THE HUMBLING OF SERGEANT MAHONE.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CI, Issue 11888, 11 May 1899, Page 2

THE HUMBLING OF SERGEANT MAHONE.

(By MARY GAUNT.) (Melbourne Argw r ) The first June rains had come wittm vengeance. The sun had set, and the rain, driving before a cutting west wind, was coming down in torrents. It had washed the limestone streets of the little seaport tov.'ii clean; they were slippery and slimy now, almost dangerous to walk upon; and the gas lamps—at far distances apart, for gas is dear at Lockport—sent out long streaks of light that were reflected on the wet surfaces as in a mirror, and the gutters were running as high as the kerb. All the foot passengers had pulled their collars up above their ears, and buttoned their coats close round them. The water streamed from the mackintosh cape of Sergeant Mahone, it trickled oft' his shiny helmet into his eyes, and Ms little pointed beard and fierce moustache were limp with wet. It was a miserable winter's evening, and as he strolled along he whistled softly to himself a suitable tune, " A Policeman's Lot is Not .a Happy One." Another man came along the street briskly. He only had on a little short jacket, but he held up his head and put his i hands in his pockets as if he defied the elements to hurt him. When he reached the sergeant he swung himself half-round on his heels, and pursing up his lips sent out a sound that was half a defiance and wholly a challenge. Sergeant Mahone stopped dead, and the other man looked him full in the (face in the gathering darkness, and then went on. The light from the lamps streamed out of the big druggist's shop, and showed every feature, and the sergeant knew him at once. "That scamp .Bryan O'Daly," he stud. "Now what devilment is he up to?" Bryan O'Daly's sins were many. He was known well to the police, but at present he was not wanted on any speeifio charge, and Sergeant Mahone, as he walked on, began turning over in his own mind what particular iniquity he might be meditating, for that was a challenge, he was sure enough of that. Burglary? No, burglary was not in Bryan's line. Assault? He had often enough been up for assault, but that was only when he got the drink in him, and was not" premeditated. This was evidently pre- ■. meditated. Bryan wasn't a bad sort if it weren't for that chronic trouble connected with that private still, and—of course, he brought down his hand on his thigh with a sounding smack of course, of' course, he was going to run a load of whisky down to the port, and he challenged him to stop him. Sergeant Mahone leaned up against the wall, and laughed aloud. And O'Daly thought himself a better man than the whole force of' the police ranged against him—and he laughed so loud and so long that the druggist, coming to his door to see what lunatic had the heart to laugh on such a dismal night, remonstrated with-him. "Well, upon my word; sergeant; it's hick that must have come your way. Such a day, too. Pass a little of it on. Nothing to-day has come in at these doors bar five lodge prescriptions and a donkey who wanted a sixpenny bottle of lavender and musk. It won't pay for the gas, let alone the rent." " Ah, my boy," said the sergeant, wiping his eyes; " we've got to look smart these times. It isn't once in a blue moon such a stroke'of luck comes to a chap as I've had to-night," and he vanished in the darkness and rain in. the direction of the police station. »The inspector listened to his story dubiously. " It was just a piece of cheek on his part possibly." "Cheek, is it? He's the cheek of the old gentleman himself, the misbegotten beggar; but he meant it this time, sir. 'l'll be ruunin' a load of stuff as has never paid duty some time this week or next, and I dare ye to stop me.' I'm as sure of it as if he said them very words." " Well; well, and it wouldn't tell us much if he did say them." . The inspector was much inclined to leave Bryan O'Daly alone. He had a high respect •for that gentleman's . abilities. " ■■ " Sure," said the sergeant, earnestly, " it can come but one way. . His selection's away out Barma way, and the ti-tree scrub's that thick a cow couldn't get through, let alone a load of whisky. And they can only cross the river at the bridge Barma. To be sure there's-Slippery Jim's Ford, Dtrt> it's ten miles up, and a devil of a crossing in the winter. If they want to bring the whiskey down to Lockport, and they, do, of course, it'll have to cross the bridge at Banna. Give me a couple of men, sir, and I'll hold 'em like winking.' It was another wet wintry night when the sergeant and his two men took up their position on tb» lee side of a big box-thorn hedge on the Banna Road. The bridge was just beneath tbem, and when every now and again the moon burst through the heavy clouds they caught glimpses of the water running at the bottom of the high banks. Just opposite themi was a farmhouse, and ■ the stacks loomed large masses against tlie gloomy sky, and from the chimney every now arid' then there came a burst of sparks that told of a roaring fire within. It was mighty dull work waiting, and men and horses were fidgeting wearily before ever the watch had really begun, i "May we light a pipe, sergeant?" asked t one of the troopers. . " Oh yes; it's an open road, ant a whin of tobacco wiE tell no tales. But mind now, no collouging with the girls. It s the women spoil these little games." ( "Faith," said the other man, there s only O'Brien's girl to be talking to in tin* God-forsaken place, and I'm thinsmg youve i the whip hand of us there," sergeant. • The sergeant' smiled in the darkness. He certainly did flatter himself that Maggie O'Brien looked with a favourable eye on his stalwart proportions, and he had every intention, once he had brought off this fittle affair, to ask her to come and taUe possession of those comfortable quarters of his on the police, camp But on one thing he was determined—she should have no band in this business. It was a dreary night-so long and dreary, Once a belated wood-cart passed, once a man riding like mad for the doctor once Twoman Srying as if her heart were breakLj There mighf be tragedy behind all Z Sfr _ V ery there se i" Santwt y hiß lea back, Then there came a long stretch of . stall, dS cold, wet night, when the minutes, iSged like hours, and tTbLk the monotony. Long before the £wTbrie, cold and grey and reluctat 3e at the farmhouse opposite •**"««£ C*£*» -old see the ohrmt the milking-yai-ds, and by : ana i.y to S e te3Sone rose and stretched himtrooper came trotting casually Better luck to-mor-ro The b next vi*t was not so wet, but the wind keen and cold, and the sergeant to wearyof his M*g»£ ta«k' 'Still, lie was not going to contess £msetf beaten. That stuff must come into Lockport, . and it must come along tins same road. . , Nothing came along the road to-mgut. It almost seemed as if all traffic had stopped, and it was very dull and cola. The men moved about uneasily, then hitched their horses . to the P^f-rad. fence, and lay down' under the. hedge to get what shelter they could from the cut- ,.£• wind. A sort of shadow seemed to cross the road a little higher up and the sergeant started when he felt a hand on his arm He would have spoken, but the hand quickly travelled to Ins lips. I >' Whisht, 'don't be givin' me away, ser- ' geant.dear. • It's yoursilf, sure I thought I seen Ye last night. And what are yez . waitin', for.out in the cold, for the love av It was Masrsrie O'Brien, and the sergeant felt his heart glow, and it was no longer a . bitter night. . . . " ' •..'• '• v-'hht, me darling, said he. 1 can t 'lie tellino- ye my business. Run in now like a good girl- It's warmth and comfort ye've brought with your sweet self. Go m now," and, bolder than he had ever been, he drew her towards him, and would have" imprinted a kiss on the lips so close

to his own. She yielded a moment, then drew herself quickly away. t t . y -(Ant away with ye now. Ye re spilnn the tay. I'm just afther bringing .yez a quart pot of tay, and the scones is just out of the oven. But don't be teffin a soiu, for the love av God. Me father d pretty nigh kill me if he caught me." She started to go back, and then paused a moment. " Yez can give the other poor chaps some, but don't be savin' it was me as brought it," and she vanished in the darkness, and the wild wind covered the sound ot her footsteps. Now, a quart pot of hot tea, well sugared, and "with plenty of cream, in it, and another pot full to the brim of light, feathery, well-buttered scones straight from the oven, is surely a very innocent love gift, and surely on- a cold night-watch was a very welcome one. Not the stem inspector himself could have seen guile in such, a present, and the sergeant called to the other two and shared it amicably with them. " Ask no questions now, and be thankful," said he, and Mounted-constable Campbell gave Mounted-constable O'Neill a poke in the ribs that made him choke over his first drink.of teai, but they neither said a word.

Such a long night. Would it never end! The novelty had worn off, and more than once the sergeant had to shake Ms men into wakefulness. And nothing happened. Once a stray horse galloped along as if something had startled it, and again a couple of calves strayed up as if looking for a suitable rest-ing-place. But nothing else happened, nothing at all. Sergeant Mahone began to think that Bryan O'Daly's: crowing was just a piece of bravado to keep him on the alert and wear his life out.

He was very much of this opinion when the dawn broke, and he roused up his now nodding men ancTtook them back to Lockport; but evening saw him starting out once more. He must have meant something, at any rate, thought the sergeant. He would see the. week out.

It was a worse night than ever. A biting wind came from the east, that swept right across the road, and made the boxtkorn hedge that had stood them in such good stead for the last two nights as a -breakwind of no us© at all. The men groaned, and the patient horses hunched themselves up and shivered in the bitter wind. Now, if this night, too, were going to be a fruitless vigil, their case would be hard indeed. One consolation the sergeant had that the men could not share. He hoped that before the evening had worn away Maggie O'Brien' would pay him a visit. She 'had come about seven o'clock the night before, and not unnaturally, as seven o'clock approached, he expected her again. But eight came, nine came—still no Maggie. By half-past he had given up hope, and was as cross and grumpy as the men themselves. He drew his cap up over his face, and huddled down close to his horse, when suddenly up to his nostrils was wafted the grateful odour he had been expecting all the evening. The smell of warm tea aud hot, buttered scones, and Maggie was beside him. Whence she had come from, heaven could only tell, but the sergeant wa« too pleased to see her to ask any questions. , ' "Is it yourself, Maggie, darling .' •" I couldn't get away before," she whispered, "till that bold b'oy Terence was in bed. 'Tis the devil is in Mm for keemn' his eye on me. But, oh, sergeant, darling, 'tis an awful place ye's got. Ye have to be houldin' on to iverytliing for yer life, as her shawl blew out behind her like a sail. ' , With one hand the gallant sergeant .relieved her of the tea and scones, .with the other he held down the-shawl i-ound her waist. She did pot resist Mm, and. he could see the fight in her eyes and feel her warm breath on his cheek. "Oh, sergeant, dear, must ye stay out in the could here? It'll be the death-of yez, to say nothing of the horses!" '•' It doesn't matter about us," whispered back the amorous sergeant, "but if anything happens to the horses there'll be the deyil to pay;? :'"-'- , , ■ ~ "'Tis a mercy if they : don't take could here in the wind," said she. "See, now, I'll open the gate, and ye can put them in the shed in the middle of. av the paddock there. There's room for yez, too, ye like. But don't tell father, for the love av God, and'come, out before tie milkin' in the mornin'." - , The sergeant considered a moment. It was undoubtedly a good offer, and it was made for love of him. He would accept it in the spirit it was made. "God bless ye for a sweet colleen." The gate was locked, but the girl, who had grown bolder now, and did not seem to mind if the men did see her, took a small key from her pocket and undid the padlock. ■' ■ ' • ' ' . She pointed to the shed looming up faintly against the dark sky. " Yez can keep a good look-out along the road from there without bein' in the wind at all, at -all. There's the key for ye. Ye'H be locking the gate before ye lave in the mornin'." The sergeant wanted to come back with her, but she refused to let him. Her father, slie declared, was wandering round, "restless like wid the wind," and might ask questions. It was delightfully comfortable in the shed, out of reach of the. shrieking wind. They all three ate hot scones and drank tea, and the sergeant leaned up against the wall and indulged in dreams of wildest happiness. If he got these smugglers, he could have nothing left to wish for. Whether he got them or not he was a very happy man. The shed was close to the road. He ■wtould have sheltered there before, but that the heavy gate was locked; but Ms little girl had made everything easy for him, God bless her; and if the night passed slowly it was not passing unpleasantly. Nothing came along the road, nothing at all. Then about twelve o'clock Maggie came again. Her shawl was. wrapped tight round her head, and she was sobbing bitterly. " For the love av God, sergeant, come, outside, wan minit" The other men turned their.heads discreetly aside. The sergeant was going it strong, they thought; and for a quiet, de-cent-spoken girl Maggie O'Briea was making the running. " Oh, sergeant, och, sergeant; how'll my tongue be tellin' yez!" "AVhat is it, Maggie, my girl?" asked the

sergeant tenderly, fully making up his mind that her father had "found out about the scones and tea, and was making things unpleasant. It was on the tip of Ms tongue to tell her that she knew she had only to name the day, and the sooner the bettor, so that he was not much distressed.

" Och, that I should ever tell yez." "It's all right, me girl; sure 'tis all right." "Och, sure, 'tis all wrong, it is! Me father's in the dhrink, dacint man, and it's murdheriii' me mother he is. Come quick, for the love av God."

" Hold on; I'll get Campbell, an' " " Och, sergeant," dear, don't be shamin' me before them, an' me father, too, that's a dacint man when he hasn't the dhrink in Mm. It's not yoursilf he'll be mindin,' but the other two." She flung out her hands as if to show she would have none of them.

O'Brien was only a little wizened man. The sergeant thought lie could overcome him with one hand if necessary; so he just shouted back, " Keep a good lookout, boys. I'll be back ■n a brace of shakes," and followed her across the road arid into the farmyard. ' It was very dark here among the buildings, and he could not have found his way at all but that a warm hand stole into Ms and guided him. Everything was very still, but for the shrieking of the wind among the roofs, and he was going to remark there were no signs of a scuffle, when an exclamation of "Oh! murther!" reached his ears, but somehow it did not sound as if the person who cried out were really in fear of her life."

" 'Tis all right, mavourneen! • He isn't hurtin' her."

"Come in here," said the girl quickly, drawing him into a little room with a brick floor and a tiny window high up. in the wall. There was a guttering candle standing on one of the shelves, and he could see it was used as a place to keep the milk cans and milk buckets in. Everything was ready to begin, work before dawn in the morning. " Maybe he's quiet now, an' I wouldn't have ye in if he is. Stay here, an' I'll slip round an' see.' She gave the hand she held a tender squeeze, and was out of the door without waiting for an' answer, closing it after her. The sergeant thought he heard the bolt shot, and the sound of scampering feet, and a cold fweat broke out over him as he began to think he had .been sold. He stiode up and put his stalwart shoulder to the door, and shook it violently. But ib was a stout door, and it stood firm. He called, " Maggie, Maggie O'Brien!" and his tones were by no means lover-like. " Oh, sergeant, dear," came back the answer, in quavering tones. " Sure, 'tis that tMef av the world, Terence, has played an ill trick on us."

" Open the door, I say, open it." " Sure, 'tis Terence has the key. Kape quiet, sergeant, dear, or me fathftr 'll be hearin' yez." Her voice was '<; ?ien with sobs now, whether of laughter or tears the unlucky policeman could not tell, but he strongly -suspected the former. His love was dying rapidly, still she was on the right side of the door, and it behoved him to see what blarney would do. " Sure,'Maggie, dear, 'tis a bolt," said he. "Undo it now, and I'll give yez ; the purtiest ring to be had in Lockport." But she was adamant to his blandishments. "I'll be fihdin' Terence,"- said she, and he heard her going out into the yard again. " . The sergeant turned round, and, hi spite of his- long traiMrig and discipline, he smashed every tin and bucket he could lay his hands upon; he yelled, he shouted, he flung himself against the door, and for all the effect it had upon the household they might, have been dead. Then he paused and rested, looking grimly at the destruction he had wrought, and through the open window—that window which was too small for a man to pass through —he heard, borne on the wild wind, the sound he had waited so long to hear —the sound of heavily-laden drays coming down the road.

The language that respectable non-com-missioned officer of police made-use of on that occasion ought to have raised the roof, but it had absolutely no effect, on the door. He listened desperately; there was a chai lenge-; he knew it was Campbell's voice, and—Malone cursed him solemnly for a born idiot—he only shouted: " Hold up, there, Bryan O'Daly, hold up, or I'll make ye." "Serves me .right," groaned, the poor prisoner, " for leavin' things to a foolheaded recruit. He's not such a fool as to take any notice of that. Ride after him, ride after Mm," he yelled at the top of Ms voice, "don't let him out of your sight." ' Alas, the wind that brought their voices down to him carried his away: Besides, Maggie OTBrien had very kindly locked the gate, and they had no means of getting the horses out of the paddock, as they refused to jump in the dark. But O'Neill made another effort.

" Stop, in the. Queen's name," he-shouted, "or Til fire," and the report of two carbines rang out. " Worse than useless if they didn't shoot one of the horses,", groaned the .unlucky, sergeant as he heard the horses lashed, to a gallop, and fleeing down' the road to the bridge. Even now a determined man might stop them at the bridge, and he yelled and shouted again. " O'Brien, "O'Brien, I call on you to help in the .Queen's name," The constables were getting their horses out of the paddock by the suininaryTnefchod of breaking down the fence. He could hear them at it, but it was too late now. The drays were out of earshot, and he heard, , too, a shambling footstep coming along to his door. ,<\ The bolt was shot back, and Farmer O'Brien stood before Mm, a candle in one band, whale with the other he was scratching his head sleepily.

" Fabc, is hell broke loose ! Ooh, sergeant." " Why didn't you come before ?" asked the sergeant angrily, shaking him. " Haven't I been shouting fit to raise the dead the last hour 1"

" Och, faix, who'd be thinkm' 'twas the sergeant av perlice was smashin' my milk tins. Sure the boys does be always sfcravagm' after Maggie, and I thought she'd locked one in. for the fun av the thing. He'd pay up for certin." The sergeant groaned, and threw the old man aside. In the gloom he caught sight of other forms, and heard some stifled laughter. Then he'dashed across the road, got his horse, an clattered down across the bridge. But it was too late. That whisky was safely brought into Lockport, aud shipped for Melbourne. A Mce little keg was also left on the verandah of the police station as a delicate present. .

And that was not the end of it either, for Bryan O'Daly sued the police for sticking him up and firing on him when he was peacefully engaged in travelling along the

main road -with a couple of carts laden with skim-milk from the Barma Butter Factory.

"Oh, yes, to be sure, 'twas .late,'but wan tf the-carts, had. broken-down early, in the evenin', an' 'tisn't poor folks can be payin' attention, to the time when there's work to be done. An' how was the likes av him to know it was the perlice. He thought they was stickin'-him up, an' he beat his horses to a gallop, an' 'twas only the Virgin herself saved him when, they fired at him."

And the judge severely reprimanded (hepolice for interfering with an honest farmer and putting him hi danger of his life, and he left the Court triumphant, and married Maggie O'Brien before the month was out.

And at Lockport they, always call whisky skim-milk.