I was a small bit afeared of what may happen but a fair part of me knew the man would make little more of it for the greedy be as regular as cocks crowing the sun up in their ways. Smooth running was what he wanted & boys such as Tom & myself could only foul the wheels for him.
Says he finally, “I will be checking your leather—” He spat another tawny stream of tobaccy on my boots. “And your coats & collars specially. I will want to be able see the hairs up my f______ nose reflected in your boots & belts I am telling you boys now.” Another brown bark of spittle to mark his point. But he saw he met his match in the O’Driscoll brothers & fair play to him he did smile at us as if to say this.
He gave a nod to Tom. “And you boy where did you ship that dint in your mug?”
Says I, “It was trying to free a plough blade when a skittish whore of a draft horse spied a field rat & rared in her traces freeing the blade to shoot up into the brother’s gob. Terrible unlucky my brother is Sergeant.”
“A plow blade.”
“It was fierce freakish,” says I.
Still the fellow smiled & I thought we might be all right with him in the future if we had to be. Says he, “Looks a terrible lot like the scar a minie ball might make. Straight through all the way like a dose. Which makes the 2 of ye Single Cleaning Kit Buying Chancers of Kerrymen—”
“Corkmen Sgt. Begging your pardon,” says I.
“Making the 2 of yous seem all the more veteran fighting b_______ like myself. O’Driscolls are you?” He tested our name out in his mouth like a man bites a gold coin & finds the glint of tin beneath.
“We are & fresh fish to the Army like all these other boys Sgt. We are so soon off the decks of the coffin ship you can smell the sea still on us. You know yourself the strange likenesses that may occur in the world that only God Himself can explain. Like the way the cut of a plough blade might show up as a minie ball scar in the ruins of a brother’s face May God Go Between Him & All Harm,” I said much relieved at the course our talk was after taking.
“May He Go Between Trouble & All Of Us,” says the Sgt. “Can the f______ not talk for hisself?”
“He can Sgt.”
“Proper American lingo like you & me here?”
“Not proper. But he does understand it well enough.”
The Sgt. gave a grunt & turnt away before turning back. Says he, “Once he understands orders Pvt. O’Driscoll I don’t care a D___ if he got that wound when your draft horse stuck his prick in his mouth but you boys are veteran Yankee Bills or veteran Johnny Rebs from the War like myself or my mother’s a whore & my daddy the Devil.”
But he winked at us to show there was no hard feelings between us & I thought that from then on we would be in that New York Cavan Sgt.’s good books & sure enough we were. It pains me now to think of what did happen to him later God Rest Him for oft it be the good ones who roll 7s as if there is no God at all sitting judge in the Heavens.
And well the Sutler Kinney who the good Sgt. had his deals with only outlived the Sgt. by some hours & in a way their deaths are 2 links in a chain that begun for all of us back there in Columbus.
As I write this now I think on how many other ways things could of gone. If 1st Sgt. Nevin had not of hauled us up over the cleaning kits we would never of grown so fond of him maybe. If Kinney had been licensed a Sutlery at some other Depot or post. If a snake (a lowly cold blooded snake!) had not of crossed a mule team’s path. You could go on & on. Your head would spin with all the things that might of changed what happened later.
We had little else to do with that Sutler at the Depot & 3 weeks later after having our fill of Soup House slumgullion & setting up drills Tom & myself did volunteer for an early posting with the 18th & with a