The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1901-09-22
B c.
by ) ii A n F. BULL Cn
ooPyright' 1901, by Shan F.. Bullock. ]

were very noisy, and what Thadv Sheeran
used to call disputatious; each man a horn
general, seated proudly on his own stool
hot in defense of his own plan of campaign
There was the Master, big in his high
backed chair, who would have his army all
mounted. each man carrying his bag of oat-
meal, always ready and watchfuI, fighting
the enemy with his own weapons. There
was Hal, impetuous as a Rupert, who
would hurl his hundred thousand men like
an avalanche through the kopjes. There
was Henry Marvin, dry, cynical, who be-
heved in night attacks when the moon was
hid, "and the Beers that sleepy they
couldn't see you" There was James the
Rambler (so-called because the gravest
matters could not keep his tongue from
rambIing). whose English army would be
all Irish, bold lads in green from the hill
sides. 'They'r the boys" said James. and
slapped a leg; man, they're the boys! Pure
divils they are, ready TO go to glory like
heroes. Look at what they've done. Think
OF that regiment startin' up a hill an not
five men alive at the top. Give me the
Irish" said James; and we all cried agree
ment- Surely the Irish were matchless.
Surely that intrepid man, who never was
beaten, who fell only to rise again. this
Saxon for whom the Irish died willingly.
was a very hero. He's the kind" said Hal;
hes the boy for me- "a real man."
Judged the Master. Hes a masterpiece"
said James the Rambler; every time 1 see
his face in a paper an look at his lip I
hin Of Bulldog Martin, who never let go.
Ay, Bulldog should have been a general.
He was born to the trade. Dye mind, lads,
the way he captured long Ned Hanlan from
the mountain beyond? Eth, dye mind that,
bOys?' said James; then laughed and, as
his manner was, straight passed from the
horrors Of war 70 the diversions of a par
ish; just blew a Wifi of tobacco smoke on
the doings o. Buner, and Qor the benefit of
myself, the stranger rambled quick into
his story Of the exploits of Bulldog.
Here (set down with all faithfulness) is
James told us that night; he sitting
crouched on a stool and reading his story
in the fire:
His plain name was Tom; but we called
him Bulldog because of the grip he had.
He was the obstinatest man / ever knew.
Put a notion in his head and it was prisoner
for life; let him put down his foot an twas
as if he'd buried it to the knee; set him
straight for a thing an he'd go to it
through stone walls. Divil a monkey ever
ancestered Bulldog, but a mountain mule.
He was a middle-sized man, of the shape
OF a gatepOst, an about as stiff in his
black an hairy, strong as a
wall, his tongue too big for his mouth, SO
that he talked as if a plum was in it, curls
on his head, an a chin to his face as big
as your hand. did We sit up all last night
Shawn, Tom" the boys used to ask with
an eye on the chin, as Tom stepped to
church. mo then" he'd answer, his tongue
on his lip an the chin set, Il didn't. But 1
dreamt of kickin' dogs on me way to
church" An the boys would start yappin'
at his heels, an calm out Bulldog"
He lived out beyond Gorteen on the way
TO DrumhiIl, back from the road, down a
long lane Of poplars; a lone man in a lone
house, with neither chick nor child belong
in TO him. People said he had relations out
the mountain way; but they must have
thought him dead, for they never bothered
him. Day in day out. no one ever went
down the lane or crossed the door 'cept
Tom himself to be sure, an a kailyer now
an then of an evenin', or the rector goin'
his rounds; an from New Years day to
Christmastide no woman did more thar
squirt through the windy when Tom was
at a fair. They daren't. Tom hated them.
Never did We see his chin set harder. or his
back sitter than when he was diggin' holes
" DuAI LII NAC OAAC-A IA ANdAAO IL %
hussies," he'd say, AN worse. Be the
Lord, I'd hang them, every petticoat, if I
had me wiIlr' Twas a notion the man had.
a bee in his bonnet; mebbe the only bee he
had an, as it happened. the only one that
ever took wing. For Tom, youu under
stand, Mr.. Jan, was no fool in his way,
and never stood like a mule in his own
light. He could farm land like a Scotch
man; big crops followed his spade as if
he'd made them; money went into the bank
an stayed there; We might walk through
GOrteen Can that's sayin' a good GeaD
without seem a cozier house an garden,
with an orchard at the side and q haggard
at the back, an offices round the yard,
than Toms. You'd like to look at the place.
You'd like TO see Tom workin' like an en-
CINE in the fields. You'd laugh to walk in
one mornin' about 6 o'clock an find him
sittin' on a stool. a duck egg in his hand.
a mug o. tay iE that, an the rest of his
breakfast on his knee. Then you'd say:
why don't ye marry, Tom, an get some
one TO look after ye?" An he'd turn an
eat yet with his eyes. Marry" he'd say,
marry! BE the Lord, I'd hang them if 1
had my wiIl!' Twas a notion the man
had; for sure on other matters he was
sensible enough. Some said a woman had
crossed him IN his youth; others said twas
only the mule nature Of the man; the rest
just listened to him, an laughed, an waited
for herself to come.
He was forty years OF age when the
change took him-the one change OF his
life. It came after an attack of fever that
stretched him out for weeks an would
have killed him dead only that a neighbours
wife took pity on him an nursed him well.
He used TO lie starin' at her. followin' her
with his eyes about the room an sayin' no
word; Just starin' and thinkin' hard in the
thick head OF him. What could he do else,
an hin. as weak as water? What could he
do but submit when her hand was soft on
his face, an she fed him wi a spoon. an
propped him in the bed to look through the
window. an helped him to hobble out, at
last into the sunshine an the blessed air
of God? Could he ever dig a grave for a
woman after that? Gould he ever sit at his
lonely breakfast again an not wish that
some one was with him, some one
to keep him company, some one
10 sweep the hearth, some one TO
put a candle in the window TO light him
home from the fields? Sure he was helpless.
Sure that notion had to go. Sure twas the
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