The Red Hand of Ulster Part 31

"What's happening?" he said. "For G.o.d's sake tell me. Are there many killed?"

"No one yet on this side," I said. "There may be a few soldiers. .h.i.t, but I don't suppose you mind about them. There's just going to be a charge. Get up and you'll be able to see it."

c.l.i.thering caught the edge of the window-sash and dragged himself to his feet. He was just in time to see Bob's men rush along the street.

They did not charge in any sort of order. They simply spread out and ran as fast as they could, as fast as I ever saw men run. Some of them took their rifles with them. Others, evidently agreeing with me that they would do more destruction with their fists, left their rifles behind. They covered fifty or sixty yards, and were still going fast when they discovered that the soldiers were not waiting for them.

Henderson walked alongside the leading men of the column with his ridiculously long sword in his hand. Two mounted officers brought up the rear. Two men, with their rifles sloped over their shoulders, marched briskly across the end of the street. In the middle of the column were eight stretchers carried along. Bob's men, in spite of their bad shooting, had wounded that number of their enemies. I found out afterwards that they had killed three others outright. The discipline of the British army must be remarkably good. In spite of this heavy loss the soldiers obeyed orders, and steadily refrained from trying to kill Bob's men. Their final disappearance was a crowning proof of their obedience. I watched this body of infantry march out of sight into the next street. They were not running away.

They were not even retreating. They gave me the impression of having stopped the battle in a way that was quite customary because it was time for them to do something else--get some dinner perhaps.

This performance produced, as might be expected, a most disconcerting effect upon Bob's warriors. They stopped running and stared at their departing foes. Then they turned round and gaped at each other. Then they applied to Bob Power for information. They wanted to know, apparently, whether they had gained a great and glorious victory, or were to regard the departure of the enemy as some subtle kind of strategy. Bob seemed as much puzzled as every one else. Even Bland, in spite of his experience of battles in two great wars, was taken aback.

"Well, I'm d.a.m.ned," he said.

"Thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d!" said c.l.i.thering.

Then he crumpled up and fainted. He meant, I think, to express the relief he felt at the cessation of hostilities. He had not heard, or if he heard, had not heeded, Bland's remark. c.l.i.thering is not the type of man to thank G.o.d for any one's d.a.m.nation, and he had no special dislike of Bland.

"I'm d.a.m.ned," said Bland again.

"I suppose," I said, "that it's rather unusual in battles to do that sort of thing--march off, I mean--without giving some sort of notice to the other side. It strikes me as rather bad form. There ought to be a rule against it."

Bob's men returned, sheepishly and dejectedly, to their original posts. Crossan was arguing with McConkey about the condition of the machine gun. The young man who had taken off his coat before the battle picked it up from the ground, brushed it carefully, and put it on. Bob Power walked along the street with a note-book in his hands.

He appeared to be writing down the names of the shop-keepers whose windows were broken. He is a young man of active and energetic disposition. I suppose he felt that he must do something.

Bland stared through the window for some time. He hoped, I dare say, that the soldiers would come back, with reinforcements, perhaps with artillery. At last he gave up this idea.

"Let's have a drink," he said. "We want one."

He turned abruptly and stumbled over c.l.i.thering, who had fallen just beside him. I got hold of a waiter, the only one left in the club, and made him bring us a whisky and soda. Bland squirted the syphon into c.l.i.thering's face, and I poured small quant.i.ties of whisky into his mouth. c.l.i.thering is a rigid teetotaller, and has for years been supporting every Bill for the suppression of public houses which has been brought before Parliament. The whisky which he swallowed revived him in the most amazing way.

"Have they gone?" he asked.

"If you mean the soldiers," said Bland, "they have. I can't imagine why, but they have."

"I telegraphed to the Prime Minister," said c.l.i.thering. "It was hours and hours ago. Or was it yesterday? It was just before I saw the woman shot. I told him that--that the soldiers--they were only meant to overawe the people--not to kill them--I said the soldiers must be withdrawn to barracks--I said they must not be allowed--"

I do not know whether it was exhaustion after nervous strain or the whisky which affected c.l.i.thering. Whisky--and he had swallowed nearly a gla.s.sful--does produce striking effects upon teetotallers; so it may have been the whisky. c.l.i.thering turned slowly over on his side and went sound asleep. Bland and I carried him upstairs to a bedroom on the top storey of the club. There were, Bland said, three bullets buried in the mattress, so it was fortunate that we had not carried c.l.i.thering up earlier in the day.

"Let's get the waiter," said Bland, "if he hasn't gone away, and tell him to undress this fool!"

"It's hardly necessary to undress him, is it?"

"Better to," said Bland, "and take away his clothes. Then he'll have to stay there, and won't be able to send any more telegrams."

"It's rather a good thing he sent that last one," I said. "If he hadn't, somebody would certainly have been killed in the charge."

"I suppose that telegram accounts for it," said Bland. "I mean for the behaviour of the soldiers. Orders sent straight from Downing Street. I say, what a frightful temper the Commanding Officer must be in this minute! I wonder if I could get an interview with him."

He looked questioningly at me. I fancy he hoped that I would give him a letter of introduction to the General in command of the district.

"His language," said Bland, "would be a tremendous scoop for me. Could you--?"

"No," I said, "I couldn't. I don't know him, and even if I did--"

"Oh, well," said Bland, "it can't be helped. And, any way, I dare say I shouldn't have been able to get my telegram through. The wires are sure to be blocked."

CHAPTER XXII

I looked at my watch and found that it was three o'clock. The battle had lasted more than two hours.

"I had no idea," I said to Bland, "that fighting was such interesting work. The time has flown."

"I'm uncommonly hungry," said Bland. "Let's try and find something to eat."

When he mentioned the subject of eating I found that I too was very hungry. I felt, however, that it was scarcely right, certainly it was not suitable to sit down to luncheon in a club while a revolution was in full swing under the windows. People ought to be serious immediately after battles.

"Oughtn't we to be doing something?" I asked.

"Doing what?"

"Well, I don't know. Seeing after the wounded, perhaps."

Attending to wounded men is properly speaking work for women; but both Lady Moyne and Marion were in London.

"There are sure to be a few somewhere," I said. "They've been fighting all over the town, and I don't suppose the soldiers were as careful everywhere else as they were here."

"Are you a surgeon as well as a lord?" asked Bland.

"Oh no. I don't know anything about surgery. My idea--"

"Then I expect the wounded, if there are any, would rather you left them alone. Besides, a town like this must have hundreds of doctors in it. They'll all be out after the wounded by this time as keen as vultures. It isn't every day that an ordinary pract.i.tioner gets the chance of gouging out bullets. They wouldn't let you interfere with their sport even if you paid them. There won't, as a matter of fact, be nearly enough wounded to go round the profession. They'd hate to have an amateur chipping in. Let's forage about a bit and get some food."

It was not very easy to find food in the club, and the only surviving waiter was still undressing c.l.i.thering. But Bland is a good forager.

He found two dressed crabs somewhere, and then came upon a game pie. I let him have the dressed crabs all to himself. He is a much younger man than I am and is a war correspondent. He ought to be able to digest anything.

I fully intended to eat three helpings of game pie, for I was very hungry; but before I had finished the first of them I was interrupted.

Crossan stalked into the room. He was the last man I wanted to see.

His appearance and manner are, at the best of times, tragic.

c.l.i.thering had been with me, off and on, most of the day, so I had got rather tired of tragedy.

"I think it right to inform your lordship," said Crossan, "that Mr.

G.o.dfrey D'Aubigny has just been arrested in the streets."

"Good!" I said. "I hope that whoever has him won't let him go."