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The long June twilight faded into night. Dublin lay enveloped indarkness but for the dim light of the moon that shone throughfleecy clouds, casting a pale light as of approaching dawn overthe streets and the dark waters of the Liffey. Around the beleagueredFour Courts the heavy guns roared. Here and there through the city,machine guns and rifles broke the silence of the night, spasmodically,like dogs barking on lone farms. Republicans and Free Staters werewaging5 civil war.
On a rooftop near O’Connell Bridge, a Republican sniper laywatching. Beside him lay his rifle and over his shoulders was slung apair of field glasses.6 His face was the face of a student, thin andascetic, but his eyes had the cold gleam of the fanatic. They were deepand thoughtful, the eyes of a man who is used to looking at death.
He was eating a sandwich hungrily. He had eaten nothing sincemorning. He had been too excited to eat. He finished the sandwich, and,taking a flask of whiskey from his pocket, he took a short draught. Thenhe returned the flask to his pocket. He paused for a moment,considering whether he should risk a smoke. It was dangerous. Theflash might be seen in the darkness, and there were enemies watching.He decided to take the risk.
Placing a cigarette between his lips, he struck a match, inhaled thesmoke hurriedly and put out the light. Almost immediately, a bulletflattened itself against the parapet of the roof. The sniper took another whiffand put out the cigarette. Then he swore softly and crawled away to the left.
Cautiously he raised himself and peered over the parapet. There was a flashand a bullet whizzed over his head. He dropped immediately. He had seen theflash. It came from the opposite side of the street.
He rolled over the roof to a chimney stack in the rear, and slowly drewhimself up behind it, until his eyes were level with the top of the parapetThere was nothing to be seen--just the dim outline of the opposite housetopagainst the blue sky. His enemy was under cover.
Just then an armored car came across the bridge and advanced slowly upthe street. It stopped on the opposite side of the street, fifty yards ahead. Thesniper could hear the dull panting of the motor His heart beat faster. It was anenemy car. He wanted to fire, but he knew it was useless. His bullets wouldnever pierce the steel that covered the gray monster.
Then round the corner of a side street came an old woman, her head coveredby a tattered shawl6 She began to talk to the man in the turret of the car. Shewas pointing to the roof where the sniper lay. An informer.
The turret opened. A man’s head and shoulders appeared, looking towardthe sniper. The sniper raised his rifle and fired. The head fell heavily on theturret wall. The woman darted toward the side street. The sniper fired again.The woman whirled round and fell with a shriek into the gutter. Suddenly from the opposite roof a shot rang out and the sniper dropped hisrifle with a curse. The rifle clattered to the roof. The sniper thought the noisewould wake the dead. He stooped to pick the rifle up. He couldn’t lift it. Hisforearm was dead. "I’m hit," he muttered.
Dropping flat onto the roof, he crawled back to the parapet. With his lefthand he felt the injured right forearm. The blood was oozing through thesleeve of his coat. There was no pain--just a deadened sensation, as if the armhad been cut off.
Quickly he drew his knife from his pocket, opened it on the breastwork of theparapet, and ripped open the sleeve. There was a small hole where the bullethad entered. On the other side there was no hole. The bullet had lodged in thebone. It must have fractured it. He bent the arm below the wound. The armbent back easily. He ground his teeth to overcome thepain.
Then taking out his field dressing, he ripped open thepacket with his knife. He broke the neck of the iodinebottle and let the bitter fluid drip into the wound. Aparoxysm29 of pain swept through him. He placed thecotton wadding over the wound and wrapped thedressing over it. He tied the ends with his teeth.
Then he lay still against the parapet, and, closing hiseyes, he made an effort of will to overcome the pain.
In the street beneath all was still. The armored car had retired speedily over thebridge, with the machine gunner’s head hanging lifeless over the turret. Thewoman’s corpse lay still in the gutter.
The sniper lay still for a long time nursing his wounded arm and planningescape. Morning must not find him wounded on the roof. The enemy on theopposite roof covered his escape. He must kill that enemy and he could not use hisrifle. He had only a revolver33 to do it. Then he thought of a plan.
Taking off his cap, he placed it over the muzzle of his rifle. Then he pushed therifle slowly upward over the parapet, until the cap was visible from the oppositeside of the street. Almost immediately there was a report, and a bullet pierced thecenter of the cap. The sniper slanted the rifle forward. The cap clipped down intothe street. Then catching the rifle in the middle, the sniper dropped his left handover the roof and let it hang, lifelessly. After a few moments he let the rifle drop tothe street. Then he sank to the roof, dragging his hand with him.
Crawling quickly to his feet, he peered up at the corner of the roof. His ruse hadsucceeded. The other sniper, seeing the cap and rifle fall, thought that he had killedhis man. He was now standing before a row of chimney pots, looking across, withhis head clearly silhouetted against the western sky.
The Republican sniper smiled and lifted his revolver above the edge of theparapet. The distance was about fifty yards--a hard shot in the dim light, and hisright arm was paining him like a thousand devils. He took a steady aim. His hand trembled with eagerness. Pressing his lips together, he took a deep breath throughhis nostrils and fired. He was almost deafened with the report and his arm shookwith the recoil.
Then when the smoke cleared, he peered across and uttered a cry of joy. Hisenemy had been hit. He was reeling over the parapet in his death agony. Hestruggled to keep his feet, but he was slowly falling forward as if in a dream. Therifle fell from his grasp, hit the parapet, fell over, bounded off the pole of a barber’sshop beneath and then clattered on the pavement.
Then the dying man on the roof crumpled up42 and fell forward. The bodyturned over and over in space and hit the ground with a dull thud Then it lay still.
The sniper looked at his enemy falling and he shuddered44. The lust of battledied in him. He became bitten by remorse. The sweat stood out in beads on hisforehead. Weakened by his wound and the long summer day of fasting andwatching on the roof, he revolted from the sight of the shattered mass of his deadenemy.46 His teeth chattered, he began to gibber to himself, cursing the war,cursing himself, cursing everybody.
He looked at the smoking revolver in his hand, and with an oath he hurled it tothe roof at his feet. The revolver went off with a concussion and the bullet whizzedpast the sniper’s head. He was frightened back to his senses by the shock. Hisnerves steadied. The cloud of fear scattered from his mind and he laughed.
Taking the whiskey flask from his pocket, he emptied it a drought. He feltreckless under the influence of the spirit. He decided to leave the roof now andlook for his company commander, to report. Everywhere around was quiet. Therewas not much danger in going through the streets. He picked up his revolver andput it in his pocket. Then he crawled down through the skylight to the houseunderneath.
When the sniper reached the laneway on the street level he felt a sudden curiosityas to the identity of the enemy sniper whom he had killed. He decided that he was agood shot, whoever he was. He wondered did he know him. Perhaps he had been inhis own company before the split in the army. He decided to risk going over to have alook at him. He peered around the comer into O’Connell Street. In the upper part ofthe street there was heavy firing, but around here all was quiet.
The sniper darted across the street. A machine gun tore up the ground aroundhim with a hail of bullets, but he escaped. He threw himself face downward besidethe corpse. The machine gun stopped.
Then the sniper turned over the dead body and looked into his brother’s face.
On a rooftop near O’Connell Bridge, a Republican sniper laywatching. Beside him lay his rifle and over his shoulders was slung apair of field glasses.6 His face was the face of a student, thin andascetic, but his eyes had the cold gleam of the fanatic. They were deepand thoughtful, the eyes of a man who is used to looking at death.
He was eating a sandwich hungrily. He had eaten nothing sincemorning. He had been too excited to eat. He finished the sandwich, and,taking a flask of whiskey from his pocket, he took a short draught. Thenhe returned the flask to his pocket. He paused for a moment,considering whether he should risk a smoke. It was dangerous. Theflash might be seen in the darkness, and there were enemies watching.He decided to take the risk.
Placing a cigarette between his lips, he struck a match, inhaled thesmoke hurriedly and put out the light. Almost immediately, a bulletflattened itself against the parapet of the roof. The sniper took another whiffand put out the cigarette. Then he swore softly and crawled away to the left.
Cautiously he raised himself and peered over the parapet. There was a flashand a bullet whizzed over his head. He dropped immediately. He had seen theflash. It came from the opposite side of the street.
He rolled over the roof to a chimney stack in the rear, and slowly drewhimself up behind it, until his eyes were level with the top of the parapetThere was nothing to be seen--just the dim outline of the opposite housetopagainst the blue sky. His enemy was under cover.
Just then an armored car came across the bridge and advanced slowly upthe street. It stopped on the opposite side of the street, fifty yards ahead. Thesniper could hear the dull panting of the motor His heart beat faster. It was anenemy car. He wanted to fire, but he knew it was useless. His bullets wouldnever pierce the steel that covered the gray monster.
Then round the corner of a side street came an old woman, her head coveredby a tattered shawl6 She began to talk to the man in the turret of the car. Shewas pointing to the roof where the sniper lay. An informer.
The turret opened. A man’s head and shoulders appeared, looking towardthe sniper. The sniper raised his rifle and fired. The head fell heavily on theturret wall. The woman darted toward the side street. The sniper fired again.The woman whirled round and fell with a shriek into the gutter. Suddenly from the opposite roof a shot rang out and the sniper dropped hisrifle with a curse. The rifle clattered to the roof. The sniper thought the noisewould wake the dead. He stooped to pick the rifle up. He couldn’t lift it. Hisforearm was dead. "I’m hit," he muttered.
Dropping flat onto the roof, he crawled back to the parapet. With his lefthand he felt the injured right forearm. The blood was oozing through thesleeve of his coat. There was no pain--just a deadened sensation, as if the armhad been cut off.
Quickly he drew his knife from his pocket, opened it on the breastwork of theparapet, and ripped open the sleeve. There was a small hole where the bullethad entered. On the other side there was no hole. The bullet had lodged in thebone. It must have fractured it. He bent the arm below the wound. The armbent back easily. He ground his teeth to overcome thepain.
Then taking out his field dressing, he ripped open thepacket with his knife. He broke the neck of the iodinebottle and let the bitter fluid drip into the wound. Aparoxysm29 of pain swept through him. He placed thecotton wadding over the wound and wrapped thedressing over it. He tied the ends with his teeth.
Then he lay still against the parapet, and, closing hiseyes, he made an effort of will to overcome the pain.
In the street beneath all was still. The armored car had retired speedily over thebridge, with the machine gunner’s head hanging lifeless over the turret. Thewoman’s corpse lay still in the gutter.
The sniper lay still for a long time nursing his wounded arm and planningescape. Morning must not find him wounded on the roof. The enemy on theopposite roof covered his escape. He must kill that enemy and he could not use hisrifle. He had only a revolver33 to do it. Then he thought of a plan.
Taking off his cap, he placed it over the muzzle of his rifle. Then he pushed therifle slowly upward over the parapet, until the cap was visible from the oppositeside of the street. Almost immediately there was a report, and a bullet pierced thecenter of the cap. The sniper slanted the rifle forward. The cap clipped down intothe street. Then catching the rifle in the middle, the sniper dropped his left handover the roof and let it hang, lifelessly. After a few moments he let the rifle drop tothe street. Then he sank to the roof, dragging his hand with him.
Crawling quickly to his feet, he peered up at the corner of the roof. His ruse hadsucceeded. The other sniper, seeing the cap and rifle fall, thought that he had killedhis man. He was now standing before a row of chimney pots, looking across, withhis head clearly silhouetted against the western sky.
The Republican sniper smiled and lifted his revolver above the edge of theparapet. The distance was about fifty yards--a hard shot in the dim light, and hisright arm was paining him like a thousand devils. He took a steady aim. His hand trembled with eagerness. Pressing his lips together, he took a deep breath throughhis nostrils and fired. He was almost deafened with the report and his arm shookwith the recoil.
Then when the smoke cleared, he peered across and uttered a cry of joy. Hisenemy had been hit. He was reeling over the parapet in his death agony. Hestruggled to keep his feet, but he was slowly falling forward as if in a dream. Therifle fell from his grasp, hit the parapet, fell over, bounded off the pole of a barber’sshop beneath and then clattered on the pavement.
Then the dying man on the roof crumpled up42 and fell forward. The bodyturned over and over in space and hit the ground with a dull thud Then it lay still.
The sniper looked at his enemy falling and he shuddered44. The lust of battledied in him. He became bitten by remorse. The sweat stood out in beads on hisforehead. Weakened by his wound and the long summer day of fasting andwatching on the roof, he revolted from the sight of the shattered mass of his deadenemy.46 His teeth chattered, he began to gibber to himself, cursing the war,cursing himself, cursing everybody.
He looked at the smoking revolver in his hand, and with an oath he hurled it tothe roof at his feet. The revolver went off with a concussion and the bullet whizzedpast the sniper’s head. He was frightened back to his senses by the shock. Hisnerves steadied. The cloud of fear scattered from his mind and he laughed.
Taking the whiskey flask from his pocket, he emptied it a drought. He feltreckless under the influence of the spirit. He decided to leave the roof now andlook for his company commander, to report. Everywhere around was quiet. Therewas not much danger in going through the streets. He picked up his revolver andput it in his pocket. Then he crawled down through the skylight to the houseunderneath.
When the sniper reached the laneway on the street level he felt a sudden curiosityas to the identity of the enemy sniper whom he had killed. He decided that he was agood shot, whoever he was. He wondered did he know him. Perhaps he had been inhis own company before the split in the army. He decided to risk going over to have alook at him. He peered around the comer into O’Connell Street. In the upper part ofthe street there was heavy firing, but around here all was quiet.
The sniper darted across the street. A machine gun tore up the ground aroundhim with a hail of bullets, but he escaped. He threw himself face downward besidethe corpse. The machine gun stopped.
Then the sniper turned over the dead body and looked into his brother’s face.