Dinah Shadd an' I, in ten minutes we had forgot ut all.'
'Then why do you remember it now?' said I.
'Is ut like I'd forget? Ivry word that wicked ould woman spoke fell
thrue in my life aftherwards, an' I cud ha' stud ut all--stud ut
all,--excipt when my little Shadd was born. That was on the line av
march three months afther the regiment was taken with cholera. We were
betune Umballa an' Kalka thin, an' I was on picket. Whin I came off
duty the women showed me the child, an' ut turned on uts side an' died
as I looked. We buried him by the road, an' Father Victor was a day's
march behind wid the heavy baggage, so the comp'ny captain read a
prayer. An' since then I've been a childless man, an' all else that
ould Mother Sheehy put upon me an' Dinah Shadd. What do you think,
Sorr?'
I thought a good deal, but it seemed better then to reach out for
Mulvaney's hand. The demonstration nearly cost me the use of three
fingers. Whatever he knows of his weaknesses, Mulvaney is entirely
ignorant of his strength.
'But what do you think?' he repeated, as I was straightening out the
crushed fingers.
My reply was drowned in yells and outcries from the next fire, where
ten men were shouting for 'Orth'ris,' 'Privit Orth'ris,' 'Mistah
Or--ther--ris!' 'Deah boy,' 'Cap'n Orth'ris,' 'Field-Marshal
Orth'ris,' 'Stanley, you pen'north o' pop, come 'ere to your own
comp'ny!' And the Cockney, who had been delighting another audience
with recondite and Rabelaisian yarns, was shot down among his admirers
by the major force.
'You've crumpled my dress-shirt 'orrid,' said he, 'an' I shan't sing
no more to this 'ere bloomin' drawin'-room.'
Learoyd, roused by the confusion, uncoiled himself, crept behind
Ortheris, and slung him aloft on his shoulders.
'Sing, ye bloomin' hummin' bird!' said he, and Ortheris, beating time
on Learoyd's skull, delivered himself, in the raucous voice of the
Ratcliffe Highway, of this song:--
My girl she give me the go onst,
When I was a London lad,
An' I went on the drink for a fortnight,
An' then I went to the bad.
The Queen she gave me a shillin'
To fight for 'er over the seas;
But Guv'ment built me a fever-trap,
An' Injia gave me disease.
_Chorus._
Ho! don't you 'eed what a girl says,
An' don't you go for the beer;
But I was an ass when I was at grass,
An' that is why I'm here.
I fired a shot at a Afghan,
The beggar 'e fired again,
An' I lay on my bed with a 'ole in my 'ed,
An' missed the next campaign!
I up with my gun at a Burman
Who carried a bloomin' _dah_,
But the cartridge stuck and the bay'nit bruk,
An' all I got was the scar.
_Chorus._
Ho! don't you aim at a Afghan
When you stand on the sky-line clear;
An' don't you go for a Burman
If none o' your friends is near.
I served my time for a corp'ral,
An' wetted my stripes with pop,
For I went on the bend with a intimate friend,
An' finished the night in the 'shop.'
I served my time for a sergeant;
The colonel 'e sez 'No!
The most you'll see is a full C.B.'[2]
An' ... very next night 'twas so.
_Chorus._
Ho! don't you go for a corp'ral
Unless your 'ed is clear;
But I was an ass when I was at grass,
An' that is why I'm 'ere.
I've tasted the luck o' the army
In barrack an' camp an' clink,
An' I lost my tip through the bloomin' trip
Along o' the women an' drink.
I'm down at the heel o' my service
An' when I am laid on the shelf,
My very wust friend from beginning to end
By the blood of a mouse was myself!
_Chorus._
Ho! don't you 'eed what a girl says,
An' don't you go for the beer;
But I was an ass when I was at grass,
An' that is why I'm 'ere.
Ay, listen to our little man now, singin' an' shoutin' as tho' trouble
had niver touched him. D' you remember when he went mad with the
home-sickness?' said Mulvaney, recalling a never-to-be-forgotten
season when Ortheris waded through the deep waters of affliction and
behaved abominably. 'But he's talkin' bitter truth, though. Eyah!
'My very worst frind from beginnin' to ind
By the blood av a mouse was mesilf!'
. . . . .
When I woke I saw Mulvaney, the night-dew gemming his moustache,
leaning on his rifle at picket, lonely as Prometheus on his rock, with
I know not what vultures tearing his liver.
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Confined to barracks.
[Illustration]
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY
Wohl auf, my bully cavaliers
We ride to church to-day,
The man that hasn't got a horse
Must steal one straight away.
. . . . .
Be reverent, men, remember
This is a Gottes haus
Du, Conrad, cut along der aisle
And schenck der whisky aus.
_Hans Breitmann's Ride to Church._
Once upon a time, very far from England, there lived three men who
loved each other so greatly that neither man nor woman could come
between them. They were in no sense refined, nor to be admitted to the
outer-door mats of decent folk, because they happened to be private
soldiers in Her Majesty's Army; and private soldiers of our service
have small time for self-culture. Their duty is to keep themselves and
their accoutrements specklessly clean, to refrain from getting drunk
more often than is necessary, to obey their superiors, and to pray
for a war. All these things my friends accomplished; and of their own
motion threw in some fighting-work for which the Army Regulations did
not call. Their fate sent them to serve in India, which is not a
golden country, though poets have sung otherwise. There men die with
great swiftness, and those who live suffer many and curious things. I
do not think that my friends concerned themselves much with the social
or political aspects of the East. They attended a not unimportant war
on the northern frontier, another one on our western boundary, and a
third in Upper Burma. Then their regiment sat still to recruit, and
the boundless monotony of cantonment life was their portion. They were
drilled morning and evening on the same dusty parade-ground. They
wandered up and down the same stretch of dusty white road, attended
the same church and the same grog-shop, and slept in the same
lime-washed barn of a barrack for two long years. There was Mulvaney,
the father in the craft, who had served with various regiments from
Bermuda to Halifax, old in war, scarred, reckless, resourceful, and in
his pious hours an unequalled soldier. To him turned for help and
comfort six and a half feet of slow-moving, heavy-footed Yorkshireman,
born on the wolds, bred in the dales, and educated chiefly among the
carriers' carts at the back of York railway-station. His name was
Learoyd, and his chief virtue an unmitigated patience which helped him
to win fights. How Ortheris, a fox-terrier of a Cockney, ever came to
be one of the trio, is a mystery which even to-day I cannot explain.
'There was always three av us,' Mulvaney used to say. 'An' by the
grace av God, so long as our service lasts, three av us they'll always
be. 'Tis betther so.'
They desired no companionship beyond their own, and it was evil for
any man of the regiment who attempted dispute with them. Physical
argument was out of the question as regarded Mulvaney and the
Yorkshireman; and assault on Ortheris meant a combined attack from
these twain--a business which no five men were anxious to have on
their hands. Therefore they flourished, sharing their drinks, their
tobacco, and their money; good luck and evil; battle and the chances
of death; life and the chances of happiness from Calicut in Southern,
to Peshawur in Northern India.
Through no merit of my own it was my good fortune to be in a measure
admitted to their friendship--frankly by Mulvaney from the beginning,
sullenly and with reluctance by Learoyd, and suspiciously by Ortheris,
who held to it that no man not in the Army could fraternise with a
red-coat. 'Like to like,' said he. 'I'm a bloomin' sodger--he's a
bloomin' civilian. 'Taint natural--that's all.'
But that was not all. They thawed progressively, and in the thawing
told me more of their lives and adventures than I am ever likely to
write.
Omitting all else, this tale begins with the Lamentable Thirst that
was at the beginning of First Causes. Never was such a thirst--Mulvaney
told me so. They kicked against their compulsory virtue, but the
attempt was only successful in the case of Ortheris. He, whose talents
were many, went forth into the highways and stole a dog from a
'civilian'--_videlicet_, some one, he knew not who, not in the Army.
Now that civilian was but newly connected by marriage with the Colonel
of the regiment, and outcry was made from quarters least anticipated
by Ortheris, and, in the end, he was forced, lest a worse thing should
happen, to dispose at ridiculously unremunerative rates of as
promising a small terrier as ever graced one end of a leading string.
The purchase-money was barely sufficient for one small outbreak, which
led him to the guard-room. He escaped, however, with nothing worse
than a severe reprimand, and a few hours of punishment drill. Not for
nothing had he acquired the reputation of being 'the best soldier of
his inches' in the regiment. Mulvaney had taught personal cleanliness
and efficiency as the first articles of his companions' creed. 'A
dhirty man,' he was used to say, in the speech of his kind, 'goes to
Clink for a weakness in the knees, an' is coort-martialled for a pair
av socks missin'; but a clane man, such as is an ornament to his
service--a man whose buttons are gold, whose coat is wax upon him, an'
whose 'coutrements are widout a speck--_that_ man may, spakin' in
reason, do fwhat he likes an' dhrink from day to divil. That's the
pride av bein' dacint.'
We sat together, upon a day, in the shade of a ravine far from the
barracks, where a watercourse used to run in rainy weather. Behind us
was the scrub jungle, in which jackals, peacocks, the gray wolves of
the North-Western Provinces, and occasionally a tiger estrayed from
Central India, were supposed to dwell. In front lay the cantonment,
glaring white under a glaring sun; and on either side ran the broad
road that led to Delhi.
It was the scrub that suggested to my mind the wisdom of Mulvaney
taking a day's leave and going upon a shooting-tour. The peacock is a
holy bird throughout India, and he who slays one is in danger of being
mobbed by the nearest villagers; but on the last occasion that
Mulvaney had gone forth, he had contrived, without in the least
offending local religious susceptibilities, to return with six
beautiful peacock skins which he sold to profit. It seemed just
possible then----
'But fwhat manner av use is ut to me goin' out widout a dhrink? The
ground's powdher-dhry underfoot, an' ut gets unto the throat fit to
kill,' wailed Mulvaney, looking at me reproachfully. 'An' a peacock is
not a bird you can catch the tail av onless ye run. Can a man run on
wather--an' jungle-wather too?'
Ortheris had considered the question in all its bearings. He spoke,
chewing his pipe-stem meditatively the while:--
'Go forth, return in glory,
To Clusium's royal 'ome:
An' round these bloomin' temples 'ang
The bloomin' shields o' Rome.
You better go. You ain't like to shoot yourself--not while there's a
chanst of liquor. Me an' Learoyd'll stay at 'ome an' keep shop--'case
o' anythin' turnin' up. But you go out with a gas-pipe gun an' ketch
the little peacockses or somethin'. You kin get one day's leave easy
as winkin'. Go along an' get it, an' get peacockses or somethin'.'
'Jock,' said Mulvaney, turning to Learoyd, who was half asleep under
the shadow of the bank. He roused slowly.
'Sitha, Mulvaney, go,' said he.
And Mulvaney went; cursing his allies with Irish fluency and
barrack-room point.
'Take note,' said he, when he had won his holiday, and appeared
dressed in his roughest clothes with the only other regimental
fowling-piece in his hand. 'Take note, Jock, an' you, Orth'ris, I am
goin' in the face av my own will--all for to please you. I misdoubt
anythin' will come av permiscuous huntin' afther peacockses in a
desolit lan'; an' I know that I will lie down an' die wid thirrrst. Me
catch peacockses for you, ye lazy scutts--an' be sacrificed by the
peasanthry--ugh!'
He waved a huge paw and went away.
At twilight, long before the appointed hour, he returned empty-handed,
much begrimed with dirt.
'Peacockses?' queried Ortheris from the safe rest of a barrack-room
table whereon he was smoking cross-legged, Learoyd fast asleep on a
bench.
'Jock,' said Mulvaney without answering, as he stirred up the sleeper.
'Jock, can ye fight? Will ye fight?'
Very slowly the meaning of the words communicated itself to the
half-roused man. He understood--and again--what might these things
mean? Mulvaney was shaking him savagely. Meantime the men in the room
howled with delight. There was war in the confederacy at last--war and
the breaking of bonds.
Barrack-room etiquette is stringent. On the direct challenge must
follow the direct reply. This is more binding than the ties of tried
friendship. Once again Mulvaney repeated the question. Learoyd
answered by the only means in his power, and so swiftly that the
Irishman had barely time to avoid the blow. The laughter around
increased. Learoyd looked bewilderedly at his friend--himself as
greatly bewildered. Ortheris dropped from the table because his world
was falling.
'Come outside,' said Mulvaney, and as the occupants of the
barrack-room prepared joyously to follow, he turned and said
furiously, 'There will be no fight this night--onless any wan av you
is wishful to assist. The man that does, follows on.'
No man moved. The three passed out into the moonlight, Learoyd
fumbling with the buttons of his coat. The parade-ground was deserted
except for the scurrying jackals. Mulvaney's impetuous rush carried
his companions far into the open ere Learoyd attempted to turn round
and continue the discussion.
'Be still now. 'Twas my fault for beginnin' things in the middle av an
end, Jock. I should ha' comminst wid an explanation; but Jock, dear,
on your sowl are ye fit, think you, for the finest fight that iver
was--betther than fightin' me? Considher before ye answer.'
More than ever puzzled, Learoyd turned round two or three times, felt
an arm, kicked tentatively, and answered, 'Ah'm fit.' He was
accustomed to fight blindly at the bidding of the superior mind.
They sat them down, the men looking on from afar, and Mulvaney
untangled himself in mighty words.
'Followin' your fools' scheme I wint out into the thrackless desert
beyond the barricks. An' there I met a pious Hindu dhriving a
bullock-kyart. I tuk ut for granted he wud be delighted for to convoy
me a piece, an' I jumped in----'
'You long, lazy, black-haired swine,' drawled Ortheris, who would have
done the same thing under similar circumstances.
''Twas the height av policy. That naygur-man dhruv miles an' miles--as
far as the new railway line they're buildin' now back av the Tavi
River. "'Tis a kyart for dhirt only," says he now an' again
timoreously, to get me out av ut. "Dhirt I am," sez I, "an' the
dhryest that you ever kyarted. Dhrive on, me son, an' glory be wid
you." At that I wint to slape, an' took no heed till he pulled up on
the embankmint av the line where the coolies were pilin' mud. There
was a matther av two thousand coolies on that line--you remimber that.
Prisintly a bell rang, an' they throops off to a big pay-shed.
"Where's the white man in charge?" sez I to my kyart-dhriver. "In the
shed," sez he, "engaged on a riffle."--"A fwhat?" sez I. "Riffle," sez
he. "You take ticket. He take money. You get nothin'."--"Oho!" sez I,
"that's fwhat the shuperior an' cultivated man calls a raffle, me
misbeguided child av darkness an' sin. Lead on to that raffle, though
fwhat the mischief 'tis doin' so far away from uts home--which is the
charity-bazar at Christmas, an' the Colonel's wife grinnin' behind the
tea-table--is more than I know." Wid that I wint to the shed an' found
'twas pay-day among the coolies. Their wages was on a table forninst a
big, fine, red buck av a man--sivun fut high, four fut wide, an' three
fut thick, wid a fist on him like a corn-sack. He was payin' the
coolies fair an' easy, but he wud ask each man if he wud raffle that
month, an' each man sez, "Yes," av course. Thin he wud deduct from
their wages accordin'. Whin all was paid, he filled an ould cigar-box
full av gun-wads an' scatthered ut among the coolies. They did not
take much joy av that performince, an' small wondher. A man close to
me picks up a black gunwad an' sings out, "I have ut."--"Good may ut
do you," sez I. The coolie wint forward to this big, fine, red man,
who threw a cloth off av the most sumpshus, jooled, enamelled an'
variously bedivilled sedan-chair I iver saw.'
'Sedan-chair! Put your 'ead in a bag. That was a palanquin. Don't
yer know a palanquin when you see it?' said Ortheris with great scorn.
[Illustration: '"Out of this," sez he, "I'm in charge av this
section av construction."--"I'm in charge av mesilf," sez I,
"an' it's like I will stay a while."'--P. 149.]
'I chuse to call ut sedan-chair, an' chair ut shall be, little man,'
continued the Irishman. ''Twas a most amazin' chair--all lined wid
pink silk an' fitted wid red silk curtains. "Here ut is," sez the red
man. "Here ut is," sez the coolie, an' he grinned weakly-ways. "Is ut
any use to you?" sez the red man. "No," sez the coolie; "I'd like to
make a presint av ut to you."--"I am graciously pleased to accept that
same," sez the red man; an' at that all the coolies cried aloud in
fwhat was mint for cheerful notes, an' wint back to their diggin',
lavin' me alone in the shed. The red man saw me, an' his face grew
blue on his big, fat neck. "Fwhat d'you want here?" sez he.
"Standin'-room an' no more," sez I, "onless it may be fwhat ye niver
had, an' that's manners, ye rafflin' ruffian," for I was not goin' to
have the Service throd upon. "Out of this," sez he. "I'm in charge av
this section av construction."--"I'm in charge av mesilf," sez I, "an'
it's like I will stay a while. D'ye raffle much in these
parts?"--"Fwhat's that to you?" sez he. "Nothin'," sez I, "but a great
dale to you, for begad I'm thinkin' you get the full half av your
revenue from that sedan-chair. Is ut always raffled so?" I sez, an'
wid that I wint to a coolie to ask questions. Bhoys, that man's name
is Dearsley, an' he's been rafflin' that ould sedan-chair monthly
this matther av nine months. Ivry coolie on the section takes a
ticket--or he gives 'em the go--wanst a month on pay-day. Ivry coolie
that wins ut gives ut back to him, for 'tis too big to carry away, an'
he'd sack the man that thried to sell ut. That Dearsley has been
makin' the rowlin' wealth av Roshus by nefarious rafflin'. Think av
the burnin' shame to the sufferin' coolie-man that the army in Injia
are bound to protect an' nourish in their bosoms! Two thousand coolies
defrauded wanst a month!'
'Dom t' coolies. Has't gotten t' cheer, man?' said Learoyd.
'Hould on. Havin' onearthed this amazin' an' stupenjus fraud committed
by the man Dearsley, I hild a council av war; he thryin' all the time
to sejuce me into a fight wid opprobrious language. That sedan-chair
niver belonged by right to any foreman av coolies. 'Tis a king's chair
or a quane's. There's gold on ut an' silk an' all manner av
trapesemints. Bhoys, 'tis not for me to countenance any sort av
wrong-doin'--me bein' the ould man--but--anyway he has had ut nine
months, an' he dare not make throuble av ut was taken from him. Five
miles away, or ut may be six----'
There was a long pause, and the jackals howled merrily. Learoyd bared
one arm, and contemplated it in the moonlight. Then he nodded partly
to himself and partly to his friends. Ortheris wriggled with
suppressed emotion.
'I thought ye wud see the reasonableness av ut,' said Mulvaney. 'I
made bould to say as much to the man before. He was for a direct front
attack--fut, horse, an' guns--an' all for nothin', seem' that I had no
thransport to convey the machine away. "I will not argue wid you," sez
I, "this day, but subsequintly, Mister Dearsley, me rafflin' jool, we
talk ut out lengthways. 'Tis no good policy to swindle the naygur av
his hard-earned emolumints, an' by presint informashin'"--'twas the
kyart man that tould me--"ye've been perpethrating that same for nine
months. But I'm a just man," sez I, "an' overlookin' the presumpshin
that yondher settee wid the gilt top was not come by honust,"--at that
he turned sky-green, so I knew things was more thrue than
tellable--"not come by honust, I'm willin' to compound the felony for
this month's winnin's."'
'Ah! Ho!' from Learoyd and Ortheris.
'That man Dearsley's rushin' on his fate,' continued Mulvaney,
solemnly wagging his head. 'All Hell had no name bad enough for me
that tide. Faith, he called me a robber! Me! that was savin' him from
continuin' in his evil ways widout a remonstrince--an' to a man av
conscience a remonstrince may change the chune av his life. "'Tis not
for me to argue," sez I, "fwhatever ye are, Mister Dearsley, but, by
my hand, I'll take away the temptation for you that lies in that
sedan-chair."--"You will have to fight me for ut," sez he, "for well I
know you will never dare make report to any one."--"Fight I will," sez
I, "but not this day, for I'm rejuced for want av nourishment."--"Ye're
an ould bould hand," sez he, sizin' up me an' down; "an' a jool of a
fight we will have. Eat now an' dhrink, an' go your way." Wid that he
gave me some hump an' whisky--good whisky--an' we talked av this an'
that the while. "It goes hard on me now," sez I, wipin' my mouth, "to
confiscate that piece of furniture, but justice is justice."--"Ye've
not got ut yet," sez he; "there's the fight between."--"There is," sez
I, "an' a good fight. Ye shall have the pick av the best quality in my
regimint for the dinner you have given this day." Thin I came hot-foot
to you two. Hould your tongue, the both. 'Tis this way. To-morrow we
three will go there an' he shall have his pick betune me an' Jock.
Jock's a deceivin' fighter, for he is all fat to the eye, an' he moves
slow. Now I'm all beef to the look, an' I move quick. By my reckonin'
the Dearsley man won't take me; so me an' Orth'ris'll see fair play.
Jock, I tell you, 'twill be big fightin'--whipped, wid the cream above
the jam. Afther the business 'twill take a good three av us--Jock'll
be very hurt--to haul away that sedan-chair.'
'Palanquin.' This from Ortheris.
'Fwhatever ut is, we must have ut. 'Tis the only sellin' piece av
property widin reach that we can get so cheap. An' fwhat's a fight
afther all? He has robbed the naygur-man, dishonust. We rob him honust
for the sake av the whisky he gave me.'
'But wot'll we do with the bloomin' article when we've got it? Them
palanquins are as big as 'ouses, an' uncommon 'ard to sell, as
M'Cleary said when ye stole the sentry-box from the Curragh.'
'Who's goin' to do t' fightin'?' said Learoyd, and Ortheris subsided.
The three returned to barracks without a word. Mulvaney's last
argument clinched the matter. This palanquin was property, vendible
and to be attained in the simplest and least embarrassing fashion. It
would eventually become beer. Great was Mulvaney.
Next afternoon a procession of three formed itself and disappeared
into the scrub in the direction of the new railway line. Learoyd alone
was without care, for Mulvaney dived darkly into the future, and
little Ortheris feared the unknown. What befell at that interview in
the lonely pay-shed by the side of the half-built embankment, only a
few hundred coolies know, and their tale is a confusing one, running
thus:--