Father Duffy's story : $b a tale of humor and heroism, of life and death with the Fighting Sixty-ninthDuffy, Francis Patrick
History
Father Duffy's story : $b a tale of humor and heroism, of life and death with the Fighting Sixty-ninth
Duffy, Francis Patrick
United States. Army. Infantry Regiment, 165th; World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, American
I mess with the Headquarters Company, and James Collintine, who
has the job of looking after us, always welcomes Sunday morning
because it gives a chance for a friendly chat between the two of us.
James had been a deep-water sailor for a good many years since he
first left his home in the Old Country, but has taken up with the
Infantry because it gives more prospects for fighting service in
this war. This morning he said, “Father Duffy, did ye iver hear of
Father Hearrn of my parish in the County Longford?” “No, Jim, I never
did.” “Well, he was the grandest man in all Ireland. There was eight
hundhred min in Maynooth College where they study to be priests and
he could lick ivery dam wan of thim. He was a fine big man, six foot
two in his stockin’ feet. He used to come down the sthreet with a
big stick in his hand, and if anybody gave anny throuble he’d knock
you down just as quick as look at you. The whole parish loved him.
Wanst there was a fight in the village green between the peelers and
the people, and Father Hearrn was sent for to keep the peace and he
came down the road bowling over the peelers as if they was nine pins.
There niver was a nicer man within the four seas of Ireland.”
A soldier of Company K came to my tent one afternoon last week and
stood at the entrance fumbling his hat in his hand like an Irish
tenant of the old days that had not the rent to pay the landlord.
“What’s the matter, Tom?” “I took a dhrop too much, and Captain
Hurley got very mad about it and brought me up before Major Moynahan.
I wouldn’t mind if they’d fine me and be through with it, for I know
I deserve it. But the Major and the Captain say that they’re not
going to stand anything like this, and that they won’t lave me go to
the war. And sure, Father Duffy, if I couldn’t go to the war it’d
kill me.” The smile that came to my lips at this very Irish way of
putting it was suppressed when I thought of the number of men born
in the country who were worried sick lest the Draft should catch
them and send them to the war. I assured Tom that I would use my
powers of persuasion with the Captain and the Major to give him his
heart’s desire, if he would take the pledge. But we shall keep him
worried by a suspended sentence until we get him safely away from the
temptations of New York.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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