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 colored 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."