pretty about ut, except me. 'Twas all half dhark, an' whin the coolies
left they shut a big black gate behind av us, an' half a company av
fat yellow priests began pully-haulin' the palanquins into a dharker
place yet--a big stone hall full av pillars, an' gods, an' incense,
an' all manner av similar thruck. The gate disconcerted me, for I
perceived I wud have to go forward to get out, my retreat bein' cut
off. By the same token a good priest makes a bad palanquin-coolie.
Begad! they nearly turned me inside out draggin' the palanquin to the
temple. Now the disposishin av the forces inside was this way. The
Maharanee av Gokral-Seetarun--that was me--lay by the favour av
Providence on the far left flank behind the dhark av a pillar carved
with elephints' heads. The remainder av the palanquins was in a big
half circle facing in to the biggest, fattest, an' most amazin'
she-god that iver I dreamed av. Her head ran up into the black above
us, an' her feet stuck out in the light av a little fire av melted
butter that a priest was feedin' out av a butter-dish. Thin a man
began to sing an' play on somethin' back in the dhark, an' 'twas a
queer song. Ut made my hair lift on the back av my neck. Thin the
doors av all the palanquins slid back, an' the women bundled out. I
saw what I'll niver see again. 'Twas more glorious than
thransformations at a pantomime, for they was in pink an' blue an'
silver an' red an' grass green, wid dimonds an' imralds an' great red
rubies all over thim. But that was the least part av the glory. O
bhoys, they were more lovely than the like av any loveliness in hiven;
ay, their little bare feet were better than the white hands av a
lord's lady, an' their mouths were like puckered roses, an' their eyes
were bigger an' dharker than the eyes av any livin' women I've seen.
Ye may laugh, but I'm speakin' truth. I niver saw the like, an' niver
I will again.'
'Seeing that in all probability you were watching the wives and
daughters of most of the kings of India, the chances are that you
won't,' I said, for it was dawning on me that Mulvaney had stumbled
upon a big Queens' Praying at Benares.
'I niver will,' he said mournfully. 'That sight doesn't come twist to
any man. It made me ashamed to watch. A fat priest knocked at my door.
I didn't think he'd have the insolince to disturb the Maharanee av
Gokral-Seetarun, so I lay still. "The old cow's asleep," sez he to
another. "Let her be," sez that. "'Twill be long before she has a
calf!" I might ha' known before he spoke that all a woman prays for in
Injia--an' for matter o' that in England too--is childher. That made
me more sorry I'd come, me bein', as you well know, a childless man.'
He was silent for a moment, thinking of his little son, dead many
years ago.
'They prayed, an' the butter-fires blazed up an' the incense turned
everything blue, an' between that an' the fires the women looked as
tho' they were all ablaze an' twinklin'. They took hold av the
she-god's knees, they cried out an' they threw themselves about, an'
that world-without-end-amen music was dhrivin' thim mad. Mother av
Hiven! how they cried, an' the ould she-god grinnin' above thim all so
scornful! The dhrink was dyin' out in me fast, an' I was thinkin'
harder than the thoughts wud go through my head--thinkin' how to get
out, an' all manner of nonsense as well. The women were rockin' in
rows, their di'mond belts clickin', an' the tears runnin' out betune
their hands, an' the lights were goin' lower an' dharker. Thin there
was a blaze like lightnin' from the roof, an' that showed me the
inside av the palanquin, an' at the end where my foot was, stood the
livin' spit an' image o' mysilf worked on the linin'. This man here,
ut was.'
He hunted in the folds of his pink cloak, ran a hand under one, and
thrust into the firelight a foot-long embroidered presentment of the
great god Krishna, playing on a flute. The heavy jowl, the staring
eye, and the blue-black moustache of the god made up a far-off
resemblance to Mulvaney.
'The blaze was gone in a wink, but the whole schame came to me thin.
I believe I was mad too. I slid the off-shutter open an' rowled out
into the dhark behind the elephint-head pillar, tucked up my trousies
to my knees, slipped off my boots an' tuk a general hould av all the
pink linin' av the palanquin. Glory be, ut ripped out like a woman's
dhriss when you tread on ut at a sergeants' ball, an' a bottle came
with ut. I tuk the bottle an' the next minut I was out av the dhark av
the pillar, the pink linin' wrapped round me most graceful, the music
thunderin' like kettledrums, an' a could draft blowin' round my bare
legs. By this hand that did ut, I was Krishna tootlin' on the
flute--the god that the rig'mental chaplain talks about. A sweet sight
I must ha' looked. I knew my eyes were big, and my face was wax-white,
an' at the worst I must ha' looked like a ghost. But they took me for
the livin' god. The music stopped, and the women were dead dumb, an' I
crooked my legs like a shepherd on a china basin, an' I did the
ghost-waggle with my feet as I had done ut at the rig'mental theatre
many times, an' I slid acrost the width av that temple in front av the
she-god tootlin' on the beer bottle.'
'Wot did you toot?' demanded Ortheris the practical.
[Illustration: 'I was Krishna tootlin' on the flute.'--P. 176.]
'Me? Oh!' Mulvaney sprang up, suiting the action to the word, and
sliding gravely in front of us, a dilapidated but imposing deity in
the half light. 'I sang--
'Only say
You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan.
Don't say nay,
Charmin' Judy Callaghan.
I didn't know me own voice when I sang. An' oh! 'twas pitiful to see
the women. The darlin's were down on their faces. Whin I passed the
last wan I cud see her poor little fingers workin' one in another as
if she wanted to touch my feet. So I dhrew the tail av this pink
overcoat over her head for the greater honour, an' I slid into the
dhark on the other side av the temple, and fetched up in the arms av a
big fat priest. All I wanted was to get away clear. So I tuk him by
his greasy throat an' shut the speech out av him. "Out!" sez I. "Which
way, ye fat heathen?"--"Oh!" sez he. "Man," sez I. "White man, soldier
man, common soldier man. Where in the name av confusion is the back
door?" The women in the temple were still on their faces, an' a young
priest was holdin' out his arms above their heads.
'"This way," sez my fat friend, duckin' behind a big bull-god an'
divin' into a passage. Thin I remimbered that I must ha' made the
miraculous reputation av that temple for the next fifty years. "Not
so fast," I sez, an' I held out both my hands wid a wink. That ould
thief smiled like a father. I tuk him by the back av the neck in case
he should be wishful to put a knife into me unbeknowst, an' I ran him
up an' down the passage twice to collect his sensibilities! "Be
quiet," sez he, in English. "Now you talk sense," I sez. "Fwhat'll you
give me for the use av that most iligant palanquin I have no time to
take away?"--"Don't tell," sez he. "Is ut like?" sez I. "But ye might
give me my railway fare. I'm far from my home an' I've done you a
service." Bhoys, 'tis a good thing to be a priest. The ould man niver
throubled himself to dhraw from a bank. As I will prove to you
subsequint, he philandered all round the slack av his clothes an'
began dribblin' ten-rupee notes, old gold mohurs, and rupees into my
hand till I could hould no more.'
'You lie!' said Ortheris. 'You're mad or sunstrook. A native don't
give coin unless you cut it out o' 'im. 'Tain't nature.'
'Then my lie an' my sunstroke is concealed under that lump av sod
yonder,' retorted Mulvaney unruffled, nodding across the scrub. 'An'
there's a dale more in nature than your squidgy little legs have iver
taken you to, Orth'ris, me son. Four hundred an' thirty-four rupees
by my reckonin', _an'_ a big fat gold necklace that I took from him as
a remimbrancer, was our share in that business.'
'An' 'e give it you for love?' said Ortheris.
'We were alone in that passage. Maybe I was a trifle too pressin', but
considher fwhat I had done for the good av the temple and the
iverlastin' joy av those women. 'Twas cheap at the price. I wud ha'
taken more if I cud ha' found 'ut. I turned the ould man upside down
at the last, but he was milked dhry. Thin he opened a door in another
passage an' I found mysilf up to my knees in Benares river-water, an'
bad smellin' ut is. More by token I had come out on the river-line
close to the burnin' ghat and contagious to a cracklin' corpse. This
was in the heart av the night, for I had been four hours in the
temple. There was a crowd av boats tied up, so I tuk wan an' wint
across the river. Thin I came home acrost country, lyin' up by day.'
'How on earth did you manage?' I said.
'How did Sir Frederick Roberts get from Cabul to Candahar? He marched
an' he niver tould how near he was to breakin' down. That's why he is
fwhat he is. An' now----' Mulvaney yawned portentously. 'Now I will go
an' give myself up for absince widout leave. It's eight-an'-twenty
days an' the rough end of the Colonel's tongue in orderly-room, any
way you look at ut. But 'tis cheap at the price.'
'Mulvaney,' said I softly. 'If there happens to be any sort of excuse
that the Colonel can in any way accept, I have a notion that you'll
get nothing more than the dressing-down. The new recruits are in,
and----'
'Not a word more, Sorr. Is ut excuses the old man wants? 'Tis not my
way, but he shall have thim. I'll tell him I was engaged in financial
operations connected wid a church,' and he flapped his way to
cantonments and the cells, singing lustily:--
'So they sent a corp'ril's file,
And they put me in the gyard-room
For conduck unbecomin' of a soldier.'
And when he was lost in the mist of the moonlight we could hear the
refrain:--
'Bang upon the big drum, bash upon the cymbals,
As we go marchin' along, boys, oh!
For although in this campaign
There's no whisky nor champagne,
We'll keep our spirits goin' with a song, boys!'
Therewith he surrendered himself to the joyful and almost weeping
guard, and was made much of by his fellows. But to the Colonel he said
that he had been smitten with sunstroke and had lain insensible on a
villager's cot for untold hours; and between laughter and good-will
the affair was smoothed over, so that he could, next day, teach the
new recruits how to 'Fear God, Honour the Queen, Shoot Straight, and
Keep Clean.'
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE TAKING OF LUNGTUNGPEN
So we loosed a bloomin' volley,
An' we made the beggars cut,
An' when our pouch was emptied out,
We used the bloomin' butt,
Ho! My!
Don't yer come anigh,
When Tommy is a playin' with the baynit an' the butt.
_Barrack Room Ballad._
My friend Private Mulvaney told me this, sitting on the parapet of the
road to Dagshai, when we were hunting butterflies together. He had
theories about the Army, and coloured clay pipes perfectly. He said
that the young soldier is the best to work with, 'on account av the
surpassing innocinse av the child.'
'Now, listen!' said Mulvaney, throwing himself full length on the wall
in the sun. 'I'm a born scutt av the barrick-room! The Army's mate an'
dhrink to me, bekaze I'm wan av the few that can't quit ut. I've put
in sivinteen years, an' the pipeclay's in the marrow av me. Av I cud
have kept out av wan big dhrink a month, I wud have been a Hon'ry
Lift'nint by this time--a nuisince to my betthers, a laughin'-shtock
to my equils, an' a curse to meself. Bein' fwhat I am, I'm Privit
Mulvaney, wid no good-conduc' pay an' a devourin' thirst. Always
barrin' me little frind Bobs Bahadur, I know as much about the Army as
most men.'
I said something here.
'Wolseley be shot! Betune you an' me an' that butterfly net, he's a
ramblin', incoherint sort av a divil, wid wan oi on the Quane an' the
Coort, an' the other on his blessed silf--everlastin'ly playing Saysar
an' Alexandrier rowled into a lump. Now Bobs is a sensible little man.
Wid Bobs an' a few three-year-olds, I'd swape any army av the earth
into a towel, an' throw it away aftherwards. Faith, I'm not jokin'!
'Tis the bhoys--the raw bhoys--that don't know fwhat a bullut manes,
an' wudn't care av they did--that dhu the work. They're crammed wid
bull-mate till they fairly _ramps_ wid good livin'; and thin, av they
don't fight, they blow each other's hids off. 'Tis the trut' I'm
tellin' you. They shud be kept on water an' rice in the hot weather;
but there'd be a mut'ny av 'twas done.
'Did ye iver hear how Privit Mulvaney tuk the town av Lungtungpen? I
thought not! 'Twas the Lift'nint got the credit; but 'twas me planned
the schame. A little before I was inviladed from Burma, me an'
four-an'-twenty young wans undher a Lift'nint Brazenose was ruinin'
our dijeshins thryin' to catch dacoits. An' such double-ended divils I
niver knew! 'Tis only a _dah_ an' a Snider that makes a dacoit. Widout
thim, he's a paceful cultivator, an' felony for to shoot. We hunted,
an' we hunted, an' tuk fever an' elephints now an' again; but no
dacoits. Evenshually, we _puckarowed_ wan man. "Trate him tinderly,"
sez the Lift'nint. So I tuk him away into the jungle, wid the Burmese
Interprut'r an' my clanin'-rod. Sez I to the man, "My paceful
squireen," sez I, "you shquot on your hunkers an' dimonstrate to _my_
frind here, where _your_ frinds are whin they're at home?" Wid that I
introjuced him to the clanin'-rod, an' he comminst to jabber; the
Interprut'r interprutin' in betweens, an' me helpin' the Intilligince
Departmint wid my clanin'-rod whin the man misremimbered.
'Prisintly, I learn that, acrost the river, about nine miles away, was
a town just dhrippin' wid dahs, an' bohs an' arrows, an' dacoits, an'
elephints, an' _jingles_. "Good!" sez I; "this office will now close!"
'That night, I went to the Lift'nint an' communicates my information.
I never thought much of Lift'nint Brazenose till that night. He was
shtiff wid books an' the-ouries, an' all manner av thrimmin's no
manner av use. "Town did ye say?" sez he. "Accordin' to the-ouries av
War, we shud wait for reinforcemints."--"Faith!" thinks I, "we'd
betther dig our graves thin"; for the nearest throops was up to their
shtocks in the marshes out Mimbu way. "But," says the Lift'nint,
"since 'tis a speshil case, I'll make an excepshin. We'll visit this
Lungtungpen to-night."
[Illustration: '"Shtrip, bhoys," sez I. "Shtrip to the buff,
an' shwim in where glory waits!"'--P. 185.]
'The bhoys was fairly woild wid deloight whin I tould 'em; an', by
this an' that, they wint through the jungle like buck-rabbits. About
midnight we come to the shtrame which I had clane forgot to minshin to
my orficer. I was on, ahead, wid four bhoys, an' I thought that the
Lift'nint might want to the-ourise. "Shtrip, bhoys," sez I. "Shtrip to
the buff, an' shwim in where glory waits!"--"But I _can't_ shwim!" sez
two av thim. "To think I should live to hear that from a bhoy wid a
board-school edukashin!" sez I. "Take a lump av thimber, an' me an'
Conolly here will ferry ye over, ye young ladies!"
'We got an ould tree-trunk, an' pushed off wid the kits an' the rifles
on it. The night was chokin' dhark, an' just as we was fairly
embarked, I heard the Lift'nint behind av me callin' out. "There's a
bit av a _nullah_ here, Sorr," sez I, "but I can feel the bottom
already." So I cud, for I was not a yard from the bank."
'"Bit av a _nullah_! Bit av an eshtuary!" sez the Lift'nint. "Go on,
ye mad Irishman! Shtrip, bhoys!" I heard him laugh; an' the bhoys
began shtrippin' an' rollin' a log into the wather to put their kits
on. So me an' Conolly shtruck out through the warm wather wid our
log, an' the rest come on behind.
'That shtrame was miles woide! Orth'ris, on the rear-rank log,
whispers we had got into the Thames below Sheerness by mistake. "Kape
on shwimmin', ye little blayguard," sez I, "an' don't go pokin' your
dirty jokes at the Irriwaddy."--"Silince, men!" sings out the
Lift'nint. So we shwum on into the black dhark, wid our chests on the
logs, trustin' in the Saints an' the luck av the British Army.
'Evenshually, we hit ground--a bit av sand--an' a man. I put my heel
on the back av him. He skreeched an' ran.
'"_Now_ we've done it!" sez Lift'nint Brazenose. "Where the Divil _is_
Lungtungpen?" There was about a minute and a half to wait. The bhoys
laid a hould av their rifles an' some thried to put their belts on; we
was marchin' wid fixed baynits av coorse. Thin we knew where
Lungtungpen was; for we had hit the river-wall av it in the dhark, an'
the whole town blazed wid thim messin' _jingles_ an' Sniders like a
cat's back on a frosty night. They was firin' all ways at wanst; but
over our hids into the shtrame.
'"Have you got your rifles?" sez Brazenose. "Got 'em!" sez Orth'ris.
"I've got that thief Mulvaney's for all my back-pay, an' she'll kick
my heart sick wid that blunderin' long shtock av hers."--"Go on!"
yells Brazenose, whippin' his sword out. "Go on an' take the town!
An' the Lord have mercy on our sowls!"
[Illustration: 'There was a _melly_ av a sumpshus kind for a
whoile.'--P. 187.]
'Thin the bhoys gave wan divastatin' howl, an' pranced into the dhark,
feelin' for the town, an' blindin' an' stiffin' like Cavalry Ridin'
Masters whin the grass pricked their bare legs. I hammered wid the
butt at some bamboo-thing that felt wake, an' the rest come an'
hammered contagious, while the _jingles_ was jingling, an' feroshus
yells from inside was shplittin' our ears. We was too close under the
wall for thim to hurt us.
'Evenshually, the thing, whatever ut was, bruk; an' the six-and-twinty
av us tumbled, wan after the other, naked as we was borrun, into the
town of Lungtungpen. There was a _melly_ av a sumpshus kind for a
whoile; but whether they tuk us, all white an' wet, for a new breed av
divil, or a new kind av dacoit, I don't know. They ran as though we
was both, an' we wint into thim, baynit an' butt, shriekin' wid
laughin'. There was torches in the shtreets, an' I saw little Orth'ris
rubbin' his showlther ivry time he loosed my long-shtock Martini; an'
Brazenose walkin' into the gang wid his sword, like Diarmid av the
Gowlden Collar--barring he hadn't a stitch av clothin' on him. We
diskivered elephints wid dacoits under their bellies, an', what wid
wan thing an' another, we was busy till mornin' takin' possession av
the town of Lungtungpen.
'Thin we halted an' formed up, the wimmen howlin' in the houses an'
Lift'nint Brazenose blushin' pink in the light av the mornin' sun.
'Twas the most ondasint p'rade I iver tuk a hand in. Foive-and-twenty
privits an' an orficer av the Line in review ordher, an' not as much
as wud dust a fife betune 'em all in the way of clothin'! Eight av us
had their belts an' pouches on; but the rest had gone in wid a handful
av cartridges an' the skin God gave thim. _They_ was as nakid as
Vanus.
'"Number off from the right!" sez the Lift'nint. "Odd numbers fall out
to dress; even numbers pathrol the town till relieved by the dressing
party." Let me tell you, pathrollin' a town wid nothing on is an
ex_pay_rience. I pathrolled for tin minutes, an' begad, before 'twas
over, I blushed. The women laughed so. I niver blushed before or
since; but I blushed all over my carkiss thin. Orth'ris didn't
pathrol. He sez only, "Portsmith Barricks an' the 'Aard av a Sunday!"
Thin he lay down an' rowled any ways wid laughin'.
'Whin we was all dhressed, we counted the dead--sivinty-foive dacoits
besides wounded. We tuk five elephints, a hunder' an' sivinty Sniders,
two hunder' dahs, and a lot av other burglarious thruck. Not a man av
us was hurt--excep' maybe the Lift'nint, an' he from the shock to his
dasincy.
'The Headman av Lungtungpen, who surrinder'd himself, asked the
Interprut'r--"Av the English fight like that wid their clo'es off,
what in the wurruld do they do wid their clo'es on?" Orth'ris began
rowlin' his eyes an' crackin' his fingers an' dancin' a step-dance for
to impress the Headman. He ran to his house; an' we spint the rest av
the day carryin' the Lift'nint on our showlthers round the town, an'
playin' wid the Burmese babies--fat, little, brown little divils, as
pretty as picturs.
'Whin I was inviladed for the dysent'ry to India, I sez to the
Lift'nint, "Sorr," sez I, "you've the makin's in you av a great man;
but, av you'll let an ould sodger spake, you're too fond of
the-ourisin'." He shuk hands wid me and sez, "Hit high, hit low,
there's no plasin' you, Mulvaney. You've seen me waltzin' through
Lungtungpen like a Red Injin widout the war-paint, an' you say I'm too
fond av the-ourisin'?"--"Sorr," sez I, for I loved the bhoy; "I wud
waltz wid you in that condishin through _Hell_, an' so wud the rest av
the men!" Thin I wint downshtrame in the flat an' left him my
blessin'. May the Saints carry ut where ut should go, for he was a
fine upstandin' young orficer.
'To reshume. Fwhat I've said jist shows the use av three-year-olds.
Wud fifty seasoned sodgers have taken Lungtungpen in the dhark that
way? No! They'd know the risk av fever and chill. Let alone the
shootin'. Two hundher' might have done ut. But the three-year-olds
know little an' care less; an' where there's no fear, there's no
danger. Catch thim young, feed thim high, an' by the honour av that
great little man Bobs, behind a good orficer 'tisn't only dacoits
they'd smash wid their clo'es off--'tis Con-ti-nental Ar-r-r-mies!
They tuk Lungtungpen nakid; an' they'd take St. Pethersburg in their
dhrawers! Begad, they would that!
'Here's your pipe, Sorr. Shmoke her tinderly wid honey-dew, afther
letting the reek av the Canteen plug die away. But 'tis no good,
thanks to you all the same, fillin' my pouch wid your chopped hay.
Canteen baccy's like the Army. It shpoils a man's taste for moilder
things.'
So saying, Mulvaney took up his butterfly-net, and returned to
barracks.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS
Oh! Where would I be when my froat was dry?
Oh! Where would I be when the bullets fly?
Oh! Where would I be when I come to die?
Why,
Somewheres anigh my chum.
If 'e's liquor 'e'll give me some,
If I'm dyin' 'e'll 'old my 'ead,
An' 'e'll write 'em 'Ome when I'm dead.--
Gawd send us a trusty chum!
_Barrack Room Ballad._
My friends Mulvaney and Ortheris had gone on a shooting expedition for
one day. Learoyd was still in hospital, recovering from fever picked
up in Burma. They sent me an invitation to join them, and were
genuinely pained when I brought beer--almost enough beer to satisfy
two Privates of the Line--and Me.
''Twasn't for that we bid you welkim, Sorr,' said Mulvaney sulkily.
''Twas for the pleasure av your comp'ny.'
Ortheris came to the rescue with--'Well, 'e won't be none the worse
for bringin' liquor with 'im. We ain't a file o' Dooks. We're bloomin'
Tommies, ye cantankris Hirishman; an' 'ere's your very good 'ealth!'
We shot all the forenoon, and killed two pariah-dogs, four green
parrots, sitting, one kite by the burning-ghaut, one snake flying, one
mud-turtle, and eight crows. Game was plentiful. Then we sat down to
tiffin--'bull-mate an' bran bread,' Mulvaney called it--by the side of
the river, and took pot shots at the crocodiles in the intervals of
cutting up the food with our only pocket-knife. Then we drank up all
the beer, and threw the bottles into the water and fired at them.
After that, we eased belts and stretched ourselves on the warm sand
and smoked. We were too lazy to continue shooting.
Ortheris heaved a big sigh, as he lay on his stomach with his head
between his fists. Then he swore quietly into the blue sky.
'Fwhat's that for?' said Mulvaney. 'Have ye not drunk enough?'
'Tott'nim Court Road, an' a gal I fancied there. Wot's the good of
sodgerin'?'
'Orth'ris, me son,' said Mulvaney hastily, ''tis more than likely
you've got throuble in your inside wid the beer. I feel that way
mesilf whin my liver gets rusty.'
[Illustration: Ortheris heaved a big sigh.--P. 192.]
Ortheris went on slowly, not heeding the interruption:--