CHAPTER TWELVE: MY ADVENTURE WITH THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL EVER AND A BETRAYAL BY ONE OF MY MEN (PART FOUR)
John Fisherman O’Reilly (who was now quite insane), Sean Tubridy O’Reilly (related by marriage) and Tancred Moorphy M’Nally were awaiting my return. On the way back to the cave, I had already formulated my plan.
“Quick, men – no time for banter, just do as I say and play along!” I said, “I want us waiting outside the cave now and speaking loud enough to be heard for some distance but not shouting.”
So we left the cave, and the four of us crouched at its mouth. I kept an eye out for the Brits and as soon as I saw a torch in the distance, I said loudly enough to be heard by the Brits:
“I wonder when Charlo’s going to return with that British regiment so that we can massacre them?”
“Charlo’s coming back with British soldiers?” Tancred Moorphy M’Nally asked.
“That he is. He said he’d bring at least ten British soldiers back with him and set the trap so that our men throughout the forest would massacre them. Charlo’s been pretending he’s a British spy for the last while now, so he has.”
Well, I saw the torch in the distance freeze and the light went out.
“What the Brits don’t know is that we have men scattered throughout this section of the forest and we’re going to absolutely massacre those Brits when Charlo comes back with them.” I let an excited laugh out of me for the effect, and I could hear tense whispers in the distance. I watched Charlo and the Brits disappear into the forest, making a silent if hasty retreat, and I followed them. I overheard Tiptoft in conversation with Charlo.
“So, you’d betray us just as you would your own countrymen, would you?” Tiptoft was saying.
“I don’t know how… I can’t explain it!” Charlo was lost for words. “They didn’t suspect a thing until…”
CRACK! Tiptoft’s pistol went off, and Charlo fell to the grassy floor, a hole in his head where the back of his skull had once been. Charlo Mallooolly was dead, of that there was no doubt, and now alas I’d lost one of my men, traitor or no. I would have to recruit another soldier if my unit was to remain at full capacity.
Over the course of a twenty four hour period, I went to Dobbling Village, Ireland’s capital, to put out recruitment notices. John Fisherman O’Reilly, Sean Tubridy O’Reilly (related by marriage) and Tancred Moorphy M’Nally put up the flyers all around Dublin, as the Irish called it.
After getting a haircut from a group of hedge trimmers in Merrion Square for the cheap, I spent the rest of the time gazing into the honey hued Liffey waters. A barge passed, with children on the deck, being chased and chasing a group of young men and women in a kind of a dance. One of the little girls spilled ice cream over the shirt of a besuited young gentleman, and she roared laughing. He looked down at his stained shirt and shrieked in horror.
“What am I going to do?” he asked, looking at me in despair.
“It’s not the end of the world,” I replied.
“It is for me!” he retorted. “He’s going to give me the sack!”
“Who?” I asked.
“Well, why don’t you join my gang?” I asked him then.
“I can’t! I have too many tasks to complete!” he said.
The barge passed by, slowly, as the fellow scrambled to get the ice cream stains out of his suit.