Baylebridge — An Anzac Muster: The Shepherd
Chapter Three of Baylebridge's 'An Anzac Muster' — The Shepherd
This is chapter three of An Anzac Muster. Chapter two may be found here:
THE SHEPHERD
IF there is one thing above all else that marks out our men it is this — they have a great heart for a man. Because of that, they can be known for men too. It were hard, in the press of battle, to come upon one man of ours but would, rather than see comrades perish, lay down his life for them. Not duty is the first virtue there — they use that word seldom; but generosity they hold the best good of all, nay, the one virtue without which all others count for nothing.
There was a man called Black Mack; he went over with the Thirteenth Battalion. This Mack was a gruff-looking fellow, tall and big-boned, and so strong that he could throw a horse over. A bold man he was, too — none more so — and proved that often. He had little speech in him; and what words did come out came slowly. He kept much to himself. He had a powerful head, with thick black hair on it, and a heavy beard; and this beard, when he would let it grow, smothered up his face in what looked like little coils of black wire; because of this, he was called Black Mack.
Now, in that company that this Black Mack served in there was a young subaltern of so much pluck that his men thought there could be no braver man in the whole army. Night and day, for long months on end, this boy looked squarely into the close face of death, and ever did that thing that looked good to those near at hand. They liked him for that. So much, indeed, did these men care for this subaltern, they would be up to all kinds of tricks to keep harm from him. They were always thinking out how they could do this. It had to be so done, too, that he did not know what they were at. Were the Turks shooting on to them hotly from any quarter? They would, in any way they might, get between that fire and this boy. Was it bombs, that often came in thick, or shells that burst on landing? They would do as much as they might to keep the splinters off him. And so did it fall out always: if they could but spare him, they held their own skin cheap. There was hardly one man there but was ever ready to put his life between that boy and death; and not the least so was this Black Mack.
It fell, once, that this company lay in a front trench at Quinn’s; they were hard put to it holding on there. The Turks had got busy with big guns; and from these many a good man took his death. Machine guns, too, did what they could to keep our hats down. And bullets, quick-coming and without end, chipped into the dry parapet, and raised up a screen of dust there.
While all this was going on, that subaltern, holding to his use, was ever there where he thought men had most need of him. Now he would be in this place, now in that; for he had small mind to be humped up out of harm’s way. Those men, as much as they might, kept a sharp eye on him; and not a few marvelled at his luck.
The fire, all at once, died down. In the trenches that lay over against ours there was little stir. Then, leaping clean across their parapet, up rushed the Turks; and those who could get near enough began to throw bombs in.
Now, it happened that one of these bombs dropped nigh this subaltern; and this made his death as near certain as it might well be. And seeing it drop, this Black Mack, who was close at hand, and who knew very well what he was about, making as if to catch it, got against it just as it went off. A great mess then it made of him; and it was a right hard sight that. As for the subaltern, though he did not escape wholly, he took little hurt from it. Had that bomb been as well charged as it was meant to be, here would this tale have made end; but it was charged not so, and they carried Black Mack off with the breath still working in him.
Some days later, when they had cleaned this man up, and made him easy against his death, then at hand, a colonel who had got wind of the affair looked in to see how it stood with him. He found him just able to give heed.
Said this colonel, amongst others thing: ‘We thank God for our men; it’s an ill thing to lose them.’
This Black Mack lay stiff because of his wounds; he could not turn. Looking, with dull eyes, at the roof, he replied, slowly: ‘That’s poor prate. Let the dead dog lie. The land I came out of will breed men enough.’ Then, after a heavy pause, ‘How,’ said he, ‘is the boy?’
‘Well yet,’ answered the Colonel, ‘and the better since he does not know what you did for his sake.’
‘And what,’ asked this an, ‘was that?’
‘Think not to cover it up,’ the Colonel went on. ‘You got your wounds thus.’
This Black Mack went hard in the face. ‘You’re a bloody liar!’ he said. ‘There’s nothing in that, nothing.’
The Colonel took his great hand into his own. ‘My tongue shall rot out,’ he said, ‘rather than tell him.’
The black face on the bed held firm; then, slowly, it gave into a puckered grin. Black Mack got it round a little, and winked his good eye at the Colonel. He did what he could, too, to feel his hand.
Then, since there was no more to be said, back swung his head again; and he was a dead man.
WHEN the Pilot had made an end of his tale, there was more than one throat in that company that swallowed hard. Hoppy Joe, who had hastily brushed from his eye some unexpected salt, said, in a voice thick with emotion:
‘Poor Mack! He was the whitest man that ever trod. In more than one stunt we stood together; and the deeds fabled for the old gods, against his, were nothing. We are told of One who laid down his life for his fellows; but Mack for his fellows laid down his life, not once only, but many times. Providence merely threw the gift back at him. I suppose it got tired of this at last; and that was Mack’s finish. If earth,’ he went on, clearing his throat, ‘had enough men like Mack upon it, the heaven we hear about would look silly. Indeed, so much did I think of this man that at last I could conceive God himself only as an immortal with a black bear, with a great rough hand, and a heart at once a lion’s heart and a child’s. There were many mistakes in the business; and not the least of them was this — that such men as Mack could perish, and ourselves return.’
Others then had their say — for they had known Black Mack too — and not one of them thought those words of Hoppy Joe’s a whit more than truth.
Then Monoculus spoke up. ‘I hadn’t the luck,’ he said, to see much of Mack; but I knew well a mate of his.’ He turned to the Colonel. ‘Am I next?’ he asked.
To this the Colonel, after looking at the board, replied that he was.
‘Well,’ Monoculus went on, ‘I’ll tell something about this mate of Mack’s, about Big Bill.’
And thereupon, having first wet his throat to make the telling easier, he told this tale.