Dan Connelly's Bluster

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXVI, Issue II, 12 January 1901, Page 56

Dan Connelly's Bluster

(A Complete Short Story of the War.)

Dan Connelly was whistling- the " Wearin' o' the Green.” It was an important matter with him just then: he whistled more furiously every minute. For a terrible temptation had struck across his honest soul, and the whistling- restrained him.

In the pocket of Dan's dirty old khaki coat was a clay pipe, and in his master's tent was an ounce and a-half <»f tobacco. Dan had almost forgotten the smell of smoke, it was so long since the clay had been consigned to the khaki pocket. Small wonder he whistled bander and harder as he thought of what was in his master's tent, not three yards from where he sat on the open veldt. It was only when he had whistled his fullest and loudest that he had ridden triumphant over his ugly temptation. Presently his master entered the tent and called him. Sergeant Connelly appeared, a jaunty air of self-satisfaction sitting graciously upon him. "Hang you!” roared his master. ” will you never learn to enter your superior officer's tent respectfully t Does the bally thing belong to you or me? ” Dan grinned a grin which was delicious to see. For he had known Lieutenant Joseph Palmer in long clothes. " Arrah Mister Joe. but it's yerself’s the hard-hearted man entoirely. nivver offering me a whiff o' the Ivaccy,” he said, hurtfully. “ An' me two soides fairly burstin’ for a poipe,” he added, a second later.

“ Oh. clear out of this, you old scamp! ” Lieutenant Joseph shouted angrily. “ I’m sick of the whole confounded business! Come back when you've learned manners. Dan: not a minute before.” Dan was in no way disconcerted by this rebuff. Soldiering was a sore point with “Mister Joe.” and Connelly was well aware of it. Not that Lieutenant Palmer was in any wise a coward. Being an Irishman it was not to be expected that he would want to back out when a fight was handy. What unsettled him was an inward conviction that Heaven had ordained him for a jockey: whereas his father pitch-forked him into the army with a splendid disregard for the pet ambitions of his wild young offspring. "Look after the lad. Daniel.” the obstinate old chap said aside to Connelly the day the regiment embarked for the Transvaal. “ He’s a mad young devil, and I've had an awful time to get him this far. as you know. But the right stuff's there. Daniel, and he's got to be a soldier like his forefathers. Jockey, indeed ! The crazy young fool! Keep him out of mischief, Dan, and see that he wins his spurs. He has a mighty big chance.” Connely jerked his head in the nature of a nod. It was his intention that “ Mister Joe ” should win his spurs, no matter how mightily he kicked against, the business.

“ Mister Joe’s ” intention was somewhat different. "I’ll make the Queen a present of a leg and an arm and an eye, Dan.” he said on the voyage out. "If the Boers don't manage it accidentally. I'll arrange for it to be brought off another way. It will set things straight with the obstinate old mule who happens to lie my father: and as they will be obliged to invalid me from the service. it will also set things straight with myself.” Dsin looked ahead of him into space. He said nothing. “ You could lump me up into rhe saddle. Connelly.” Mister Joe added. " And once there I'd lay a wager to get. any .horse in old Ireland first home to the winning-post, even though I happened to he short of a leg and an arm and eye.” “ Bedad. an’ it's meself would Iw aftber lavin' that same." had been con-

nelly's answer in a rash moment of eager excitemeent. only remembering the real state of things afterwards. It was the real state of things which had brought them to the point where t..is yarn began. They had been in tweo or three engagements and nothing happened. They were now encamped on a particular part, of the veldt where nothing could happen. This was why Lieutenant Palmer had got into a way of bi-ing peppery and uncertain, swearing to Connelly twenty times a day that he was heartily sick of everything. At sundown Dan again marehed into his master's tent, with a wonderful bit of news to relate. "Bedad. an' we're off." he announced gaily. "Orders just in, sort. Duty wid large convoy goin' up counthry. Pack kit bags, an' be ready insoide two hours.”

Lieutenant Palmer looked unspeakable bored.

"Convoy duty, is it? Jove! I'd rather rust out here." he remarked apathetically. "Won't get much fun this journey. Dan: you may bet your best dollar on that." Their route with the convoy was through country which was reported absolutely free from the enemy. This took the flavour altogether out of the proceeding. No one liked it: least of all Lieutenant Palmer. Daniel Connelly. and the bullocks which drew the loaded waggons. There were several horses with th* party, all more or less lean and poor looking. Lieutenant Palmer took complete stock of them, then challenged every man he could get hold of to race him on two of them. No one accepted. Even Dan stood out. much to "Mister Joe's" chagrin. Not a man jack of them would hem him to relieve the monotony of that tired journey. They trundled on over the veldt slowly, colourlessly, aimlessly. When they reached a certain place they were to await further orders there. It was not even known what was to be their ultimate destination.

In three days they had covered fifty miles, then halted. This was their appointed stopping place. When they moved forward again it would be with more definite purpose. “No spurs here. Dan.” Lieutenant Palmer said that night with a yawn as Connelly spread out his eamp-bed on the open veldt. “Begorra. an' ye're right. Mister Joe.” was Dan's bland answer. “An" no presints fer Her Majesty, love her sowl.” he went on. with a wink which made Lieutenant Palmer itch to stretch him full on the veldt. “It's bad ye are entoirely for wantin’ to b? out av the poor ould Quane’s service sorr. Sure an’ it’s herself is proud o’ iverv man jack o' us.” “Stop preaching. Dan.” answered his master, shortly. “You know at heart I am not a soldier, even if I do wear a khaki jacket. I won’t listen to your confounded nonsense about V.C.'s. and spurs, and promotion. I don't want any: understand? It’s all twaddle. I'm going to get wounded. I tell you: and make them invalid me. It will leave a place for some other Johnny, who isn’t all against it.” Dan pretended not to hear. It was an aggravating way of his. The heavily laden bullock waggons were drawn up in a square, inside which the men arranged themselves for a good night s sleep. Some lay down flat on their great coats: others sat up against the waggons, resting their heads against the spokes of the wheels. A few of the officers had been fortunate enough to * procure their matresses; the rest had blankets, or mats, or something. It was just twelve o’clock when an odd nose awake them. Dan Connellv sprang up and rubbed his eyes. He had been dreaming that “Mister Joe”

led a glorious charge, and made Mr Kruger himself his prisoner. There was another odd noise, and several more heads sprang up from sleep. They knew what it was, and stared hard at each other in the moonlight. The enemy had found them, and were firing into their laager. Only a small percentage of them were fighting men; they had not a great deal of ammunition. But it was something which broke up a deadly dull monotony, and they did not mind the odd noises altogether. They shook themselves from the last remnants of sleep which hung about them, and pre|>ared to make their des|»erate stand.

Then they sat behind the waggons and waited to see what would happen. The Boers had been wasting precious ammunition for considerably over an hour, when Dan Connelly chanced to note a change of expression settling across his master’s even young features. Dan had loved him from babyhood: worshipped the very bogs he had ridden over, for in old Ireland “Mister Joe” had never walked. It was for this reason that Dan was able to read any stray expressions which swept across the boy ish, impatient face. "Mister Joe” was Dan's hero, and to him it meant much.

"Wants to get wounded, does he. aeushla?” was the kernel of Dan’s soliloquy. "Wants to presint the Quane wid an arm. that same. An’ a leg', an’ an eye, if ye plase. Bedad, an’ it’s the Quane herself wouldn’t be after thanking him fer that same. Hould on to yer members. Mister Joe. dear. The ould rascallans yander would be loikin’ to take a little practice wid ye: but shure an’ ye got to win yer spurs, and ye'll want two legs to wear ’em on.’’ A volley of artillery made things look worse for a little while: but. bless you. it was only outward appearence. Nothing serious happened. Dan’s "ould rascallans’’ were missing fire with a sweet contentment which did them credit. Unfortunately, however, they at last grew tired of shooting bullocks, and evidently realised that if they wished to capture the convoy they must go for bigger game. Therefore they altered their position and their sighting, and began to get a few stray bullets home. This caused them jubilation, for they coveted the good things-heaped up on the wagons. Some of them even went so far as to slouch down on to the open veldt, and pretend that a hand-to-hand assault was about to be made on the convoy. At this point the jaws of the British soldiers stiffened: their faces blanched in the moonlight. Determination and a desire for prompt revenge on the unkempt-looking individuals who had stolen on them in their sleep spread suddenly over the face of all. They had been caught napping, but now were very much awake. As I have said, there were not many fighting men among them, consequently not many rifles, and precious little ammunition. The few who were, though, fought like demons. Dan Connelly blazed away with his usual bland complacency, managing to keep the twist of one eye on "Mister Joe” at the same time. "Mister Joe” was very busy. Soldiering may or may not have been his appointed profession (he stoutly maintained that it was not), but there was little doubt that he could fight. Be loved a fight. The noise and confusion of it were music to him. The wildness of -which his father had complained ran through his blood, thrilled him till he shouted aloud with pure exaltation. As he saw other Boers hurrying upon them, his excitement broadened: and though he little knew it. the martial spirit which had been born in his veins was accountable for his elated frame of mind. More than once Dan noticed that he needlessly exposed himself to the rather erratic fire of the enemy. Once he stumbled, and Connelly was there like a flash. "Only slipped. Dan.” his master called out gaily. “Don’t get so deuced anxious? My limbs are all here as yet. confound it.” A shell burst two yards from where they had l>een standing, making a nasty earth heap in the sky. "Ought to have been there. Dan.” Lieutenant Palmer said, with a cool laugh. "Jove, my soldiering would

have been done in real earnest then.” Presently they were reminded about the scarcity of ammunition, and warned to let every bullet find its billet. They keenly enjoyed their own little battle: gloried in the brilliant stand they were making: and were fully determined to hold the convoy till help from the main column arrived.

But by and by the work grew terribly hard; and a little later they could do no work at all. For only a few rounds of ammunition remained. and they dreaded to fire them.

The men look grim, and hot. and dirty. They had Iteen fighting like tigers, keeping the enemy at bay with magnificent prowess. The end' of it was to be surrender into the dirty hands of the wretches they loathed and scorned: men who in more ways than one had raised their just auger. The position was clearly lost. A sullen, restive quiet threatened to lake them by the throat, and that is always ominous. Dan Connelly nudged his master's elbow. “What the deuce do you want?” demanded Lieutenant Palmer. "Can't you see we're done for?” Ihe madness had not gone out of him: it had only taken another form. Dan, used to his ways with horses, u nderstood. He pointed to two London omnibus horses, quietly grazing behind the laager. "Which do you be afther makin’ the best o' that rum couple, sorr?” he inquired innocently. "Can t say,” was the laconic answer. "Shure. an' it's meself would like to race ye, Mister Joe, and foind out” "Done," responded Lieutenant Palmer on the spur of the moment, Tn quieter moments the young officer would have asked Dan if he had been drinking. As it was, however, he never saw the incongruity of such a suggestion. He was game for anything, first of all because it was his intention To get wounded, and secondly because the air of sullen gloom settling down on the camp irritated him. They borrowed the omnibus horses without leave, mounted them and started. "Over there, son,” said Dan, pointing out his own direction. "Mister Joe” went blindly, madly. Dan had never beat him in any race yet. He was not going to do it now. The men they had left behind them stared after them in the moonlight. Io say they were astonished would never express it. Their surprise dried their tongues, and for some minutes held them speechless. 1 hen, suddenly, they did a curious thing. They cheered a.nd cheered and cheered—cheered till they nearly dropl»ed. and then began again. “What the deuce are they doing that for?" muttered Lieutenant Palmer. Dan answered never a word. The Boers sent a murderous shower of bullets after them, and though many shaved them closely they did no actual mischief. "Halt!” shouted Dan suddenly. The young officer reined in almost mechanically, looked up and found they were near two Dutch carts, one laden with ammunition, the other with rifles. Both belonged to the enemy. Lieutenant Palmer’s eyes fixed on them steadily, then he faced Dan. . “IV hat the deuce do you mean by it. you old rascal?” he said, but he laughed.

He saw through Dan’s bluster. Dan was going to make him win a. true soldier's name in spite of himself. They were going to save the convoy somehow between them. “And that means spurs." concluded Lieutenant Palmer in his own mind. “Don't want them, but here goes.” “Race yer back agin. Mister Joe.” Dan remarked aloud, a gay twinkle in his eyes. "Done!" answered his master. “How are we going to manage, though?” Connelly had placed some coils of thick rope under the saddle of one of the horses before he challenged his master to that famous race. One of these coils he threw across to the young officer, who immediately dismounted and set to work. Connelly hitched a rope to one waggon and the lieutenant another. Then whipping up the teams, which were already harnessed to the heajvy vehicles, they started their mad gallop for the convoy. Everything at the moment helped them, even Nature herself, by causing a big black cloud to lift up over the moon. When it was gone thev were clattering back across the veldt,

the heavy, lumliering waggons plunging ami -waving 'hi the boulderstrrww veMl. Their sjieed was not great. “We’ll never get iu, Dan." Lieutenant Palmer murmured. in a curiously exhausted vow. "The demons won't let us. IVe haven’t half enough horses for the job." Dan had no breath left. He waa years older than bis master. It was at this point that they seemed to become very confused as to what was transpiring. Englishmen were cheering. The Boers were rifle practising. There was an awful din and stampede; men coming out towards, them, holloaing words they but dimly understood. The strain had become more than they could bear. The horses, too. were suffering from the unnatural strain. Kitt all things must have an end. A few moments later the forlorn hope staggered blindly into the centre ot the eonvoy. some of the horses dropping with exhaustion as they reached their destination. It seemed hours before the men crowded round them and lifted them from their saddles. They shouted their admiration and congratulations. It was the bravest deed of the war, they said, and it had saved the convoy. “What a deuce of a. fuss they are all making about it.” Lieut Palmer rent irked to Connelly next day. “We didn’t do anything. Dan. By Jove, though, the fellows somehow make a chap feel glad inwardly that he is a soldier." Dan blinked. “Got any baccy. Mister Joe?” he inquired. “Dan. you’re an awful old scoundrel." answered his master. Dan blinked again. “Hedad. but it was meself bate ye clane that toime. sorr," he said, with a sideways look at his master. “Begorra. but ye hadn’t the ghost o’ a chance, Mister Joe. I bate ye all to smithereens."

“What a disgraceful old liar you are. Connelly." replied bis master, sorrowfully. “But here’s the tobacco, and T fancy I’ll stick to the soldiering. Dan. after all. There’s a lot in it which I never detected before.’’