They stared at each other, while Margriet looked from one to the other, holding her breath.
‘You are in a position to demand what you like, Reger,’ Murdoch said. ‘And I certainly owe you an apology. When I met Margriet that day I was under the impression she was going to leave you and come away with me. I was wrong. But I have no intention of fighting you.’
‘Because, for all of your medals, you are really a coward.’
‘Because,’ Murdoch said, speaking very quietly, ‘duelling is forbidden in the British Army. And because, secondly, I have wronged you sufficiently. I have no wish to kill you into the bargain.’
‘You?’ Reger sneered. ‘Kill me?’
‘You have challenged me, baron,’ Murdoch reminded him. ‘It would hardly be a question of sabres. And I would blow your brains out quite without compunction, but for the reason I have given, and because you once saved my life. I will now bid you good night.’
‘You are a coward,’ Reger said. ‘Perhaps I should see if a slap on the face will not put some fire into your belly.’
‘Do that,’ Murdoch agreed, ‘and I shall break your jaw.’ Reger stared at him for a moment, then grinned. ‘Then take yourself off.’
‘You cannot,’ Margriet gasped. ‘You cannot leave me here, with him.’
Murdoch hesitated. ‘I am sorry, baroness,’ he said. ‘But I cannot interfere in the domestic affairs of another man and his wife.’
*
He returned to his hotel, awoke a confused Corporal Reynolds, checked out and rode back down to Curragh that night. British troops were as a rule refused permission to leave the camp after dark except in groups of at least six strong, as there had been incidents where single men, or even pairs, had been set upon and beaten up by Irish Fenians. And indeed, Murdoch and Reynolds had only just left the lights of Dublin behind them when they found themselves confronted by half a dozen men, also mounted.
‘Well, if it ain’t a couple of Orange lads out for a midnight stroll,’ said one of the strangers. Now, get down off those horses and bow to your betters.’
Murdoch looked him in the eye. ‘If you do not take yourself and your louts out of my way,’ he said quietly, ‘I am going to break every bone in your damned body.’
The concentrated ferocity in his tone left no doubt that he meant what he said, and the matter was settled by the click of the hammer as Reynolds cocked his revolver. After a moment’s hesitation, the Irishmen pulled their mounts aside, and the British pair rode on.
‘Are you all right, sir?’ Reynolds ventured, when the lights of the camp were in sight; he had never heard his superior speak so viciously before.
‘I am fine, George, fine,’ Murdoch told him. ‘Just mind your own bloody business, would you?’
He hardly slept. His whole being was screaming at him to return to Dublin and accept Reger’s challenge and blow the bastard’s brains out, even if it meant being cashiered and tried for murder. And then? Take Paul away from his mother? That would be all he could do. And a great deal of water had flowed under the bridge since he and Lee had confessed their past indiscretions and she had offered to accept his son. Now she had two sons of her own.
To leave Paul, and his mother, to the whims of that sinister brute of a man went against the grain. Yet it had to be accepted. Once again that spectre from the past had risen up to haunt him-and snatch away whatever dreams of permanent happiness he might have. But was it not his own fault for accepting the invitation?
But only a week later thoughts of even the Regers were swept from his mind when the regiment received a visit from their brigade commander, Brigadier-General Gough, who after reviewing the squadrons asked Colonel Walters and Major Mackinder to accompany him into the colonel’s office. ‘At ease, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Sit down.’
They obeyed, while the brigadier himself sat behind Walters’ desk; he obviously had something on his mind. ‘I suppose you know that the Home Rule bill is to be introduced into the Commons for the third time within the next month?’ he asked.
They nodded.
‘And that since the powers of the Lords have been limited, if it is passed a third time by the Commons, as it will be, it will immediately become law?’
Again they nodded.
‘I know there have been rumours that the new bill will contain an element of compromise, such as enabling the northern counties to opt out of the union with the south for a period of a few years. To my mind that is meaningless, and indeed, deceitful, if Ulster is in any event going to be coerced into a general Irish dominion at the end of that time. It is my opinion that the Government’s course is almost certain to lead to civil war here in Ireland, and such a war could well spread to Great Britain. It is, of course, out of the question to consider such a possibility, even here.’ He paused, and looked from one face to the other. ‘It seems to me that someone has got to inform Mr Asquith of the feelings of the troops who will be required to carry out such a policy. Those feelings are almost wholly negative, so far as I have been able to ascertain. It is therefore my intention, as of today, to resign my command and my commission.’
They stared at him in consternation. ‘Resign, sir?’ Walters asked at last. ‘Is that necessary?’
‘It must be done now, Martin. If I resign after I have been given an order to march this brigade upon Belfast, I shall be a mutineer. I may tell you that there has indeed been talk of mutiny, amongst officers of your own ranks. That course I have .not permitted anyone to contemplate. However, resignation is an honourable option, if it takes place in cold blood and before the event, as it were. There are several other officers who will be following my example.’ He held up a finger. The more who do so, the most strongly will our view of the situation be impressed upon the Government. However, I did not come here today in order to persuade or coerce anyone. I am aware that neither of you has the affinity with Ulster that I possess. I wish you only to be guided by your own concept of duty, of patriotism, of right and wrong. I also wanted you to know, in advance, of my decision. And lastly, I would ask you to look kindly upon those of your regiment who might feel as I do.’
‘Captain O’Dowd,’ Murdoch said.
‘Him, certainly,’ Gough agreed. He stood up. ‘It has been a pleasure serving with you, gentlemen,’ he said, and shook hands.
‘What a hell of a mess,’ Walters commented after the brigadier-general had left. ‘Brigadiers resigning? I’ve never heard of such a thing before.’
‘Well, he comes from an Ulster family, of course,’ Murdoch said. He was still brooding on O’Dowd.
‘Maybe. But he was really appealing for our support, you know. I wonder just how many of the others have agreed to go along with him.’
It turned out that there were quite a few. The news of wholesale resignations by officers spread through the regiment with almost the speed, and the demoralising effect, of the cholera epidemic in India. Nothing like it had ever happened before in the British Army. And as Murdoch expected, Harry O’Dowd requested a private interview with the adjutant.
‘Is it true about Brigadier-General Gough?’ he asked. ‘I’m afraid it is,’ Murdoch agreed.
‘And all the others?’
Murdoch nodded.
‘May I ask, sir, if there is any possibility of the regiment being required to march on Ulster?’
‘I would hope there is no possibility of that,’ Murdoch said, as reassuringly as he could. ‘There is talk of a compromise, and I am sure even Sir Edward Carson is a sensible man. After all, he is a prominent member of the Conservative Party, almost certain to hold office the next time they are in power. He knows the true problems facing the Government. I cannot believe he would willingly plunge the country into civil war.’
‘You regard the entire onus for such an act to rest on the Ulsterman, sir?’
Murdoch sighed. ‘I am sure there are faults on both sides, Harry. However, we are supposed to be living in a democracy. If a government representing the majority of the British peo
ple decides that the majority of the Irish people should conduct their own affairs, at least as regards internal matters, while we may not like the decision, we must abide by it—or the entire system breaks down. And when a democratic system breaks down, you have first of all anarchy, and then military tyranny. That is the lesson of history. It has never changed, and it never will.’
‘With respect, sir, you are not personally involved,’ O’Dowd said.
‘With equal respect, Harry, I think every man, woman and child in the United Kingdom is personally involved in this one. Ireland has been a bleeding sore in the side of Great Britain for five hundred years. Is it going to remain that for the rest of time? Or are we going to attempt to solve the problem once and for all?’
‘Have you any idea what it will be like, to be a Protestant living under Catholic rule?’
‘Harry, this is the twentieth century. There will be safeguards, and the very idea of compromise arises from the desire to allow the northern counties to retain some measure of autonomy.’
‘For a period of years,’ O’Dowd said bitterly.
‘While everyone learns to get on with everyone else. The essential thing, Harry, is that you will all still be part of the United Kingdom, and thus have all the safeguards of the law that such a membership provides. I am sure you will be protected, your family will be protected, and that, given time and goodwill, this antagonism between north and south will dissipate.’
‘Easy to say,’ O’Dowd commented, staring at the ground. ‘I do not think I have any choice, sir, but to resign.’
‘I would like you to consider that very seriously,’ Murdoch said. ‘I think you have a most brilliant career ahead of you. You are a soldier through and through, and what more, you are an officer through and through.’ Why, he thought, he might have been Edmonds addressing a headstrong young subaltern in 1901. ‘You have not yet had the opportunity to prove your ability on the field of battle, but you can be sure that you will have such an opportunity soon enough, and I have no doubt at all that you will come through with flying colours. Resign, and you throw all of that away. Now tell me honestly, do you support Carson’s stand?’
O’Dowd hesitated, and flushed. ‘I think Ireland should be united and take its place alongside Australia and New Zealand and Canada and South Africa...if it can be done fairly,’ he agreed.
‘Which is what everyone is trying to achieve,’ Murdoch said. ‘And what Carson and his fanatics are trying to prevent, regardless of common sense.’
‘You spoke of democracy, sir. Sir Edward Carson surely represents the majority of Ulstermen.’
‘I wonder,’ Murdoch said. ‘In any event, to say he represents the majority of Ulstermen and is therefore entitled to go his own way is like suggesting the MPs for the west country have the right to declare Somerset, Devon and Cornwall independent if they do not like a course undertaken by Westminster.’ He could see that the young man was already half committed, however, and therefore virtually impervious to reason or logic, and so decided to try another approach. ‘Anyway, how could you help Ulster’s cause by resigning? Would you then join Carson’s volunteers and become a rebel?’
‘Good Lord, no.’
‘Then what would you do?’
O’Dowd’s shoulders rose and fell. ‘I don’t really know, sir.’
‘Are your people well off?’
The young man shook his head. ‘It was all they could do to put me through Sandhurst.’
‘And you’d throw all that away?’
‘How can I fight against them?’ he cried.
‘You will not be fighting against them. If we do have to move into northern Ireland we will be fighting against a few hotheads who will not obey the democratic process. Not your mother and father. And not any member of the civilian population who is not in arms against us.’
‘They will all be against you,’ O’Dowd said. ‘Against us. Whether they are in arms or not, they will be against us.’
Murdoch frowned. ‘Your parents?’
‘I do not believe they will accept Dublin rule, sir.’ O’Dowd’s voice had dropped to hardly more than a whisper.
Murdoch sighed. ‘Then it will be your duty to persuade them that it will not be as bad as they fear. I will arrange leave, if you wish, for you to go up to Belfast and see them. You must do this, Harry, for their sake and yours. To leave the Army would be to ruin your career and their sacrifice. They cannot expect you to do that. And indeed, to stay with the Army is your best chance of affording them the protection they may need.’
‘Even if I have to shoot some boyhood chum to do it,’ O’Dowd said bitterly.
‘If you have to do that, Harry, then he is no longer a chum,’ Murdoch told him.
*
‘Do you think you talked some sense into him?’ Martin Walters asked.
‘It is a quite tragic situation for a young officer to be in,’ Murdoch said. ‘From the way he spoke, I have a notion that his parents may even be actively involved in the Ulster movement. And yet he is a dedicated soldier who wants to do nothing more than serve his King and country and make his way in the regiment.’
‘Well... we can’t be held responsible for the sins of our parents,’ Walters pointed out. ‘Or there isn’t one of us wouldn’t be in the dock somewhere.’
‘Agreed,’ Murdoch said wholeheartedly, thinking of his own criminality as a parent. ‘On the other hand, there aren’t many of us who find ourselves in the position of having to arrest our own parents, either.’
‘Good God, it could never come to that.’
‘Nobody knows what it could come to, Martin. I hope to God our masters in Westminster sort the mess out before there is a tragedy.’
But they didn’t. That same night the entire regiment was aroused by the sound of the shot which killed Harry O’Dowd.
Murdoch was horror-stricken. He felt like a murderer.
‘Of course you cannot take responsibility, Murdoch,’ Billy Hobbs argued. ‘You did your duty, as the boy’s senior officer, to talk him out of resigning.’
‘Without realising just how much of a strain he was under,’ Murdoch said miserably.
‘You did your duty,’ Hobbs insisted. Which was the official point of view. But it was none the less the saddest day of Murdoch’s life when he stood with the colour guard beside Harry O’Dowd’s coffin. The padre was uncertain as to the correct procedure in the case of a suicide, and Murdoch was prepared to pull every string he possessed to have the young man properly buried, but in the event the O’Dowds came down from Belfast to collect the body of their son. Walters had offered to do the handing over himself, but Murdoch refused to opt out of the responsibility.
‘We have heard the Army may be sent against us,’ Roger O’Dowd said.
‘The Army is sent where the Government decides it should go, Mr O’Dowd,’ Murdoch said. ‘But I am afraid your son found the possibility too grave a responsibility to bear. I am sorry, believe me. He was a young officer of tremendous promise, and he was my friend.’
‘Do soldiers have friends?’ Mrs O’Dowd asked bitterly.
‘Amongst each other, Mrs O’Dowd. I would beg you to believe that.’
‘What a waste,’ O’Dowd said. ‘What a waste.’
Murdoch signalled RMS Yeald, and the colour party carried the coffin into the compartment. Then they stood back and saluted as the door was closed and the train pulled out of the station.
What a waste, Murdoch echoed.
*
Martin Walters insisted that Murdoch take a week’s leave after Harry O’Dowd’s death, and he went home to Broad Acres, where—like everywhere else in Britain—the news of the ‘Curragh Mutiny’ was the sole topic of conversation. Harry O’Dowd’s tragedy was just one by-product of the whole miserable business. Lee did her best to make him happy, but he returned to Ireland still in a depressed frame of mind.
Indeed, O’Dowd’s death cast a gloom over the entire regiment which was not easily dispelled. There were contribu
tory factors. They had been on the Curragh too long. And there was no end in sight. Week after week drifted by, and winter gave way to spring and even summer, with the usual alarms from overseas, the usual now tiresome manoeuvres, under a new brigadier—Julian Byng, a son of the Earl of Strafford, very much an aristocrat but a capable and experienced soldier—and the usual letters to and from Bath. Lee even managed to come over to Dublin for a weekend in early June, and they were reunited for a couple of nights, but she could tell that Murdoch was an unhappy man.
He was the more unhappy because the whole thing had been so unnecessary. When Mr Asquith reintroduced his bill into the Commons, it had been watered down to such an extent that Ulster was allowed to opt out of the proposed Irish dominion for an indefinite period. This naturally did not please the Dubliners, and the wrangling went on, but the immediate threat of civil war seemed to have receded.
‘So why can’t we go home?’ Ramage wanted to know.
‘They’ll move us eventually,’ Murdoch told him. ‘When they remember where we are.’ He was more interested in the news that had just come through that the heir to the Austrian throne, the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, had been assassinated, with his wife, while visiting the Bosnian capital of Sarajevo.
‘He had it coming,’ Walters growled. ‘If Austria wants to go around grabbing other people’s territory, then they have to expect to put up with some knocks in return.’
‘Hard lines on the poor Archduchess, though, sir,’ Hobbs remarked.
‘The Austrians seem to be blaming Serbia for it,’ Murdoch said, studying The Times. ‘Seems to me we could be starting on another crisis.’
He was far more accurate than he had intended to be. Three weeks later the Austrians bombarded Belgrade.
14 – France, 1914
‘The situation appears like this,’ Martin Walters explained to his officers. ‘Austria has apparently taken a very hard line with Serbia from the beginning, has entirely blamed the Serbs for master-minding the assassination of the Archduke. Apparently the man who fired the fatal shots, Gavrilo Princip, has been identified as belonging to a Serb secret society called the Black Hand—the whole thing sounds like something out of Sexton Blake, but they take these things seriously down in the Balkans. Well, anyway, the Austrians demanded virtual control over Serbian affairs until the business could be sorted out, and this the Serbs very properly refused. The upshot is that the Austrians issued an ultimatum. I must say, this sort of high-handed action is rather typical of the Austrians. But it was also a carefully calculated move.
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