly certain to be a
barrack-sweeper who was knocking about the square at the time.
There always is."

"Twasn't the sweeper. It was the beastie. 'E's all right."

Then I knew that there was going to be some spirited doctoring,
and I felt sorry for the Government Advocate who would conduct the
prosecution.

When the trial came on I pitied him more, for he was always quick
to lose his temper, and made a personal matter of each lost cause.
Raines's young barrister had for once put aside his unslaked and
Welling passion for alibis and insanity, had forsworn gymnastics
and fireworks, and worked soberly for his client. Mercifully the
hot weather was yet young, and there had been no flagrant cases of
barrack-shootings up to the time; and the jury was a good one,
even for an Indian jury, where nine men out of every twelve are
accustomed to weighing evidence. Ortheris stood firm and was not
shaken by any cross-examination. The one weak point in his tale -
the presence of his rifle in the outer verandah - went
unchallenged by civilian wisdom, though some of the witnesses
could not help smiling. The Government Advocate called for the
rope; contending throughout
that the murder had been a deliberate one. Time had passed, he
argued, for that reflection which comes so naturally to a man
whose honour is lost. There was also the Law, ever ready and
anxious to right the wrongs of the common soldier if, in deed,
wrong had been done. But he doubted much whether there had been
any sufficient wrong. Causeless suspicion over-long brooded upon
had led, by his theory, to deliberate crime. But his attempts to
minimise the motive failed. The most disconnected witness knew -
had known for weeks - the causes of offence, and the prisoner, who
naturally was the last of all to know, groaned in the
dock while he listened. The one question that the trial circled
round was whether Raines had fired under sudden and blinding
provocation given that very morning, and in the summing up it was
clear that Ortheris's evidence told. He had contrived, most
artistically, to suggest that he personally hated the Sergeant,
who had come into the verandah to give him a talking to for
insubordination. In a weak moment the Government Advocate asked
one question too many, "Beggin' your pardon, sir," Ortheris
replied, "'e was callin' me a dam' impudent little lawyer." The
Court shook. The jury brought it in a killing, but with every
provocation and extenuation known to God or man, and the Judge put
his hand to his brow before giving sentence, and the Adam's apple
in the prisoner's throat went up and down mercury-pumping before a
cyclone.

In consideration of all considerations, from his Commanding
Officer's certificate of good conduct to the sure loss of pension,
service, and honour, the prisoner would get two years, to be
served in India, and - there need be no demonstration in Court.
The Government Advocate scowled and picked up his papers; the
guard wheeled with a clash, and the prisoner was relaxed to the
Secular Arm, and driven to the jail in a broken-down ticca-gharri.

His guard and some ten or twelve military witnesses, being less
important, were ordered to wait till what was officially called
the cool of the evening before marching back to cantonments. They
gathered together in one of the deep red brick verandahs of a
disused lock-up and congratulated Ortheris, who bore his honours
modestly. I sent my work into the office and joined them. Ortheris
watched the Government Advocate driving off lunch.

"That's a nasty little bald-'eaded little butcher, that is," he
said. "'E don't please me. 'E's got a colley dog wot do, though.
I'm goin' up to Murree in a week. That dawg'll bring fifteen
rupees anywheres."

"You had better spend it in Masses," said Terence, unbuckling his
belt, for he had been on the prisoner's guard, standing helmeted
and bolt up right for three long hours.

"Not me," said Ortheris cheerfully. "Gawd'll put it down to B
Comp'ny's barrick damages one o' these days. You look strapped,
Terence."

"Faith, I'm not so young as I was. That guard-mountin' wears on
the sole av the fut, and this" - he sniffed contemptuously at the
brick verandah - "is as hard setting as standin'!"

"Wait a minute. I'll get the cushions out of my cart," I said.

"Strewth - sofies! We're going it gay," said Ortheris, as Terence
dropped himself section by section on the leather cushions, saying
prettily, "May you niver want a soft place wheriver you go, an'
power to share utt wid a frind. Another for yourself? That's good.
It lets me sit long ways. Stanley, pass me a poipe. Augrrh! An'
that's another man gone all to pieces bekaze av a woman. I must
ha' been on forty or fifty prisoners' gyards, first an' last, an'
I hate ut new ivry time."

"Let's see. You were on Losson's, Lancey's, Dugard's, and
Stebbins's, that I can remember," I said.

"Ay, an' before that an' before that - scores av thim," he
answered with a worn smile. "Tis betther to die than to live for
thim, though. Whin Raines comes out - he'll be changin' his kit at
the jail now - he'll think that too. He shud ha' shot himself an'
the woman by rights, an' made a clean bill av all. Now he's left
the woman - she tuk tay wid Dinah Sunday gone last - an' he's left
himself. Mackie's the lucky man."
-
"He's probably getting it hot where he is," I ventured, for I knew
something of the dead Corporal's record.

"Be sure av that," said Terence, spitting over the edge of the
verandah. "But fwhat he'll get there is light marchin'-ordher to
fwhat he'd ha' got here if he'd lived."

"Surely not. He'd have gone on and forgotten like the others."

"Did ye know Mackie well, Sorr?" said Terence.

"He was on the Pattiala guard of honour last winter, and I went
out shooting with him in an ekka for the day, and I found him
rather an amusing man."

"Well, he'll ha' got shut av amusemints, excipt turnin' from wan
side to the other, these few years come. I knew Mackie, an' I've
seen too many to be mistuk in the muster av wan man. He might ha'
gone on an' forgot, as you say, Sorr, but was a man wid an
educashin, an' he used ut for his schames, an' the same educashin,
an' talk an' all that made him able to do fwhat he had a mind to
wid a woman, that same wud turn back again in the long run an'
tear him alive. I can't say fwhat that I mane to say bekaze I
don't know how, but Mackie was the spit an' livin' image av a man
that I saw march the same march all but; an' 'twas worse for him
that he did not come by Mackie's ind. Wait while I remimber now.
'Twas fwhin I was in the Black Tyrone, an' he was drafted us from
Portsmouth; an' fwhat was his misbegotten name? Larry - Larry
Tighe ut was; an' wan of the draft said he was a gentleman ranker,
an' Larry tuk an' three parts killed him for saying so. An' he was
a big man, an' a strong man, an' a handsome man, an' that tells
heavy in practice wid some women, but, takin' thim by an' large,
not wid all. Yet 'twas wid all that Larry dealt - all - for he 'ud
put the comether on any woman that trod the green earth av God,
an' he knew ut. Like Mackie that's roastin' now, he knew ut; an'
niver did he put the comether on any woman save an' excipt for the
black shame. 'Tis not me that shud be talkin', dear knows, dear
knows, but the most av my mis - misalli'nces was for pure devilry,
an' mighty sorry I have been whin harm came; an' time an' again
wid a girl, ay, an' a woman too, for the matter av that, whin I
have seen by the eyes av her that I was makin' more throuble than
I talked, I have hild off an' let be for the sake av the mother
that bore me. But Larry, I'm thinkin', he was suckled by a she-
devil, for he niver let wan go that came nigh to listen to him.
'Twas his business, as if it might ha' bin sinthry-go. He was a
good soldier too. Now there was the Colonel's governess - an' he a
privit too! - that was never known in barricks; an' wan av the
Major's maids, and she was promised to a man; an' some more
outside; an' fwhat ut was amongst us we'll never know till
Judgment Day! 'Twas the nature av the baste to put the comether on
the best av thim - not the prettiest by any manner av manes - but
the like av such woman as you cud lay your band on the Book an'
swear there was niver thought av foolishness in. An' for that very
reason, mark you, he was niver caught. He came close to ut wanst
or twice, but caught he niver was, an' that cost him more at the
ind than the beginnin'. He talked to me more than most, bekaze he
tould me, barrin' the accident av my educashin, I'd ha' been the
same kind av divil he was. 'An' is ut
like,' he wud say, houldin' his head high - 'is ut like that I'd
iver be thrapped? For fwhat am I when all's said an' done?' he
sez. 'A damned privit,' sez he. 'An' is ut like, think you, that
thim I know wud be connect wid a privit like me? Number tin
thousand four hundred an' sivin,' he sez, grinnin'. I knew by the
turn av his spache whin he was not takin' care to talk rough that
he was a gentleman ranker.

I do not undherstan' ut at all,' I sez; 'but I know,' sez I, 'that
the divil looks out av your eyes, an' I'll have no share wid you.
A little fun by way av amusemint where 't will do no harm, Larry,
is right and fair, but I am mistook if 'tis any amusemint to you,'
I sez.

"'You are much mistook,' he sez. 'An' I counsel you not to judge
your betters.'

"'My betthers!' I sez. 'God help you, Larry. There's no betther in
this. 'Tis all bad, as you will find for yoursilf.'

"You're not like me,' he says, tossin' his head.

"'Praise the Saints, I am not,' I sez. 'Fwhat I have done I have
done an' been crool sorry for. Fwhin your time comes,' sez I,
'ye'll remimber fwhat I say.'

"'An' whin that time comes,' sez he, 'I'll come to you for ghostly
consolation, Father Terence,' an' at that he wint off afther some
more divil's business - for to get expayrience, he tould me. He
was wicked - rank wicked - wicked as all Hell! I'm not construct
by nature to go in fear av any man, but, begad, I was afraid av
Larry. He'd come in to barricks wid his cap on three hairs, an'
lie on his cot and stare at the ceilin', and now an' again he'd
fetch a little laugh, the like av a splash in the bottom av a
well, an' by that I knew he was schamin' new wickedness, an' I'd
be afraid. All this was long an' long ago, but ut hild me straight
- for a while.

"I tould you, did I not, Sorr, that I was caressed an' pershuaded
to lave the Tyrone on account av a throuble?"

"Something to do with a belt and a man's head, wasn't it?" Terence
had never given me the exact facts.

"It was. Faith, ivry time I go on prisoner's gyard in coort I
wondher fwhy I am not where the pris'ner is. But the man I struk
tuk it in fair fight, an' he had the good sinse not to die.
Considher now, fwhat wud ha' come to the Arrmy if he had! I was
enthreated to exchange, an' my Commandin' Orf'cer pled wid me. I
wint, not to be disobligin', an' Larry tould me he was powerful
sorry to lose me, though fwhat I'd done to make him sorry I do not
know. So to the Ould Rig'mint I came, lavin' Larry to go to the
divil his own way, an' niver expectin' to see him again except as
a shootin'-case in barricks. . . . Who's
that lavin' the compound?" Terence's quick eye had caught sight of
a white uniform skulking behind hedge.

"The Sergeant's gone visiting," said a voice.

"Thin I command here, an' I will have no
sneakin' away to the bazar, an' huntin' for you wid a pathrol at
midnight. Nalson, for I know ut's you, come back to the verandah."

Nalson, detected, slunk back to his fellows. There was a grumble
that died away in a minute or two, and Terence, turning on the
other side, went on:-

"That was the last I saw av Larry for a while. Exchange is the
same as death for not thinkin', an' by token I married Dinah, an'
that kept me from remimberin' ould times. Thin we wint up to the
Front, an' ut tore my heart in tu to lave
Dinah at the Depot in Pindi. Consequint whin was at the Front I
fought circumspectuous till I warrmed up, an thin I fought double
tides. You remimber fwhat I tould you in the gyard-gate av the
fight at Silver's Theatre."

"Wot's that about Silver's Theayter!" said Ortheris quickly, over
his shoulder.

"Nothin', little man. A tale that ye know. As I was sayin', afther
that fight us av the Ould Rig'mint an' the Tyrone was all mixed
together takin' shtock ay the dead, an' av coorse I wint about to
find if there was any man that remimbered me. The second man I
came acrost - an' how I'd missed him in the fight I do not know -
was Larry, an' a fine man he looked, but oulder, by token that he
had a call to be. 'Larry,' sez I, 'how is ut wid you?'

"'Ye're callin' the wrong man,' he sez, wid his gentleman's smile;
'Larry has been dead these three years. They call him "Love-o'-
Women" now,' he sez. By that I knew the ould divil was in him yet,
but the ind av a fight is no time for the beginnin' av confession,
so we sat down an' talked av times.

"'They tell me you're a married man,' he sez, puffing slow at his
poipe. 'Are ye happy?'

"'I will be whin I get back to Depot,' I sez. ''Tis a
reconnaissance honeymoon now.'

"'I'm married too,' he sez, puffin' slow an' more slow, an'
stopperin' wid his forefinger.

"'Sind you happiness,' I sez. 'That's the best hearin' for a long
time.'

"'Are ye av that opinion?' he sez; an' thin he began talkin' av
the campaign. The sweat av Silver's Theatre was not dhry upon him,
an' he was prayin' for more work. I was well contint to lie and
listen to the cook-pot lids.

"Whin he got up off the ground he shtaggered a little, an' laned
over all twisted.

"'Ye've got more than ye bargained for,' I sez. 'Take an
inventory, Larry. 'Tis like you're hurt.'

"He turned round stiff as a ramrod an' damned the eyes av me up
an' down for an impartinent Irish-faced ape. If that had been in
barricks, I'd ha' stretched him an' no more said; but 'twas at the
Front, an' afther such a fight as Silver's Theatre I knew there
was no callin' a man to account for his timpers. He might as well
ha' kissed me. Aftherwards I was well pleased I kept my fistes
home. Then our Captain Crook - Cruik-na-bul-leen - came up. He'd
been talkin' to the little orf'cer bhoy av the Tyrone. 'We're all
cut to windystraws,' he sez, 'but the Tyrone are damned short for
noncoms. Go you over there, Mulvaney,
an' be Deputy-Sergeant, Corp'ral, Lance, an' everything else ye
can lay hands on till I bid you stop.'

"'I wint over an' tuk hould. There was wan sergeant left standin',
an' they'd pay no heed to him. The remnint was me, an' 'twas high
time I came. Some I talked to, an' some I did not, but before
night the bhoys av the Tyrone stud to attention, begad, if I
sucked on my poipe above a whishper. Betune you an' me an' Bobs, I
was commandin' the company, an' that was what Cruik had
thransferred me for, an' the little orf'cer bhoy knew ut, and I
knew ut, but the comp'ny did not. And there, mark you, is the
vartue that no money an' no dhrill can buy - the vartue av the
ould soldier that knows his orf'cer's work an' does ut - at the
salute!

"Thin the Tyrone, wid the Ould Rig'mint in touch, was sint
maraudin' and prowlin' acrost the hills promishcuous an'
unsatisfactory. 'Tis my privit opinion that a gin'ral does not
know half his time fwhat to do wid three-quarthers his command. So
he shquats on his hunkers an' bids thim run round an' round
forninst him while he considhers on ut. Whin by the process av
nature they get sejuced into a big fight that was none av their
seekin', he sez: 'Obsarve my shuparior janius! I meant ut to come
so.' We ran round an' about, an' all we got was shootin' into the
camp at night, an' rushin' empty sungars wid the long bradawl, an'
bein' hit from behind rocks till we was wore out - all except
Love-o'-Women. That puppy-dog business was mate an' dhrink to him.
Begad, he cud niver get enough av ut. Me well knowin' that it is
just this desultorial campaignin' that kills the best men, an'
suspicionin' that if I was cut the little orf'cer bhoy wud expind
all his men in thryin' to get out, I wud lie most powerful doggo
whin I heard a shot, an' curl my long legs behind a bowlder, an'
run like blazes whin the ground was clear. Faith, if I led the
Tyrone in rethreat wanst I led them forty times. Love-o'-Women wud
stay pottin' an' pottin' from behind a rock, and wait till the
fire was heaviest, an' thin stand up an' fire man-height clear. He
wud lie out in camp too at night snipin' at the shadows, for he
niver tuk a mouthful av slape. My commandin' orf'cer - save his
little soul! - cud not see the beauty av of my strategims, an'
whin the Ould Rig'mint crossed us, an' that was wanst a week, he'd
throt off to Cruik, wid his big blue eyes as round as saucers, an'
lay an information against me. I heard thim wanst talkin' through
the tent-wall, an' I nearly laughed.

"'He runs - runs like a hare,' sez the little orf'cer bhoy. "Tis
demoralisin' my men.'

"'Ye damned little fool,' sez Cruik, laughin'. 'He's larnin' you
your business. Have ye been rushed at night yet?'

"'No,' sez the child, wishful that he had been.

"'Have you any wounded?' sez Cruik.

"'No,' he sez. 'There was no chanst for that. They follow Mulvaney
too quick,' he sez.

"'Fwhat more do you want, thin?' sez Cruik. 'Terence is bloodin'
you neat an' handy,' he sez. 'He knows fwhat you do not, an'
that's that there's
a time for ivrything. He'll not lead you wrong,' he sez, 'but I'd
give a month's pay to larn fwhat he thinks av you.'

"That kept the babe quiet, but Love-o'-Women was pokin' at me for
ivrything I did, an' specially my manoeuvres.

"'Mr. Mulvaney,' he sez wan evenin', very contempshus, 'you're
growin' very jeldy wid your feet. Among gentlemen,' he sez, 'among
gentlemen that's called no pretty name.'

"'Among privits 'tis different,' I sez. 'Get back to your tent.
I'm sergeant here,' I sez.

"There was just enough in the voice av me to tell him he was
playin' wid his life betune his teeth. He wint off, an' I noticed
that this man that was contempshus set off from the halt wid a
shunt as tho' he was bein' kicked behind. That same night there
was a Paythan picnic in the hills about, an' firin' into our tents
fit to wake the livin' dead. 'Lie down all,' I sez. 'Lie down an'
kape still. They'll no more than waste ammunition.'

"I heard a man's feet on the ground, an' thin a 'Tini joinin' in
the chorus. I'd been lyin' warm, thinkin' av Dinah an' all, but I
crup out wid the bugle for to look round in case there was a rush,
an' the 'Tini was flashin' at the fore-ind av the camp, an' the
hill near by was fair flickerin' wid long-range fire. Undher the
starlight I beheld Love-o'-Women settin' on a rock wid his belt
and helmet off. He shouted wanst or twice, an' thin I heard him
say: 'They should ha' got the range long ago. Maybe they'll fire
at the flash.' Thin he fired again, an' that dhrew a fresh volley,
and the long slugs that they chew in their teeth came floppin'
among the rocks like tree-toads av a hot night. 'That's better,'
sez Love-o'-Women. 'Oh Lord, how long, how long!' he sez, an' at
that he lit a match an' held ut above his head.

"'Mad,' thinks I, 'mad as a coot,' an' I tuk wan stip
forward, an' the nixt I knew was the sole av my boot flappin' like
a cavalry gydon an' the
- funny-bone av my toes tinglin'. 'Twas a clane-cut shot - a
slug - that niver touched sock or
hide, but set me bare-fut on the rocks. At that I tuk Love-o'-
Women by the scruff an' threw him under
a bowlder, an' whin I sat down I heard the bullets patterin' on
that good stone.

"'Ye may dhraw your own wicked fire,' I sez, shakin' him, 'but I'm
not goin' to be kilt too.'

"Ye've come too soon,' he sez. 'Ye've come too soon. In another
minute they cud not ha' missed me. Mother av God,' he sez, 'fwhy
did ye not lave me be? Now 'tis all to do again,' an' he hides his
face in his hands.

"'So that's it,' I sez, shakin' him again. 'That's th manin' av
your disobeyin' ordhers.'

"'I dare not kill meself,' he sez, rockin' to and fro. 'My own
hand wud not let me die, and there's not a bullet this month past
wud touch me. I'm to die slow,' he sez. 'I'm to die slow. But I'm
in hell now,' he sez, shriekin' like a woman. 'I'm in hell now!'

"'God be good to us all,' I sez, for I saw his face. 'Will ye tell
a man the throuble. If 'tis not murder, maybe we'll mend it yet.'

"At that he laughed. 'D'you remimber fwhat I said in the Tyrone
barricks about comin' to you for ghostly consolation. I have not
forgot,' he sez. 'That came back, an' the rest av my time is on me
now, Terence. I've fought ut off for months an' months, but the
liquor will not bite any more, Terence,' he sez. 'I can't get
dhrunk.'

"Thin I knew he spoke the truth about bein' in hell, for whin
liquor does not take hould, the sowl av a man is rotten in him.
But me bein' such as I was, fwhat could I say to him?

"'Di'monds an' pearls,' he begins again. 'Di'monds and pearls I
have thrown away wid both hands - an' fwhat have I left? Oh, fwhat
have I left?'

"He was shakin' an' thremblin' up against my shouldher, an' the
slugs was singin' overhead, an' I was wonderin' whether my little
bhoy wud have sinse enough to kape his men quiet through all this
firin'.

"'So long as I did not think,' sez Love-o'-Women, 'so long I did
not see - I wud not see - but I can now, what I've lost. The time
an' the place,' he sez, 'an' the very words I said whin ut pleased
me to go off alone to hell. But thin, even thin,' he sez,
wrigglin' tremenjus, 'I wud not ha' been happy. There was too much
behind av me. How cud I ha' believed her sworn oath - me that have
bruk mine again an' again for the sport av seein' thim cry. An'
there are the others,' he sez. 'Oh, what will I do - what will I
do'?' He rocked back an' forward again, an' I think he was cryin'
like wan av the women he dealt wid.

"The full half av fwhat he said was Brigade Ordhers to me, but
from the rest an' the remnint I suspicioned somethin' av his
throuble. 'Twas the judgmint av God had grup the heel av him, as I
tould him 'twould in the Tyrone barricks. The slugs was singin'
over our rock more an' more, an' I sez for to divart him: 'Let bad
alone,' I sez. 'They'll be thryin' to rush the camp in a minut'.'

"I had no more than said that whin a Paythan man crep' up on his
belly wid his knife betune his teeth, not twinty yards from us.
Love-o'-Women jumped up an' fetched a yell, an' the man saw him
an' ran at him (he'd left his rifle under the rock) wid the knife.
Love-o'-Women niver turned a hair, but by the Living Power, for I
saw ut, a stone twisted under the Paythan man's feet an' he came
down full sprawl, an' his knife wint tinklin' acrost the rocks! 'I
tould you I was Cain,' sez Love-o'-Women.' 'Fwhat's the use av
killin' him? He's an honest man - by compare.'

"I was not dishputin' about the morils av Paythans that tide, so I
dhropped Love-o'-Women's burt acrost the man's face, an' 'Hurry
into camp,' I sez, 'for this may be the first av a rush.'

"There was no rush afther all, though we waited undher arms to
give thim a chanst. The Paythan man must ha' come alone for the
mischief, an' afther a while Love-o'-Women wint back to his tint
wid that quare lurchin' sind-off in his walk that I cud niver
undherstand. Begad, I pitied him, an' the more bekaze he made me
think for the rest av the night av the day whin I was confirmed
Corp'ril, not actin' Lef'tenant, an' my thoughts was not good.

"Ye can undherstand that afther that night we came to talkin' a
dale together, an' bit by bit ut came out fwhat I'd suspicioned.
The whole av his carr'in's on an' divilmints had come back on him
hard as liquor comes back whin you've been on the dhrink for a
wake. All he'd said an' all he'd done, an' only he cud tell how
much that was, come back, an' there was niver a minut's peace in
his sowl. 'Twas the Horrors widout any cause to see, an' yet, an'
yet - fwhat am I talkin' av? He'd ha' taken the Horrors wid
thankfulness. Beyon' the repentince av the man, an' that was
beyon' the natur av man - awful, awful, to behould! - there was
more that was worst than any repentince. Av the scores an' scores
that he called over in his mind (an' they were dhrivin' him mad),
there was, mark you, wan woman av all, an' she was not his wife,
that cut him to the quick av his marrow. 'Twas there he said that
he'd thrown away di'monds an' pearls past count, an' thin he'd
begin again like a blind byle in an oil-mill, walkin' round an'
round, to considher (him that was beyond all touch av being happy
this side hell!) how happy he wud ha' been wid her. The more he
considhered, the more he'd consate himself that he'd lost mighty
happiness, an' thin he wud work ut all backwards, an' cry that he
niver cud ha' been happy anyways.

"Time an' time an' again in camp, on p'rade, ay, an' in action,
I've seen that man shut his eyes an' duck his head as you wud duck
to the flicker av a bay'nit. For 'twas thin he tould me that the
thought av all he'd missed came an' stud forninst him like red-hot
irons. For what he'd done wid the others he was sorry, but he did
not care; but this wan woman that I've tould of, by the Hilts av
God she made him pay for all the others twice over! Niver did I
know that a man cud enjure such tormint widout his heart crackin'
in his ribs, an' I have been" - Terence turned the pipe-stem
slowly between his teeth -" I have been in some black cells. All I
iver suffered tho' was not to be talked of alongside av him . . .
an' what could I do? Paternosters was no more than peas for his
sorrow.

"Evenshually we finished our prom'nade acrost the hills, and
thanks to me for the same, there was no casualties an' no glory.
The campaign was comin' to an ind, an' all the rig'mints was bein'
drawn together for to be sint back home. Love-o'-Women was mighty
sorry bekaze he had no work to do, an' all his time to think in.
I've heard that man talkin' to his belt-plate an' his side-arms
while he was soldierin' thim, all to prevint himself from
thinkin', an' ivry time he got up afther he had been settin' down
or wint on from the halt, he'd start wid that kick an' traverse
that I tould you of - his legs sprawlin' all ways to wanst. He wud
niver go see the docthor, tho' I tould him to be wise. He'd curse
me up an' down for my advice; but I knew he was no more a man to
be reckoned wid than the little bhoy was a commandin' orf'cer, so
I let his tongue run if it aised him.

"Wan day - 'twas on the way back - I was walkin' round camp wid
him, an' he stopped an' struck ground wid his right fut three or
four times doubtful. 'Fwhat is ut?' I sez. 'Is that ground?' sez
he; an' while I was thinkin' his mind was goin', up comes the
docthor, who'd been anatomisin' a dead bullock. Love-o'-Women
starts to go on quick, an' lands me a kick on the knee while his
legs was gettin' into marchin' ordher.

"Hould on there,' sez the docthor; an' Love-o'-Women's face, that
was lined like a gridiron, turns red as brick.

"'Tention,' says the docthor; an' Love-o'-Women stud so. 'Now
shut your eyes,' sez the docthor. 'No, ye must not hould by your
comrade.'

"'Tis all up,' sez Love-o'-Women, trying to smile. 'I'd fall,
docthor, an' you know ut.'

"'Fall?' I sez. 'Fall at attention wid your eyes shut! Fwhat do
you mane?'

"The docthor knows,' he sez. 'I've hild up as long as I can, but
begad I'm glad 'tis all done. But I will die slow,' he sez, 'I
will die very slow.'

"I cud see by the docthor's face that he was mortial sorry for the
man, an' he ordhered him to hospital. We wint back together, an' I
was dumbstruck; Love-o'-Women was cripplin' and crumblin' at ivry
step. He walked wid a hand on my shoulder all slued sideways, an'
his right leg swingin' like a lame camel. Me not knowin' more than
the dead fwhat ailed him, 'twas just as though the docthor's word
had done ut all - as if Love-o'-Women had but been waitin' for the
ordher to let go.

"In hospital he sez somethin' to the docthor that I could not
catch.

"'Holy shmoke!' sez the docthor, 'an' who are you to be givin'
names to your diseases? 'Tis ag'in' all the regulations.'

"'I'll not be a privit much longer,' sez Love-o'-Women in his
gentleman's voice, an' the docthor jumped.

"'Thrate me as a study, Docthor Lowndes,' he sez; an' that was the
first time I'd iver heard a docthor called his name.

"'Good-bye, Terence,' sez Love-o'-Women. "Tis a dead man I am
widout the pleasure av dyin'. You'll come an' set wid me sometimes
for the peace av my soul.'

"Now I had been minded to ask Cruik to take me back to the Ould
Rig'mint, for the fightin' was over, an' I was wore out wid the
ways av the bhoys in the Tyrone; but I shifted my will, an' hild
on, an' wint to set wid Love-o'-Women in the hospital. As I have
said, Sorr, the man bruk all to little pieces undher my hand. How
long he had hild up an' forced himself fit to march I cannot tell,
but in hospital but two days later he was such as I hardly knew. I
shuk hands wid him, an' his grip was fair strong, but his hands
wint all ways to wanst, an' he cud not button his tunic.

"'I'll take long an' long to die yet,' he sez, 'for the ways av
sin they're like interest in the rig'mintal savin's-bank - sure,
but a damned long time bein' paid.'

"The docthor sez to me quiet one day, 'Has Tighe there anythin' on
his mind?' he sez. 'He's burnin' himself out.'

"'How shud I know, Sorr?' I sez, as innocent as putty.

"They call him Love-o'-Women in the Tyrone, do they not?' he sez.
'I was a fool to ask. Be wid him all you can. He's houldin' on to
your strength.'

"'But (what ails him, docthor,' I sez.

"'They call ut Locomotus attacks us,' he sez, 'bekaze,' sez he,
'ut attacks us like a locomotive, if ye know fwhat that manes. An'
ut comes,' sez he, lookin' at me, 'ut comes from bein' called
Love-o'-Women.'

"'You're jokin', docthor,' I sez.

"'Jokin'!' sez he. 'If iver you feel that you've got a felt sole
in your boot instead av a Government bull's-wool, come to me,' he
sez, 'an' I'll show you whether 'tis a joke.'

"You would not belave ut, Sorr, but that an' seein' Love-o'-Women
overtuk widout warnin' put the cowld fear av attacks us on me so
strong that for a week an' more I was kickin' my toes against
stones an' stumps for the pleasure av feelin' them hurt.

"An' Love-o'-Women lay in the cot (he might have gone down wid the
wounded before an' before, but he asked to stay wid me), aud fwhat
there was in his mind had full swing at him night an' day an' ivry
hour av the day an' the night, an' he withered like beef rations
in a hot sun, an' his eyes was like owls' eyes, an' his hands was
mut'nous.

"They was gettin' the rig'mints away wan by wan, the campaign
bein' inded, but as ushuil they was behavin' as if niver a
rig'mint had been moved before in the mem'ry av man. Now, fwhy is
that, Sorr? There's fightin' in an' out nine months av the twelve
somewhere in the Army. There has been - for years an' years an'
years, an' I wud ha' thought they'd begin to get the hang av
providin' for throops. But no! Ivry time it's like a girls' school
meetin' a big red bull whin they're goin' to church; an' 'Mother
av God,' sez the Commissariat an' the railways an' the Barrick-
masters, 'fwhat will we do now?' The ordhers came to us av the
Tyrone an' the Ould Rig'mint an' half a dozen more to go down, and
there the ordhers stopped dumb. We wint down, by the special grace
av God - down the Khaiber anyways. There was sick wid us, an' I'm
thinkin' that some av them was jolted to death in the doolies, but
they was anxious to be kilt so if they cud get to Peshawur alive
the sooner. I walked by Love-o'-Women - there was no marchin', an'
Love-o'-Women was not in a stew to get on. 'If I'd only ha' died
up there!' sez he through the doolie-curtains, an' then he'd twist
up his eyes an' duck his head for the thoughts that came to him.

"Dinah was in Depot at Pindi, but I wint circumspectuous, for well
I knew 'tis just at the rump-ind av all things that his luck turns
on a man. By token I ad seen a dhriver of a batthery goin' by at a
trot singin' 'Home, swate home' at the top av his shout, and
takin' no heed o his bridle-hand - I had seen that man dhrop under
the gun in the middle of a word, and come out by the limber like -
like a frog on a pave-stone. No. I wud not hurry, though, God
knows, my heart was all in Pindi. Love-o'-Women saw fwhat was in
my mind, an' 'Go on, Terence,' h sez, 'I know fwhat's waitin' for
you.' 'I will not,' I sez. "Twill kape a little yet.'

"Ye know the turn of the pass forninst Jumrood and the nine mile
road on the flat to Peshawur? All Peshawur was along that road day
and night waitin' for frinds - men, women, childer, and bands.
Some av the throops was camped
round Jumrood, an' some went on to Peshawur to get away down to
their cantonmints. We came through in the early mornin', havin'
been awake the night through, and we dhruv sheer into the middle
av the mess. Mother av Glory, will I ever forget that comin' back?
The light was not fair lifted, and the furst we heard was 'For
'tis my delight av a shiny night,' frum a band that thought we was
the second four comp'nies av the Lincolnshire. At that we was
forced to sind them a yell to say who we was, an' thin up wint
'The wearin' av the Green.' It made me crawl all up my backbone,
not havin' taken my brequist. Thin, right smash into our rear,
came fwhat was left av the Jock Elliotts - wid four pipers an' not
half a kilt among thim, playin' for the dear life, an' swingin'
their rumps like buck rabbits, an' a native rig'mint shrieking
blue murther. Ye niver heard the like. There was men cryin' like
women that did - an' faith I do not blame thim. Fwhat bruk me down
was the Lancers' Band - shinin' an' spick like angels, wid the
ould dhrum-horse at the head an' the silver kettle-dhrums an' all
an' all, waitin' for their men that was behind us. They shtruck up
the Cavalry Canter, an', begad, those poor ghosts that had not a
sound fut in a throop they answered to ut, the men rockin' in
their saddles. We thried to cheer them as they wint by, but ut
came out like a big gruntin' cough, so there must have been many
that was feelin' like me. Oh, but I'm forgettin'! The Fly-by-
Nights was waitin' for their second battalion, an' whin ut came
out, there was the Colonel's horse led at the head - saddle-empty.
The men fair worshipped him, an' he'd died at Au Musjid on the
road down. They waited till the remnint av the battalion was up,
and thin - clane against ordhers, for who wanted that chune that
day? - they wint back to Peshawur slow-time an' tearin' the bowils
out av ivry man that heard, wid 'The Dead March.' Right across our
line they wint, an' ye know their uniforms are as black as the
Sweeps, crawlin' past like the dead, an' the other bands damnin'
them to let be.

"Little they cared. The carpse was wid them, an' they'd ha' taken
ut so through a Coronation. Our ordhers was to go into Peshawur,
an' we wint hot-fut past the Fly-by-Nights, not singin', to lave
that chune behind us. That was how we tuk the road of the other
corps.

"'Twas ringin' in my ears still whin I felt in the bones of me
that Dinah was comin', an' I heard a shout, an' thin I saw a horse
an' a tattoo latherin' down the road, hell to shplit, under women.
I knew - I knew! Wan was the Tyrone Colonel's wife - ould Beeker's
lady - her gray hair flyin' an' her fat round carkiss rowlin' in
the saddle, an' the other was Dinah, that shud ha' been at Pindi.
The Colonel's lady she charged at the head av our column like a
stone wall, an' she all but knocked Beeker off his horse throwin'
her arms round his neck an' blubberin', 'Me bhoy! Me bhoy!' an'
Dinah wheeled left an' came down our flank, an' I let a yell that
had suffered inside av me for months, and - Dinah came. Will I
iver forget that while I live! She'd come on pass from Pindi, an'
the Colonel's lady had lint her the tattoo. They'd been huggin'
an' cryin' in each other's arms all the long night.

"So she walked along wid her hand in mine, askin' forty questions
to wanst, an' beggin' me on the Virgin to make oath that there was
not a bullet consaled in me, unbeknownst somewhere, an' thin I
remimbered Love-o'-Women. He was watchin' us, an' his face was
like the face av a divil that has been cooked too long. I did not
wish Dinah to see ut, for whin a woman's runnin' over wid
happiness she's like to be touched, for harm aftherwards, by the
laste little thing in life. So I dhrew the curtain, an' Love-o'-
Women lay back and groaned.

"Whin we marched into Peshawur, Dinah wint to barracks to wait for
me, an' me feelin' so rich that tide, I wint on to take Love-o'-
Women to hospital. It was the last I cud do, an' to save him the
dust an' the smother I turned the doolie-men down a road well
clear av the rest av the throops, an we wint along, me talkin'
through the curtains. Av a sudden I heard him say: -

"'Let me look. For the Mercy av Hiven, let me look!' I had been so
tuk up wid gettin' him out av the dust and thinkin' of Dinah that
1 had not kept my eyes about me. There was a woman ridin' a little
behind av us, an', talkin' ut over wid Dinah aftherwards, that
same woman must ha' rid not far on the Jumrood road. Dinah said
that she had been hoverin' like a kite on the left flank av the
column.

"I halted the doolie to set the curtains, an' she rode by walkin'-
pace, an' Love-o'-Women's eyes wint afther her as if he would fair
haul her down from the saddle.

"'Follow there,' was all he sez, but I niver heard a man spake in
that voice before or since, an' I knew by those two wan words an'
the look in his face that she was Di'monds-an'-Pearls that he'd
talked av in his disthresses.

"We followed till she turned into the gate av a little house that
stud near the Edwardes's Gate. There was two girls in the
verandah, an' they ran in whin they saw us. Faith, at long eye-
range ut did not take me a wink to see fwhat kind av house ut was.
The throops bein' there an' all, there was three or four such, but
aftherwards the polis bade them go. At the verandah Love-o'-Women
sez, catchin' his breath, 'Stop here,' an' thin, an' thin, wid a
grunt that must ha' tore the heart up from his stomach, he swung
himself out av the doolie, an' my troth he stud up on his feet wid
the sweat pourin' down his face. If Mackie was to walk in here now
I'd be less tuk back than I was thin. Where he'd dhrawn his power
from, God knows or the divil - but 't was a dead man walkin' in
the sun wid the face av a dead man and the breath av a dead man
held up by the Power, an' the legs an' the arms of the carpse
obeyin' ordhers!
-
"The woman stud in the verandah. She'd been a beauty too, though
her eyes was sunk in her head, an' she looked Love-o'-Women up an'
down terrible. 'An',' she sez, kickin' back the tail av her habit,
- 'An',' she sez, 'fwhat are you doin' here, married man?'

"Love-o'-Women said nothin', but a little froth came to his lips,
an' he wiped ut off wid his hand an' looked at her an' the paint
on her, an' looked, an' looked, an' looked.

"'An' yet,' she sez, wid a laugh. (Did you hear Mrs. Raines laugh
whin Mackie died? Ye did not? Well for you.) 'An' yet,' she sez,
'who but you have betther right,' sez she. 'You taught me the
road. You showed me the way,' she sez. 'Ay, look,' she sez, 'for
'tis your work; you that tould me - d'you remimber it? - that a
woman who was false to wan man cud be false to two. I have been
that,' she sez, 'that an' more, for you always said I was a quick
learner, Ellis. Look well,' she sez, 'for it is me that you called
your wife in the sight av God long since!' An' she laughed.

"Love-o'-Women stud still in the sun widout answerin'. Thin he
groaned an' coughed to wanst, an' I thought 'twas the death-
rattle, but he niver tuk his eyes off her face not for a wink. Ye
cud ha' put her eyelashes through the flies av an E. P. tent, they
were so long.

"'Fwhat do you do here?' she sez, word by word, 'that have taken
away my joy in my man this five years gone - that have broken my
rest an' killed my body an' damned my soul for the sake av seem'
how 'twas done? Did your expayrience aftherwards bring you acrost
any woman that gave more than I did? Wud I not ha' died for you
an' wid you, Ellis? Ye know that, man! If ever your lyin' sowl saw
truth in uts life ye know that.'

"An' Love-o'-Women lifted up his head and said, 'I knew,' an' that
was all. While she was spakin' the Power hild him up parade-set in
the 'sun, an the sweat dhropped undher his helmet. 'Twas more an'
more throuble for him to talk, an' his mouth was runnin'
twistways.

"Fwhat do you do here?' she sez, an' her voice whit up. 'Twas like
bells tollin' before. 'Time was whin you were quick enough wid
your words, - you that talked me down to hell. Are ye dumb now?'
An' Love-o'-W omen got his tongue, an' sez simple, like a little
child, 'May I come in?' he sez.

"The house is open day an' night,' she sez, wid a laugh; an' Love-
o'-Women ducked his head an' hild up his hand as tho' he was
gyardin'. The Power was on him still - it hild him up still, for,
by my sowl, as I'll never save ut, he walked up the verandah steps
that had been a livin' corpse in hospital for a month!

"'An' now'?' she sez, lookin' at him; an' the red paint stud lone
on the white av her face like a bull's-eye on a target.

"He lifted up his eyes, slow an' very slow, an' he looked at her
long an' very long, an' he tuk his spache betune his teeth wid a
wrench that shuk him.

"'I'm dyin', Aigypt - dyin',' he sez; ay, those were his words,
for I remimber the name he called her. He was turnin' the death-
colour, but his eyes niver rowled. They were set - set on her.
Widout word or warnin' she opened her arms full stretch, an'
'Here!' she sez. (Oh, fwhat a golden mericle av a voice ut was!)
'Die here,' she sez; an' Love-o'-Women dhropped forward, an' she
hild him up, for she was a fine big woman.

"I had no time to turn, bekaze that minut I heard the sowl quit
him - tore out in the death-rattle - an' she laid him back in a
long chair, an' she sez to me, 'Misther soldier,' she sez, 'will
ye not go in an' talk to wan av the girls. This sun's too much for
him.'

"Well I knew there was no sun he'd iver see, but I cud not spake,
so I wint away wid the empty doolie to find the docthor. He'd been
breakfastin' an' lunchin' ever since we'd come in, an' he was as
full as a tick.

"Faith ye've got dhrunk mighty soon,' he sez, whin I'd tould him,
'to see that man walk. Barrin' a puff or two av life, he was a
corpse before we left Jumrood. I've a great mind,' he sez, 'to
confine you.'

"There's a dale av liquor runnin' about, docthor,' I sez, solemn
as a hard-boiled egg. 'Maybe 'tis so, but will ye not come an' see
the corpse at the house?'

"Tis dishgraceful,' he sez, 'that I would be expected to go to a
place like that. Was she a pretty woman?'' he sez, an' at that he
set off double quick.

"I cud see that the two was in the verandah were I'd left them,
an' I knew by the hang av her head an' the noise av the crows
fwhat had happened. 'Twas the first and the last time that I'd
ever known woman to use the pistol. They dread the shot as a rule,
but Di'monds-an'-Pearls she did not - she did not.

"The docthor touched the long black hair av her head ('twas all
loose upon Love-o'-Women's chest), an' that cleared the liquor out
av him. He stud considherin' a long time, his hands in his
pockets, an' at last he sez to me, 'Here's a double death from
naturil causes, most naturil causes; an' in the presint state av
affairs the rig'mint will be thankful for wan grave the less to
dig. Issiwasti,' he sez, 'Issiwasti, Privit Mulvaney, these two
will be buried together in the Civil Cemet'ry at my expinse, an'
may the good God,' he sez, 'make it SO much for me whin my time
comes. Go to your wife,' he sez; 'go an' be happy. I'll see to
this all.'

"I left him still considherin'. They was buried in the Civil
Cemet'ry together, wid a Church of England service. There was too
many buryin's thin to ask questions, an' the docthor - he ran away
wid Major - Major Van Dyce's lady that year - he saw to ut all.
Fwhat the right an' the wrong av Love-o'-Women an' Di'monds-an'-
Pearls was I niver knew, an' I will niver know; but I've tould ut
as I came acrost ut - here an' there in little pieces. So, being
fwhat I am, an' knowin' fwhat I know, that's fwhy I say in this
shootin'-case here, Mackie that's dead an' in hell is the lucky
man. There are times, Sorr, whin 'tis betther for the man to die
than to live, an' by consequince forty million times betther for
the woman."

"H'up there!" said Ortheris. "It's time to go." The witnesses and
guard formed up in the thick white dust of the parched twilight
and swung off, marching easy and whistling. Down the road to the
green by the church I could hear Ortheris, the black Book-lie
still uncleansed on his lips, setting, with a fine sense of the
fitness of things, the shrill quick-step that runs -

"Oh, do not despise the advice of the wise,
Learn wisdom from those that are older,
And don't try for things that are out of your reach -
An' that's what the Girl told the Soldier
Soldier! Soldier!
Oh, that's what the Girl told the Soldier!"

-THE END-
Rudyard Kipling's short story: Love-o'-Women

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