In A Donegal Accent

Captain Littlewood had been able to goad the wolf sufficiently into postponing its supper of Stinson and to rather give chase – it would have been an incompetent hellhound were it to reject such a challenge; a new fog dropped soon after and the Captain managed to frustrate the brute within it, and keep some range between them.  Until the fog broke again, that is, and they were out in the wide open once more.

Littlewood, who had spotted the career priest and suddenly speechless politicaster, was yelling something.  A word.  It sounded like gone.

Captain Littlewood’s Donegal accent had not caused any misunderstanding between them thus far.  Geissel had fully adapted to a variety of utterances but this one, perhaps handicapped by the frantic nature of developments, was oblique.  

Gone?  What was the man going on about?  Did he mean the people of the island were gone?  Had they found concrete proof that there were no human beings left?  Or did he mean the wolf?  No, don’t be stupid, Teddy.  The wolf certainly wasn’t gone.  It was there alright.  Behind Littlewood like a train going full speed.  Get off the tracks, Captain.  Get off the tracks! 

When Geissel eventually twigged that Littlewood was yelling gun, but in a Donegal accent, he raced to the bag of supplies to retrieve it.  The weight of the pistol suggested there were many many bullets inside which gave Geissel some confidence as he was sure he would miss many many times.  Guns were beyond his ken.  Happily so.  The weapon was cold, cold enough to bite through his thick cotton gloves and sting his poor hands.  Geissel placed his finger on the trigger and held the alarming object up and outwards warily.  While preparing for this virgin effort with a firearm, Katrine and Masterson appeared behind him, having heard the yells of Littlewood. 

‘Do either of you know how to use this thing?’ he asked.

They shook their heads.

Stupefaction enslaved both their faces.  As it had Geissel’s moments earlier.  But now he had the look of a commander in the navy.  Or he would like to have thought so.  He could hear the Lord sending a message from above: ‘Go on, boy.’

He aimed the gun at the wolf.  Although it was at a great distance from him, he now didn’t think he could possibly miss as it was a giant of a thing.  But he had a difficult time getting the contraption to fire.  When he pressed on the trigger, it didn’t appear quite willing to be pressed into creating its legendary havoc.  It felt stuck.  Littlewood had the weapon racked and ready in the bag but there was a safety function on it which Geissel did not know about and had to fumble around to find.  Eventually he found there was something odd sticking out of the back of the grip, a kind of lever.  He squeezed down hard on it and at the same time pulled the trigger and....BANG!

The blast made him shut his eyes and when he opened them, he saw Littlewood had fallen, and the wolf was still running, getting ever nearer.  Oh no, I’ve shot the Captain.  What a silly-billy I am – but then the Captain got up again and continued running. 

‘Careful, Father!’  In a Donegal accent.

‘Yeah, careful, ya gowl!’ said Masterson.

The bullet had just missed Littlewood.  But it had been in his general area, as the Captain had taken steps to avoid it, so Geissel rejoiced and thanked the Lord that he was at least pointing the thing in the right direction.  He added further thanks that he’d been granted this most surprising talent. 

He took four paces to the right so that he could aim from an angle.  And he discharged the weapon again. 

This time it was the wolf that fell.  And as though by divine proclamation, the second bullet – well, it did not merely graze the animal on the leg or any such mild abrasion that could have it up in seconds to continue its pursuit – no no, the second bullet had God aiming as it made its way to the wolf’s head and went straight through its brain and out the other side.  It had to have been God.  Only Himself could have made a shot like that.

‘Praise our Lord in the heavens,’ said Father Geissel.

‘Accidents will happen,’ spoke up the other priest.