THE COLONEL'S FIERY TOT
(_Told by the old Kai Tongata_)
During the east coast war the division in which I was serving landed
on the beach to seize a "pah," or native stronghold, two days' march
inland. As usual we carried four days' rations, including rum. We were
led by a fine old colonel, a distinguished Crimean officer, who was
much liked by the men. He was one of the old "two-bottle men"--or,
rather, he was contented with two bottles when he could not get three.
At that time I had not acquired a liking for ration rum--raw, fiery
stuff--but by the end of the second day's march the colonel had
consumed his own allowance and mine too. At daylight on the third day,
when we had fallen in beside a creek, and were preparing to attack, he
said to me: "Give me a tot" (calling me by a nickname I acquired early
and retained throughout my active career).
"I haven't any rum, sir; you finished mine last night."
He bubbled like a furious turkey-cock, and swore I'd drunk more than
my share. As I had not tasted a drop, I thought this unfair, but
wisely said nothing. It is bad policy to argue with a liverish
colonel, when he is two days' march from the nearest drink.
Then he said: "I must have a tot. I wonder whether the men have any
left." I was just promising to inquire when he exclaimed excitedly:
"Look there!" And lo and behold, a man stepped out of the ranks, then
standing easy, and took from his haversack a bottle containing
something that looked like rum. He poured some into a pannikin, poured
in some water and drank it off. "By heavens," said the old colonel,
"I've struck oil." Just then I called the men to "attention," and as
we went down the ranks inspecting the colonel kept saying: "Deuced bad
pain in my stomach."
As we got opposite the man with the bottle--he was, by the way, the
most temperate man in the corps--the colonel's groans became
heart-rending. The man thereupon brought out the bottle from his
haversack, and said to him: "Do you think this would do you any good,
sir?"
The colonel's face was wreathed in smiles.
"Aha, my man, just what I wanted," he exclaimed. "Give me your
pannikin." And he proceeded to pour out for himself a strong "tot."
"Be careful, sir," said the man, "it's very strong."
"Ah!" said the colonel, "when you're as old a soldier as I am you'll
be able to take your 'tot' neat." And with that he tossed it down.
The change that came over his face was marvellous! The smiles were
replaced by a look of agonised surprise. He coughed and spluttered,
and ejaculated: "Shoot the blackguard; he's poisoned me!" Then he
rushed to the creek and drank more water in ten minutes than he had
drunk in the ten previous years. "What have you given the colonel?" I
asked the man.
"Perry & Davis's Pain-killer," he replied. "Will you try some, sir?"
I put my tongue to the mouth of the bottle and then said, "No, I'm
blowed if I do." For the stuff was like liquid fire, and was hot
enough to burn the entrails out of a brass monkey, and if applied
externally would have blistered the halo from a plaster saint. It also
claimed to cure everything. In that it lied, for it did not cure the
colonel's propensity for ration rum, although I must admit it made him
very careful for some time to sample his tot before he swallowed it.