CHAPTER V

THE CONVERSION OF MIKE O'LEARY

"Whin a man's that cross and crabbed that his sowle's as black as paint, An' his contrary conversation wud petrify a saint, And he will ate mate on fast days, an scornes the praste as well, Ould Nick will soon be after him, to escort him straight to (the guard room)." QUIN.

Years ago I was soldiering in South Africa, and at that time owned a few horses, my own private property and nothing to do with the Government. I used to race a bit in a small way, just for the sport, and it became necessary for me to employ a groom who must be my own private servant.

Now grooms were hard to get, especially at the price I could afford to pay, and I did not want a man of the sundowner stamp. One evening my servant came to me and informed me that a man had come into camp who was looking out for a job and he thought he would do. On my asking him why he thought he would do (for Quin, though an Irishman, was, wonderful to relate, no horseman and had no knowledge of horses) replied: "The man is an Irishman, a small man, a knowledgeable man, and also a townie of my own." So I decided to see him, and Mike O'Leary was ushered in. Directly I saw him I seemed to know him, but for a time could not place him, till at last it flashed through my mind he must be Charles Lever's Corney Delaney come to life again, or at all events the creature in front of me must be a descendant of his. Not that the dress was similar, for my man wore breeches and boots, both of which wanted renewing, but the head, the face, the cross, crabbed expression and the general appearance were exactly like the immortal Corney as depicted by Phiz in "Jack Hinton." He was a tough, wiry little fellow, showing, as we say out in the colonies, the marks of the Whalaby.

He stood rigidly to attention, after glancing at myself and belongings with a sneering grin that would have excited the envy of Satan himself. So I opened fire with the remark: "You are an old soldier."

"I am," quoth he; "and served in the 57th, God bless them! They wor a rigimint you could be proud of, not a tearing lot of divils the likes of what you've got here. Bad scran to them! it's neither soldiers or peelers they be."

"Well, well," I said, "leave the men alone. I want a groom. Are you one?"

"It's a lot of grooms you do be wanting, judging by the look of your troop horses," he snarled.

"Leave the troop horses alone. I want a man as my own private servant. Do you want work of that sort?"

"I may take you on trial," he rejoined, "for did I not serve under your honourable father, Sir George Brown, in the Crimee."

Now Sir George Brown was not my father, nor any relation to me, but Mike O'Leary would have it so, and Sir George was trotted out of his grave and thrown in my teeth as long as Mike lived. Well, he was not a promising lot, but I was so hard up for a man, and the horses wanted so much looking after, that I took him on. As a groom he was perfect; never have I seen a man his equal. The horses took to him, and he was devoted to them. But, by the Lord Harry! he was a blister to everyone else on the station. How he had ever been enlisted in the 57th the Lord only knows, and how he had ever existed in the regiment is a mystery to me to this day. His tongue was as sharp as a double-edged sword, and as bitter as gall, but the little fiend could fight like a gamecock, and was as hard as iron, so that when his remarks were resented he was always ready to back his words up with his hands, until at last most of the troopers were only too glad to leave Mike alone.

As regards myself, he showed me neither deference nor respect, would never say Sir when addressing me, and would openly and audibly criticise my riding, my personal appearance, my drill, and my dress, and none of these to my credit. Poor Sir George was also brought to the fore every day, and the difference between us as to morals, manners, sport, or anything else that might be on the tapis, was pointed out and expatiated upon, and never in my favour. The little beast became quite obnoxious to me, but he did so well by the horses that I could not part with him, and came at last to look on him as a trial sent by Providence to humiliate me, and as a punishment for my sins; so I was bound to accept him as such, and put up with him.

Well, things went on like this till one day, when I came in from a long patrol, I found Quin on the sick list and that Mike O'Leary had installed himself in his place as servant. Now if I had wanted him to come and look after me, nothing on earth would have made him come, but as he knew he was the last man on the station whose presence I desired in my rooms, of course there he was and there he evidently intended to stick. In vain I told him he would be overworked looking after both myself and the horses.

"Sure, and don't I know that?" he snarled. "It's little thanks I'll get from the likes of you, who spends your money on debauchery and blaggardism, and pays your servants, who works their fingers to the bone, as little as ye can; but I knows my duty to your honourable father, God rest his sowle, and while that useless baste Quin is skulking, I'll be here to see you to bed when you come home drunk every night."

What was to be done? I though matters over, and at last determined to attack Mike on his only weak spot. Mike I knew to be a rigid R.C., but he was also saturated with superstitions. He had all those of the usual Irish peasant, and a good many more of his own.

He firmly believed in witches, ghosts and fairies, good and bad, and was convinced that the devil himself was frequently knocking around looking for someone to transport to tropical regions.

As to his religion, Mike was very devout, with one exception--he would eat meat on Fridays. "Fast, is it?" he would say. "A soldier may ate his rations."

"But you are not a soldier now, Mike."

"Well, and whose fault is that now? Did not I put my pride in my pocket and offer to join your blackguards, and did not that T.S.M. tell me I was too small? Bad luck to the lout! Was I not fighting in the Crimee with your honourable father before he was breeched? It's little the likes of him is fit to be T.S.M., but what can you expect when the captain ought to be at skule learning manners! It's little of an officer you'll ever make." Exit Mike, with a well-directed boot after him.

It was an uphill job, but I worked and worked away at him. I even persuaded the good Father de Rohan to go for him and preach abstinence to him, and even threaten him with pains and penalties if he did not put the muzzle on. But no good. Then I began to pretend that the rooms were haunted, and that rather fetched him, but yet, though he was uncomfortable, it did not quite hit the right spot.

At last Fortune played into my hands. A lieutenant who had been away on long leave rejoined and was sent up to my station. He was a very tall, thin man, very dark, with straight features, large eyebrows and moustache, and Mike had never seen him before. The first night he joined we were talking over our pipes, after dinner, when he mentioned a very swell fancy-dress ball he had been to. At once I asked him in what character he had gone. Of course he replied: "Mephistopheles." Had he brought his dress out with him? Yes, he had it in his kit. Would he do me a very great favour? Why, certainly. Then I told him about my incubus, Mike, and I earnestly requested him to put his dress on the next night and play the devil for Mike's benefit. Of course he was only too delighted to assist, and the plot was duly laid.

That night I went to my quarters. There was Mike, with his usual pleasant remarks and sneer.

I stopped short and said sternly: "You have been smoking."

"Begorra I've not," said he.

"Then you have been lighting those beastly sulphur matches."

"I've not," said he.

I walked over to the dressing-table, looked in the glass, then started back, and let out at him.

"Have done with your fooling tricks. How dare you grin over my shoulder like that?"

"I did not," he replied.

"If it was not you it must have been the devil then," I said sternly. "And I don't wonder at it, when such a cross-grained ugly beggar as you sits in my quarters alone at this time of night. Take care, Mike," I said impressively; "take care. Remember what Father de Rohan told you. If you will eat meat on Friday, and will quarrel and insult everyone, the devil will be after you in earnest.

"What's that?" I cried, looking hard past him. "Get out of this, Mike; the company you keep here when I'm out is not safe for a Christian man."

He turned very white, was evidently very uncomfortable, crossed himself over and over again, and bolted.

Next morning he brought two sticks, when he came to my room, which he crossed on the fire hearth, and when he turned up at night-time he had evidently been to the canteen, for he was pot-valiant and I could see he had a bottle with him.

"I suppose you will be afraid to stay in the rooms alone," I said, as I left for dinner.

"I will not," said he; but I saw the blue funk rising in him. It was a Friday.

"Did you eat meat to-day?" I asked.

"I did that," he replied, "and I will."

"Well, God help you," I said. "It's great danger you are in this night."

It was midnight when the lieutenant, fully got up in a most perfect fancy dress, and looking his part to perfection, appeared in the mess hut. In his hand he carried a few inches of time fuse, and also a huge fork, known in the service as the tormentor. The cook uses it to take the men's meat out of the boilers. We all crept up to my quarters, which consisted of a hut with two rooms in it, in the front one of which was the victim. To light the fuse and pass it under the door was the work of a moment, then to open the latter and step in took no longer. Mike, who had been absorbing courage from the bottle, had fallen asleep, but was waked up by a prod from the tormentor. He woke with a growl of rage, that changed into a yell of consternation, when he saw the terrific figure regarding him through the sulphury smoke of the fuse.

"Mike O'Leary," said a deep voice, "I've come for you."

Poor Mike, who had fallen back open-mouthed, with the sweat of fear trickling off him, whimpered: "Oh no, good Mr Devil; wait for the master."

"No," thundered the voice; "it's you I want, not your good, kind master, who's been a friend to you, and who you sneer at, insult and deride, and who, Protestant as he is, tries to stop your greedy sin of eating meat on fast days. Come on!"

And he made a pass at Mike with the tormentor, which Mike dodged by going over backwards, chair and all.

"I'll never cheek him again, by this, and by that, I won't!" yelled Mike, as he got another prod in a fleshy part, "and I'll never touch meat again, I won't." But at that he fainted. He soon came round, and was on his knees telling his beads when we entered the room, as if we were going to have a parting smoke before turning in.

"What the deuce have you been up to, Mike?" I said. "Who has been here? What is the cause of this awful smell, and what have you been making such a row about?"

"O holy Mary! sor," whined Mike; "he's been here."

"Who the devil has been here, you drunken blackguard?" I shouted.

"Oh, dear sor, oh, kind sor, don't spake disrespectfully of the Ould Gentleman; shure he's been here, and has just left. Oh, sor; I'll repent, I will. For God's sake send for the holy father. What will I do? What will I do?"

We got him to his quarters at last, and next morning Mike was a changed man. Although still by nature cross-grained, yet a more respectful servant or a better comrade could not be found on a month's trek, and he stayed with me till he died, two years afterwards, regretted by everyone who knew him. _R.I.P._