Bold Sons of Erin (40 page)

“Oh, I noticed the rags on your mitt. As for killing innocent people, would ye count yourself among them? Among the innocent, I mean?”

“If you would help me, it would be better for all,” I said, almost in despair. With their help, all things might have been done more easily, without hard repercussions and further misunderstandings and accusations. But if they would not assist me, I was prepared to climb those hills with only Jimmy beside me,
to comb through the countless ravines and over the crests until I found Mary Boland and put an end to her killing. I would not turn from my duty. If need be, I would fight to see it done.

Donnelly shot an odd little glance toward Kehoe. Black Jack got up at once and strode across the room to Jimmy Molloy.

“Your mother was a whore for every English drunkard in the Counties,” Kehoe said for all the room to hear. “When she could find an English drunkard who would have her.”

Jimmy, who had not been served any liquor, put on his famous fool-the-sergeant grin. “Oh, yer honor,” he said, in an Irish accent pressed to an extreme, “me mother was niver a hoor in her life, for she never took less than a pound for the least of her doings. Nor was she County born, but Dublin bred. And we all know who the drunkards are in Dublin. Wicklow men, the lot of them.”

“You’re a filthy, low traitor. Damned to Hell.”

“Now, Mr. Kehoe, if it’s a fight you’re after wanting,” Jimmy said calmly, “can’t ye say it outright, like a man?”

I began to rise, to intervene and spirit Jimmy away, but old Donnelly caught my wrist. When I looked at him, his face managed to tell me, “Wait,” without another word spoken.

Jimmy smiled as wide as the Irish Sea. The truth is that he never minded a fight and was the champion pugilist of our regiment, renowned from Peshawar to Pindi. And beyond. He laid down Hawkins the Hammer, the pride of the gunners, in less than sixty seconds in Lahore. Kehoe had the advantage of height and bulk, but he would need a great deal of skill and luck to best Jimmy Molloy.

The two of them peeled off their coats and waistcoats, while a rush of men and the aproned barkeep pulled back tables and chairs to form a ring. Even the ladies of the house—two sisters alike in their plainness—filed out to rescue the crockery and see a bit of sport.

Donnelly and I stepped up to the gaggle of spectators, for they blocked the view from the table. The roughest of men made space for Donnelly immediately and, grudgingly, for me.
Beginning to shout and bark, the men called, “Give him a puck where he needs it, Jack,” or “Show him the door the hard way.”

Kehoe and Jimmy took up their stances. Kehoe had a brawler’s crouch, wary and watching. He wanted to slug, to spend as much strength as he could on his opening blows, to put an end to things. Jimmy, rolling on his feet, was another sight to see. His dukes were up and his back arched rearward like a bow. You would not see a better fighting posture in London or even Merthyr. Jimmy was out for sport.

Kehoe prowled, like a dog looking to bite. Though taller of person, his crouch made him the shorter for the moment. Jimmy turned smoothly to follow the other man’s circling. Jimmy looked regal, Kehoe looked rough and hard.

Black Jack surprised himself by bumping a chair with his backside. A fighter who meant to hurt would have set upon him then, taking advantage of his instant of confusion. But Jimmy was wise. He knew that if he seemed to win through any unfair advantage, the room would turn against us, full of violence. Anyway, Jimmy was a curious sort. Ferocious in battle, he sought to kill, not wound. But as a pugilist he liked to box, almost to fence. In the ring, he fought to win, but not to hurt for his pleasure. Although he did a great deal of harm to any man whose face got in the way of those bullet-quick fists.

“Go on, Jack . . . put an end to the sissy-boy’s prancing and dancing,” a burly, bearded man called.

“Put some Mayo manners on him,” another fellow suggested.

Suddenly, Kehoe believed he saw an opening. Because Jimmy let him think it.

Black Jack led with his big left fist, meaning to finish the business with his right. But neither fist landed on Jimmy. One-two-three, Jimmy smashed Kehoe’s lips and cheekbone and nose.

Shocked, Kehoe reeled. Not backward, but forward. With blood splashed off his lower lip into his beard. Jimmy could have finished him at once, for the man had only his strength and no proper skills. But Jimmy, God bless him, was cleverer
than I had imagined. He knew he must not win the match too swiftly. Shaming Kehoe would do no good at all. It had to look like a fight. For my sake, as much as Black Jack’s.

It is a point worth remembering, see. Never humiliate a man, if you can gain what you need while sparing him shame.

Jimmy let Kehoe land a pair of blows. Against his chest, not his face. He sneaked in close then, one-two-three, the way he always liked to land his set, costing his opponent a chestful of air.

Raving the lot of them were after that, as if only Kehoe’s fists had found their mark.

“Get him, Jack, get the prissed bastard . . . put his head back to his arse and see how it fits.”

Kehoe swept in fiercely, determined to punch his way through Jimmy’s defenses. But Jimmy hit him so hard it snapped his jaw back. Kehoe staggered and dropped against two miners. A lesser man would have hit the floor and stayed on it. But Kehoe did not even pause to gather himself. He forgot about slugging or boxing and lunged for Jimmy as if he meant to wrestle him. Jimmy side-stepped. He could have broken the fellow’s jaw, as I had seen him do to a number of boxers—always to the colonel’s chagrin, for a broken jaw put a soldier in the sick ward—but Jimmy chose to deliver a single blow to Black Jack’s stomach.

Kehoe bent like a clasp knife folding up, but somehow he grabbed Jimmy by the waist. A moment later, they were both on the floor, rolling over. The crowd surged in, but Donnelly warned them back. So they all contented themselves with encouraging curses, flailing their fists through the air to demonstrate what they would do were they in Kehoe’s place.

Jimmy and Kehoe rolled cheek against cheek, until they were stopped by the bar. Kehoe, to his credit, did not bite or do other unclean things, but, for a brace of seconds, Jimmy looked to me to be in a bad way, pinned against the wood by the larger man’s weight. But Jimmy had not survived Seekh and Pushtoon and mutinous sepoy without resources. An instant later, he broke away clean, jumping back to his feet. Quick as a trickster
at the autumn fair. Kehoe, too, climbed up on his pins, but his doings were much clumsier. And his breathing come heavier.

Jimmy let him get up. Then he landed a blow that caught Black Jack so perfectly on the chin that the bigger man went down like a gun carriage tipped from a rampart.

He struck the floor hard.

“Jaysus, that one’s a slaughtering, tough bugger,” Jimmy proclaimed, falsely. He was leaving the fellow a compliment, where another man would have gloated. Oh, Jimmy had learned a great deal in his wandering years, between the Delhi jail and the streets of Washington.

The miners were unruly. Things could have gone awry. But Donnelly kept them in line.

“A fair fight,” he declared, “and worth the price of the watching. Mrs. Ryan, John Kehoe wants a bit of water in his face, will ye see to it?” He reached out his hand to Jimmy. “Mr. Molloy, I shake your hand in respect of your sporting skills, but not for anything else. Tis handsome ye are at your fisticuffs, that I will grant ye.”

Jimmy shook his hand, though not for long. Of a sudden, he seemed most anxious to leave the saloon. “Abel, come on,” he told me. “We’ve used up our welcome here and I think we’ll be going.”

I saw no point in delaying myself. For Donnelly had his own game and would not be hurried in making his next move. Twas clear enough. And I did not want the Irish to talk themselves into a vengeful temper. I recalled the mention of the little girl’s corpse, stolen away from her family in the darkness. God only knew what purpose lay therein.

Outside, I turned us back to the road and the wagon we had left in the teamster’s care. But Jimmy caught my arm.

“Abel,” he said, voice held down to a whisper. “Now, which way would be that boneyard ye were on about?”

“Up there. Behind us. In the other direction.” I looked at him. My eyes had not yet re-learned the dark. Full in the moonlight, his face was merely a paleness. “Why?”

“Well, the fight was all put up, as ye could see. Nor did I hit him so hard at the end as it looked. Though, Jaysus, he fell down beautiful, didn’t he? When he had me clinched up against the bar, he whispered in my ear, he says, ‘Wait for me by the graveyard, and now put me down with a good one.’ Then he let me up, and I put him down. Really, I didn’t hit him so hard. Jaysus, I hope I didn’t do him too heavy a damage.”

There had been one unfortunate occasion upon which Jimmy’s opponent, a Geordie blacksmith put up by the lancers, had stayed out for three days.

WE WAITED IN A SWALE by the boneyard wall. I saw no light up in the priest’s house, although twas not so late as it had been during my visit the night before. When I saw what no man should have seen.

Twas cold.

“Do ye ever feel a loneliness for India?” Jimmy asked unexpectedly.

“No,” I lied.

“Sure, and I thought ye’d be the type of man what serves out his term and takes a job tending the telegraph or such, just to stay out there in the dust with his sweetheart. Raising up brats what ain’t white nor brown but both.”

It was not a subject I thought fit for discussion. “I would not mind some of the heat, if I could borrow a bit of it this night. There was nothing else for me there.”

“But if your Ameera hadn’t of died on ye, mightn’t ye not have stayed on, don’t ye think?”

“You forget, Jimmy. I was sent home. A disappointment to the regiment.”

“Oh, I heard all about the matter, even down in Delhi Hole. But I always said to me fellow unfortunates that ye only went to bits because she died on ye. Her and the little lad. The Mutiny come too soon after, that was all. It broke me own heart to see you all dull and desponded, after ye learned she was dead and burned in a stack. Oh, the only reason I come to regret the
business with the regimental silver is that I wasn’t around no more to keep ye properly occupied. I’ve always said to meself, I did, ‘Jimmy, ye let poor Sergeant Jones down, just when he needed ye most.’ But after Delhi was taken and won, I only thought it was time for a brief celebration. And they never should leave such valuables lying about.”

“You had enough loot to get drunk on. A hundred times over. We all did.”

Jimmy sighed. “Well, who knows why a fellow does what a fellow does? Looking back, it didn’t come out so bad, now did it?”

“No, Jimmy. We are both well married, and life is—”

“Oh, would ye not use such terrible language in me own presence? Here we are, having a grandiose time, just like we used to do, and wouldn’t ye know but he brings up the subject of marriage.”

“It is a wonderful institution.”

“The truth is, Abel, I’ve always had me conflicts with institutions. For they always want to change a man, and they all say it’s for his betterment. But what if a fellow is happy the way he is?”

“But you love your wife, your Annie.”

“Oh, love her I do. And no question. But I love her the more as I’m standing here than I do when she’s standing there.” His voice grew earnest. “I love her, that’s sure. But I can’t bear the life that goes with it. It’s dragging me down, Abel.”

We were spared further discussion of such matters by the sight of a figure climbing up the hill. I let the intruder approach, then called to him softly.

Twas Kehoe well enough. As he come up to Jimmy, he rubbed his jaw and said, “You’re a mean little bastard. I’ve got blood all over meself.”

“Mr. Kehoe,” I said, “do you intend to help us, then?”

He paused a moment, letting me wonder. Then he nodded. “I’ll help ye. And I’ll watch ye all the while I’m doing it. For there’ll be no harm done to Mary Boland, not to one hair on her head.”

“I have no wish to harm her. But . . . will she come peaceably?”

“I can’t speak for the woman. But here’s Mr. Donnelly’s condition. I’m to guide ye to where she’s likely to be, but when we get there, I’m to have the first persuading of her.”

“And if she will not listen to you? If she won’t come peaceably?”

He snorted. “Then we’ll see. Won’t we, though?”

“And where will we find her?”

“Gammon Hill. With the old Dutch woman. Unless they’re both roving.”

“And the old woman? What is her role in this?”

Kehoe shook his head in the luminous shadows. “She’s got Mary Boland convinced she’s a witch. That they’re both witches. It’s a dirty nonsense. Mary was always running off to her. She said they were casting spells together. It drove poor Danny half mad.”

“And when she killed his sister? Did Danny feel half mad then?”

“God, man. What do ye think he felt?”

“But he did not give up his wife?”

Again, he shook his head. Black beard moving against the blackness of his chest. “Danny couldn’t. He was a fool for the wicked sight of her. Damn the lot of them. And the lot of ye, with your war and your interference. I don’t know, man. Perhaps Mary Boland
is
some kind of a witch. Maybe she put poor Danny under a spell. He couldn’t give her up, and there was no talking to him.”

“And she killed Kathleen Boland because she thought Kathleen would take Danny away from her.”

Kehoe nodded. He did not need to speak.

“And General Stone? Did she kill him because she thought
he
would take Danny Boland away from her?”

Kehoe said a thing so foul I dare not report it to you. Then he continued, “Whoever put that idea into her head should be
damned to Hell for all eternity. Christ and the saints, man, if ye know anything about him and about Boland or about the pack of us, ye know we would have defended your man with our lives. General though he was. He did a great turn for Ireland, more than once. Saving men on the run from the English gallows. He did not leave here with a single recruit for your mercenary army, that was a matter of argument between grown men. But he left here safe and sound.”