CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Soldier stories. 
 
 3 1924 013 493 816 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013493816 
 
SOLDIER STORIES 
 
SOLDIER 
 STORIES 
 
 By Rudyard Kipling 
 
 GARDEN CITY NEW YORK 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE. & COMPANY 
 
 1920 
 
Copyright, 1896, 
 
 By MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 ConrKioHT, 1899, 
 
 By RUDYARD KIPLING 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAOB 
 
 With the Main Guard i 
 
 The Drums of the Fors and Aft 25 
 
 The Man who was 78 
 
 The Courting of Dinah Shadd loi 
 
 The Incarnation of Krishna Mulvahey . . . -139 
 
 The Taking of Lunotunqpen iSs 
 
 The Madness of Private Ortseris 191 
 
WITH THE MAIN GUARD 
 
 Der jungere Uhlanen 
 Sit round mit open mouth 
 While Breitmann tell dem stdoriet 
 Of fightin' in the South ; 
 Und gif dem moral lessons, 
 How before der battle pops. 
 Take a little prayer to Himmel 
 Und a goot long drink of Schnapps. 
 
 Hans Breitmann's Ballads. 
 
 'Mary, Mother av Mercy, fwhat the divil possist 
 us to take an' kape this melancolious counthry ? 
 Answer me that, Sorr.' 
 
 It wais Mulvaney who was speaking. The time 
 was one o'clock of a stifling June night, and the 
 place was the main gate of Fort Amara, most 
 desolate and least desirable of all fortresses in 
 India. What I was doing there at that hour is a 
 question which only concerns M'Grath the Sergeant 
 of the Guard, aijd the men on the gate. 
 
 'Slape,' said Mulvaney, 'is a shuparfluous neces- 
 sity. This gyard'U shtay lively till relieved.' He 
 
2 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 himself was stripped to the waist; Learoyd on the 
 next bedstead was dripping from the skinful of 
 wafter which Ortheris, clad only in white trousers, 
 had just sluiced over his shoulders; and a fourth* 
 private was muttering uneasily as he dozed open- 
 mouthed in the glare of the great guard-lantern. 
 The heat under the bricked archway was terrify- 
 ing. 
 
 'The worrst night that iver I remimber. Eyah! 
 Is all Hell loose this tide ? ' said Mulvaney. A pufF 
 of burning wind lashed through the wicket-gate 
 like a wave of the sea, and Ortheris swore. 
 
 ' Are ye more heasy, Jock .' ' he said to Learoyd. 
 ' Put yer 'ead between your legs. It'll go orf in 
 a minute.' 
 
 ' Ah don't care. Ah would not care, but ma 
 heart is plaayin' tivvy-tiwy on ma ribs. Let me 
 die ! Oh, leave me die ! ' groaned the huge York- 
 shireman, who was feeling the heat acutely, being 
 of fleshly build. 
 
 The sleeper under the lantern roused for a mo- 
 ment and raised himself on his elbow. — ' Die and 
 be damned then ! ' he said. ' I'm damned and I 
 can't die ! ' 
 
 'Who's that.'' I whispered, for the voice was 
 new to me. 
 
 'Gentleman born,' said Mulvaney; 'Corp'ril wan 
 year, Sargmt nex'. Red-hot on his C'mission, but 
 
'Put yer 'ead between your legs. It'll go orf in a minute.' — p. 2. 
 
WITH THE MAIN GUARD 3 
 
 dhrinks like a fish. He'll be gone before the 
 cowld weather's here. So ! ' 
 
 He slipped his boot, and with the naked toe 
 just touched the trigger of his Martini. Ortheris 
 misunderstood the movement, and the next instant 
 the Irishman's rifle was dashed aside, while Ortheris 
 stood before him, his eyes blazing with reproof. 
 
 ' You ! ' said Ortheris. ' My Gawd, you ! If it 
 was you, wot would we do .' ' 
 
 ' Kape quiet, little man,' said Mulvaney, putting 
 him aside, but very gently ; ' 'tis not me, nor will 
 ut be me whoile Dinah Shadd's here. I was but 
 showin' something.' 
 
 Learoyd, bowed on his bedstead, groaned, and the 
 gentleman-ranker sighed in his sleep. Ortheris took 
 Mulvaney's tendered pouch, and we three smoked 
 gravely for a space while the dust-devils danced on 
 the glacis and scoured the red-hot plain. 
 
 ' Pop ? ' said Ortheris, wiping his forehead. 
 
 'Don't tantalise wid talkin' av dhrink, or I'll shtuff 
 you into your own breech-block an' — fire you off ! ' 
 grunted Mulvaney. 
 
 Ortheris chuckled, and from a niche in the 
 veranda produced six bottles of gingerade. 
 
 ' Where did ye get ut, ye Machiavel ? ' said MuL 
 vaney. ' 'Tis no bazar pop.' 
 
 ''Ow do Hi know wot the Orf'cers drink?' an 
 swered Ortheris. 'Arst the mess-man.' 
 
4 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 'Ye'll have a Disthrict Coort-Martial settin' on 
 ye yet, me son,' said Mulvaney, 'but' — he opened 
 ^•^a bottle — 'I will not report ye this time. Fwhat's 
 in the mess-kid is mint for the belly, as they say, 
 'specially whin that mate is dhrink. Here's luck! 
 A bloody war or a — no, we've got the sickly season. 
 War, thin!' — he waved the innocent 'pop' to the, 
 four quarters of heaven. 'Bloody war! North," 
 East, South, an' West ! Jock, ye quackin' hayrick, 
 come an' dhrink.' 
 
 But Learoyd, half mad with the fear of death 
 presaged in the swelling veins of his neck, was 
 begging his Maker to strike him dead, and fighting 
 for more air between his prayers. A second time 
 Ortheris drenched the quivering body with water, 
 and the giant revived. 
 
 •An' Ah divn't see thot a mon is i' fettle for 
 gooin' on to live ; an' Ah divn't see thot there is 
 owt for t' livin' for. Hear now, lads ! Ah'm tired 
 — tired. There's nobbut watter i' ma bones. Let 
 me die!' 
 
 The hollow of the arch gave back Learoyd's 
 broken whisper in a bass boom. Mulvaney looked 
 at me hopelessly, but I remembered how the mad- 
 ness of despair had once fallen upon Ortheris, that 
 weary, weary afternoon in the banks of the Khemi 
 River, and how it had been exorcised by the skilful 
 tnagician Mulvaney. 
 
WITH THE MAIN GUARD S 
 
 'Talk, Terence!' I said, 'or we shall have Learoyd 
 slinging loose, and he'll be worse than Ortheris was. 
 Talk ! He'll answer to your voice.' 
 
 Almost before Ortheris had deftly thrown all the 
 rifles of the guard on Mulvaney's bedstead, the 
 Irishman's voice was uplifted as that of one in 
 the middle of a story, and, turning to me, he 
 said : — 
 
 ' In barricks or out of it, as you say, Sorr, an 
 Oirish rig'mint is the divil an' more. 'Tis only fit 
 for a young man wid eddicated fisteses. Oh the 
 crame av disruption is an Oirish rig'mint, an' rippin', 
 tearin', ragin* scattherers in the field av war ! My 
 first rig'mint was Oirish — Faynians an' rebils to the 
 , heart av their marrow was they, an' so they fought 
 for the Widdy betther than most, bein' contrairy — 
 Oirish. They was the Black Tyrone. You've heard 
 av thim, Sorr } ' 
 
 Heard of them! I knew the Black Tyrone fpr 
 the choicest collection of unmitigated blackguards, 
 dog-stealers, robbers of hen-roosts, assaulters of in- 
 nocent citizens, and recklessly daring heroes in the 
 Army List. Half Europe and half Asia has had 
 cause to know the Black T)aone — good luck be 
 with their tattered Colours as Glory has ever been! 
 
 •They zvas hot pickils an' ginger! I cut a man's 
 head tu deep wid my belt in the days av my youth, 
 an', afther some circumstances whiih I will oblither- 
 
6 SOU3IER STORIES 
 
 ate, I came to the Ould Rig'mint, bearin' the char- 
 acter av a man wid hands an' feet. But, as I was 
 goin' to tell you, I fell acrost the Black Tyrone 
 agin wan day whin we wanted thim powerful bad. 
 Orth'ris, me son, fwhat was the name av that place 
 where they sint wan comp'\iy av us an' wan av the 
 Tyrone roun' a hill an' down again, all for to tache 
 the Paythans something they'd niver learned before ? 
 Afther Ghuzni 'twas.' 
 
 ' Don't know what the bloomin' Paythans called 
 it. We called it Silver's Theayter. You know that, 
 sure ! ' 
 
 ■'Silver's Theatre — so 'twas. A gut betune two 
 hills, as black as a bucket, an' as thin as a girl's 
 waist. There was over-many Paythans for our con- 
 vaynience in the gut, an' begad they called thim- 
 selves a Reserve — bein' impident by natyr' ! Our 
 Scotchies an' lashins av Gurkys was poundin' into 
 some Paythan rig'ments, I think 'twas. Scotchies 
 and Gurkys are twins bekaze they're so onlike, an' 
 they get dhrunk together when God plazes. As I 
 was sayin', they sint wan comp'ny av the Ould an' 
 wan av the Tyrone to double up the hill an' clane 
 out the Paythan Reserve. Orf'cers was scarce in 
 thim days, fwhat wid dysintry an' not takin' care av 
 thimselves, an' we was sint out wid only wan orf'cer 
 for the comp'ny ; but he was a Man that had his 
 feet beneath him, an' all his teeth in their sockuts.' 
 
WITH THE MAIN GUARD 7 
 
 ' Who was he ? ' I asked. 
 
 'Captain O'Neil — Old Crook — Cruikna-buHeen 
 — him that I tould ye that tale av whin he was in 
 Burma.^ Hah ! He was a Man. The Tyrone tuk 
 a little orf'cer bhoy, but divil a bit was he in com- 
 mand, as I'll dimonstrate presintly. We an' they 
 came over the brow av the hill, wan on each side av 
 the gut, an' there was that ondacint Reserve waitin' 
 down below like rats in a pit. 
 
 ' " Howld on, men," sez Crook, who tuk a mother's 
 care av us always. " Rowl some rocks on thim by 
 way av visitin'-kyards.'* We hadn't rowled more 
 than twinty bowlders, an' the Paythans was begin- 
 nin' to swear tremenj"us, whin the little orf'cer bhoy 
 av the Tyrone shqueaks out acrost the valley : — 
 " Fwhat the devil an' all are you doin', shpoilin' the 
 fun for my men .' Do ye not see they'll stand .' " 
 
 ' " Faith, that's a rare pluckt wan ! " sez Crook. 
 " Niver mind the rocks, men. Come along down an' 
 tak tay wid thim ! " 
 
 ' " There's damned little sugar in ut ! " sez my 
 rear-rank man ; but Crook heard 
 
 ' " Have ye not all got spoons ? " he sez, laugbin', 
 an' down we wint as fast as we cud. Learoyd bein' 
 sick at the Base, he, av coorse, was not there.' 
 
 ' Now Gist of tbe foemen of Boh Da Those 
 Wm Captain O'Neil of the Black Tyrone. 
 
 T-it Ballad e/Beh Da Tim*, 
 
S SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 ' Thot's a lie ! ' said Learoyd, dragging his bed 
 stead nearer. ' Ah gotten tkoi theer, an' you know 
 it, Mulvaney.' He threw up his arms, and from the 
 right arm-pit ran, diagonally through the fell of his 
 chest, a thin white line terminating near the fourth 
 left rib. 
 
 ' My mind's goin',' said Mulvaney, the unabashed. 
 ' Ye were there. Fwhat was I thinkin' of .' 'Twas 
 another man, av coorse. Well, you'll remimber thin, 
 Jock, how we an' the Tyrone met wid a bang at the 
 bottom an' got jammed past all movin' among the 
 Paythans ? ' 
 
 ' Ow ! It was a tight 'ole. I was squeezed till 
 I thought I'd bloomin' well bust,' said Ortheris, 
 rubbing his stomach meditatively. 
 
 ' 'Twas no place for a little man, but wan little 
 man ' — Mulvaney put his hand on Ortheris's shoulder 
 — 'saved the life av me. There we shtuck, for 
 divil a bit did the Paythans flinch, an' divil a bit dare 
 we; our business bein' to clear 'em out. An* the 
 most exthryordinar' thing av all was that we an' 
 they just rushed into each other's arrums, an' there 
 was no firing for a long time. Nothin' but knife 
 an' bay'nit when we cud get our hands free: an* 
 that was not often. We was breast-on to thim, ar' 
 the Tyrone was yelpin' behind av us in a way 1 
 didn't see the lean av at first. But I knew later, 
 an' so did the Paythans. 
 
WITH THE MAIN GUARD 9 
 
 ' " Knee to knee ! " sings out Crook, wid a laugh 
 whin the rush av our comin' into the gut shtopped, 
 an' he was huggin' a hairy great Paythan, neither 
 bein' able to do anything to the other, tho' both was 
 wishful. 
 
 ' " Breast to breast ! " he sez, as the Tyrone was 
 pushin' us forward closer an' closer. 
 
 ' " An' hand over back ! " sez a Sargint that was 
 behin'. I saw a sword lick out past Crook's ear, an' 
 the Paythan was tuck in the apple av his throat like 
 a pig at Dromeen Fair. 
 
 ' " Thank ye, Brother Inner Guard," sez Crook, 
 cool as a cucumber widout salt. " I wanted that 
 room." An' he wint forward by the thickness av a 
 man's body, havin' turned the Paythan undher him. 
 The man bit the heel off Crook's boot in his death- 
 bite. 
 
 ' " Push, men ! " sez Crook. " Push, ye paper- 
 backed beggars!" he sez. "Am I to pull ye 
 through ? " So we pushed, an' we kicked, an' we 
 swung, an' we swore, an' the grass bein' slippery 
 our heels wouldn't bite, an' God help the front-rank 
 man that wint down that day ! ' 
 
 "Ave you ever bin in the Pit hentrance o' the 
 Vic. on a thick night.?' interrupted Ortheris. 'It 
 was worse nor that, for they was goin' one way, an' 
 we wouldn't 'ave it Leastaways, I 'adn't much ta 
 say.' 
 
lo SOLDIER STORIES —.- 
 
 ' Faith, me son, ye said ut, thin. I kep' the little 
 man betune my knees as long as I cud, but he was 
 pokin' roun' wid his bay'nit, blindin' and stiffin" 
 feroshus. The devil of a man is Orth'ris in a ruction 
 — aren't ye ? ' said Mulvaney. 
 
 ' Don't make game ! ' said the Cockney. ' I 
 knowed I wasn't no good then, but I guv 'em compot 
 from the lef flank when we opened out. No ! ' h^ 
 said, bringing down his hand with a thump on th# 
 bedstead, ' a bay'nit ain't no good to a little man — 
 might as well 'ave a bloomin' fishin'-rod! I 'ate a 
 clasvin', maulin' mess, but gimme a ibreech that's 
 wore out a bit, an' hamminition one year in store, t^ 
 
 let the powder kiss the bullet, an' put me some-- 
 
 I 
 
 wheres where I ain't trod on by 'ulkin swine like 
 
 you, an' s'elp me Gawd, I could bowl > you over 
 five times outer seven at height 'undred. Would 
 ycr try, you lumberin' Hirishman .' ' 
 
 ' No, ye wasp. I've seen ye do ut. I say there's 
 nothin better than the bay'nit, wid a long reach, a 
 double twist av ye can, an' a slow recover.' 
 
 ' Dom the bay'nit,' said Learoyd, who had been 
 listening intently. ' Look a-here ! ' He picked up 
 a rifle an inch below, the foresight with an under- 
 handed action, and used it exactly as a man would 
 use a dagger. 
 
 ' Sitha,' said he softly, • thot's better than owt, for 
 a mon can bash t' faace wi' thot, an', if he divn't, 
 
WITH THE MAIN GUARD II 
 
 he can breeak t' forearm o' t' gaard. 'Tis not i' t* 
 books, though. Gie me t' butt.' 
 
 ' Each does ut his own way, like makin' love,' 
 said Mulvaney quietly; 'the butt or the bay'nit or 
 the bullet accordin' to the natur' av the man. Well, 
 as I was sayin', we shtuck there breathin' in each 
 other's faces an' swearin' powerful; Orth'ris cursin' 
 the mother that bore him bekaze he was not three 
 inches taller. 
 
 ' Prisintly he sez : — " Duck, ye lump, an' I can 
 get at a man over your shouldher ! " 
 
 '"You'll blow me head off," I sez, throwin' i^piy 
 arm clear; "go through under my arm-pit, ye- 
 blood-thirsty little scutt," sez I, "but don't shtick 
 me or I'll wring your ears round." 
 
 ' Fwhat was ut ye gave the Paythan man f orninst 
 me, him that cut at me whin I cudn't move harid 
 or foot ? Hot or cowld was ut ? ' 
 
 ' Cold,' said Ortheris, ' up an' under the rib-jint 
 'E come down flat. Best for you 'e did.' 
 
 ' Thrue, my son ! This jam thing that I'm talkin' 
 about lasted for five minutes good, an' thin we got 
 our arms clear an' wint in. I misremimber exactly 
 fwhat I did, but I didn't want Dinah to be a 
 widdy at the Depot. Thin, after some promishku- 
 ous hackin' we shtuck again, an' the Tyrone behin' 
 was callin' us dogs an' cowards an' all manner av 
 names; we barrin' their way. 
 
13 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 • " Fwhat ails the Tyrone ? " thinks I ; " they've 
 ■the makin's av a most convanient fight here." 
 
 'A man behind me sez beseechful an' in a 
 whisper : — " Let me get at thim ! For the love av 
 Mary give me room beside ye, ye tall man ! " 
 
 ' " An' who are you that's so anxious to be kilt ? " 
 sez I, widout turnin' my head, for the long knives 
 was dancin' in front like the sun on Donegal Bay 
 when ut's rough. 
 
 '"We've seen our dead," he sez, squeezin' into 
 me ; " our dead that was men two days gone ! An' 
 me. that was his cousin by blood could* not bring 
 Tim Coulan off? Let me get on," he sez, "let me 
 get to thim or I'll run ye through the back!" 
 
 * " My troth," thinks I, " if the Tyrone have seen 
 their dead, God help the Paythans this day ! " An' 
 thin I knew why the Oirish was ragin' behind us 
 as they was. 
 
 'I gave room to the man, an' he ran forward 
 wid the Haymakers' Lift on his bay'nit an' swung 
 a Paythan clear off his feet by the belly-band av 
 the brute, an' the iron btuk at the , lockin'-ring. 
 
 '"Tim Coulan'U slape easy to-night," sez he 
 wid a grin; an' the next minut his head was in 
 two halves and he wint down grinnin' by sections. 
 
 •The Tyrone was pushin' an' pushin' in, an' our 
 men were swearin' at thim, an' Crook was workin' 
 away in front av us all, his sword-arm swingin' like 
 
'He ran forward wiJ the Haymakers' Lift un his bay'nit.' — r. 12. 
 
WITH THE MAIN GUARD 13 
 
 a pump-handle, an' his revolver spittin' like a cat. 
 But the strange thing av ut was the quiet that lay 
 upon. 'Twas like a fight in a drame — except for 
 thim that was dead. 
 
 'Whin I gave room to the Oirishman I was 
 expinded an' forlorn in my inside. 'Tis a way I 
 have, savin' your presince, Sorr, in action. " Let 
 me out, bhoys," sez I, backin' in among thim. 
 " I'm goin' to be onwell ! " Faith they gave me 
 room at the wurrd, though they would not ha' 
 given room for all Hell wid the chill off. When 
 I got clear, I was, savin' your presince, Sorr, out- 
 ragis sick bekaze I had dhrunk heavy that day. 
 
 ' Well an' far out av harm was a Sargint av the 
 Tyrone sittin' on the little orf cer bhoy who had 
 stopped Crook from rowlin' the rocks. Oh, he was 
 a beautiful bhoy, an' the long black curses was 
 sliding out av his innocint mouth like morning-jew 
 from a rose ! 
 
 ' " Fwhat have you got there ? " sez I to the 
 Sargint. 
 
 '"Wan av Her Majesty's bantams wid his spurs 
 up," sez he. "He's goin' to Coort-Martial me." 
 
 ' " Let me go! " sez the little orf 'cer bhoy. " Let 
 me go and command my men ! " manin' thereby 
 the Black Tyrone which was beyond any command 
 — ay, even av they had made the Divil a Field- 
 Orf'cer. 
 
14 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 '"His father howlds my mother's cow-feed in 
 Clonmel," sez the man that was sittin' on him. 
 "Will I go back to his mother an' tell her that 
 I've let him throw himself away ? Lie still, ye little 
 pinch av dynamite, an' Coort-Martial me aftherwards." 
 
 ' " Good," sez I ; " 'tis the likes av him makes 
 the likes av the Commandher-in-Chief, but we must 
 presarve thim. Fwhat d'you want to do, Sorr ? " 
 sez I, very politeful. 
 
 ' " Kill the beggars — kill the beggars ! " he 
 shqueaks, his big blue eyes brimmin' wid tears. 
 
 '"An' how'll ye do that?" sez I. "You've 
 shquibbed off your revolver like a child wid a 
 cracker; you can make no play wid that fine 
 large sword av yours ; an' your hand's shakin' like 
 an asp on a leaf. Lie still and grow," sez L 
 
 ' " Get back to your comp'ny," sez he ; " you're 
 insolint ! " 
 
 '"All in good time," sez I, "but I'll have a 
 dhrink first." 
 
 'Just thin Crook comes up, blue an' white all 
 over where he wasn't red. 
 
 •"Wather!" sez he; "I'm dead wid drouth! 
 Oh, but it's a gran' day ! " 
 
 •He dhrank half a skipful, and the rest he tilts 
 into his chest, an' it fair hissed on the hairy hide 
 av him. He sees the little orf'cer bhoy undher the 
 Sargint. 
 
WITH THE MAIN GUARD 15 
 
 ' " Fwhat's yonder ? " sez he. 
 
 ' " Mutiny, Sorr," sez the Sargint, an' the orf 'cer 
 bhoy begins pleadin' pitiful to Crook to be let go . 
 but divil a bit wud Crook budge. 
 
 ' " Kape him there," he sez, " 'tis no child's work 
 this day. By the same token," sez he, " I'll con- 
 fishcate that il'.gant nickel-plated scent-sprinkler av 
 yours, for my own has been vomitin' dishgrace- 
 ful!" 
 
 'The fork av his hand was black wid the back- 
 spit av the machine. So he tuk the orf'cer bhoy's 
 revolver. Ye may look, Sorr, but, by my faith, 
 there s a dale more done in the field than iver gets 
 into Field Ordhers ! 
 
 '"Come on, Mulvaney," sez Crook; "is this a 
 Coort-Martial .' " The two av us wint back to- 
 gether into the mess an' the Paythans were still 
 standin' up. They was not too impart'nint though, 
 for the Tyrone was callin' wan to another to re- 
 mimber Tim Coulan. 
 
 'Crook stopped outside av the strife an' looked 
 anxious, his eyes rowlin' roun'. 
 
 ' " Fwhat is ut, Sorr } " sez I ; " can I get y* 
 anything ? " 
 
 '"Where's a bugler.'" sez he. 
 
 ' I wint into the crowd — our men was dhrawin' 
 breath behin' the Tyrone who was fightin' like 
 sowls in tormint — an' prisintly I came jicrost little 
 
1 6 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 Frehan, our bugler bhoy, pokin' roun' among the 
 best wid a rifle an' bay'nit. 
 
 ' " Is amusin' yoursilf fwhat you're paid for, ye 
 limb ? " sez I, catchin' him by the scruff. " Come 
 out av that an' attind to ypur duty," I sez; but 
 the bhoy was not pleased. 
 
 '"I've got wan," sez he, grinnin', "big as you, 
 Mulvaney, an' fair half as ugly. Let me go get 
 another." 
 
 'I was dishpleased at the personability av that 
 remark, so I tucks him under my arm an' tarries 
 him to Crook who was watchin' how the fight 
 wint. Crook cuffs him till the bhoy cries, an' thin 
 sez nothin' for a whoile. 
 
 'The Paythans began to flicker onaisy, an' our 
 men roared. " Opin ordher ! Double ! " sez Crook. 
 "Blow, child, blow for the honour av the British 
 Arrmy ! " 
 
 'That bhoy blew like a typhoon, an' the Tyrone 
 an' we opined out as the Paythans broke, an' I 
 saw that fwhat had gone before wud be kissin' 
 an' huggin' to fwhat was to come. We'd dhruv 
 them into a broad part av the gut whin they gave, 
 an' thin we opined out an' fair danced down the 
 valley, dhrivin' thim before us. Oh, 'twas lovely, 
 an' stiddy, too! There was the Sargints on the 
 flanks av what was left av us, kapin' touch, an' 
 the fire was runnin' from flank to flank, an' the 
 
WITH THE MAIN GUARD 17 
 
 Pa3rthans was dhroppin'. We opined out wid the 
 widenin' av the valley, an' whin the valley nar- 
 rowed we closed again like the shticks on a lady's 
 fan, an' at the far ind av the gut where they 
 thried to stand, we fair blew them off their feet, 
 for we had expinded very little ammunition by 
 reason av the knife work.' 
 
 ' Hi used thirty rounds goin' down that valley,' 
 said Ortheris, ' an' it was gentleman's work. Might 
 'a' done it in a white 'andkerchief an' pink silk 
 stockin's, that part. Hi was on in that piece.' 
 
 'You could ha' heard the Tyrone yellin' a milr 
 away,' said Mulvaney, 'an' 'twas all their Sargint! 
 cud do to get thim off. They was mad — mad — 
 mad ! Crook sits down in the quiet that fell when 
 we had gone down the valley, an' covers his 
 face wid his hands. Prisintly we all came back 
 again accordin' to our natures and disposishins, for 
 they, mark you, show through the hide av a man in 
 that hour. 
 
 '"Bhoys! bhoys!" sez Crook to himself. "I 
 misdoubt we could ha' engaged at long range an' 
 saved betther men than me." He looked at our 
 dead an' said no more. 
 
 ' " Captain dear," sez a man av the Tyrone, comin' 
 
 up wid his mouth bigger than iver his mother kissed 
 
 ut, spittin' blood like a whale ; " Captain dear," sez 
 
 he, " if wan or two in the shtalls have been discom- 
 
 c 
 
i8 SbLDIER STORIES 
 
 moded, the gallery have enjoyed the performinces a* 
 a Roshus." 
 
 'Thin I knew that man for the Dublin dock-rat 
 he was — : wan av the bhoys that made the lessee av 
 Silver's Theatre gray before his time wid tearin' out 
 the bowils av the benches an' t'rowin' thim into the 
 pit. So I passed the wurrud that I knew when I 
 was in the Tyrone an' we lay in Dublin. " I don't 
 know who 'twas," I whispers, " an' I don't care, but 
 anyways I'll knock the face av you, Tim Kelly." 
 
 ' " Eyah ! " sez the man, " was you there too ? 
 We'll call ut Silver's Theatre." Half the Tyrone, 
 knowin' the ould place, tuk ut up : so we called ut 
 Silver's Theatre. 
 
 ' The little orf 'cer bhoy av the Tyrone was threm- 
 blin' an' cryin'. He had no heart for the Coort- 
 Martials that he talked so big upon. " Ye'll do well 
 later," sez Crook very quiet, " for not bein' allowed 
 to kill yourself for amusemint." 
 
 ' " I'm a dishgraced man ! " sez the little orf cer bhoy. 
 
 '."Put me undher arrest, Sorr, if you will, but, by 
 my sowl, I'd do ut again sooner than face your 
 mother wid you dead," sez the Sargint that had sat 
 on his head, standin' to attention an' salutin'. But 
 the young wan only cried as tho' his little heart was 
 breakin'. 
 
 ' Thin another man av the Tyrone came up, wid 
 the fog av fightin' on him.' 
 
WITH THE MAIN GUARD 19 
 
 ' The what, Mulvaney ? ' 
 
 •Fog av fightiti'. You know, Sorr, that, like 
 makin' love, ut takes each man diff'rint. Now I 
 can't help bein' powerful sick whin I'm in action. 
 Orth'ris, here, niver stops swearin' from ind to ind, 
 an' the only time that Learoyd opins his mouth to 
 sing is whin he is messin' wid other people's heads ; 
 for he's a dhirty fighter is Jock. Recruities some- 
 time cry, an' sometime they don't know fwhat they 
 do, an' sometime they are all for cuttin' throats an' 
 such-like dirtiness; but some men get heavy-dead- 
 dhrunk on the fightin'. This man was. He was 
 staggerin', an' his eyes were half-shut, an' we cud 
 hear him dhraw breath twinty yards away. He 
 sees the little orf'cer bhoy, an' comes up, talkin' 
 thick an' drowsy to himsilf. " Blood the young 
 whelp ! " he sez ; " blood the young whelp ; " an' wid 
 that he threw up his arms, shpun roun', an' dropped 
 at our feet, dead as a Paythan, an' there was niver 
 sign or scratch on him. They said 'twas his heart 
 was rotten, but oh, 'twas a quare thing to see! 
 
 'Thin we went to bury our dead, for we wud 
 not lave thim to the Paythans, an' in movin' among 
 the haythen we nearly lost that little orf'cer bhoy. 
 He was for givin' wan divil' wather and layin' him 
 aisy against a rock. " Be careful, Sorr," sez I ; "a 
 wounded Paythan's worse than a live wan." My 
 troth, before the words was out of my mouth, the 
 
20 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 man on the ground fires at the orf'cer bhoy lanin' 
 over him, an' I saw the helmit fly. I dropped the 
 t)utt on the face av the man an' tuk his pistol. The 
 little orf'cer bhoy turned very white, for the hair av 
 h^lf his head was singed away. 
 
 ' " I tould you so, Sorr," sez I ; an', afther that, 
 when he wanted to help a Paythan I stud wid the 
 muzzle contagious to the ear. They dare not do 
 anythin'-but curse. The Tyrone was growlin' like 
 dogs ovet a 'bone that has been taken away too 
 soon, for they had seen their dead an' they wanted 
 to kill ivry sowl on the ground. Crook tould thim 
 that he'd blow the hide off any man that miscon- 
 ducted himself; but, seeing that ut was the first 
 time the Tyrone had iver seen their dead, I do not 
 wondher they were on the sharp. 'Tis a shameful 
 sight! Whin I first saw ut I wud niver ha' given 
 quarter to any man not of the Khaibar — no, nor 
 woman either, for the women used to come out 
 afther dhark — Auggrh! 
 
 'Well, evenshually we buried our dead an' tuk 
 away our wounded, an' come over the brow av the 
 hills to see the Scotchies an' the Gurkys taking 
 tay with the Paythans in bucketsfuls. We were a 
 gang av dissolute ruffians, for the blood had caked 
 the dust, an' the sweat had cut the cake, an' our 
 bay'nits was hangin' like butchers' steels betune ur 
 legs, an' most av us were marked one way or anotheic 
 
WITH THE MAIN GUARD 21 
 
 'A Staff Orf'cer man, clean as a new rifle, rides 
 up an' sez : " What damned scarecrows are you ? " 
 
 ' " A comp'ny av Her Majesty's Black Tyrone an' 
 -ran av the Ould Rig'mint," sez Crook very quiet, 
 ^vin' our visitors the flure as 'twas. 
 
 •"Oh!" sez the Staff Orf'cer; "did you dislodge 
 ihat Reserve?" 
 
 ' " No ! " sez Crook, an' the Tyrone laughed. 
 
 '"Thin fwhat the divil have ye done.""' 
 
 '"Disthroyed ut," sez Crook, an' he took us on, 
 but not before Toomey that was in the Tyrone 
 sez aloud, his voice somewhere in his stummick: 
 "Fwhat in the name av misfortune does this parrit 
 widout a tail mane by shtoppin' the road av his 
 betthers ? " 
 
 'The Staff Orf'cer wint blue, an' Toomey makes 
 him pink by changin' to the voice av a minowderin' 
 woman an' sayin': "Gome an' kiss me, Major dear, 
 for me husband's at the wars an' I'm all alone at 
 the Depot." 
 
 'The Staff Orf'cer wint away, an' I cud see 
 Crook's shoulthers shakin'. 
 
 'His Corp'ril checks Toomey. "Lave me alone," 
 sez Toomey, widout a wink. " I was his batman 
 before he was married an' he knows fwhat I mane, 
 av you don't. There's nothin' like livin' in the 
 height av society." D'you remimber that, Orth'ris!' 
 
 ' Hi do. Toomey, 'e died in 'orspital, next week 
 
22 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 it was, 'cause I bought 'arf his kit ; an' I remember 
 after that ' 
 
 ' GUARRD, TURN OUT ! ' 
 
 The Relief had come; it was four o'clock. 'I'll 
 catch a kyart for you, Sorr,' said Mulvaney, diving 
 hastily into his accoutrements. 'Come up to the 
 top av ,the Fort an' we'll pershue our invistiga- 
 tions into M'Grath's shtable.' The relieved guard 
 strolled round the main bastion on its way to the 
 swimming-bath, and Learoyd grew almost talkative. 
 Ortheris looked into the Fort ditch and across the 
 plain. ' Ho ! it's weary waitin' for Ma-ary ! ' he 
 hummed; 'but I'd like to kill some more bloomin' 
 Paythans before my time's up. War ! Bloody war ! 
 North, East, South, and West.' 
 
 'Amen,' said Learoyd slowly. 
 
 'Fwhat's here.'' said Mulvaney, checking at a 
 blur of white by the foot of the old sentry-box. He 
 stooped and touched it. 'It's Norah — Norah M'Tag- 
 gart ! Why, Nonie darlin', fwhat are ye doin' out 
 av your mother's bed at this time .■• ' 
 
 The. two-year-old child of Sergeant M'Taggart 
 must have wandered for a breath of cool air to the 
 
 9 
 
 very verge of the parapet of the Fort ditch. Her 
 tiny night-shift was gathered into a wisp round her 
 neck and she moaned in her sleep. 'See there!' 
 said Mulvaney ; ' poor lamb ! Look at the heat-rash 
 on the innocint skin av her. 'Tis hard -i crool hard 
 
Hl piLke,! hri up in the groHin^ li^lit, and set her on his shoulJcr, — r. 23. 
 
WITH THE MAIN GUARD 23 
 
 even for us. Fwhat must it be for these? Wake 
 up, Nonie, your mother will be woild about you. 
 Begad, the child might ha' fallen into the ditch!' 
 
 He picked her up in the growing light, and set 
 her on his shoulder, and her fair curls touched the 
 grizzled stubble of his temples. Ortheris and Lea- 
 royd followed snapping their fingers, while Norah 
 smiled at them a sleepy smile. Then carolled 
 Mulvaney, clear as a lark, dancing the baby on 
 his arm : — 
 
 ' If any young man should marry you, 
 
 Say nothin' about the joke ; 
 That iver ye slep' in a sinthry-box, 
 Wrapped up in a soldier's cloak. 
 
 'Though, on my sowl, Nonie,' he said gravely, 
 'there was not much cloak about you. Niver mind, 
 you won't dhress like this ten years to come. Kiss 
 your friends an' run along to your mother.' 
 
 Nonie, set down close to the Married Quarters, 
 nodded with the quiet obedience of the soldier's child, 
 but, ere she pattered off over the flagged path, held 
 up her lips to be kissed by the Three Musketeers. 
 Ortheris wiped his mouth with the back of his hand 
 and swore sentimentally ; Learoyd turned pink ; and 
 the two walked away together. The Yorkshireman 
 lifted up his voice and gave in thunder the chorus 
 of The Sentry Box, while Ortheris piped at his side. 
 
 ' 'Bin to a bloomin' sing-song, you two ? ' said the 
 
24 ' SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 Artilleryman, who was taking his cartridge down to 
 the Morning Gun. 'You're over merry for these 
 dashed days.' 
 
 ' I bid ye take care o' the brat, said he, 
 For it comes of a noble race,' 
 
 Learoyd bellowed. The voices died out in the 
 swimming-bath. 
 
 ' Oh, Terence ! ' I said, dropping into Mujvaney's 
 speech, when we were alone, ' it's you that Iiave the 
 Tongue ! ' 
 
 He looked at me wearily; his eyes were sunk in 
 his head, and his face was drawn and white. 'Eyah!' 
 said he ; 'I've blandandhered thim through the night 
 somehow, but can thim that helps others help thim- 
 selves .'' Answer me that, Sorr ! ' 
 
 And over the bastions of Fort Amara broke the 
 pitiless day. 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 
 
 In the Army List they still stand as 'The Fore 
 and Fit Princess Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen-Aus- 
 pach's Merthyr-Tydfilshire Own Royal Loyal Light 
 Infantry, Regimental District 329A,' but the Army 
 through all its barracks and canteens knows them 
 now as the ' Fore and Aft.' They may in time do 
 something that shall make their new title honour- 
 able, but at present they are bitterly ashamed, and 
 1 he man who calls them ' Fore and Aft ' does so at 
 the risk of the head which is on his shoulders. 
 
 Two words breathed into the stables of a certain 
 Cavalry Regiment will bring the men out into the 
 streets with belts and mops and bad language ; but 
 a whisper of 'Fore and Aft' will bring out this 
 regiment with rifles. 
 
 Their one excuse is that they came again and 
 did their best to finish the job in style. But for % 
 time all their world knows that they were openly 
 beaten, whipped, dumb-cowed, shaking, and afraid. 
 
 as, 
 
26 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 The men know it; their officers know it; the Horse 
 Guards know it, and when the next war comes the 
 enemy will know it also. There are two or three 
 regiments of the Line that have a black mark 
 against their names which they will then wipe out; 
 and it will be excessively inconvenient for the troops 
 upon whom they do their wiping. 
 
 The courage of the British soldier is officially 
 supposed to be above proof, and, as a general rule, 
 it is so. The exceptions are decently shovelled out 
 of sight, only to be referred to in the freshest of 
 unguarded talk that occasionally swamps a Mess- 
 table at midnight. Then one hears strange and 
 horrible stories of- men not following their officers, 
 of orders being given by those who had no right to 
 give them, and of disgrace that, but for the stand- 
 ing luck of the British Army, might have ended in 
 brilliant disaster. These are unpleasant stories to 
 listen to, and the Messes tell them under their 
 breath, sitting by the big wood fires ; and the young 
 officer bows his head and thinks to himself, please 
 God, his men shall never behave unhandily. 
 
 The British soldier is not altogether to be blamed 
 for occasional lapses ; but this verdict he should not 
 know. A moderately intelligent General will waste 
 six months in mastering the craft of the particular 
 war that he may be waging ; a Colonel may utterly 
 misunderstand the capacity of his regiment for three 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT tj 
 
 months after it has taken the field; and even a 
 Company Commander may err and be deceived as 
 to the temper and temperament of his own hand- 
 ful : wherefore the soldier, and the soldier of to-day 
 more particularly, should not be blamed for falling 
 back. He should be shot or hanged afterwards — 
 to encourage the others; but he should not be vili- 
 fied in newspapers, for that is want of tact and 
 waste of space. 
 
 He has, let us say, been in the service of the 
 Empress for, perhaps, four years. He will leave in 
 another two years. He has no inherited morals, and 
 four years are not sufficient to drive toughness into 
 his fibre, or to teach him how holy a thing is his 
 Regiment. He wants to drink, he wants to enjoy 
 himself — in India he wants to save money — and 
 he does not in the least like getting hurt. He has 
 received just sufficient education to make him under- 
 stand half the purport of the orders he receives, and 
 to speculate on the nature of clean, incised, and 
 shattering wounds. Thus, if he is told to deploy 
 under fire preparatory to an attack, he knows that 
 he runs a very great risk of being killed while he is 
 deploying, and suspects that he is being thrown away 
 to gain ten minutes' time. He may either deploy 
 with desperate swiftness, or he may shuffle, or bunch, 
 or break, according to the discipline under which he 
 has lain for four years. 
 
a« SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 Armed with imperfect knowledge, cursed with 
 the rudiments of an imagination, hampered by the 
 intense selfishness of the lower classes, and unsup- 
 ported by any regimental associations, this young 
 man is suddenly introduced to an enemy who in 
 eastern lands is always ugly, generally tall and hairy,* 
 and frequently noisy. If he looks to the right and 
 the left and sees old soldiers — men of twelve years' 
 service, who, he knows, know what they are about — • 
 taking a charge, rush, or demonstration without 
 embarrassment, he is consoled and applies his 
 shoulder to the butt of his rifle with a stout heart. 
 His peace is the greater if he hears a senior, who 
 has taught him his soldiering and broken his head 
 on occasion, whispering : ' They'll shout and carry 
 on like this for five minutes. Then they'll rush in, 
 and then we've got 'em by the short hairs ! ' 
 
 But, on the other hand, if he sees only men of 
 his own term of service, turning white and playmg 
 with their triggers and saying : ' What the Hell's up 
 now ? ' while the Company Commanders are sweating 
 into their sword-hilts and shouting : ' Front-rank, fix 
 bayonets. Steady there — steady! Sight for three 
 hundred — no, for five! Lie down, all! Steady! 
 Front-rank kneel!' and so forth, he becomes un- 
 happy ; and grows acutely miserable when he hears 
 a comrade turn over with the rattle of fire-irons 
 falling into the fender, and the grunt of a pole-axed 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 29 
 
 OX. If he can be moved about a little and allowed 
 to watch the effect of his own fire on the enemy 
 he feels merrier, and may be then worked up to 
 the blind passion of fighting, which is, contrary to 
 general belief, controlled by a chilly Devil and 
 shakes men like ague. If he is not moved about, 
 and begins to feel cold at the pit of the stomach, 
 and in that crisis is badly mauled and hears orders 
 that were never given, he will break, and he will 
 break badly; and of all things under the light of 
 the Sun there is nothing more terrible than a broken 
 British regiment. When the worst comes to the 
 worst and the panic is really epidemic, the men 
 must be e'en let go, and the Company Commanders 
 had better escape to the enemy and stay there for 
 safety's sake. If they can be made to come again 
 they are not pleasant men to meet; because they 
 will not break twice. 
 
 About thirty years from this date, when we have 
 succeeded in half-educating everything that wears 
 trousers, our Army will be a beautifully unreliable 
 machine. It will know too much and it will do too 
 little. Later still, when all men are at the mental 
 level of the officer of to-day, it will sweep the earth. 
 Speaking roughly, you must employ either black- 
 guards or gentlemen, or, best of all, blackguards 
 commanded by gentlemen, to do butcher's work with 
 efficiency and despatch. The ideal soldier should, of 
 
30 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 course, think for himself — the Pocket-book' says so. 
 Unfortunately, to attain this virtue' he has to pass 
 through the phase of thinking of himself, and that is 
 misdirected genius. A blackguard may be slow to 
 think for himself, but he is genuinely anxious to kill, 
 and a little punishment teaches him how to guard 
 his own skin and perforate another's. A powerfully 
 prayerful Highland Regiment, officered by rank 
 Presbyterians, is, perhaps, one degree more terrible 
 in action than a hard-bitten thousand of irresponsible 
 Irish ruffians led by most improper young un- 
 believers. But these things prove the rule — which 
 is that the midway men are not to be trusted alone. 
 They have ideas about the value of life and an up- 
 bringing that has not taught them to go on and 
 take the chances. They are carefully unprovided 
 with a backing of comrades who have been shot 
 over, and until that backing is re-introduced, as a 
 great many Regimental Commanders intend it shall 
 be, they are more liable to disgrace themselves than 
 the size of the Empire or the dignity of the Army 
 allows. Their officers are as good as good can be, 
 because their training begins early, and God has 
 arranged that a clean-run youth of the British middle 
 classes shall, in the matter of backbone, brains, and 
 bowels, surpass all other youths. For this reason a 
 child of eighteen will stand up, doing nothing, with 
 a tin sword in his hand and joy in his heart until he 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 31 
 
 is dropped. If he dies, he dies like a gentleman. If 
 he lives, he writes Home that he has been ' potted,' 
 'sniped,' 'chipped,' or 'cut over,' and sits down to 
 besiege Government for a wound-gratuity until the 
 next little war breaks out, when he perjures himself 
 before a Medical Board, blarneys his Colonel, burns 
 incense round his Adjutant, and is allowed to go to 
 the Front once more. 
 
 Which homily brings me directly to a brace of 
 the most finished little fiends that ever banged 
 drum or tootled fife in the Band of a British Reg- 
 iment. They ended their sinful career by open 
 and flagrant mutiny and were shot for it. Their 
 names were Jakin and Lew — Piggy Lew — and 
 they were bold, bad drummer-boys, both of them 
 frequently birched by the Drum-Major of the Fore 
 and Aft. 
 
 Jakin was a stunted child of fourteen, and Lew 
 was about the same age. When not looked after, 
 they smoked and drank. They swore habitually 
 after the manner of the Barrack-room, which is 
 Gold-swearing and comes from between clinched 
 teeth; and they fought religiously once a week. 
 Jakin had sprung from some London gutter, and 
 may or may not have passed through Dr. Bar- 
 nardo's hands ere he arrived at the dignity of 
 drummer-boy. Lew could remember nothing ex- 
 cept the Regiment apd the delight of listening to 
 
32 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 the Band from his earliest years. He hid some, 
 where in his grimy little soul a genuine love for 
 music, and was most mistakenly furnished with 
 the head of a cherub: insomuch that beautiful 
 ladies who watched the Regiment in church were 
 wont to speak of him as a 'darling.' They never 
 heard his vitriolic comments on their manners and 
 morals, as he walked back to barracks with the 
 Band and matured fresh causes of offence against 
 Jakin. 
 
 The other drummer-boys hated both lads on 
 account of their illogical conduct. Jakin might be 
 pounding Lew, or Lew might be rubbing Jakin's 
 head in the dirt, but any attempt at aggression 
 on the part of an outsider was met by the com- 
 bined forces of Lew and Jakin ; and the conse- 
 quences were painful. The boys were the Ish- 
 maels of the corps, but wealthy Ishmaels, for they 
 sold battles in alternate weeks for the sport of the 
 barracks when they were not pitted against other 
 boys; and thus amassed money. 
 
 On this particular day there was dissension in 
 the camp. They had just been convicted afresh 
 of smoking, which is bad for little boys who use 
 plug-tobacco, and Lew's contention was that Jakin 
 had 'stunk so 'orrid bad from keepin' the pipe in 
 pocket,' that he and he alone was responsible for 
 the birching they were both tingling under. 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 33 
 
 •I tell you I 'id the pipe back o' barracks,' said 
 Jakin pacifically. 
 
 'You're a bloomin' liar,' said Lew without heat 
 
 'You're a bloomin' little barstard,' said Jakin, 
 strong in the knowledge that his own ancestry 
 was unknown. 
 
 Now there is one word in the extended vocabu- 
 lary of barrack-room abuse that cannot pass with- 
 out comment. You may call a man a thief and 
 risk nothing. You may even call him a coward 
 without finding more than a boot whiz past your 
 ear, but you must not call a man a bastard unless 
 you are prepared to prove it on his front teeth. 
 
 'You rhight ha' kep' that till I wasn't so sore,' 
 said Lew sorrowfully, dodging round Jakin's guard. 
 
 ' I'll make you sorer,' said Jakin genially, and 
 got home on Lew's alabaster forehead. All would 
 have gone well and this story, as the books say, 
 would never have been written, had not his evil 
 fate prompted the Bazar-Sergeant's son, a long, 
 employless man of five-and-twenty, to put in an 
 appearance after the first round. He was eternally 
 in need of money, and knew that the boys had silver, 
 
 'Fighting again,' said he. 'I'll report )'^ou tc 
 my father, and he'll report you to the Colour- 
 Sergeant.' 
 
 'What's that to you.'' said Jakin with an ui 
 pleasant dilation of the nostrils. 
 
34 SOU3IER STORIES 
 
 ' Oh ! nothing to me. You'll get into trouble, 
 and you've been up too often to afford that.' 
 
 'What the Hell do you know about what we've 
 done?' asked Lew the Seraph. ' You aren't in 
 the Army, you lousy, cadging civilian.' 
 
 He closed in on the man's left flank. 
 
 'Jes' 'cause you find two gentlemen settlin' their 
 difif'rences with their fistes you stick in your ugly 
 nose where you aren't wanted. Run 'ome to your 
 ,'arf -caste slut of a Ma — or we'll give you what- 
 for,' said Jakin. 
 
 The man attempted reprisals by knocking the 
 boys' heads together. The scheme would have 
 succeeded had not Jakin punched him vehemently 
 in the stomach, or had Lew refrained from kick- 
 ing his shins. They fought together, bleeding and 
 breathless, for half an hour, and, after heavy pun- 
 ishment, triumphantly pulled down their opponent 
 as terriers pull down a jackal. 
 
 ' Now,' gasped Jakin, ' I'll give you what-for.' He 
 proceeded to pound the man's features while Lew 
 stamped on the outlying portions of his anatomy. 
 Chivalry is not a strong point in the composition 
 of the average drummer-boy. He fights, as do his 
 betters, to make his mark. 
 
 Ghastly was the ruin that escaped, and awful was 
 the wrath of the Bazar-Sergeant. Awful, too, was 
 the scene in Orderly-room when the two reprobates 
 
Hey! What? Are v^li ^oing to argue with me?'' said the CoUineh — P. 35 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 3S 
 
 appeared to answer the charge of half-murdering a 
 'civilian.' The Bazar-Sergeant thirsted for a crimi- 
 nal action, and his son lied. The boys stood to 
 attention while the black clouds of evidence accu- 
 mulated. 
 
 ' You little devils are more trouble than the rest 
 of the Regiment put together,' said the Colonel an- 
 grily. 'One might as well admonish thistledown, 
 and I can't well put you in cells or under stoppages. 
 You must be birched again.' 
 
 ' Beg y' pardon. Sir. Can't we say nothin' in our 
 own defence, Sir ? ' shrilled Jakin. 
 
 ' Hey ! What ? Are you going to argue with 
 me f ' said the Colonel. 
 
 ' No, Sir,' said Lew. ' But if a man come to you. 
 Sir, and said he was going to report you, Sir, for 
 'aving a bit of a tum-up with a friend, Sir, an' wanted 
 to get money out o' you. Sir ' 
 
 The Orderly-room exploded in a roar of laughter, 
 •Well.?' said the Colonel. 
 
 ' That was what that measly jamwar there did, 
 Sir, and 'e'd 'a' done it, Sir, if we 'adn't prevented 
 'im. We didn't 'it 'im much, Sir. 'E 'adn't no man- 
 ner o' right to interfere with us, Sir. I don't mind 
 bein' birched by the Drum-Major, Sir, nor yet re- 
 ported by any Corp'ral, but I'm — but I don't think 
 it's fair, Sir, for a civilian to come an' talk over a 
 Mian in the Army.' 
 
36 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 A second shout of laughter shook the Orderly, 
 room, but the Colonel was grave. 
 
 'What sort of characters have these boys?' he 
 tsked of the Regimental Sergeant-Major. 
 
 ' Accordin' to the Bandmaster, Sir," returned that 
 revered official — the only soul in the regiment 
 whom the boys feared — ' they do everything but 
 lie, Sir.' 
 
 'Is it like we'd go for that man for fun, Sir,'' 
 said Lew, pointing to the plaintiff. 
 
 *Oh, admonished — admonished!' said the Colonel 
 testily, and when the boys had gone he read the 
 Bazar-Sergeant's son a lecture on the sin of unprofit- 
 able meddling, and gave orders that the Bandmaster 
 should keep the Drums in better discipline. 
 
 ' If either of you comes to practice again with so 
 :nuch as a scratch on your two ugly little faces,' 
 thundered the Bandmaster, ' I'll tell the Drum-Major 
 to take the skin off your backs. Understand that, 
 you young devils.' 
 
 Then he repented of his speech for just the length 
 %)i time that Lew, looking like a Seraph in red 
 ivorsted embellishments, took the place of one of the 
 trumpets — in hospital — and rendered the echo of a 
 battle-piece. Lew certainly was a musician, and 
 had often in his more exalted moments expressed a 
 yearning to master every instrument of the Band. 
 
 'There's nothing to prevent your becoming a 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 37 
 
 Bandmaster, Lew,' said the bandmaster, who had 
 composed waltzes of his own, and worked day and 
 night in the interests of the Band. 
 
 ' What did he say ? ' demanded Jakin after 
 practice. 
 
 ' 'Said I might be a bloomin' Bandmaster, an' 
 be asked in to 'ave a glass o' sherry-wine on 
 Mess-nights.' 
 
 ' Ho ! 'Said you might be a bloomin' non-com- 
 batant, did 'e ! That's just about wot 'e would 
 say. When I've put in my boy's service — it's a 
 bloomin' shame that doesn't count for pensioA — 
 I'll take on as a privit. Then I'll be a Lance in 
 a year — knowin' what I know about the ins an' 
 outs o' things. In three years I'll be a bloomin' 
 Sergeant. I won't marry then, not I ! I'll 'old on 
 and learn the orf'cers' ways an' apply for exchange 
 into a reg'ment that doesn't knoiV all about me. 
 Then I'll be a bloomin' orf'cer. Then I'll ask 
 you to *ave a glass o' sherry-wine. Mister Lew, an' 
 you'll bloomin' well 'ave to stay in the hanty-room 
 while the Mess-Sergeant brings it to your dirty 'ands.' 
 
 "S'pose I'm going to be a Bandmaster^ Not I, 
 quite. I'll be a orf'cer too. There's nothin' like 
 takin' to a thing an' stickin' to it, the School- 
 master says. The reg'ment don't go 'ome for 
 another seven years. I'll be a Lance then 01 
 near to.' 
 
3* SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 Thus the boys discussed their futures, and coH' 
 ducted themselves piously for a week. That is to 
 say, Lew started a flirtation with the Colour-Ser- 
 geant's daughter, aged thirteen — 'not,' as he ex- 
 plained' to Jakin, ' with any intention o' matrimony, 
 but by way o' keepin' my 'and in.' And the black- 
 haired Cris Delighan enjoyed that flirtation more 
 than previous ones, and the other drummer-boys 
 raged furiously together, and Jakin preached ser- 
 mons on the dangers of 'bein' tangled along o' 
 petticoats.' 
 
 But neither love nor virtue would have held Lew 
 long in the paths of propriety had not the rumour 
 gone abroad that the Regiment was to be sent on 
 active service, to take part in a war which, for the 
 sake of brevity, we will call 'The War of the Lost 
 Tribes.' 
 
 The barracks had the rumour almost before the 
 Mess-room, and of all the nine hundred men in 
 barracks not ten had seen a shot fired in anger. 
 The Colonel had, twenty years ago, assisted at a 
 Frontier expedition; one of the Majors had seen 
 service at the Cape; a confirmed deserter in E 
 Company had helped to clear streets in Ireland; 
 but that was all. The Regiment had been put by 
 for many years. The overwhelming mass of its 
 rank and file had from three to four years' service ; 
 the non-commissioned officers were under thirty 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 35 
 
 years old ; and men and sergeants alike had for- 
 gotten to speak of the stories written in brief upon 
 the Colours — the New Colours that had been for- 
 mally blessed by an Archbishop in England ere the 
 Regiment came away. 
 
 They wanted to go to the Front — they were 
 enthusiastically anxious to go — but they had no 
 knowledge of what war meant, and there was none 
 to tell them. They were an educated regiment, the 
 percentage of school-certificates in their ranks was 
 high, and most of the men could do more than 
 read and write. They had been recruited in loyal 
 observance of the territorial idea; but they them- 
 selves had no notion of that idea. They were made 
 up of drafts from an over-populated manufacturing 
 district. The system had put flesh and muscle upon 
 their small bones, but it could not put heart into the 
 sons of those who for generations had done over- 
 much work for over-scanty pay, had sweated in 
 drying-rooms, stooped over looms, coughed among 
 white-lead, and shivered on lime-barges. The men 
 had found food and rest in the Army, and now 
 they were going to fight 'niggers' — people who 
 ran away if you shook a stick at them. Where- 
 fore they cheered lustily when the rumour ran, 
 and the shrewd, clerkly non-commissioned officers 
 speculated on the chances of batta and of saving 
 their ijay.. At Headquarters men said: 'The Fore 
 
40 SOLX)IER STORIES 
 
 and Fit have never been under fire within the last 
 generation. Let us, therefore, break them in easily 
 by setting them to guard lines of communication.' 
 And this would have been done but for the fact 
 that British Regiments were wanted — badly wanted 
 • — at the Front, and there were doubtful Native 
 Regiments that could fill the minor duties. ' Brigade 
 'em with two strong Regiments,' said Headquarters. 
 ' They may be knocked about a bit, though they'll 
 learn their business before they come through. 
 Nothing like a night-alarm and a little cutting up 
 of stragglers to make a Regiment smart in the field. 
 Wait till they've had half-a-dozen sentries' throats cut.' 
 
 The Colonel wrote with delight that the temper 
 of his men was excellent, that the Regiment was all 
 that could be wished and as sound as a bell. The 
 Majors smiled with a sober joy, and the subalterns 
 waltzed in pairs down the Mess-room after dinner, 
 and nearly shot themselves at revolver-practice. 
 But there was consternation in the hearts of Jakin 
 and Lew. What was to be done with the Drums ? 
 Would the Band go to the Front ? How many of 
 the Drums would accompany the Regiment? 
 
 They took counsel together, sitting in a tree and 
 smoking. 
 
 ' It's more than a bloomin' toss-up they'll leave 
 us be'ind at the Depot with the women. You'U 
 like that,' said Jakin sarcastically. 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 41 
 
 ' 'Cause o' Cris, y' mean ? Wot's a woman, or 
 a 'ole bloomin' depot o' women, 'longside o' the 
 chanst of field-service ? You know I'm as keen on 
 goin' as you,' said Lew. 
 
 ' 'Wish I was a bloomin' bugler,' said Jakin sadly. 
 ' They'll take Tom Kidd along, that I can plaster a 
 wall with, an' like as not they won't take us. 
 
 'Then let's go an' make Tom Kidd so bloomin' 
 sick 'e can't bugle no more. You 'old 'is 'ands an' 
 I'll kick him,' said Lew, wriggling on the branch. 
 
 'That ain't no good neither. We ain't the sort 
 o' characters to presoom on our rep'tations — they're 
 bad. If they leave the Band at the Depot we don't 
 go, and no error there. If they take the Band we 
 may get cast for medical unfitness. Are you med- 
 ical fit. Piggy?' said Jakin, digging Lew in the ribs 
 with force. 
 
 ' Yus,' said Lew with an oath. ' The Doctor says 
 /our 'eart's weak through smokin' on an empty 
 stummick. Throw a chest an' I'll try yen' 
 
 Jakin threw out his chest, which Lew smote 
 with all his might. Jakin turned very pale, gasped, 
 crowed, screwed up his eyes, and said — 'That's all 
 right.' 
 
 'You'll do,' said Lew. 'I've 'eard o' men dyin' 
 when you 'it 'em fair on the Jjreastbone.' 
 
 ' Don't bring us no nearer goin', though,' said 
 Jakin. ' Do you know where we're ordered ? ' 
 
42 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 ' Gawd knows, an' 'E won't split on a pal. Some- 
 wheres up to the Front to kill Paythans — hairy 
 big beggars that turn you inside out if they get 
 'old o' you. They say their women are good' 
 looking, too.' 
 
 ' Any loot ? ' asked the abandoned Jakin. 
 
 ' Not a bloomin' anna, they say, unless you dig 
 up the ground an' see what the niggers 'ave 'id. 
 They're a poor lot.' Jakin stood upright on the 
 branch and gazed across the plain. 
 
 ' Lew,' said he, ' there's the Colonel coming. 
 'Colonel's a good old beggar. Let's go an' talk 
 to,'im.' 
 
 Lew nearly fell out of the tree at the audacity 
 of the suggestion. Like Jakin he feared not God, 
 neither regarded he Man, but there are limits even 
 to the audacity of drummer-boy, and to speak to 
 a Colonel was 
 
 But Jakin had slid down the trunk and doubled 
 in the direction of the Colonel. That officer wa? 
 walking wrapped in thought and visions of a C-B 
 ■ — yes, even a K.C.B., for had he not at command 
 one of the best Regiments of the Line — the Fore 
 and Fit? And he was aware of two small boys 
 charging down upon him. Once before it had been 
 solemnly reported to him that ' the Drums were in a 
 state of mutiny,' Jakin and Lew being the ringlead 
 ers. This looked like an organised conspiracy. 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 43 
 
 The boys halted at twenty yards, walked to the 
 regulation four paces, and saluted together, each 
 as well-set-up as a ramrod and little taller. 
 
 The Colonel was in a genial mood; the boys 
 appeared very forlorn and unprotected on the 
 desolate plain, and one of them was handsome. 
 
 'Well ! ' said the Colonel, recognising them. 'Are 
 you going to pull me down in the open? I'm 
 sure I never interfere with you, even though' — he 
 sniffed suspiciously — 'you have been smoking.' 
 
 It was time to strike while the iron was hot. 
 Their hearts beat tumultuously. 
 
 ' Beg y' pardon, Sir,' began Jakin. ' The Reg'- 
 ment's ordered on active service. Sir .'' ' 
 
 'So I believe,' said the Colonel courteously. 
 
 ' Is the Band goin'. Sir ? ' said both together. 
 Then, without pause, ' We're goin', Sir, ain't we .' ' 
 
 ' You ! ' said the Colonel, stepping back the more 
 fully to take in the two small figures. 'You! 
 You'd die in the first march.' 
 
 ' No, we wouldn't. Sir. We can march with the 
 Reg'ment anywheres — p'rade an' anywhere else,' 
 said Jakin. 
 
 'If Tom Kidd goes 'e'U shut up like a clasp- 
 knife,' said Lew. ' Tom 'as very-close veins in both 
 'is legs, Sir.' 
 
 • Very how much .' ' 
 
 'Very-close veins, Sir. That's why they swells 
 
44 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 after long p'rade, Sir. If 'e can go, we can go, 
 Sir.'* 
 
 Again the Colonel looked at them long and 
 intently. 
 
 'Yes, the Band is going,' he said as gravely as 
 though he had been addressing a brother officer. 
 ' Have you any parents, either of you two ? ' 
 
 ' No, Sir,' rejoicingly from Lew and Jakin. 
 'We're both orphans, Sir. There's no one to be 
 considered of on our account, Sir.' 
 
 ' You poor little sprats, and you want to go up to 
 the Front with the Regiment, do you ? Why ? ' 
 
 ' I've wore the Queen's Uniform for two years,' 
 said Jakin. ' It's very 'ard, Sir, that a man don't 
 get no recompense for doin' of 'is dooty, Sir.' 
 
 'An' — an' if I don't go. Sir,' interrupted Lew, 
 'the Bandmaster 'e says 'e'll catch an' make a 
 bloo — a blessed musician o' me, Sir. Before I've 
 seen any service, Sir.' 
 
 The Colonel made no answer for a long time. 
 Then he said quietly : 'If you're passed by the 
 Doctor I daresay you can go. I shouldn't smoke 
 if I were you.' 
 
 The boys saluted and disappeared. The Colonel 
 walked home and told the story to his wife, who 
 nearly cried over it. The Colonel was well pleased. 
 If that was the temper of the children, what would 
 not the men do .' 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 45 
 
 Jakin and Lew entered the boys' barrack-room 
 with great stateliness, and refused to hold any i;on- 
 versation with their comrades for at least ten 
 minutes. Then, bursting with pride, Jakin drawled : 
 ' I've bin intervooin' the Colonel. Good old beggar 
 is the Colonel. Says I to 'im, " Colonel," says I, 
 " let me go to the Front, along o' the Reg'ment." — 
 "To the Front you shall go," says 'e, "an' I only 
 wish there was more like you .among the dirty little 
 devils that bang the bloomin' drums." Kidd, if you 
 throw your 'courtrements at me for tellin' you the 
 truth to your own advantage, your legs'Il swell.' 
 
 None the less there was a Battle-Royal in the 
 barrack-room, for the boys were consumed with 
 envy and hate, and neither Jakin nor Lew behaved 
 -in conciliatory wise. 
 
 ' I'm goin' out to say adoo to my girl,' said Lew, 
 to cap the climax. ' Don't none o' you touch my 
 kit because it's wanted 4or active service ; me bein' 
 specially invited to go by the Colonel.' 
 
 He strolled forth and whistled in the clump of 
 trees at the back of the Married Quarters till Cris 
 came to him, and, the preliminary kisses being given 
 and taken. Lew began to explain the situation. 
 
 'I'm goin' to the Front with the Reg'ment,' he 
 said valiantly. 
 
 , ' Piggy, you're a little liar,' said Cris, but her heart 
 misgave her, for Lew was not in the habit of lying. 
 
46 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 'Liar yourself, Cris,' said Lew, slipping an arm 
 round her. ' I'm goin'. When the Reg'ment 
 marches out you'll see me with 'em, all galliant and 
 gay. Give us another kiss, Cris, on the strength 
 of it' 
 
 ' If you'd on'y a-stayed at the Depot — where you 
 ought to ha' bin — you could get as many of 'em as 
 — as you dam please,' whimpered Cris, putting up 
 her mouth. 
 
 ' It's 'ard, Cris. I grant you it's 'ard. But what's 
 a man to do .■' If I'd a-stayed at the Depot, you 
 wouldn't think anything of me.' 
 
 'Like as not, but I'd 'ave you with me. Piggy. 
 An' all the thinkin' in, the world isn't like kissin'.' 
 
 ' An' all the kissin' in the world isn't like 'avin' a 
 medal to wear on the front o' your coat.' 
 
 ' You won't get no medal.' 
 
 ' Oh yus, I shall though. Me an' Jakin are the 
 only acting-drummers that'll be took along. All 
 the rest is full men, an' we'll get our medals with 
 them.' 
 
 'They might ha' taken anybody but you, Piggy. 
 You'll get killed — you're so venturesome. Stay with 
 me. Piggy darlin', down at the Depot, an' I'll love 
 you true for ever.' 
 
 ' Ain't you goin' to do that now, Cris ? You said 
 you was.' 
 
 ' O' course I am, but th' other's more comfortable, 
 
Cris slid an anii iMuihl his neck. — P. 47. 
 
THE DRUMS OF TH^ FORE AND AFT 47 
 
 Wait till you've growed a bit, Piggy- You aren't 
 no taller than me now.' 
 
 ' I've bin in the Army for two years an' I'm not 
 goin' to get out of a chanst o' seein' service, an' don't 
 you try to make me do so. I'll come back, Cris, an' 
 when I take on as a man I'll marry you — marry 
 you when I'm a Lance.' 
 
 ' Promise, Piggy .' ' 
 
 Lew reflected on the future as arranged by J akin 
 a short time previously, but Cris's mouth was very 
 near to his own. 
 
 ' I promise, s'elp me Gawd ! ' said he. 
 
 Cris slid an arm round his neck. 
 
 ' I won't 'old you back no more. Piggy. Go away 
 an' get your medal, an' I'll make you a new button- 
 bag as nice as I know how,' she whispered. 
 
 'Put some o' your 'air into it, Cris, an' I'll keep 
 it in my pocket so long's I'm alive.' 
 
 Then Cris wept anew, and the interview ended. 
 
 Public feeling among the drummer-boys rose to 
 fever pitch and the lives of Jakin and Lew became 
 unenviable. Not only had they been permitted to 
 enlist two years before the regulation boy's age — 
 fourteen — but, by virtue, it seemed, of their extreme 
 youth, they were allowed to go to the Front — which 
 thing had not happened to acting-drummers within 
 the knowledge of boy. The Band which was to 
 accompany the Regiment bad been cut dowii to th? 
 
4» SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 regulation twenty men, the surplus returning to the 
 ranks. Jakin and Lew were attached to the Band 
 as supernumeraries, though they would much have 
 preferred being Company buglers. 
 
 "Don't matter much,' 'said Jakin after the medi- 
 cal inspection. ' Be thankful that we're 'lowed to 
 go at all. The Doctor 'e said that if we could stand 
 what we took from the Bazar-Sergeant's son we'd 
 stand pretty nigh anything.' 
 
 ' Which we will,' said Lew, looking tenderly at the 
 ragged and ill-made housewife that Cris had given 
 him, with a lock of her hair worked into a sprawling 
 'L' upon the cover. 
 
 ' It was the best I could,' she sobbed. ' I wouldn't 
 let mother nor the Sergeants' tailor 'elp me. Keep 
 it always, Piggy, an' remember I love you true.' 
 
 They marched to the railway station, nine hundred 
 and sixty strong, and every soul in cantonments 
 turned out to see them go. The drummers gnashed 
 their teeth at Jakin and Lew marching with the 
 Band, the married women wept upon the platform, 
 and the Regiment cheered its noble self black in the 
 face. 
 
 ' A nice level lot,' said the Colonel to the Second- 
 in-Command as they watched the first four companies 
 entraining. 
 
 ' Fit to do anything,' said the Second-in-Command 
 enthusiastically. 'But it seems to me they're a 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 49 
 
 thought too young and tender for the work in hand. 
 It's bitter cold up at the Front now.' 
 
 'They're sound enough,' said the Colonel. 'We 
 must take our chance of sick casualties.' 
 
 So they went northward, ever northward, past 
 droves and droves of camels, armies of camp follow- 
 ers, and legions of laden mules, the throng thicken- 
 ing day by day, till with a shriek the train pulled up 
 at a hopelessly congested junction where six lines 
 of temporary track accommodated six forty-waggon 
 trains ; where whistles blew, Babus sweated, and 
 Commissariat officers swore from dawn till far into 
 the night amid the wind-driven chaff of the fodder- 
 bales and the lowing of a thousand steers. 
 
 ' Hurry up — you're badly wanted at the Front,' 
 was the message that greeted the Fore and Aft, 
 and the occupants of the Red Cross carriages told 
 the same tale. 
 
 "Tisn't so much the bloomin' fightin',' gasped a 
 headbound trooper of Hussars to a knot of admiring 
 Fore and Afts. "Tisn't so much the bloomin' 
 fightin', though there's enough o' that. It's the 
 bloomin' food an' the bloomin' climate. Frost all 
 night 'cept when it hails, and biling sun all day, 
 and the water stinks fit to knock you down, I got 
 my 'ead chipped like a egg ; I've got pneumonia too, 
 an' my guts is all out o' order. ' Tain't no bloomin' 
 picnic in those parts, I can tell you.' 
 
so SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 'Wot are the niggers like?' demanded a private 
 
 'There's some prisoners in that train yonder. 
 Go an' look at 'em. They're the aristocracy o' the 
 country. The common folk are a dashed sight 
 uglier. If you want to know what they fight with, 
 reach under my seat an' pull out the long knife 
 that's there.' 
 
 They dragged out and beheld for the first time 
 the grim, bone-handled, triangular Afghan knife. 
 It was almost as long as Lew. 
 
 'That's the thing to jint ye,' said the trooper 
 feebly. ' It can take off a man's arm at the shoulder 
 as easy as slicing butter. I halved the beggar that 
 ased that 'un, but there's more of his likes up above. 
 They don't understand thrustin', but they're devils 
 to slice.' 
 
 The men strolled across the tracks to inspect the 
 Afghan prisoners. They were unlike any ' niggers ' 
 that the Fore and Aft had ever met — these huge, 
 black-haired, scowling sons of the Beni-Israel. As 
 the men stared the Afghans spat freely and muttered 
 one to another with lowered eyes. 
 
 'My eyes! Wot awful swine!' said J akin, who 
 was in the rear of the procession. 'Say, old man, 
 how you got puckrowed, eh .' Kiswasti you wasn't 
 hanged for your ugly face, hey .' ' 
 
 The tallest of the company turned, his leg-irons 
 glanking at the naovemejit, and stored at the boy. 
 
The men strolled across the tracks to inspect the Afghan prisoners. — P. 50. 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 51 
 
 ' See ! ' he cried to his fellows in Pushto. ' They 
 send children against us. What a people, and what 
 fools ! ' 
 
 ' Hya ! ' said J akin, nodding his head cheerily. 
 ' You go down-country. Khana get, peenikapanee 
 get — live like a bloomin' Raja ^^ marfik. That's a 
 better bandobust than baynit get it in your innards. 
 Good-bye, ole man. Take care o' your beautiful 
 figure-'ad, an' try to look kushy.' 
 
 The men laughed and fell in for their first march, 
 when they began to realise that a soldier's life was 
 not all beer and gkittles. They were much impressed 
 with the size and bestial ferocity of the niggers whom 
 they had now learned to call ' Paythans,' and more 
 with the exceeding discomfort of their own sur- 
 roundings. Twenty old soldiers in the corps would 
 have taught them how to make themselves moderately 
 snug at night, but they had no old soldiers, and, as 
 the troops on the line of march said, ' they lived like 
 pigs.' They learned the heart-breaking cussedness 
 of camp-kitchens and camels and the depravity of 
 an E.P. tent and a wither-wrung mule. They studied 
 animalculae in water, and developed a few cases 
 of dysentery in their study. 
 
 At the end of their third march they were dis- 
 agreeably surprised by the arrival in their camp of 
 a hammered iron slug which, fired from a steady rest 
 at seven hundred yards, flicked out the brains of a 
 
5* SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 private seated by the fire. This robbed them of 
 their peace for a night, and was the beginning of a 
 long-range fire carefully calculated to that end. In 
 the daytime they saw nothing except an unpleasant 
 puff of smoke from a crag above the line of march. 
 At night there were distant spurts of flame and 
 accasional casualties, which set the whole camp 
 blazing into the gloom and, occasionally, into 
 opposite tents. Then they swore vehemently and 
 vowed that this was magnificent, but not war. 
 
 Indeed it was not. The Regiment vould not halt 
 for reprisals against the sharpshooters of the country- 
 side. Its duty was to go forward and make con- 
 nection with the Scotch and Gurkha troops with 
 which it was brigaded. The Afghans knew this, 
 and knew too, after their first tentative shots, that 
 they were dealing with a raw regiment. Thereafter 
 they devoted themselves to the task of keeping the 
 Fore and Aft on the strain. Not for anything would 
 they have taken equal liberties with a seasoned corps 
 — with the wicked little Gurkhas, whose delight it 
 jvas to lie out in the open on a dark night and stalk 
 their stalkers — with the terrible, big men dressed in 
 women's clothes, who could be heard praying to 
 their God in the night-watches, and whose peace of 
 mind no amount of ' sniping ' could shake — or with 
 those vile Sikhs, who marched so ostentatiously un- 
 prepared and who dealt out such grim reward to 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT S3 
 
 those who tried to profit by that unpreparedness. 
 This white regiment was different — quite different. 
 It slept like a hog, and, like a hog, charged in every 
 direction when it was roused. Its sentries walked 
 with a footfall that could be heard for a quarter of a 
 mile; would fire at anything that moved — even a 
 driven donkey — and when they had once fired, could 
 be scientifically ' rushed ' and laid out a horror and 
 an offence against the morning sun. Then there 
 were camp-followers who straggled and could be cut 
 up without fear. Their shrieks would disturb the 
 white boys, and the loss of their services would in- 
 convenience t.hem sorely. 
 
 Thus, at every march, the hidden enemy became 
 bolder and the regiment writhed and twisted under 
 attacks it :ould not avenge. The crowning triumph 
 was a sudden night-rush ending in the cutting of 
 many tent-ropes, the collapse of the sodden canvas, 
 and a glorious knifing of the men who struggled and 
 kicked below. It was a great deed, neatly carried out, 
 and it shook the already shaken nerves of the Fore and 
 Aft. All the courage that they had been required to 
 exercise up to this point was the ' two o'clock in the 
 morning courage*; and, so far, they had only succeeded 
 in shooting their comrades and losing their sleep. 
 
 Sullen, discontented, cold, savage, sick, with their 
 uniforms dulled and unclean, the Fore and Aft 
 joined their Brigade. 
 
54 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 ' I hear you had a tough time of it coming up,' 
 said the Brigadier. But when he saw the hospital- 
 sheets his face fell. 
 
 'This is bad,' said he to himself. 'They're as 
 rotten as sheep.' And aloud to the Colonel — ' I'm 
 afraid we can't spare you, just yet. We want all 
 we have, else I should have given you ten days to 
 recover in.' 
 
 The Colonel winced. 'On my honour. Sir,' he 
 returned, 'there is not the least 'necessity to think 
 of sparing us. My men have been rather mauled 
 and upset without a fair return. They only want 
 to go in somewhere where they can see what's 
 before them.' 
 
 'Can't say I think much of the Fore and Fit,' 
 said the Brigadier in confidence to his Brigade- 
 Major. 'They've lost all their soldiering, and, by 
 the trim of them, might have marched through the 
 country from the other side. A more fagged-out 
 set of men I never put eyes on.' 
 
 'Oh, they'll improve as the work goes on. The 
 parade gloss has been rubbed off a little, but they'll 
 put on field polish before long,' said the Brigade- 
 Major. 'They've been mauled, and they don't 
 quite understand it.' 
 
 They did not. All the hitting was on one side, 
 and it was cruelly hard hitting with accessories 
 that made them sick. There was also the real sick- 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT SS 
 
 ness that laid hold of a strong man and dragged 
 him howling to the grave. Worst of all, their 
 officers knew just as little of the country as the 
 men themselves, and looked as if they did. The 
 Fore and Aft were in a thoroughly unsatisfactory 
 condition, but they believed that all would be well 
 if they could once get a fair go-in at the enemy. 
 Pot-shots up and down the valleys were unsatis- 
 factory, and the bayonet never seemed to get a 
 chance. Perhaps it was as well, for a long-limbed 
 Afghan with a knife had a reach of eight feet, 
 and could carry away lead that would disable three 
 Englishmen. 
 
 The Fore and Fit would like some rifle-practice 
 at the enemy — all seven hundred rifles blazing 
 together. That wish showed the mood of the 
 men. 
 
 The Gurkhas walked into their camp, and in 
 broken, barrack-room English strove to fraternise 
 with them; offered them pipes of tobacco and 
 stood them treat at the canteen. But the Fore 
 and Aft, not knowing much of the nature of the 
 Gurkhas, treated them as they would treat any 
 other ' niggers,' and the little men in green trotted 
 back to their firm friends the Highlanders, and 
 with many grins confided to them : ' That dam 
 white regiment no dam use. Sulky — ugh ! Dirty 
 —ugh! Hya, any tot for Johnny?' Whereat the 
 
56 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 Highlanders smote the Gurkhas as to the head, 
 and told them not to vilify a British Regiment, 
 and the Gurkhas grinned cavernously, for the 
 Highlanders were their elder brothers and entitled 
 to the privileges of kinship. The common soldier 
 who touches a Gurkha is more than likely to have 
 his head sliced open. 
 
 Three days later the Brigadier arranged a battle 
 according to the rules of war and the peculiarity of 
 the Afghan temperament. The enemy were mass- 
 ing in inconvenient strength among the hills, and 
 the moving of many green standards warned him 
 that the tribes were ' up ' in aid of the Afghan 
 regular troops. A squadron and a half of Bengal 
 Lancers represented the available Cavalry, and two 
 screw-guns'^Corrowed from a column thirty miles 
 away the Artillery at the General's disposal. 
 
 ' If they stand, as I've a very strong notion that 
 they will, I fancy we shall see an infantry fight 
 that will be worth watching,' said the Brigadier. 
 'We'll do it in style. Each regiment shall be 
 played into action by its Band, and we'll hold the 
 Cavalry in reserve.' 
 
 ' For all the reserve .' ' somebody asked. 
 
 'For all the reserve; because we're going to 
 crumple them up,' said the Brigadier, who was an 
 extraordinary Brigadier, and did not believe in the 
 value of a reserve when dealing with Asiatics. In- 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 57 
 
 deed, when you come to think of it, had the Brit- 
 ish Army consistently waited for reserves in all its 
 little affairs, the boundaries of Our Empire would 
 have stopped at Brighton beach. 
 
 That battle was to be a glorious battle. 
 
 The three regiments debouching from three sep- 
 arate gorges, after duly crowning the heights 
 above, were to converge from the centre, left, and 
 right upon what we will call the Afghan army, 
 then stationed towards the lower extremity of a 
 flat-bottomed valley. Thus it will be seen that 
 three sides of the valley practically belonged to 
 the Englishl while the fourth was strictly Afghan 
 property. In the event of defeat the Afghans had 
 the rocky hills to fly to, where the fire from the 
 guerilla tribes in aid would cover their retreat. In 
 the event of victory these same tribes would rush 
 down and lend their weight to the rout of the 
 British. 
 
 The screw-guns were to shell the head of each 
 Afghan rush that was made in close formation, 
 and the Cavalry, held in reserve in the right val- 
 ley, were to gently stimulate the break-up which 
 would follow on the combined attack. The Brig- 
 adier, sitting upon a rock overlooking the valley, 
 would watch the battle unrolled at his feet. The 
 Fore and Aft would debouch from the central 
 B-orge, the Gurkhas from the left, and the High- 
 
S8 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 landers from the right, for the reason that the left 
 flank of the enemy seemed as though it required 
 the most hammering. It was not every day that 
 an Afghan force would take ground in the open, 
 and the Brigadier was resolved to make the most 
 of it. 
 
 ' If we only had a few more men,' he said plain- 
 tively, 'we could surround the creatures and crum- 
 ple 'em up thoroughly. As it is, I'm afraid we 
 can only cut them up as they run. It's a great 
 pity.' 
 
 The Fore and Aft had enjoyed unbroken peace 
 for five days, and were beginning, in spite of dys- 
 entery, to recover their nerve. But they were not 
 happy, for they did not know the work in hand, 
 and had they knbwn, would not have known how 
 to do it. Throughout those five days in which old 
 soldiers might have taught them the craft of the 
 game, they discussed together their misadventures 
 in the past — how such an one was alive at dawn 
 ancj dead ere the dusk, and with what shrieks and 
 struggles such another had given up his soul under 
 the Afghan knife. Death was a new and horrible 
 thing to the sons of mechanics who were used to 
 die decently of zymotic disease; and their careful 
 conservation in barracks had done nothing to make 
 them look upon it with less dread. 
 
 Very early in the dawn the bugles began to blow 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 59 
 
 and the Fore and Aft, filled with a misguided 
 enthusiasm, turned out without waiting for a cup of 
 coffee and a biscuit ; and were rewarded by being 
 kept under arms in the cold while the other regi- 
 ments leisurely prepared for the fray. All the 
 world knows that it is ill taking the breeks off a 
 Highlander. It is much iller to try to make him 
 3tir unless he is convinced of the necessity for 
 haste. 
 
 The Fore and Aft waited, leaning upon their 
 rifles and listening to the protests of their empty 
 stomachs. The Colonel did his best to remedy the 
 default of lining as soon as it was borne in upon 
 him that the affair would not begin at once, and so 
 well did he succeed that the coffee was just ready 
 when — the men moved off, their Band leading. 
 Even then there had been a mistake in time, and 
 the Fore and Aft came out into the valley ten 
 minutes before the proper hour. Their Band 
 wheeled to the right after reaching the open, and 
 retired behind a little rocky knoll, still playing while 
 the regiment went past. 
 
 It was not a pleasant sight that opened on the, 
 uninstructed view, for the lower end of the valley 
 appeared to be filled by an army in position — real 
 and actual regiments attired in red coats, and — of 
 this there was no doubt — firing Martini-Henry bul- 
 lets which cut up the ground a hundred yards in 
 
6o SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 front of the leading company. Over that pock- 
 marked ground the regiment had to pass, and it 
 opened the ball with a general and profound cour- 
 tesy to the piping pickets ; ducking in perfect time, 
 as though it had been brazed on a rod. Being half- 
 capable of thinking for itself, it fired a volley by the 
 simple process of pitching its rifle into its shoulder 
 and pulling the trigger. The bullets may have ac- 
 counted for some of the watchers on the hillside, but 
 they certainly did not affect the mass of enemy in 
 front, while the noise of the rifles drowned any or- 
 ders that might have been given. 
 
 ' Good God ! ' said the Brigadier, sitting on the 
 rock high above all. ' That regiment has spoilt 
 the whole show. Hurry up the others, and let the 
 screw-guns get off.' 
 
 But the screw-guns, in working round the heights, 
 had stumbled upon a wasp's nest of a small mud 
 fort which they incontinently shelled at eight hun- 
 dred yards, to the huge discomfort of the occupants, 
 who were unaccustomed to weapons of such devilish 
 precision. 
 
 The Fore and Aft continued to go forward, but 
 with shortened stride. Where were the other regi- 
 ments, and why did these niggers use Martinis.' 
 They took open order instinctively, lying down and 
 firing at random, rushing a few paces forward and 
 lying down again, according to the regulations 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFf 6 1 
 
 Once in this formation, each man felt himself des- 
 perately alone, and edged in towards his fellow for 
 comfort's sake. 
 
 Then the crack of his neighbour's rifle at his ear 
 led him to fire as rapidly as he could — again for 
 the sake of the comfort of the noise. The reward 
 was not long delayed. Five volleys plunged the files 
 in banked smoke impenetrable to the eye, and the 
 bullets began to take ground twenty or thirty yards 
 in front of the firers, as the weight of the bayonet 
 dragged down and to the right arms'' wearied with 
 holding the kick of the leaping Martini. The Com. 
 pany Commanders peered helplessly through the 
 smoke, the more nervous mechanically trying to fan 
 it away with their helmets. 
 
 ' High and to the left ! ' bawled a Captain till he 
 was hoarse. ' No good ! Cease firing, and let it 
 drift away a bit.' 
 
 Three and four times the bugles shrieked the 
 order, and when it was obeyed the Fore and Aft 
 looked that their foe should be lying before them in 
 mown swaths of men. A light wind drove the 
 smoke to leeward, and showed the enemy still in 
 position and apparently unaffected. A quarter of a 
 ton of lead had been buried a furlong in front of 
 them, as the ragged earth attested. 
 
 That was not demoralising to the Afghans, who 
 have not European nerves. They were waiting for 
 
62 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 the mad riot to die down, and were firing quietly 
 into the heart of the smoke. A private of the Fore 
 and Aft spun up his company shrieking with agony, 
 another was kicking the earth and gasping, and a 
 third, ripped through the lower intestines by a 
 jagged bullet, was calling aloud on his comrades to 
 put him out of his pain. These were the casualties, 
 and they were not soothing to hear or see. The 
 smoke cleared to a dull haze. 
 
 Then the foe began to shout with a great shout- 
 ing, and a mass — a black mass — detached itself 
 from the main body, and rolled over the ground at 
 horrid speed. It was composed of, perhaps, three 
 hundred men, who would shout and fire and slash 
 if the rush of their fifty comrades who were deter- 
 mined to die carried home. The fifty were Ghazis, 
 half-maddened with drugs and wholly mad with re- 
 ligious fanaticism. When they rushed the British 
 fire ceased, and in the lull the order was given to 
 close ranks and meet them with the bayonet. 
 
 Any one who knew the business could have told 
 the Fore and Aft that the only way of dealing with 
 a Ghazi rush is by volleys at long ranges ; because 
 a man who means to die, who desires to die, who 
 will gain heaven by dying, must, in nine cases out 
 of ten, kill a man who has a lingering prejudice in 
 favour of life. Where they should have closed and 
 gone forward, the Fore and Aft opened out and 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 63 
 
 skirmished, and where they should have opened 
 out and fired, they closed and waited. 
 
 A man dragged from his blankets half awake and 
 unfed is never in a pleasant frame of mind. Nor 
 does his happiness increase when he watches the 
 whites of the eyes of three hundred six-foot fiends 
 upon whose beards the foam is lying, upon whose 
 tongues is a roar of wrath, and in whose hands are 
 yard-long knives. 
 
 The Fore and Aft heard the Gurkha bugles bring- 
 ing that regiment forward at the double, while the 
 neighing of the Highland pipes came from the left. 
 They strove to stay where they were, though the 
 bayonets wavered down the line like the oars of a 
 ragged boat.' Then they felt body to body the amaz- 
 ing physical strength of their foes; a shriek of pain 
 ended the rush, and the knives fell amid scenes not 
 to be told. The men clubbed together and smote 
 blindly — as often as not at their own fellows. Their 
 front crumpled like paper, and the fifty Ghazis 
 passed on ; their backers, now drunk with success, 
 fighting as madly as they. 
 
 Then the rear-ranks were bidden to close up, and 
 the subalterns dashed into the stew — alone. For 
 the rear-rank had heard the clamour iri front, the 
 yells and the howls of pain, and had seen the dark 
 stale blood that makes afraid. They were not going 
 to stay. It was the rushing of the camps over again. 
 
64 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 Let their officers go to Hell, if they chose; they 
 would get away from the knives. 
 
 ' Come on ! ' shrieked the subalterns, and their 
 men, cursing them, drew back, each closing into his 
 neighbour and wheeling round. 
 
 Charteris and Devlin, subalterns of the last com- 
 pany, faced their death alone in the belief that their 
 men would follow. 
 
 ' You've killed me, you cowards,' sobbed Devlin 
 and dropped, cut from the shoulder-strap to the 
 centre of the chest, and a fresh detachment of his 
 men retreating, always retreating, trampled him un- 
 der foot as they made for the pass whence they had 
 emerged. 
 
 I kissed her in the kitchen and I kissed her in the hall. 
 
 Child'un, child'un, follow me ! 
 Oh Golly, said the cook, is he gwine to kiss us all? 
 
 Halla — Halla — Halla— Hallelujali! 
 
 The Gurkhas were pouring through the left gorge 
 and over the heights at the double to the invitation 
 of their Regimental Quick-step. The black rocks 
 were crowned with dark green spiders as the bugles 
 gave tongue jubilantly : — 
 
 In the morning! In the morning by the bright light! 
 When Gabriel blows his trumpet in the morning! 
 
 TJie Gurkha rear-companies tripped and blundered 
 over loose stones. The front-files halted for a 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 65 
 
 moment to take stock of the valley and to settle 
 stray boot-laces. Then a happy little sigh of con- 
 tentment soughed down the ranks, and it was as 
 though the land smiled, for behold there below was 
 the enemy, and it was to meet them that the Gurkhas 
 had doubled so hastily. There was much enemy. 
 There would be amusement. The little men hitched 
 their kukris well to hand, and gaped expectantly at 
 their officers as terriers grin ere the stone is cast for 
 them to fetch. The Gurkhas' ground sloped down- 
 ward to the valley, and they enjoyed a fair view of 
 the proceedings. They sat upon the boulders to 
 watch, for their officers were not going to waste their 
 wind in assisting to repulse a Ghazi rush more than 
 half a mile away. Let the white men look to their 
 own front. 
 
 ' Hi ! yi ! ' said the Subadar-Major, who was 
 sweating profusely. 'Dam fools yonder, stand 
 close-order! This is no tim_e for close-order, it is 
 the time for volleys. Ugh ! ' 
 
 Horrified, amused, and indignant, the Gurkhas 
 beheld the retirement of the Fore and Aft with a 
 running chorus of oaths and commentaries. 
 
 ' They run ! The white men run ! Colonel Sahib, 
 may we also do a little running ? ' murmured Runbir 
 Thappa, the Senior Jemadar. 
 
 But the Colonel would have none of it. ' Let 
 the beggars be cut up a little,' said he wrath- 
 3 
 
66 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 fully. ' 'Server 'em right. They'll be prodded into 
 facing round in a minute.' He looked through his 
 field-glasses, and caught the glint of an officer's 
 sword. 
 
 ' Beating 'em with the flat — damned conscripts ! 
 How the Ghazis are walking into them ! ' said he. 
 
 The Fore and Aft, heading back, bore with them 
 their officers. The narrowness of the pass forced 
 the mob into solid formation, and the rear-rank 
 delivered some sort of a wavering volley. The 
 Ghazis drew off, for they did not know what re- 
 serves the gorge might hide. Moreover, it was 
 never wise to chase white men too far. They 
 returned as wolves return to cover, satisfied with 
 the slaughter that they had done, and only stopping 
 to slash at the wounded on the ground. A quarter 
 of a mile had the Fore and Aft retreated, and 
 now, jammed in the pass, was quivering with pain, 
 shaken and demoralised with fear, while the offi- 
 cers, maddened beyond control, smote the men 
 with the hilts and the flats of their swords. 
 
 ' Get back ! Get back, you cowards — you women ! 
 Right about face — column of companies, form — 
 you hounds ! ' shouted the Colonel, and the subal- 
 terns swore aloud. But the Regiment wanted to 
 go — to g« anywhere out of the range of those 
 merciless knives. It swayed to and fro irresolutely 
 with shouts and outcries, while from the right the 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 67 
 
 Gurkhas dropped volley after volley of cripple- 
 stopper Snider bullets at long range into the mob 
 of the Ghazis returning to their own troops. 
 
 The Fore and Aft Band, though protected from 
 direct fire by the rocky knoll under which it had 
 sat down, fled at the first rush. Jakin and Lew 
 would have fled also, but their short legs left them 
 fifty yards in the rear, and by the time the Band 
 had mixed with the regiment, they were painfully 
 aware that they would have to close in alone and 
 unsupported. 
 
 'Get back to that rock,' gasped Jakin. 'They 
 won't see us there.' 
 
 And they returned to the scattered instrument 
 of the Band ; their hearts nearly bursting their 
 ribs. 
 
 ' Here's a nice show for «j,' said Jakin, throwing 
 himself full length on the ground. 'A bloomin' 
 fine show for British Infantry ! Oh, the devils ! 
 They've gone an' left us alone here ! Wot'll we 
 do.?' 
 
 Lew took possession of a cast-off water bottle, 
 which naturally was full of canteen rum, and drank 
 till he coughed again. 
 
 ' Drink,' said he shortly. ' They'll come back in 
 a minute or two — you see.' 
 
 Jakin drank, but there was no sign of the Regi- 
 ment's return. They could hear, a dull clamour from 
 
68 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 the head of the valley of retreat, and saw the Ghazis 
 slink back, quickening their pace as the Gurkhas 
 fired at them. 
 
 ' We're all that's left of the Band, an' we'll be cut 
 up as sure as death,' said Jakin. 
 
 ' I'll die game, then,' said Lew thickly, fumbling 
 with his tiny drummer's sword. The drink was 
 working on his brain as it was on Jakin's. 
 
 ' 'Old on ! I know something better than fightin',' 
 said Jakin, ' stung by the splendour of a sudden 
 thought ' due chiefly to rum. ' Tip our bloomin' cow- 
 ards yonder the word to come back. The Paythan 
 beggars are well away. Come on. Lew ! We won't 
 get hurt. Take the fife and give me the drum. The 
 Old Step for all your bloomin' guts are worth! 
 There's a few of our men coming back now. Stand 
 up, ye drunken little defaulter. By your right — 
 quick march ! ' 
 
 He slipped the drum-sling over his shoulder, 
 thrust the fife into Lew's hand, and the two boys 
 marched out of the cover of the rock into the open, 
 making a hideous hash of the first bars of the 
 ' British Grenadiers.' 
 
 As Jakin had said, a few of the Fore and Aft 
 were coming back sullenly and shamefacedly under 
 the stimulus of blows and abuse; their red coats 
 shone at the head of the valley, and behind them 
 were wavering bayonets. But between this shat- 
 
The tune settled into full swing, and the boys kept shoulder to 
 shoulder. — p. 69. 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 69 
 
 tered line and the enemy, who with Afghan suspi- 
 cion feared that the hasty retreat meant an ambush, 
 and had not moved therefore, lay half a mile of level 
 ground dotted only by the wounded. 
 
 The tune settled into full swing and the boys 
 kept shoulder to shoulder, Jakin banging the drum 
 as one possessed. The one fife made a thin and 
 pitiful squeaking, but the tune carried far, even to 
 the Gurkhas. 
 
 ' Come on, you dogs ! ' muttered Jakin to himself. 
 ' Are we to play for hever ? ' Lew was staring 
 straight in front of him and marching more stiffly 
 than ever he had done on parade. 
 
 And in bitter mockery of the distant mob, the 
 old tune of the Old Line shrilled and rattled:^ 
 
 Some talk of Alexander, 
 
 And some of Hercules ; 
 Of Hector and Lysander, 
 
 And such great names as these ! 
 
 There was a far-off clapping of hands from the 
 Gjirkhas, and a roar from the Highlanders in the 
 distance, but never a shot was fired by British or 
 Afghan. The two little red dots moved forward in 
 the open parallel to the enemy's front. 
 
 But of all the world's great heroes 
 There's none that can compare, 
 
 With a tow-row-row-row-row-row, 
 To the British Grenadier! 
 
70 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 The men of the Fore and Aft were gathering 
 thick at the entrance to the plain. The Brigadier 
 on the heights far above was speechless with rage. 
 Still no movement from the enemy. The day stayed 
 to watch the children. 
 
 Jakin halted and beat the long roll of the As- 
 sembly, while the fife squealed despairingly. 
 
 ' Right about face ! Hold up, Lew, you're drunk,' 
 said Jakin. They wheeled and marched back : — 
 
 Those heroes of antiquity 
 
 Ne'er saw a cannon-ball, 
 Nor knew the force o' powder, 
 
 ' Here they come ! ' said Jakin. ' Go on, Lew ' : — 
 To scare their foes withal ! 
 
 The Fore and Aft were pouring out of the val- 
 ley. What officers had said to men in that time 
 of shame and humiliation will never be known ; for 
 neither officers nor men speak of it now. 
 
 ' They are coming anew ! ' shouted a priest among 
 the Afghans. ' Do not kill the boys ! Take them 
 alive and they shall be of our faith.' 
 
 But the first volley had been fired, and Lew 
 dropped on his face. Jakin stood for a minute, 
 spun round and collapsed, as the Fore and Aft 
 came forward, the curses of their officers in their 
 ears, and in their hearts the shame pf open shame. 
 
 Half the men had seen the drummers die, and 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 71 
 
 they made no sign. They did not even shout. 
 They doubled out straight across the plain in open 
 order, and they did not fire. 
 
 'This,' said the Colonel of Gurkhas softly, 'is 
 the real attack, as it should have been delivered. 
 Come on, my children.' 
 
 ' Ulu-lu-lu-lu ! ' squealed the Gurkhas, and came 
 down with a joyful clicking of kukris — those vi- 
 cious Gurkha knives. 
 
 On the right there was no rush. The Highland- 
 ers, cannily commending their souls to God (for it 
 matters as much to a dead man whether he has 
 been shot in a Border scuffle or at Waterloo), 
 opened out and fired according to their custom, 
 that is to say without heat and without intervals, 
 while the screw-guns, having disposed of the im- 
 pertinent mud fort aforementioned, dropped shell 
 after shell into the clusters round the flickering 
 green standards on the heights. 
 
 ' Charrging is an unfortunate riecessity,' murmured 
 the Colour-Sergeant of the right company of the 
 Highlanders. ' It makes the men sweer so, but I 
 am thinkin' that it will come to a charr'ge if these 
 black devils stand much longer. Stewarrt, man, 
 you're firing into the eye of the sun, and he'll not 
 take any harm for Government ammuneetion. A 
 foot lower and a great deal slower ! What are the 
 English doing.'' They're very quiet there in the 
 centre. Running again?' 
 
72 SOLDIEil STORIES 
 
 The English were not running. Tney were hack- 
 ing and hewing and stabbing, for though one white 
 man is seldom physically a match for an Afghan 
 in a sheepskin or wadded coat, yet, through the 
 pressure of many white men behind, and a cer- 
 tain thirst for revenge in his heart, he becomes 
 capable of doing much with both ends of his rifle. 
 The Fore and Aft held their fire till one bullet 
 could drive through five or six men, and the front 
 of the Afghan force gave on the volley. They 
 then selected their men, and slew them with deep 
 gasps and short hacking coughs, and groanings of 
 leather belts against strained bodies, and realised 
 for the first time that an Afghan attacked is far 
 less formidable than an Afghan attacking: which 
 fact old soldiers might have told them. 
 
 But they had no old soldiers in their ranks. 
 
 The Gurkhas' stall at the bazar was the noisiest, 
 for the men were engaged — to a nasty noise as of 
 beef being cut on the block — with the kukri, which 
 they preferred to the bayonet; well knowing how 
 the Afghan hates the half-moon blade. 
 
 As the Afghans wavered, the green standards on 
 the mountain moved down to assist them in a last 
 rally. This was unwise. The Lancers chafing in 
 the right gorge had thrice despatched their only 
 subaltern as galloper to report on the progress of 
 attairs. On the third occasion he returned, with a 
 
THE DRUMS OE THE FORE AND AFT 73 
 
 bullet-graze on his knee, swearing strange oaths in 
 Hindustani, and saying that all things were ready. 
 So that Squadron swung round the right of the 
 Highlanders with a wicked whistling of wind in the 
 pennons of its lances, and fell upon the remnant just 
 when, according to all the rules of war, it should 
 have waited for the foe to show more signs of 
 wavering. 
 
 But it was a dainty charge, deftly delivered, and 
 it ended by the Cavalry finding itself at the head of 
 the pass by which the Afghans intended to retreat ; 
 and down the track that the lances had made 
 streamed two companies of the Highlanders, which 
 was never intended by the Brigadier. The new 
 development was successful. It detached the enemy 
 from his base as a sponge is torn from a rock, and 
 left him ringed about with fire in that pitiless plain. 
 And as a sponge is chased round the bath-tub by 
 the hand of the bather, so were the Afghans chased 
 till* they broke into little detachments much more 
 difficult to dispose of than large masses. 
 
 'See!' quoth the Brigadier. 'Everything has 
 come as I arranged. We've cut their base, and now 
 we'll bucket 'em to pieces.' 
 
 A direct hammering was all that the Brigadier 
 had dared to hope for, considering the size of the 
 force at his disposal ; but men who stand or fall by 
 the errors of their opponents may be forgiven for 
 
74 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 turning Chance into Design. The bucketing went 
 forward merrily. The Afghan forces were upon the 
 run — the run of wearied wolves who snarl and bite 
 over their shoulders. The red lances dipped by twos 
 and threes, and, with a shriek, up rose the lance-butt, 
 like a spar on a stormy sea, as the trooper cantering 
 forward cleared his point. The Lancers kept be- 
 tween their prey and the steep hills, for all who could 
 were trying to escape from the valley of death. 
 The Highlanders gave the fugitives two hundred 
 yards' law, and then brought them down, gasping 
 and choking ere they could reach the protection of 
 the boulders above. The Gurkhas followed suit ; but 
 the Fore and Aft were killing on their own account, 
 for they had penned a mass of men between their 
 bayonets and a wall of rock, and the flash of the 
 rifles was lighting the wadded coats. 
 
 ' We cannot hold them. Captain Sahib ! ' panted 
 a Ressaidar of Lancers. ' Let us try the carbine. 
 The lance is good, but it wastes time.' 
 
 They tried the carbine, and still the enemy melted 
 away — fled up the hills by hundreds when there 
 were only twenty bullets to stop them. On the 
 heights the screw-guns ceased firing — they had run 
 out of ammunition — and the Brigadier groaned, for 
 the musketry fire could not sufficiently smash the 
 retreat. Long before the last volleys were fired, the 
 doolies were out in force looking for the wounded 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 7S 
 
 The battle was over, and, but for want of fresh 
 troops, the Afghans would have been wiped off the 
 earth. As it was they counted their dead by hun- 
 dreds, and nowhere were the dead thicker than in 
 the track of the Fore and Aft. 
 
 But the Regiment did not cheer with the High- 
 landers, nor did they dance uncouth dances with the 
 Gurkhas among the dead. They looked under their 
 brows at the Colonel as they leaned upon their rifles 
 and panted. 
 
 ' Get back to camp, you. Haven't you disgraced 
 ytjurself enough for one day! Go and look to the 
 wounded. It's all you're fit for,' said the Colonel. 
 Yet for the past hour the Fore and Aft had been do- 
 ing all that mortal commander could expect. They 
 had lost heavily because they did not know how to set 
 about their business with proper skill, but they had 
 borne themselves gallantly, and this was their reward. 
 
 A young and sprightly Colour-Sergeant, who had 
 begun to imagine himself a hero, offered his water- 
 bottle to a Highlander, whose tongue was black with 
 thirst. 'I drink with no cowards,' answered the 
 youngster huskily, and, turning to a Gurkha, said, 
 ' Hya, Johnny ! Drink water got it ? ' The Gurkha 
 grinned and passed his bottle. The Fore and Aft 
 said no word. 
 
 They went back to camp when the field of strife 
 had been a little mopped up and made presentable, 
 
^6 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 and the Brigadier, who saw himself a Knight in 
 three months, was the only soul who was compli- 
 mentary to them. The Colonel was heart-broken, 
 and the officers were savage and sullen. 
 
 ' Well,' said the Brigadier, ' they are young troops 
 of course, and it was not unnatural that they should 
 retire in disorder for a bit' 
 
 ' Oh, my only Aunt Maria ! ' murmured a junior 
 Staff Officer. ' Retire in disorder ! It was a bally run ! ' 
 
 ' But they came again, as we all know,' cooed the 
 Brigadier, the Colonel's ashy-white face before him, 
 ' and they behaved as well as could possibly be ex- 
 pected. Behaved beautifully, indeed. I was watch- 
 ing them. It's not a matter to take to heart, 
 Colonel. As some German General said of his men, 
 they wanted to be shooted over a little, that was all.' 
 To himself he said — ' Now they're blooded I can 
 give 'em responsible work. It's as well that they 
 got what they did. 'Teach 'em more than half-a- 
 dozen rifle flirtations, that will — later — run alone 
 and bite. Poor old Colonel, though.' 
 
 All that afternoon the heliograph winked and 
 flickered on the hills, striving to tell the good news 
 to a mountain forty miles away. And in the evening 
 there arrived, dusty, sweating, and sore, a misguided 
 Correspondent, who had gone out to assist at a 
 trumpery village-burning, and who had read off the 
 message from afar, cursing his luck the while. 
 
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 
 
 11 
 
 ' Let's have the details somehow — as full as ever 
 you can, please. It's the first time I've ever been 
 left this campaign,' said the Correspondent to the 
 Brigadier ; and the Brigadier, nothing loath, told him 
 how an Army of Communication had been crumpled 
 up, destroyed, and all but annihilated, by the craft, 
 strategy, wisdom, and foresight of the Brigadier. 
 
 But some say, and among these be the Gurkhas 
 who watched on the hillside, that that battle was 
 won by J akin and Lew, whose little bodies were 
 borne up just in time to fit two gaps at the head 
 of the big ditch-grave for the dead under the 
 heights of Jagai. 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 The Earth gave up her dead that tide, 
 
 Into our camp he came, 
 And said his say, and went his way, 
 
 And left our hearts aflame. 
 
 Keep tally — on the gun-butt score 
 
 The vengeance we must take. 
 
 When God shall bring full reckoning, 
 
 For cur dead comrade's sake. 
 
 Ballad. 
 
 •Let it be clearly understood that the Russian is a 
 delightful person till he tucks in his shirt. As an 
 Oriental he is charming. It is only when he insists 
 upon being treated as the most easterly of western 
 peoples instead of the most westerly of easterns 
 .that he becomes a racial anomaly extremely difficult 
 to handle. The host never knows which side of 
 his nature is going to turn up next. 
 
 Dirkovitch was a Russian — a Russian of the 
 Russians — who appeared to get his bread by serv- 
 ing the Czar as an officer in a Cossack regiment, 
 and corresponding for a Russian newspaper with a 
 
 78 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 79 
 
 name that was never twice alike. He was a hand- 
 some young Oriental, fond of wandering through 
 unexplored portions of the earth, and he arrive^ 
 in India from nowhere in particular. At least no 
 living man could ascertain whether it was by way of 
 Balkh, Badakshan, Chitral, Beluchistan, or Nepaul, 
 or anywhere else. The Indian Government, being 
 in an unusually affable mood, gave orders that he 
 was to be civilly treated and shown everything 
 that was to be seen. So he drifted, talking bad 
 English and worse French, from one city to an- 
 other, till he foregathered with Her Majesty's 
 White Hussars in the city of Peshawur, which 
 stands at the mouth of that narrow swordcut in 
 the hills that men call the Khyber Pass. He was 
 undoubtedly an officer, and he was decorated after 
 the manner of the Russians with little enamelled 
 crosses, and he could talk, and (though this has 
 nothing to do with his merits) he had been given 
 up as a hopeless task, or cask, by the Black 
 Tyrone, who individually and collectively, with hot 
 whisky and honey, mulled brandy, and mixed spirits 
 of every kind, had striven in all hospitality to 
 make him drunk. And when the Black Tyrone, 
 who are exclusively Irish, fail to disturb the peace 
 of head of a foreigner — that foreigner is certain 
 to be a superior man. 
 
 The White Hussars were as conscientious in 
 
So SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 choosing their wine as in charging the enemy. 
 All that they possessed, including some wondrous 
 brandy, was placed at the absolute disposition of 
 Oirkovitch, and he enjoyed himself hugely — even 
 more than among the Black Tyrones. 
 
 But he remained distressingly European through 
 it all. The White Hussars were ' My dear true 
 friends,' ' Fellow-soldiers glorious,' and ' Brothers 
 inseparable.' He would unburden himself by the 
 hour on the glorious future that awaited the com- 
 bined arms of England and Russia when their 
 hearts and their territories should run side by side 
 and the great mission of civilising Asia should 
 begin. That was unsatisfactory, because Asia is 
 not going to be civilised after the methods of the 
 West. There is too much Asia and she is too old. 
 You cannot reform a lady of many lovers, and 
 Asia has been insatiable in her flirtations afore- 
 time. She will never attend Sunday school or 
 learn to vote save with swords for tickets. 
 
 Dirkovitch knew this as well as any one else, 
 but it suited him to talk special-correspondently 
 and to make himself as genial as he could. Now 
 and then he volunteered a little, a very little, 
 information about his own sotnia of Cossacks, left 
 apparently to look after themselves somewhere at 
 the back of beyond. He had done rough work in 
 Central Asia, and had seen rather more help-your- 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 8l 
 
 self fighting than most men of his years. But he 
 was careful never to betray his superiority, and 
 more than careful to praise on all occasions the 
 appearance, drill, uniform, and organisation of Her 
 Majesty's White Hussars. "And indeed they were 
 a regiment to be admired. When Lady Durgan, 
 widow of the late Sir John Durgan, arrived in 
 their station, and after a short time had been pro- 
 posed to by every single man at mess, she put the 
 public sentiment very neatly when she explained 
 that they were all so nice that unless she could marry 
 them all, including the Colonel and some majors 
 already married, she was not going to content her- 
 self with one hussar. Wherefore she wedded a 
 little man in a rifle regiment, being by nature con- 
 tradictious; and the White Hussars were going to 
 wear crape on their arms, but compromised by 
 attending the wedding in full force, and lining the 
 aisle with unutterable reproach. She had jilted 
 them all — from Basset-Holmer the senior captain 
 to little Mildred the junior subaltern, who could 
 have given her four thousand a year and a title. 
 
 The only person who did not share the general 
 regard for the White Hussars were a few thousand 
 gentlemen of Jewish extraction who lived across the 
 border, and answered to the name of Paythan. Theiy 
 had once met the regiment officially and for some- 
 thing less than twenty minutes, but the interview^ 
 
82 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 which was complicated with n;iany casualties, had 
 filled them with prejudice. They even called the 
 White Hussars children of the devil and sons of per- 
 sons whom it would be perfectly impossible to meet 
 in decent society. Yet they were not above making 
 their aversion fill their money-belts. The regiment 
 possessed carbines — beautiful Martini-Henri car- 
 bines that would lop a bullet into an enemy's camp 
 at one thousand yards, and were even handier than 
 the long rifle. Therefore they were coveted all 
 along the border, and since demand inevitably breeds 
 supply, they were supplied at the risk of life and 
 limb for exactly their weight in coined silver — seven 
 and one-half pounds weight of rupees, or sixteen 
 pounds sterling reckoning the rupee at par. They 
 were stolen at night by snaky-haired thieves who 
 crawled on their stomachs under the nose of the sen. 
 tries ; they disappeared mysteriously from locked arm- 
 racks, and in the hot weather when all the barrack 
 doors and windows were open, they vanished like 
 puffs of their own smoke. The border people desired 
 them for family vendettas and contingencies. But 
 in the long cold nights of the northern Indian 
 winter they were stolen most extensively. The traffic 
 of murder was liveliest among the hills at that sea- 
 son, and prices ruled high. The regimental guards 
 were first doubled and then trebled. A trooper does 
 not much care if he loses a weapon — Government 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 83 
 
 must make it good — but he deeply resents the loss 
 of his sleep. The regiment grew very angry, and one 
 rifle-thief bears the visible marks of their anger upon 
 him to this hour. That incident stopped the burg- 
 laries for a time, and the guards were reduced 
 accordingly, and the regiment devoted itself to polo 
 with unexpected results ; for it beat by two goals to 
 one that very terrible polo corps the Lushkar Light 
 Horse, though the latter had four ponies apiece for a 
 short hour's fight, as well as a native officer who 
 played like a lambent flame across the ground. 
 
 They gave a dinner to celebrate the event. The 
 Lushkar team came, and Dirkovitch came, in the 
 fullest full uniform of a Cossack officer, which is as 
 full as a dressing-gown, and was introduced to the 
 Lushkars, and opened his eyes as he regarded. They 
 were lighter men than the Hussars, and they carried 
 themselves with the swing that is the peculiar right 
 of the Punjab Frontier Force and all Irregular Horse. 
 Like everything else in the Service it has to be learnt, 
 but, unlike many things, it is never forgotten, and 
 remains on the body till death. 
 
 The great beam-roofed mess-room of the White 
 Hussars was a sight to be remembered. All the 
 mess plate was out on the long table — the same 
 table that had served up the bodies of five officers 
 after a forgotten fight long and long ago — the dingy, 
 battered standards faced the door of entrance, clumps 
 
84 ' SQLDIER STORIES 
 
 of winter-roses lay between the silver candlesticks, 
 and the portraits of eminent officers deceased looked 
 down on their successors from between the heads of 
 sambhur, nilghai, markhor, and, pride of all the mess, 
 two grinning snow-leopards that had cost Basset- 
 Holmer four months' leave that he might have spent 
 in England, instead of on the road to Thibet and the 
 daily risk of his life by ledge, snow-slide, and grassy 
 slope. 
 
 The servants in spotless white muslin and the 
 crest of their regiments on the brow of their turbans 
 waited behind their masters, who were clad in the. 
 scarlet and gold of the White Hussars, and the 
 cream and silver of the Lushkar Light Horse. 
 Dirkovitch's dull green uniform was the only dark 
 spot at the board, but his big onyx eyes made up for 
 it. He was fraternising effusively with the Captain 
 of the Lushkar team, who was wondering how many 
 of Dirkovitch's Cossacks his own dark wiry down- 
 country-men could account for in a fair 'charge. But 
 one does not speak of these things openly. 
 
 The talk rose higher and higher, and the regi- 
 mental band played between the courses, as is the 
 immemorial custom, till all tongues ceased for a 
 moment with the removal of the dinner-slips and 
 the first toast of obligation, when an officer rising 
 said, ' Mr. Vice, the Queen,' and little Mildred from 
 the bottom of the table answered, ' The Queen, Go<i 
 
' A'/nii^-- hi\ liira Singh ! ' — r. 8c;. 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 85 
 
 bless her,' and the big spurs clanked as the big men 
 heaved themselves up and drank the Queen upon 
 whose pay they were falsely supposed to settle their 
 mess-bills. That Sacrament of the Mess never grows 
 old, and never ceases to bring a lump into the throat 
 of the listener wherever he be by sea or by land. 
 Dirkovitch rose with his ' brothers glorious,' but he 
 could not understand. No one but an officer can 
 tell what the toast means ; and the bulk have more 
 sentiment than comprehension. Immediately after 
 the little silence that follows on the ceremony there 
 entered the native officer who had played for the 
 Lushkar team. He could not, of course, eat with 
 the mess, but he came in at dessert, all six feet of 
 him, with the blue and silver turban atop, and the big 
 black boots below. The mess rose joyously as he 
 thrust forward the hilt of his sabre in token of fealty 
 for the Colonel of the White Hussars to touch, and 
 dropped in a vacant chair amid shouts of : 'Rung ho, 
 Hira Singh' (which being translated means 'Go 
 in and win '). ' Did I whack you over the knee, 
 old man ? ' ' Ressaidar Sahib, what the devil made 
 you play that kicking pig of a pony in the last ten 
 minutes .' ' ' Skabash, Ressaidar Sahib ! ' Then the 
 -voice of the Colonel, ' The health of Ressaidar Hira 
 Singh ! • 
 
 After the shouting had died away Hira Singh 
 rose to reply, for he was the cadet, of a royal house. 
 
86 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 the son of a king's son, and knew what was due on 
 these occasions. Thus he spoke in the vernacular : — 
 ' Colonel Sahib and officers of this regiment. Much 
 honour have you done me. This will I remember. 
 We came down from afar to play you. But we 
 were beaten ' (' No fault of yours, Ressaidar Sahib. 
 Played on our own ground y' know.. Your ponies 
 were cramped from the railway. Don't apologise ! ') 
 ' Therefore perhaps we will come again if it be so 
 ordained.' (' Hear ! Hear ! Hear, indeed ! Bravo ! 
 Hsh ! ') ' Then we will play you afresh ' (' Happy 
 to meet you.') ' till there are left no feet upon our 
 ponies. Thus far for sport' He dropped one hand 
 on his sword-hilt and his eye wandered to Dirkovitch 
 lolling back in his chair. ' But if by the will of God 
 there arises any other game which is not the polo 
 game, then be assured. Colonel Sahib and officers, 
 that we will play it out side by side, though they! 
 again his eye sought Dirkovitch, ' though they I say 
 have fifty ponies to our one horse.' And with a 
 deep-mouthed Rung ho ! that sounded like a musket- 
 butt on flagstones he sat down amid leaping glasses. 
 Dirkovitch, who had devoted himself steadily to 
 the brandy, — the terrible brandy aforem^itioned,^ 
 did not understand, nor did the expurgated trans- 
 lations offered to him at all convey the point. 
 Decidedly Hira Singh's was the speech of the 
 evening, and the clamour might have continued to 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS «7 
 
 the dawn had it not been broken by the noise of 
 a shot without that sent every man feeling at his 
 defenceless left side. Then there was a scuffle 
 and a yell of pain. 
 
 ' Carbine-stealing again ! ' said the Adjutant, calmly 
 sinking back in his chair. ' This comes of reducing 
 the guards. I hope the sentries have killed him.' 
 
 The feet of armed men pounded on the veranda 
 flags, and it was as though something was being 
 dragged. 
 
 ' Why don't they put him in the cells till the 
 morning?' said the Colonel testily. 'See if . they've 
 damaged him, Sergeant.' 
 
 The mess-sergeant fled out into the darkness and 
 returned with two troopers and a Corporal, all very 
 much perplexed. 
 
 ' Caught a man stealin' carbines. Sir,' said the 
 Corporal. ' Leastways 'e was crawlin' towards the 
 barricks, Sir, past the main road sentries, an' the 
 sentry 'e sez. Sir ' 
 
 The limp heap of rags upheld by the three men 
 groaned. Never was seen so destitute and demor- 
 alised an Afghan. He was turbanless, shoeless, 
 caked with dirt, and all but dead with rough hand- 
 ling. Hira Singh started slightly at the sound of 
 the man's pain. Dirkovitch took another glass 
 of brandy. 
 
 « What does the sentry say.'' said the Colonel. 
 
88 SOLDIER STORlbS 
 
 ' Sez 'e speaks English, Sir,' said the Corporal. 
 
 ' So you brought him into mess instead of hand- 
 ing him over to the sergeant ! If he spoke all the 
 Tongues of the Pentecost you've no business ' 
 
 Again the bundle groaned and muttered. Little 
 Mildred had risen from his place to inspect. He 
 jumped back as though he had been shot. 
 
 ' Perhaps it would be better, Sir, to send the 
 men away,' said he to the Colonel, for he was a 
 much privileged subaltern. He put his arms round 
 the rag-bound horror as he spoke, and dropped 
 him into a chair. It may not have been explained 
 that the littleness of Mildred lay in his being six 
 feet four and big in proportion. The Corporal, 
 seeing that an officer was disposed to look after 
 the capture, and that the Colonel's eye was begin- 
 ning to blaze, promptly removed himself and his men. 
 The mess was left alone with the carbine-thief, who 
 laid his head on the table and wept bitterly, hope- 
 lessly, and inconsolably, as little children weep. 
 
 Flira Singh leapt to his feet. 'Colonel Sahib,' 
 said he, 'that man is no Afghan, for they weep 
 Ai ! Ai! Nor is he of Hindustan, for they weep 
 Ok! Ho.' He weeps after the fashion of the 
 white men, who say Ow ! Ow ! ' 
 
 •Now where the dickens did you get that know- 
 ledge, Hira Singh ? ' said the Captain of the Lush- 
 kar team. 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 89 
 
 •* Hear him ! ' said Hira Singh simply, pointing 
 at the crumpled figure that wept as though it 
 would never cease. 
 
 'He said, "My God!'" said little Mildred. 'I 
 heard him say it.' 
 
 The Colonel and the mess-room looked at the 
 man in silence. It is a horrible thing to hear a 
 man cry. A woman can sob from the top of her 
 palate, or her lips, or anywhere else, but a man must 
 cry from his diaphragm, and it rends him to pieces. 
 
 ' Poor devil ! ' said the Colonel, coughing tre- 
 mendously. 'We ought to send hira to hospital. 
 He's been man-handled.' 
 
 Now the Adjutant loved his carbines. They 
 were to him as his grandchildren, the men stand- 
 ing in the first place. He grunted rebelliously : 
 ' I can understand an Afghan stealing, because 
 he's built that way. But I can't understand his 
 crying. That makes it worse.' 
 
 The brandy must have affected Dirkovitch, for 
 he lay back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. 
 There was nothing special in the ceiling beyond 
 a shadow as of a huge black coffin. Owing to 
 some peculiarity in the construction of the mess- 
 room this shadow was always thrown when the 
 candles were lighted. It never disturbed the diges- 
 tion of the White Hussars. They were in fact 
 rather proud of it 
 
90 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 'Is he going to cry all night?' said the Colonel, 
 'or are we supposed to sit up with little Mildred's 
 guest until he feels better ? ' 
 
 The man in the chair threw up his head and 
 stared at the mess. ' Oh, my God ! ' he said, and 
 every soul in the mess rose to his feet. Then the 
 Lushkar Captain did a deed for which he ought to 
 have been given the Victoria Cross — distinguished 
 gallantry in a fight against overwhelming curiosity. 
 He picked up his team with his eyes as the hostess 
 picks up the ladies at the opportune moment, and 
 pausing only by the Colonel's chair to say, 'This 
 isn't our affair, you know. Sir,' led them into the 
 veranda and the gardens. Hira Singh was the 
 last to go, and he looked at Dirkovitch. But 
 Dirkovitch had departed into a brandy-paradise of 
 his own. His lips moved without sound and he 
 "vas studying the coffin on the ceiling. 
 
 'White — white all over,' said Basset-Holmer, the 
 Adjutant. ' What a pernicious renegade he must 
 be ! I wonder where he came from } ' 
 
 The Colonel shook the man gently by the arm, 
 and ' Who are you ? ' said he. 
 
 There was no answer. The man stared round 
 the mess-room and smiled in the Colonel's face. 
 Little Mildred, who was always more of a woman 
 than a man till ' Boot and saddle ' was sounded, 
 repeated the question in a voice that would have 
 
He found the spring. — P. 91. 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 91 
 
 drawn confidences from a geyser. The man only 
 smiled. Dirkovitch at the far end of the table 
 slid gently from his chair to the floor. No son 
 of Adam in this present imperfect world can mix 
 the Hussars' champagne with the Hussars' brandy 
 by five and eight glasses of each without remem-- 
 bering the pit whence he was digged and descend- 
 ing thither. The band began to play the tune 
 with which the White Hussars from the date of 
 their formation have concluded all their functions. 
 They would sooner be disbanded than abandon 
 that tune ; it is a part of their system. The man 
 straightened himself in his chair and drummed on 
 the table with his fingers. 
 
 ' I don't see why we should entertain lunatics,' 
 said the Colonel. ' Call a guard and send him off to 
 the cells. We'll look into the business in the morn" 
 ing. Give him a glass of wine first though.' 
 
 Little Mildred filled a sherry-glass with the brandy 
 and thrust it over to the man. He drank, and the 
 tune rose louder, and' he straightened himself yet 
 more. Then he put out his long-taloned hands to a 
 piece of plate opposite and fingered it lovingly. 
 There was a mystery connected with that piece of 
 plate, in the shape of a spring which converted what 
 was a seven-branched candlestick, three springs on 
 each side and one in the middle, into a sort of wheel- 
 spoke candelabrum. He found the spring, pressed 
 
9S SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 it, and laughed weakly. He rose from his chair 
 and inspected a picture on the wall, then moved on 
 to another picture, the mess watching him without a 
 word. When he came to the mantelpiece he shook 
 his head and seemed distressed. A piece of plate 
 representing a mounted hussar in full uniform 
 caught his eye. He pointed to it, "and then to the 
 mantelpiece with inquiry in his eyes. 
 
 'What is it — oh what is it?' said little Mildred. 
 Then as a mother might speak to a child, ' That is 
 a horse. Yes, a horse.' 
 
 Very slowly came the answer in a thick, passion- 
 less guttural — 'Yes, I — have seen. But — where 
 is the horse.'* 
 
 You could have heard the hearts of the mess beat- 
 ing as the men drew back to give the stranger full 
 room in his wanderings. There was no question of 
 calling the guard. 
 
 Again he spoke — very slowly, 'Where is ouf 
 horse ? ' 
 
 There is but one horse in the White Hussars, and 
 his portrait hangs outside the door of the mess-room. 
 He is the piebald drum-horse, the king of the regi- 
 mental band, that served the regiment for seven-and- 
 thirty years, and in the end was shot for old age. 
 Half the mess tore the thing down from its place 
 and thrust it into the man's hands. He placed it 
 above the mantelpiece, it clattered on the ledge as 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 93 
 
 his poor hands dropped it, and he staggered towards 
 the bottom of the table, falling into Mildred's chair. 
 Then all the men spoke to one another something 
 after this fashion, ' The drum-horse hasn't hung over 
 the mantelpiece since '6y.' ' How does he know ? ' 
 'Mildred, go and speak to him again.' 'Colonel, 
 what are you going to do ? ' ' Oh, dry up, and give 
 the poor devil a chance to pull himself together.' 
 ' It isn't possible anyhow. The man's a lunatic' 
 
 Little Mildred stood at the Colonel's side talking 
 in his ear. ' Will you be good enough to take your 
 seats, please, gentlemen ! ' he said, and the mess 
 dropped into the chairs. Only Dirkovitch's seat, 
 next to little Mildred's, was blank, and little Mildred 
 himself had found Hira Singh's place. The wide- 
 eyed mess-sergeant filled the glasses in dead silence. 
 Once more the Colonel rose, but his hand shook, and 
 the port spilled on the table as he looked straight at 
 the man in little Mildred's chair and said hoarsely, 
 'Mr. Vice, the Queen.' There was a little pause, 
 but the man sprung to his feet and answered with- 
 out hesitation, ' The Queen, God bless her ! ' and as 
 he emptied the thin glass he snapped the shank 
 between his fingers. 
 
 Long and long ago, when the Empress of India 
 was a young woman and there were no unclean 
 ideals in the land, it was the custom of a few messes 
 to drink the Queen's toast in broken glass, to the 
 
94 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 vast delight of the mess-contractors. The custom is 
 now dead, because there is nothing , to bteak any. 
 thing for, except now and again the word of a Gov- 
 ernment, and that has been broken already. 
 
 'That settles it,' said the Colonel, with a gasp. 
 ' He's not a sergeant. What in the world is he ? ' 
 
 The entire mess echoed the word, and the volley 
 of questions would have scared any man. It was no 
 wonder that the ragged, filthy invader could only 
 smile and shake his head. 
 
 From under the table, calm and smiling, rose 
 Dirkovitch, who had been roused from healthful 
 slumber by feet upon his body. By the side of the 
 man he rose, and the man shrieked and grovelled. 
 It was a horrible sight coming so swiftly upon the 
 pride and glory of the toast that had brought the 
 strayed wits together. 
 
 Dirkovitch made no offer to raise him, but little 
 Mildred heaved him up in an instant. It is not 
 good that a gentleman who can answer to the 
 Queen's toast should lie at the feet of a subaltern 
 of Cossacks. 
 
 The hasty action tore the wretch's upper clothing 
 nearly to the waist, and his body was seamed with 
 dry black scars. There is only one weapon in the 
 world that cuts in parallel lines, and it is neither 
 the cane nor the cat. Dirkovitch saw the marks, 
 and the pupils of his eyes dilated. Also his face 
 
It is not good that a gentleman who can answer to the Queen's t^ast 
 should lie at the feet of a subaltern of Cossacks. — F. 94. 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 95 
 
 changed. He said something that sounded like 
 Skto ve takete, and the man fawping answered, 
 Cketyre. 
 
 'What's that?' said everybody together. 
 'His number. That is number four, you know,' 
 Dirkovitch spoke very thickly. 
 
 ' What has a Queen's officer to do with a qualified 
 Aumber .? ' said the Colonel, and an unpleasant growl 
 ran round the table. 
 
 'How can I tell.'' said the affable Oriental with a 
 sweet smile. 'He is a — how you have it.' — escape 
 — run-a-way, from over there.' He nodded towards 
 the darkness of the night. 
 
 ' Speak to him if he'll answer you, and speak to 
 him gently,' said little Mildred, settling the man in 
 a chair. It seemed most improper to all present 
 that Dirkovitch should sip brandy as he talked in 
 purring, spitting Russian to the creature who an- 
 swered so feebly and with such evident dread. But 
 since Dirkovitch appeared to understand no one 
 said a word. All breathed heavily, leaning forward, 
 in the long gaps of the conversation. The next 
 time that they have no engagements on hand the 
 White Hussars intend to go to St. Petersburg in a 
 body to learn Russian. 
 
 ' He does not know how many years ago,' said 
 Dirkovitch facing t'ae mess, 'but he says it was very 
 long ago in the war. I think that there was an ^ccj- 
 
9* SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 dent. He says he was of this glorious and distin 
 guished regiment in the war.' 
 
 'The rolls! The rolls! Holmer, get the rolls!' 
 said little Mildred, and the Adjutant dashed off bare- 
 headed to the orderly-room, where the muster-rolls 
 of the regiment were kept. He returned just in time 
 to hear Dirkovitch conclude, 'Therefore, my dear 
 friends, I am most sorry to say there was an accident 
 which would have been reparable if he had apolo- 
 gised to that our colonel, which he had insulted.' 
 
 Then followed another growl which the Colonel 
 tried to beat down. The mess was in no mood just 
 then to weigh insults to Russian colonels. 
 
 ' He does not remember, but I think that there 
 was an accident, and so he was not exchanged 
 among the prisoners, but he was sent to another 
 place — how do you say ? — the country. So, he 
 says, he came here. He does not know how he 
 came. Eh.' He was at Chepany ' — the man caught 
 the word, nodded, and shivered — ' at Zhigansk and 
 Irkutsk. I cannot understand how he escaped. He 
 says, too, that he was in the forests for many years, 
 but how many years he has forgotten — that with 
 many things. It was an accident; done because he 
 did not apologise to that our colonel. Ah ! ' 
 
 Instead of echoing Dirkovitch's sigh of regret, it 
 is sad to record that the White Hussars livelily 
 exhibited un-Christian delight and other emotions, 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 97 
 
 hardly restrained by their sense of hospitality. 
 Holmer flung the frayed and yellow regimental rolls 
 on the table, and the men flung themselves at these. 
 
 ' Steady ! Fifty-six — fifty-five — fifty-four, ' said 
 Holmer. ' Here we are. " Lieutenant Austin Lim- 
 mason. Missing." That was before Sebastopol. 
 What an infernal shame ! Insulted one of their 
 colonels, and was quietly shipped off. Thirty years 
 of his life wiped but.' 
 
 ' But he never apologised. Said he'd see him 
 damned first,' chorussed the mess. 
 
 ' Poor chap ! I suppose he never had the chance 
 afterwards. How did he come here .■" ' said the Colonel 
 
 The dingy heap in the chair could give no answer 
 
 ' Do you know who you are 1 ' 
 
 It laughed weakly. 
 
 ' Do you know that you are Limmason — LieU' 
 tenant Limmason of the White Hussars .' ' 
 
 Swiftly as a shot came the answer, in a slightly 
 surprised tone, ' Yes, I'm Limmason, of course.' 
 The light died out in his eyes, and the man col- 
 lapsed, watching every motion of Dirkovitch with 
 terror. A flight from Siberia may fix a few ele- 
 mentary facts in the mind, but it does not seem to 
 lead to continuity of thought. The man could nol 
 explain how, like a homing pigeon, he had found his 
 way to his own old mess again. Of what he had 
 suffered or seen he knew nothing. He cringed 
 
98 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 before Dirkovitch as instinctively as he had pressed 
 the spring of the candlestick, sought the picture of 
 the drum-horse, and answered to the toast of the 
 Queen. The rest was a blank that the dreaded 
 Russian tongue could only in part remove. His 
 head bowed on his breast, and he giggled and 
 cowered alternately. 
 
 The devil that lived in the brandy prompted 
 Dirkovitch at this extremely inopportune moment to 
 make a speech. He rose, swaying slightly, gripped 
 the table-edge, while his eyes glowed like opals, and 
 began: — 
 
 ' Fellow-soldiers glorious — true friends and hos- 
 pitables. It was an accident, and deplorable — most 
 deplorable.' Here he smiled sweetly all round the 
 mess. ' But you will think of this little, little thing. 
 So little, is it not ? The Czar ! Posh ! I slap my 
 fingers — I snap my fingers at him. Do I believe in 
 him .? No ! But in us Slav who has done nothing, 
 him I believe. Seventy — how much — millions peo- 
 ples that have done nothing — not one thing. Posh ! 
 Napoleon was an episode.' He banged a hand on 
 the table. ' Hear you, old peoples, we have done 
 nothing in .the world — out here. All our work is to 
 do ; and it shall be done, old peoples. Get a-way ! ' 
 He waved his hand imperiously, and pointed to the 
 man. ' You see him. He is no good to see. H? 
 was just one little — oh, so little — accident, that n« 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS 99 
 
 one remembered. Now he is That! So will you 
 be, brother soldiers so brave — so will you be. But 
 you will never come back. You will all go where he 
 is gone, or ' — he pointed to the great coffin-shadow 
 on the ceiling, and muttering, 'Seventy millions — 
 get a-way, you old peoples,' fell asleep. 
 
 ' Sweet, and to the point,' said little Mildred. 
 ' What's the use of getting wroth 1 Let's make this 
 poor devil comfortable.' 
 
 But that was a matter suddenly and swiftly taken 
 from the loving hands of the White Hussars. The 
 lieutenant had returned only to go away again three 
 days later, when the wail of the Dead March, and 
 the tramp of the squadrons, told the wondering 
 Station, who saw no gap in the mess-table, that an 
 officer of the regiment had resigned his new-found 
 commission. 
 
 And Dirkovitch, bland, supple, and always genial, 
 went away too, by a night train. Little Mildred 
 and another man saw him off, for he was the guest 
 of the mess, and even had he smitten the Colonel 
 with the open hand, the law of that mess allowed 
 no relaxation of hospitality. 
 
 'Good-bye, Dirkovitch, and a pleasant journey,' 
 said little Mildred. 
 
 ^ Au revoir,' said the Russian. 
 
 ' Indeed ! But we thought you were going home .? ' 
 
 ' Yes, but I will come again. My dear friends, is 
 
lOO 
 
 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 that road shut?' He pointed to where the North 
 Star burned over the Khyber Pass. 
 
 ' By Jove ! I forgot. Of course. Happy to meet 
 fovi, old man, any time you like. Got everything 
 you want.' Cheroots, ice, bedding.' That's all 
 right. Well, au revoir, Dirkovitch.' 
 
 ' Um,' said the other man, as the tail-lights of the 
 train grew small. 'Of — all — the — unmitigated ! ' 
 
 Little Mildred answered nothing, but watched the 
 
 North Star and hummed a selection from a recent 
 
 Simla burlesque that had much delighted the White 
 
 Hussars, It ran: — 
 
 I'm sorry for Mister Bluebeard, 
 I'm sorry to cause him pain ; 
 But a terrible spree there's sure to be 
 When he comes back again. 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 
 
 VfhsA did the colonel's lady think 
 
 Nobody never knew. 
 Somebody asked the sergeant's wife 
 
 An' she told 'em, true. 
 When you git to a man in the case 
 
 They're like a row o' pins, 
 For the colonel's lady an' Judy O'Grady 
 
 Are sisters under their skins. 
 
 Bayrack Room Ballad, 
 
 All day I had followed at the heels of a pursuing 
 army engaged on one of the finest battles that ever 
 camp of exercise beheld. Thirty thousand troops 
 had by the wisdom of the Government of India been 
 turned loose over a few thousand square miles of 
 country to practise in peace what they would never 
 attempt in war. Consequently cavalry charged un- 
 shaken infantry at the trot. Infantry captured 
 artillery by frontal attacks delivered in line of quar- 
 ter columns, and mounted infantry skirmished up 
 to the wheels of an armoured train which carried 
 
I02 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 nothing more deadly than a twenty-five pounder 
 Armstrong, two Nordenfeldts, and a few score vol- 
 unteers all cased in three-eighths-inch boiler-plate. 
 Yet it was a very lifelike camp. Operations did not 
 cease at sundown ; nobody knew the country and no- 
 body spared man or horse. There was unending 
 cavalry scouting and almost unending forced work 
 over broken ground. The Army of the South had 
 finally pierced the centre of the Army of the North, 
 and was pouring through the gap hot-foot to capture 
 a city of strategic importance. Its front extended 
 fanwise, the sticks being represented by regiments 
 strung out along the line of route backwards to the 
 divisional transport columns and all the lumber that 
 trails behind an army on the move. On its right 
 the broken left of the Army of the North was flying 
 in mass, chased by the Southern horse and ham- 
 mered by the Southern guns till these had been 
 pushed far beyond the limits of their last support. 
 Then the flying sat down to rest, while the elated 
 commandant of the pursuing force telegraphed that 
 he held all in check and observation. 
 
 Unluckily he did not observe that three miles to 
 his right flank a flying column of Northern horse 
 with a detachment of Gurkhas and British troops 
 had been pushed round, as fast as the failing light 
 allowed, to cut across the entire rear of the Southern 
 Army, to break, as it were, all the ribs of the fan 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 103 
 
 where they converged by striking at the transport, 
 reserve ammunition, and artillery supplies. Their 
 instructions were to go in, avoiding the few scouts 
 who might not have been drawn off by the pursuit, 
 and create sufficient excitement to impress the 
 Southern Army with the wisdom of guarding their 
 own flank and rear before they captured cities. It 
 was a pretty manoeuvre, neatly carried out. 
 
 Speaking for the second division of the Southern 
 Army, our first intimation of the attack was at twi- 
 light, when the artillery were labouring in deep sand, 
 most of the escort were trying to help them out, 
 and the main body of the infantry had gone on. A. 
 Noah's Ark of elephants, camels, and the mixed 
 menagerie of an Indian transport train bubbled and 
 squealed behind the guns, when there appeared from 
 nowhere in particular British infantry to the extent 
 of three companies, who sprang to the heads of the 
 gun-horses and brought all to a standstill amid oaths 
 and cheers. 
 
 'How's that, umpire.?' said the Major command- 
 ing: the attack, and with one voice the drivers and 
 limber gunners answered ' Hout ! ' while the Colonel 
 of Artillery sputtered. 
 
 'All your scouts are charging our main body,' 
 said the Major. 'Your flanks are unprotected for 
 two miles. I think we've broken the back of this 
 divisJOP . And listen, — there go the Gurkhas ! ' 
 
I04 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 A weak fire broke from the rear-guard more than 
 a mile away, and was answered by cheerful bowlings. 
 The Gurkhas, who should have swung clear of the 
 second division, had stepped on its tail in the dark, but 
 drawing off hastened to reach the next line of attack, 
 which lay almost parallel to us five or six miles away. 
 
 Our column swayed and surged irresolutely,— 
 three batteries, the divisional ammunition reserve, 
 the baggage, and a section of the hospital and bearer 
 corps. The commandant ruefully promised to report 
 himself ' cut up ' to the nearest umpire, and com- 
 mending his cavalry and all other cavalry to the 
 special care of Eblis, toiled on to resume touch with 
 the rest of the division. 
 
 'We'll bivouac here to-night,' said the Major; 'I 
 have a notion that the Gurkhas will get caught. 
 They may want us to re-form on. Stand easy till 
 the transport gets away.' 
 
 A hand caught my beast's bridle and led him 
 out of the choiring dust; a larger hand deftly 
 canted me out of the saddle ; and ' two of the 
 hugest hands in the world received me sliding. 
 Pleasant is the lot of the special correspondent 
 who falls into such hands as those of Privates 
 Mulvaney, Ortheris, and Learoyd. 
 
 'An' that's all right,' said the Irishman calmly. 
 'We thought we'd find you somewheres here by. 
 Is there anything av yours in the transport? 
 Orth'ris'll fetch ut out.' 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 105 
 
 Ortheris did ' fetch ut out,' from under the trunk 
 of an elephant, in the shape of a servant and an 
 animal, both laden with medical comforts. The 
 little man's eyes sparkled. 
 
 ' If the brutil an' licentious soldiery av these 
 parts gets .sight av the thruck,' said Mulvaney, 
 making practised investigation, ' they'll loot ev'ry- 
 thing. They're bein' fed on iron-filin's an' dog- 
 biscuit these days, but glory's no compensation for 
 a belly-ache. Praise be, we're here to protect you, 
 Sorr. Beer, sausage, bread (soft an' that's a cur'- 
 osity), soup in a tin, whisky by the smell av ut, 
 an' fowls ! Mother av Moses, but ye take the field 
 like a confectioner ! 'Tis scand'lus.' 
 
 ' 'Ere's a orficer,' said Ortheris significantly. 
 ' When the sergent's done lushin' the privit may 
 clean the pot.' 
 
 I bundled several things into Mulvaney's haver- 
 sack before the Major's hand fell on my shoulder 
 and he said tenderly, ' Requisitioned for the Queen's 
 service. Wolseley was quite wrong about special 
 correspondents : they are the soldier's best friends. 
 Come and take pot-luck with us to-night' 
 ' ^ And so it happened amid laughter and shoutings 
 that my well-considered commissariat melted away 
 to reappear later at the mess-table, which was a 
 waterproof sheet spread on the ground. The fly- 
 ing column had taken three days' rations with it, 
 
io6 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 and there be few things nastier than government 
 rations — especially when government is experiment- 
 ing with German toys. Erbswurst, tinned beef of 
 surpassing tinniness, compressed vegetables, and 
 meat-biscuits may be nourishing, but what Thomas 
 Atkins needs is bulk in his inside. The Major, 
 assisted by his brother officers, purchased goats 
 for the camp and so made the experiment of no 
 effect. Long before the fatigue-party sent to col- 
 lect brushwood had returned, the men were settled 
 down by their valises, kettles and pots had ap- 
 peared from the surrounding country and were 
 dangling over fires as the kid and the compressed 
 vegetable bubbled together; there rose a cheerful 
 clinking of mess-tins ; outrageous demands for ' a 
 little more stuffin' with that there liver-wing ' ; and 
 gust on gust of chaff as pointed as a bayonet and 
 as delicate as a gun-butt. 
 
 'The boys are in a good temper,' said the Major. 
 'They'll be singing presently. Well, a night like 
 this is enough to keep them happy.' 
 
 Over our heads burned the wonderful Indian 
 stars, which are not all pricked in on one plane, 
 but, preserving an orderly perspective, draw the 
 eye through the velvet darkness of the void up 
 to the barred doors of heaven itself. The earth 
 was a gray shadow more unreal than the sky. We 
 could hear her breathing lightly in the pauses be* 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 107 
 
 tween the howling of the jackals, the movement of 
 the wind in the tamarisks, and the fitful mutter of 
 »'nusketry-fire leagues away to the left. A native 
 voman from some unseen hut began to sing, the 
 ■nail-train thundered past on its way to Delhi, and 
 I roosting crow cawed drowsily. Then there was a 
 belt-loosening silence about the fires, and the even 
 breathing of the crowded earth took up the story. 
 The men, full fed, turned to tobacco and song, — 
 their officers with them. The subaltern is happy 
 who can win the approval of the musical critics in 
 his regiment, and is honoured among the more in- 
 tricate step-dancers. By him, as by him who plays 
 cricket cleverly, Thomas Atkins will stand in time 
 of need, when he will let a better officer go on 
 alone. The ruined tombs of forgotten Mussulman 
 saints heard the ballad of Agra Town, The Buffalo 
 Battery, Marching to Kabul, The long, long Indian 
 Day, The Place where the Punkah-coolie died; and 
 that crashing chorus which announces, 
 
 Youth's daring spirit, manhood's fire. 
 
 Firm hand and eagle eye. 
 Must he acquire, who would aspire 
 
 To see the gray boar die. 
 
 To-day, of all those jovial thieves who appro- 
 priated my commissariat and lay and laughed round 
 that waterproof sheet, not one remains. They went 
 to camps that were not of exercise and battles 
 
loS SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 without empires. Burmah, the Soudan, and the 
 frontier, — fever and fight, — took them in their time. 
 
 I drifted across to the men's fires in search of 
 Mulvaney, whom I found strategically greasing his 
 feet by the blaze. There is nothing particularly 
 lovely in the sight of a private thus engaged after 
 a long day's march, but when you reflect on the 
 exact proportion of the 'might, majesty, dominion, 
 and power' of the British Empire which stands on 
 those feet you take an interest in the proceedings. 
 
 'There's a blister, bad luck to ut, on the heel,' 
 said Mulvaney. 'I can't touch ut. Prick ut out, 
 little man.' 
 
 Ortheris took out his housewife, eased the trouble 
 with a needle, stabbed Mulvaney in the calf with the 
 same weapon, and was swiftly kicked into the fire. 
 
 ' I've bruk the best av my toes over you, ye 
 grinnin' child av disruption,' said Mulvaney, sitting 
 cross-legged and nursing his feet; then seeing me, 
 ' Oh, ut's you, Sorr ! Be welkim, an' take that 
 maraudin' scutt's place. Jock, hold him down on 
 the cindhers for a bit.' 
 
 But Ortheris escaped and went elsewhere, as I 
 took possession of the hollow he had scraped for 
 himself and lined with his greatcoat. Learoyd on 
 the other side of the fire grinned affably and in a 
 minute fell fast asleep. 
 
 'There's the height av politeness for you,' said 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 109 
 
 Mulvaney, lighting his pipe with a flaming branch. 
 ' But Jock's eaten half a box av your sardines at 
 wan gulp, an' I think the tin too. What's the best 
 wid you, Sorr, an' how did you happen to be on the 
 losin' side this day whin we captured you ? ' 
 
 ' The Army of the South is winning all along the 
 line,' I said. 
 
 ' Then that line's the hangman's rope, savin' your 
 presence. You'll learn to-morrow how we rethreated 
 to dhraw thim on before we made thim trouble, an' 
 that's what a woman does. By the same tokin, we'll 
 be attacked before the dawnin' an' ut would be bet- 
 ther not to slip your boots. How do I know that .■' 
 By the light av pure reason. Here are three com- 
 panies av us ever so far inside av the enemy's flank 
 an' a crowd av roarin', tarin', squealin' cavalry gone 
 on just to turn out the whole hornet's nest av them. 
 Av course the enemy will pursue, by brigades like 
 as not, an' thin we'll have to run for ut. Mark my 
 words. I am av the opinion av Polonius whin he 
 said, " Don't fight wid ivry scutt for the pure joy av 
 fightin', but if you do, knock the nose av him first 
 and frequint." We ought to ha' gone on an' helped 
 the Gurkhas.' 
 
 ' But what do you know about Polonius ? ' I 
 demanded. This was a new side of Mulvaney's 
 character. 
 
 ' All that Shakespeare iver wrote an' a. dale more 
 
no SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 that the gallery shouted," said the man of war, care, 
 fully lacing his boots. ' Did I not tell you av Sil- 
 ver's Theatre in Diiblin, whin I was younger than I 
 am now an' a patron av the drama? Ould Silver 
 wud never pay actor-man or woman their just dues, 
 an' by consequince his comp'nies was collapsible at 
 the last minut. Thin the bhoys wud clamour to 
 take a part, an' oft as not ould Silver made them 
 pay for the fun. Faith, I've seen Hamlut played 
 wid a new black e) e an' the queen as full as a 
 cornucopia. I remimber wanst Hogin that 'listed in 
 the Black Tyrone an' was shot in South Africa, he 
 sejuced ould Silver into givin' him Hamlut's part 
 instid av me that had a fine fancy for rhetoric in 
 those days. Av course I wint into the gallery an' 
 began to fill the pit wid other peoples' hats, an' I 
 passed the time av day to Hogin walkin' through 
 Denmark like a hamstrung mule wid a pall on his 
 back. "Hamlut," sez I, "there's a hole in your 
 heel. Pull up your shtockin's, Hamlut," sez I. 
 "Hamlut, Hamlut, for the love av decincy dhrop 
 that skull an' pull up your shtockin's." The whole 
 house begun to tell him that. He stopped his solilo- 
 quishms mid-between. " My shtockin's may be 
 comin' down or they may not," sez he, screwin* his 
 sye into the gallery, for well he knew who I was. 
 "But afther this performince is over me an' the 
 Ghost'U trample the tripes out av you, Terence, wid 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH sHADD ill 
 
 your ass's bray ! " An' that's how I come to know 
 about Hamlut. Eyah! Those days, those days! 
 Did you iver have onendm' devOmint an' nothin' 
 to pay for it in your life, Sorr?' 
 
 'Never, without having to pay,' I said. 
 
 'That's thrue! 'Tis mane whin you considher 
 on ut ; but ut's the same wid horse or f ut A head- 
 ache if you dhrink, an' a belly-ache if you eat too 
 much, an' a heart-ache to kape all down. Faith, 
 the beast only gets the colic, an' he's the lucky man.' 
 
 He dropped his head and stared into the fire, 
 fingering his moustache the while. From the far 
 side of the bivouac the voice of Corbet-Nolan, senior 
 subaltern of B company, uplifted itself in an ancient 
 and much appreciated song of sentiment, the men 
 moaning melodiously behind him. 
 
 The north wind blew coldly, she drooped from that hour, 
 My own Kttle Kathleen, my sweet Uttle Kathleen, 
 Kathleen, my Katiileen, Kathleen O'Moore ! 
 
 With forty-five O's in the last word : even at that 
 distance you might have cut the soft South Irish 
 accent with a shoveL 
 
 'For aR we take we must pay, but the price is 
 cruel high,' murmured Mulvaney when the chorus 
 had ceased. 
 
 ' Whaf s the trouble ? ' I said gently, for I knew 
 that he was a man of an inextinguishable sorrow. 
 
112 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 ' Hear now,' said he. ' Ye know what I am now, 
 / know what I mint to be at the beginnin' av my 
 service. I've tould you time an' again, an' what 
 I have not Dinah Shadd has. An' what am I.' 
 Oh, Mary Mother av Hiven, an ould dhrunken, un- 
 trustable baste av a privit that has seen the reg'ment 
 change out from colonel to drummer-boy, not wanst 
 or twice, but scores av times ! Ay, scores ! An' 
 me not so near gettin' promotion as in the first! 
 An' me livin' on an' kapin' clear av clink, not by 
 my own good conduck, but the kindness av some 
 orf 'cer-bhoy young enough to be son to me ! Do I 
 not know ut .■' Can I not tell whin I'm passed over 
 at p'rade, tho' I'm rockin' full av liquor an' ready to 
 fall all in wan piece, such as even a suckin' child 
 might see, bekaze, " Oh, 'tis only ould Mulvaney ! " 
 An' whin I'm let ofif in ord'ly-room through some 
 thrick of the tongue an' a ready answer an' the ould 
 man's mercy, is ut smilin' I feel whin I fall away 
 an' go back to Dinah Shadd, thryin' to carry ut all 
 off as a joke ? Not I ! 'Tis hell to me, dumb hell 
 through ut all ; an' next time whin the fit comes I 
 will be as bad again. Good cause the reg'ment has 
 to know me for the best soldier in ut. Better cause 
 have I to know mesilf for the worst man. I'm only 
 fit to tache the new drafts what I'll niver learn my- 
 self ; an' I am sure, as tho' I heard ut, that the 
 minut wan av these pink-eyed recruities gets away 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 113 
 
 from my "Mind ye now," an' " Listen to this, Jim, 
 bhoy," — sure I am that the sergint houlds me up to 
 him for a warnin'. So I tache, as they say at mus- 
 ketry-instruction, by direct and ricochet fire. Lord 
 be good to me, for I have stud some throuble ! ' 
 
 ' Lie down and go to sleep,' said I, not being able 
 to comfort or advise. ' You're the best man in the 
 regiment, and, next to Ortheris, the biggest fool. 
 Lie down and wait till we're attacked. What force 
 will they turn out ? Guns, think you ? ' 
 
 'Try that wid your lorrds an' ladies, twistin' an' 
 turnin' the talk, tho' you mint ut well. Ye cud 
 say nothin' to help me, an' yet ye niver knew what 
 cause I had to be what I am.' 
 
 ' Begin at the beginning and- go on to the end,' I 
 said royally. ' But rake up the fire a bit first.' 
 
 I passed Ortheris's bayonet for a poker. 
 
 'That shows how little we know what we do,' 
 said Mulvaney, putting it aside. ' Fire takes all the 
 heart out av the steel, an' the next time, maybe, 
 that our little man is fighting for his life his 
 bradawl'll break, an' so you'll ha' killed him, manin' 
 no more than to kape yourself warm. 'Tis a re- 
 cruity's thrick that. Pass the clanin'-rod, Sorr.' 
 
 I snuggled down abashed; and after an interval 
 tlie voice of Mulvaney began. 
 
 ' Did I iver tell you how Dinah Shadd came to 
 be wife av mine?' 
 
114 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 I dissembled a burning anxiety that I had felt 
 for some months — ever since Dinah Shadd, the 
 strong, the patient, and the infinitely tender, had 
 of her own good love and free will washed a shirt 
 for me, moving in a barren land where washing 
 was not. 
 
 'I can't remember," I said casually. 'Was it 
 before or after you made love to Annie Bragin, 
 and got no satisfaction?' 
 
 The story of Annie Bragin is written in another 
 place. It is one of the many less respectable epi- 
 sodes in Mulvaney's chequered career. 
 
 'Before — before — long before, was that business 
 av Annie Bragin an' the corp'ril's ghost. Niver 
 woman was the worse for me whin I had married 
 Dinah. There's a time for all things, an' I know 
 how to kape all things in place — barrin' the 
 dhrink, that kapes me in my place wid no hope 
 av comin' to be aught else.' 
 
 ' Begin at the beginning,' I insisted. ' Mrs. 
 Mulvaney told me that you married her when you 
 were quartered in Krab Bokhar barracks.' 
 
 'An' the same is a cess-pit,' said Mulvaney 
 piously. ' She spoke thrue, did Dinah. 'Twas 
 this way. Talkin' av that, have ye iver fallen in 
 love, Sorr?' 
 
 I preserved the silence of the damned. Mul- 
 vaney continued: — 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 115 
 
 'Thin I will assume that ye have not. / did. 
 In the days av my youth, as I have more than 
 wanst tould you, I was a man that filled the eye 
 an' delighted the sowl av women. Niver man was 
 hated as I have bin. Niver man was loved as I 
 — no, not within half a day's march av uti For 
 the first five years av my service, whin I was 
 what I wud give my sowl to be now, I tuk what- 
 ever was within my reach an' digested ut — an' 
 that's more than most men can say. Dhrink I 
 tuk, an' ut did me no harm. By the Hollow av 
 Hiven, I cud play wid four women at wanst, an' 
 kape them from findin* out anythin' about the 
 other three, rfn' smile like a full-blown marigold 
 through ut all. Dick Coulhan, av the battery 
 we'll have down on us to-night, could drive his 
 team no better than I mine, an' I hild the worser 
 cattle! An' so I lived, an' so I was happy till 
 afther that business wid Annie Bragin — she that 
 turned me off as cool as a meat-safe, an' taught 
 me where I stud in the mind av an honest 
 woman. 'Twas no sweet dose to swallow. 
 
 'Afther that I sickened awhile an' tuk thought 
 to my reg'mental work; conceiting mesilf I wud 
 study an' be a sargint, an' a major-gineral twinty 
 minutes afther that. But on top av my ambitious- 
 ness there was an empty place in my sowl, an' 
 me own opinion av mesilf cud not fill ut. Sez I 
 
Il6 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 to mesilf, "Terence, you're a great man an' the 
 best set-up in the reg'mint. Go on an' get promo- 
 tion." Sez mesilf to me, " What for ? " Sez I to 
 mesilf, " For the glory av ut ! " Sez mesilf to me, 
 "Will that fill these two strong arrums av yours, 
 Terence?" "Go to the devil," sez I to mesilf. 
 " Go to the married lines," sez mesilf to me. 
 "'Tis the same thing," sez I to mesilf. "Av 
 you're the same man, ut is," said mesilf to me; 
 an' wid that I considhered on ut a long while. 
 Did you iver feel that way, Sorr .' ' 
 
 I snored gently, knowing that if Mulvaney were un- 
 interrupted he would go on. The clamour from the 
 bivouac fires beat up to the stars, as the rival singers 
 of the companies were pitted against each other. 
 
 ' So I felt that way an' a bad time ut was. 
 Wanst, bein' a fool, I wint into the married lines 
 more for the sake av spakin' to our ould colour- 
 sergint Shadd than for any thruck wid women-folk. 
 I was a corp'ril then — rejuced afterwards, but a 
 corp'ril then. I've got a photograft av mesilf to 
 prove ut. " You'll take a cup av tay wid us ? " sez 
 Shadd. " I will that," I sez, " tho' tay is not my 
 divarsion." 
 
 ' " 'Twud be better for you if ut were," sez ould 
 Mother Shadd, an' she had ought to know, for 
 Shadd, in the ind av his service, dhrank bung-full 
 each night. 
 
Thill whin the kettle was to be tilled, IMiuih came in — mv Dinah.' — r. 117. 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 117 
 
 ' Wid that I tuk off my gloves — there was pipe- 
 ;lay in thim, so that they stud alone — an' pulled 
 jp my chair, lookin' round at the china ornaments, 
 an' bits av things in the Shadds' quarters. They 
 were things that belonged to a man, an' no camp- 
 kit, here to-day and dishipated next. "You're 
 comfortable in this place, Sergint," sez I. '"Tis 
 the wife that did ut, boy," sez he, pointin' the 
 stem av his pipe to ould Mother Shadd, an' she 
 smacked the top av his bald head apon the com- 
 pliment. "That manes you want money," sez she. 
 
 *An' thin — an' thin whin the kettle was to be 
 filled, Dinah came in — my Dinah — her sleeves 
 rowled up to the elbow an' her hair in a winkin' 
 glory over her forehead, the big blue eyes beneath 
 twinklin' like stars on a frosty night, an' the tread 
 av her two feet lighter than waste-paper from the 
 Colonel's basket in ord'ly-room whin ut's emptied. 
 Bein' but a shlip av a girl she went pink at seein' 
 me, an' I twisted me moustache an' looked at a 
 picture forninst the wall. Niver show a woman 
 that ye care the snap av a finger for her, an' begad 
 she'll come bleatin' to your boot-heels ! ' 
 
 ' I suppose that's why you followed Annie Bragin 
 till everybody in the married quarters laughed at 
 you,' said I, remembering that unhallowed wooing 
 and casting off the disguise of drowsiness. 
 
 ' I'm layin' down the gin'ral theory av the attack,' 
 
U8 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 said Mulvaney, driving his boot into the dying firet 
 'If you read the Soldiet's Pocket-book, which niver 
 any soldier reads, you'll see that there are excep. 
 tipns. Whin Dinah was out av the door (an' 'twas 
 as tho' the sunlight had shut too) — "Mother av 
 Hiven, Sergint," sez I, " but is that your daughter ? " 
 — "I've believed that way these eighteen years," 
 sez ould Shadd, his eyes twinklin' ; "but Mrs. Shadd 
 has her own opinion, like iv'ry woman." — " 'Tis 
 wid yours this time, for a mericle," sez Mothei 
 Shadd. " Thin why in the name av fortune did 
 I niver see her before .' " sez I. " Bekaze you've 
 been thrapesin' round wid the married women these 
 three years past. She was a bit av a child till 'ast 
 year, an' she shot up wid the spring," sez ould 
 Mother Shadd. " I'll thrapese no more," sez I. 
 " D'you mane that.' " sez ould Mother Shadd, lookin' 
 at me side-ways like a hen looks at a hawk whin 
 the chickens are runnin' free. "Try me, an' tell," 
 sez I. Wid that I pulled on my gloves, dhrank off 
 the tay, an' went out av the house as stiff as at 
 gin'ral p'rade, for well I knew that Dinah Shadd's 
 eyes were in the small av my back out av the 
 scullery window. Faith ! that was the only time 
 I mourned I was not a cav'l'ry-man for the pride 
 av the spurs to jingle. 
 
 ■ ' I wint out to think, an' I did a powerful lot av 
 thinkin', but ut all came round to that shlip av a 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 1 19 
 
 girl in the dotted blue dhress, wid the blue eyes 
 an' the sparkil in them. Thin I kept off canteen, 
 an' I kept to the married quarthers, or near by, 
 on the chanst av meetin' Dinah. Did I meet her ? 
 Oh, my time past, did I not ; wid a lump in my 
 throat as big a§ my valise an' my heart goin' like 
 a farrier's forge on a Saturday morning.? 'Twas 
 "Good day to ye, Miss Dinah," an' "Good day 
 t'you, Corp'ril," for a week or two, and divil a bit 
 further could I get bekaze av the respect I had 
 to that girl that I cud ha' broken betune finger 
 an' thumb.' 
 
 Here I giggled as I recalled the gigantic figure 
 of Dinah Shadd when she handed me my shirt. 
 
 'Ye may laugh,' grunted Mulvaney. 'But I'm 
 speakin' the trut', an' 'tis you that are in fault. 
 Dinah was a girl that wud ha' taken the imperi- 
 ousness out av the Duchess av Clonmel in those 
 days. Flower hand, foot av shod air, an' the eyes 
 av the livin' momin' she had that is my wife to- 
 day — ould Dinah, and niver aught else than Dinah 
 Shadd to me. 
 
 "Twas after three weeks standin' off an' on, an' 
 niver makin' headway excipt through the eyes, 
 that a little drummer-boy grinned in me face whin 
 I had admonished him wid the buckle av my belt 
 for riotin' all over the place. "An' I'm not the 
 »o!y wan that doesn't kape to barricks," sez he. 
 
lao SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 I tuk him by the scruff av his neck, — my heart 
 was hung on a hair-thrigger those days, you will 
 onderstand, — an' "Out wid ut," sez I, "or I'll lave 
 no bone av you unbreakable." — " Speak to Demp- 
 sey," sez he howlin'. " Dempsey which ? " sez I, 
 "ye unwashed limb av Satan." — "Av the Bob- 
 tailed Dhragoons," sez he. " He's seen her home 
 from her aunt's house in the civil lines four times 
 this fortnight." — " Child ! " sez I, dhroppin' him, 
 "you're tongue's stronger than your body. Go to 
 your quarters. I'm sorry I dhressed you down." 
 
 'At that I went four ways to wanst huntin' 
 Dempsey. I was mad to think that wid all my 
 airs among women I shud ha' been chated by a 
 basin-faced fool av a cav'l'ry-man not fit to trust 
 on a trunk. Presintly I found him in our lines 
 — the Bobtails was quartered next us — an' a tal- 
 lowy, topheavy son av a she-mule he was wid his 
 big brass spurs an' his plastrons on his epigastrons 
 an' all. But he niver flinched a hair. 
 
 ' " A word wid you, Dempsey," sez I. "You've 
 walked wid Dinah Shadd four times this fortnight 
 gone." 
 
 '"What's that to you.?" sez he. "I'll walk 
 forty times more, an' forty on top av that, ye 
 shovel-futted clod-breakin' infantry lance-eorp'ril." 
 
 'Before I cud gyard he had his gloved fist home 
 on my cheek an' down I went full-sprawl. "Will 
 
'" My coUar-bune's bruk," sez lie.' — p. 121 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD lai 
 
 that content you ? " sez he, blowin' on his knuckles 
 for all the world like a Scots Greys orf 'cer. " Con- 
 tent!" sez I. "For your own sake, man, take off 
 your spurs, peel your jackut, an' onglove. 'Tis 
 the beginnin' av the overture ; stand up ! " 
 
 ' He stud all he know, but he niver peeled his 
 jacket, an' his shoulders had no fair play. I was 
 fightin' for Dinah Shadd an' that cut on my cheek. 
 What hope had he forninst me ? " Stand up," sez 
 I, time an' again whin he was beginnin' to quarter 
 the ground an' gyard high an' go large. " This isn't 
 ridin'-school," I sez. " O man, stand up an' let me 
 get in at ye." But whin I saw he wud be runnin' 
 about, I grup his shtock in my left an' his waist-belt 
 in my right an' swung him clear to my right front, 
 head undher, he hammerin' my nose till the wind 
 was knocked out av him on the bare ground. 
 " Stand up," sez I, " or I'll kick your head into your 
 chest ! " and I wud ha' done ut too, so ragin' mad I 
 was. 
 
 "'My collar-bone's bruk," sez he. "Help me 
 back to lines. I'll walk wid her no more." So I 
 helped him back.' 
 
 ' And was his collar-bone broken .' ' I asked, for 
 I fancied that only Learoyd could neatly accomplish 
 that terrible throw. 
 
 'He pitched on his left shoulder-point. Ut was. 
 Next day the news was in both barricks, an' whin I 
 
122 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 met Dinah Shadd wid a cheek on me like all the 
 reg'mintal tailors samples, there was no "Good 
 mornin', Corp'ril," or aught else. " An' what have I 
 done, Miss Shadd," sez I, very bould, plantin' mesilf 
 forninst her, "that ye should not pass the time of 
 day ? " 
 
 ' " Ye've half-killed rough-rider Dempsey," sez she, 
 her dear blue eyes fillin' up. 
 
 ' " Maybe," sez I. " Was he a friend av yours 
 that saw ye home four times in the fortnight .' " 
 
 '"Yes," sez she, but her mouth was down at the 
 corners. " An' — an' what's that to you } " she sez. 
 
 ' " Ask Dempsey," sez I, purtendin' to go away. 
 
 ' " Did you fight for me then, ye silly man .' " she 
 sez, tho' she knew ut all along. 
 
 '"Who else?" sez I, an' I tuk wan pace to the 
 front. 
 
 '"I wasn't worth ut," sez she, fingerin' in her apron. 
 
 ' " That's for me to say," sez I. " Shall I say ut ? " 
 
 ' " Yes," sez she in a saint's whisper, an' at that I 
 explained mesilf; and she tould me what ivry man 
 that is a man, an' many that is a woman, hears 
 wanst in his life. 
 
 ' " But what made ye cry at startin', Dinah, 
 darlin' .' " sez I. 
 
 ' " Your — your bloody cheek," sez she, duckin' 
 her little head down on my sash (I was on duty for 
 the day) an' whimperin' like a sorrowful angil. 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 12$ 
 
 ' Now a man cud take that two ways. I tuk ut 
 as pleased me best an' my first kiss wid ut. Mother 
 av Innocence ! but I kissed her on the tip av the 
 nose an' undher the eye ; an' a girl that lets a kiss 
 come tumbleways like that has nevef been kissed 
 before. Take note av that, Sorr. Thin we wint 
 hand in hand to ould Mother Shadd like two little 
 childher, an' she said 'twas no bad thing, an' ould 
 Shadd nodded behind his pipe, an' Dinah ran away 
 to her own room. That day I throd on rollin' 
 clouds. All earth was too small to hould me. Be- 
 gad, I cud ha' hiked the sun out av the sky for a 
 live coal to my pipe, so magnificent I was. But I 
 tuk recruities at squad-drill instid, an' began wid 
 general battalion advance whin I shud ha' been 
 balance-steppin' them. Eyah ! that day ! that day ! ' 
 
 A very long pause. ' Well ? ' said I. 
 
 ' 'Twas all wrong,' said Mulvaney, with an enor- 
 mous sigh. ' An' I know that ev'ry bit av ut was 
 my own foolishness. That night I tuk maybe the 
 half av three pints — not enough to turn the hair 
 of a man in his natural senses. But I was more 
 than half drunk wid pure joy, an' that canteen 
 beer was so much whisky to me. I can't tell 
 how it came about, but bekaze I had no thought 
 for any wan except Dinah, bekaze I hadn't slipped 
 her little white arms from my neck five minuts, 
 bekaze the breath of her kiss was not gone fron; 
 
IJ4 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 my mouth, I must go through the married lines 
 on my way to quarters an' I must stay talkin' to a 
 red-headed MuUingar heifer av a girl, Judy Sheehy, 
 that was daughter to Mother Sheehy, the wife of 
 Nick Sheehy, the canteen-sergint — the Black Curse 
 av Shielygh be on the whole brood that are above 
 groun' this day ! 
 
 ' " An' what are ye houldin' your head that high 
 for, Corp'ril ? " sez Judy. " Come in an' thry a cup 
 av tay," she sez, standin' in the doorway. Bein' an 
 ontrustable fool, an' thinkin' av anything but tay, 
 I wint. 
 
 ' " Mother's at canteen," sez Judy, smoothin' the 
 hair av hers that was like red snakes, an' lookin' 
 at me corner-ways out av her green cats' eyes. 
 "Ye will not mind, Corp'ril.?" 
 
 ' " I can endure," sez I ; ould Mother Sheehy bein' 
 no divarsion av mine, nor her daughter too. Judy 
 fetched the tea things an' put thim on the table, 
 leanin' over me very close to get thim square. I 
 dhrew back, thinkin' av Dinah. 
 
 '"Is ut afraid you are av a girl alone?" sez 
 Judy. 
 
 •"No," sez I. "Why should I be.?" 
 
 '"That rests wid the girl," sez Judy, dhrawin' 
 her chair next to mine. 
 
 ' " Thin there let ut rest," sez I ; an' thinkin' I'd 
 been a trifle onpolite, I sez, "The tay's not quite 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 125 
 
 sweet enough for my taste. Put your little finger 
 in the cup, Judy. 'Twill make ut necthar." 
 
 '"What's necthar?" sez she. 
 
 ' " Somethin' very sweet," sez I ; an' for the sin- 
 ful life av me I cud not help lookin' at her out av 
 the corner av my eye, as I was used to look at a 
 woman. 
 
 ' " Go on wid ye, Cor'pril," sez she. " You're a 
 flirrt." 
 
 ' " On me sowl I'm not." sez I. 
 
 ' " Then you're a cruel handsome man, an' that's 
 worse," sez she, heavin' big sighs an' lookin' cross- 
 ways. 
 
 ' " You know your own mind," sez I. 
 
 ' " 'Twud be better for me if I did not," she sez. 
 
 ' " There's a dale to be said on both sides av that," 
 sez I, unthinkin'. 
 
 ' " Say your own part av ut, then, Terence, dar- 
 lin'," sez she ; " for begad I'm thinkin' I've said too 
 much or too little for an honest girl," an' wid that 
 she put her arms round my neck an' kissed me. 
 
 '"There's no more to be said afther that," sez I, 
 kissin' her back again — oh the mane scutt that I 
 was, my head ringin' wid Dinah Shadd ! How does 
 ut come about, Sorr, that when a man has put the 
 comether on wan woman, he's sure bound to put it 
 on another? 'Tis the same thing at musketry. 
 Wan day ivry shot goes wide or into the bank, an' 
 
126 SOLDIER STORIES >:• 
 
 the next, lay high lay low, sight or snap, ye can't 
 get off the bull's-eye for ten shots runnin'.' 
 
 ' That only happens to a man who has had a good 
 deal of experience. He does it without thinking,' I 
 replied. 
 
 'Thankin' you for the complimint, Sorr, ut may 
 be so. But I'm doubtful whether you mint ut for a 
 complimint. Hear now; I sat there wid Judy on 
 my knee tellin' me all manner av nonsinse an' only 
 sayin' "yes" an' "no," when I'd much better ha' 
 kept tongue betune teeth. An' that was not an 
 hour afther I had left Dinah ! What I was thinkin' 
 av I cannot say. Presintly, quiet as a cat, ould 
 Mother Sheehy came in velvet-dhrunk. She had 
 her daughter's red hair, but 'twas bald in patches, 
 an' I could see in her wicked ould face, clear as 
 lightnin', what Judy wud be twenty years to come. 
 I was for jumpin' up, but Judy niver moved. 
 
 ' " Terence has proraust, mother," sez she, an* the 
 could sweat bruk out all over me. Ould Mother 
 Sheehy sat down of a heap an' began playii^' wid the 
 cups. "Thin you're a well-matched pair," she sez 
 very thick. " For he's the biggest rogue that iver 
 spoiled the queen's shoe-leather, an' " 
 
 "Tm off, Judy," sez I. "Ye should not talk 
 nonsinse to your mother. Get her to bed, girl." 
 
 '"Nonsinse!" sez the ould woman, prickin' up 
 her ears like a cat an' grippin* the table-edge. 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 127 
 
 '' 'Twill be the most nonsinsical nonsinse for you, 
 ye, grinnin' badger, if nonsinse 'tis. Git clear, you. 
 I'm goin' to bed." 
 
 ' I ran out into the dhark, my head in a stew an' 
 my heart sick, but I had sinse enough to see that I'd 
 brought ut all on mysilf. " It's this to pass the 
 time av day to a panjandhrum av hell-cats," sez I. 
 "What I've said, an' what I've not said do not 
 matther. Judy an' her dam will hould me for a 
 promust man, an' Dinah will give me the go, an' I 
 desarve ut. I will go an' get dhrunk," sez I, "an' 
 forget about ut, for 'tis plain I'm not a marrin' man." 
 
 ' On ray way to canteen I ran against Lascelles, 
 colour-sergeant that was av E comp'ny, a hard, hard 
 man, wid a torment av a wife. "You've the head 
 av a drowned man on your shoulders," sez he ; " an' 
 you're goin' where you'll get a woi'se wan. Come 
 back," sez he. " Let me go," sez I. " I've thrown 
 my luck over the wall wid my own hand ! " — " Then 
 that's not the way to get ut back again,'' sez he. 
 "Have out wid your throuble, you fool-bhoy." An' 
 I tould him how the matther was. 
 
 ' He sucked in his lower lip. " You've been 
 thrapped," sez he. "Ju Sheehy wud be the betther 
 for a man's name to hers as soon as can. An' ye 
 thought ye'd put the comether on her, — that's the 
 natural vanity of the baste. Terence, you're a big 
 born fool, but you're not bad enough to marry into 
 
u8 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 that comp'ny. If you said anythin', an* fpr all your 
 protestations I'm sure ye did — or did not, which is 
 worse, — eat ut all — lie like the father of all lies, 
 but come out av ut free av Judy. Do T not know 
 what ut is to marry a woman that was the very spit 
 an' image av Judy whin she was young ? I'm get- 
 tin' old an' I've larnt patience, but you, Terence, 
 you'd raise hand on Judy an' kill her in a year. 
 Never mind if Dinah gives you the go, you've 
 desarved ut; never mind if the whole reg'mint 
 laughs you all day. Get shut av Judy an* her 
 mother. They can't dhrag you to church, but if 
 they do, they'll dhrag you to hell. Go back to your 
 quarters anti lie down," sez he. Thin over his 
 shoulder, "You must ha' done with thim." 
 
 ' Next day I wint to see Dinah, but there was no 
 tucker in me as I walked. I knew the throuble wud 
 come soon enough widout any handlin' av mine, an' 
 I dreaded ut sore. 
 
 ' I heard Judy callin' me, but I hild straight on to 
 the Shadds' quarthers, an' Dinah wud ha' kissed me 
 but I put her back. 
 
 '"Whin all's said, darlin'," sez I, "you can give 
 ut me if ye will, tho' T misdoubt 'twill be so easy to 
 come by then." , 
 
 •I had scarce begun to put the explanation into 
 shape before Judy an' her mother came to the door. 
 I think there was a veranda, but I'm forgettin*. 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAK SHADD lag 
 
 ' " Will ye not step in ? " sez Dinah, pretty and 
 polite, though the Shadds had no dealin's with the 
 Sheehys. Old Mother Shadd looked up quick, an' 
 she was the fust to see the throuble ; for Dmah was 
 her daughter. 
 
 ' " I'm pressed for time to-day," sez Judy as bould 
 as brass; "an' I've only come for Terence, — my 
 promust man. 'Tis strange to find him here the day 
 afther the day." 
 
 ' Dinah looked at me as though I had hit her, an' 
 I answered straight. 
 
 ' " There was some nonsinse last night at the 
 Sheehys' quarthers, an' Judy's carryin' on the joke, 
 darlin'," sez I. 
 
 '"At the Sheehys' quarthers?" sez Dinah very 
 slow, an' Judy cut in wid : " He was there from nine 
 till ten, Dinah Shadd, an' the betther half av that 
 time I was sittin' on his knee, Dinah Shadd. Ye 
 may look an' ye may look an' ye may look me up 
 an' down, but ye won't look away that Terence is 
 my promust man. Terence, darlin', 'tis time for us 
 to be comin' home." 
 
 ' Dinah Shadd niver said word to Judy. " Ye left 
 me at half-past eight," she sez to me, "an' I niver 
 thought that ye'd leave me for Judy, — promises or 
 no promises. Go back wid her, you that have to be 
 fetched by a girl ! I'm done with you," sez she, and 
 she ran into her own room, her mother followin'. 
 
13© SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 So I was alone wid those two women and at liberty 
 to spake my sentiments. 
 
 '"Judy Sheehy," sez I, "if you made a fool av 
 me betune the lights you shall not do ut in the day. 
 I niver promised you words or lines." 
 
 ' " You lie," sez ould Mother Sheehy, " an' may ut 
 choke you where you stand ! " She was far gone in 
 dhrink. 
 
 ' " An' the' ut choked me where I stud I'd not 
 change," sez I. " Go home, Judy. I take shame 
 for a decent girl like you dhraggin' your mother out 
 bareheaded on this errand. Hear now, and have ut 
 for an answer. I gave my word to Dinah Shadd 
 yesterday, an', more blame to me, I was wid you last 
 night talkin' nonsinse but nothin' more. You've 
 chosen to thry to hould me on ut. I will not be 
 held thereby for anythin' in the world. Is that 
 enough .' " 
 
 'Judywint pink all over. "An' I wish you joy 
 av the perjury," sez she, duckin' a curtsey. "You've 
 lost a woman that would ha' wore her hand to the 
 bone for your pleasure ; an' 'deed, Terence, ye were 
 not thrapped. ..." Lascelles must ha' spoken plain 
 to her. " I am such as Dinah is — 'deed I am ! Ye've 
 lost a fool av a girl that'll niver look at you again, 
 and ye've lost what ye niver had — your common 
 honesty. If you manage your men as you manage 
 your love jnakin', smg,ll wondher they call you the 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 131 
 
 worst corp'ril in the comp'ny. Come away, mother," 
 sez she. 
 
 'But divil a fut would the ould woman budge! 
 "D'you hould by that?" sez she, peerin' up under 
 her thick gray eyebrows. 
 
 ' " Ay, an' wud," sez I, " the' Dinah gave me the 
 go twinty times. I'll have no thruck with you or 
 yours," sez I. "Take your child away, ye shameless 
 woman." 
 
 ' " An' am I shameless .■' " sez she, bringin' her 
 hands up above her head. " Thin what are you, ye 
 lyin', schamin', weak-kneed, dhirty-souled son av a 
 sutler ? Am I shameless .? Who put the open 
 shame on me an' my child that we shud go beggin' 
 through the lines in the broad daylight for the 
 broken word of a man } Double portion of my 
 shame be on you, Terence Mulvaney, that think 
 yourself so strong ! By Mary and the saints, by 
 blood and water an' by ivry sorrow that came into 
 the world since the beginnin', the black blight fall 
 on you and yours, so that you may niver be free 
 from pain for another when ut's not your own ! 
 May your heart bleed in your breast drop by drop 
 wid all your friends laughin' at the bleedin' ! Strong 
 you think yourself .? May your strength be a curse 
 to you to dhrive you into the divil's hands against 
 your own will ! Clear-eyed you are ? May your 
 eyes see clear evry step av the dark path you take 
 
132 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 till the hot cindhers av hell put thim out ! May the 
 ragin' dry thirst in my own ould bones go to you 
 that you shall niver pass bottle full nor glass empty. 
 God preserve the light av your onderstandin' to you, 
 my jewel av a bhoy, that ye may niver forget what 
 you mint to be an' do, whin you're wallowin' in the 
 muck! May ye see the betther and follow the 
 worse as long as there's breath in your body; an' 
 may ye die quick in a strange land, watchin' your 
 death before ut takes you, an' enable to stir hand or 
 foot!" 
 
 ' I heard a scufHin' in the room behind, and thin 
 Dinah Shadd's hand dhropped into mine like a rose- 
 leaf into a muddy road. 
 
 ' " The half av that I'll take," sez she, " an' more 
 too if I can. Go home, ye silly talkin' woman, — go 
 home an' confess." 
 
 ' " Come away ! Come away ! " sez Judy, pullin' 
 her mother by the shawl. " 'Twas none av Terence's 
 fault. For the love av Mary stop the talkin' ! " 
 
 ' " An' you ! " said ould Mother Sheehj', spinnin' 
 round forninst Dinah. "Will ye take the half av 
 that man's load .' Stand off from him, Dinah Shadd, 
 before he takes you down too — you that look to be a 
 quarther-master-sergeant's wife in five years. You 
 look too high, child. You shall wash for the 
 quarther-master-sergeant, whin he plases to give you 
 the job out av charity ; but a privit's wife you shall 
 
'The half av tliat I'll take," sez she.' — P. 132. 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 133 
 
 be to the end, an' evry sorrow of a privit's wife you 
 shall know and niver a joy but wan, that shall go 
 from you like the running tide from a rock. The 
 pain av bearin' you sha:ll know but niver the pleasure 
 av giving the breast ; an' you shall put away a man- 
 child into the common ground wid niver a priest to 
 say a prayer over him, an' on that man-child ye 
 shall think ivry day av your life. Think long, 
 Dinah Shadd, for you'll niver have another tho' you 
 pray till your knees are bleedin'. The mothers av 
 childer shall mock you behind your back when 
 you're wringing over the wash-tub. You shall know 
 what ut is to help a dhrunken husband home an' see 
 him go to the gyard-room. Will that plase you, 
 Dinah Shadd, that won't be seen talkin' to my 
 daughter.' You shall talk to worse than Judy before 
 all's over. The sergints' wives shall look down on 
 you contemptuous, daughter av a sergint, an' you 
 shall cover ut all up wid a smiling face whin your 
 heart's burstin'. Stand off av him, Dinah Shadd, 
 for I've put the Black Curse of Shielygh upon him 
 an' his own mouth shall make ut good." 
 
 'She pitched forward on her head an' began 
 foamin' at the mouth. Dinah Shadd ran out wid 
 water, an' Judy dhragged the ould woman into the 
 <reranda till she sat up. 
 
 '"I'm old an' forlore," she sez, thremblin' an' 
 cryin", " and 'tis like I say a dale more than I mane." 
 
134 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 '"When you're able to walk — go," says ould 
 Mother Shadd. "This house has no place for the 
 likes av you that have cursed my daughter." 
 
 ' " Eyah ! " said the ould woman. " Hard words 
 break no bones, an' Dinah Shadd'll kape the love av 
 her husband till my bones are green corn. Judy, 
 darlin', I misremember what I came here for. Can 
 you lend us the bottom av a taycup av tay, Mrs. 
 Shadd ? " 
 
 'But Judy dhragged her off cryin' as tho' her 
 heart wud break. An' 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 th;n, 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.?' 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 13S 
 
 I thought a good deal, but it seemed better then 
 to reach out for Mulvaney's hand. The demon- 
 stration 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 lingers. 
 
 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 ad- 
 mirers by the major force. 
 
 'You've crumpled my dress-shirt 'orrid,' said he, 
 ' an' I shan't sing no more to this 'ere bloorain' 
 drawin'-room.' 
 
 Learoyd, roused by the confusion, uncoiled him- 
 self, 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 High- 
 way, of this song : — 
 
136 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 stuclc and the bay'nit bruk, 
 
 An' all I got was the scar. 
 
 Chortu. 
 
 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. 
 
 1 served my time for a coip'ral, 
 An' wetted my stripes with pop, 
 
 For I went on the bend with a intimate fiiend, 
 An' finished the night in the ' shop.' 
 
THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD J37 
 
 I served my time for a sergeant ; 
 
 The colonel 'e ser ' No! 
 The most you'll see is a full C.B.' 1 
 
 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 grasa, 
 
 An' that is why I'm 'ere. 
 
 I've tasted the luck 0' 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 the' 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 abomi- 
 
 ' Confined to birracka. 
 
'38 
 
 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 hably. ' But he's talkin' bitter truth, though. 
 Eyah ! 
 
 ' My very worst frind from beginnin' to ind 
 Bv 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. 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA 
 
 MULVANEY 
 
 Wohl auf, my bully cavalievs 
 
 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 accoutre- 
 ments specklessly clean, to refrain from getting 
 drunk more often than is necessary, to obey their 
 
 139 
 
I40 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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, resource- 
 ful, 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 Yorkshire- 
 man, born on the wolds, bred in the dales, and 
 educated chiefly among the carriers' carts at the 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 141 
 
 back of York railway-station. His name was Lea- 
 royd, 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 can- 
 not 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 regi- 
 ment 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 begin- 
 ning, 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' 
 
142 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 sodger — he's a bloomin' civilian. 'Taint natural 
 — that's all.' 
 
 But that was not all. They thawed progres- 
 sively, and in the thawing told me more of their 
 lives and adventures than I am ever likely to 
 Avrite. 
 
 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 dis- 
 pose 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 
 soHier of his inches ' in the regiment. - Mulvaney 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY I43^ 
 
 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 'coutre- 
 ments 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 occa- 
 sionally 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 &, 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 
 
144 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 peacock skins which he sold to profit. It ssemed 
 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,' 
 Vailed Mulvaney, looking at me reproachfully. * An' 
 11 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 medita- 
 tively the while : — 
 
 ' Go forth, return in glory, 
 To Qusium's royal 'ome: 
 An' round these bloomin' temples 'ang 
 The bloomin' shields o' Rome. 
 
 Tou 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' tumin' 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 
 ftlong 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. 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY I4S 
 
 And Mulvaney went; cursing his allies with 
 Irish fluency and barrack-room point. 
 
 ' Take note,' said he, when he had won his holi- 
 day, 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 per- 
 miscuous huntin' afther peacockses in a desolit Ian'; 
 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 smok- 
 ing 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 commu- 
 nicated itself to the half-roused man. He under- 
 stood — 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. 
 
146 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 Barrack-room etiquette is stringent. On the 
 direct challenge must follow the direct reply. 
 This is more binding than the ties of tried friend- 
 ship. 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 — him'- 
 self as greatly bewildered. Ortheris dropped from 
 the table because his world was falling. 
 
 'Come outside,' said Mulvaney, and as the oc- 
 cupants 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 ii. 
 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.' 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 147 
 
 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. 
 
 ' Follow in' your fools' scheme I wint out into 
 the thrackless desert beyond the banicks. 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 timor- 
 eously, 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 
 
148 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 kyart-dhriver. "In the shed," sez he, "engaged on 
 a riffle." — "A f what ? " sez I. "Riffle," sez he. 
 " You take ticket. He take money. You get noth- 
 in'." — "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 f orninst 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' scat- 
 thered 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 
 
^ " C)ut of this," sez he, " I'm in chLirp;t; av this section av construction." — 
 ' I'm in charge av mesilf," sez I, " an' it's hke I will stay a while." ' — P. 149- 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 149 
 
 was a palanquin. Don't yer know a palanquin when 
 you see it ? ' said Ortheris with great scorn. 
 
 ' 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 cheer- 
 ful 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 construc- 
 tion." — "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. "Noth- 
 in'," 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 
 
ISO SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 montli 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 trapese- 
 mints. 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 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 151 
 
 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 at- 
 tack — fut, horse, an' guns — an' all for nothin', 
 seein' 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-earne4 
 emolumints, an' by presint informashin' " — 'twas 
 the kyart man that tould me — "ye've been perpe- 
 thrating 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 I Ho I ' from Learoyd and Ortheris. 
 
 'That man Dearsley's rushin' on his fate,' con- 
 tinued 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 remon- 
 strince may change the chune av his life. " 'Tis not 
 
15* SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 for me to argue,* sez I, "fwhatever ye are, Mistei 
 Dearsley, but, by my hand, I'll take away tho 
 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 
 oul4 bould hand," sez he, sizin' up me an' down ; " an' 
 a jool of a fight we will have. Eat now an' dhrinlij 
 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 furni- 
 ture, 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. 
 Af ther the business 'twill take a good three av us ^ 
 Jock'U be very hurt — to haul away that sedan-chair." 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 153 
 
 ' 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'U we do with the bloomin' article when 
 . we've got it .' Them palanquin? 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 embar- 
 rassing 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 : — 
 
 • We were at work. Three men in red coats came. 
 They saw the Sahib — Dearsky Sahib. They made 
 
154 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 oration; and noticeably the small man among the 
 red-coats. Dearsley Sahib also made oration, and 
 used many very strong words. Upon this talk they 
 departed together to an open space, and there the fat 
 man in the red coat fought with Dearsley Sahib after 
 the custom of white men — with his hands, making 
 no noise, and never at all pulling Dearsley Sahib's 
 hair. Such of us as were not afraid beheld these 
 things for just so long a time as a man needs to cook 
 the mid-day meal. The small man in the red coat had 
 possessed himself of Dearsley Sahib's watch. No, 
 he did not steal that watch. He held it in his hand, 
 and at certain seasons made outcry, and the twain 
 ceased their combat, which was like the combat of 
 young bulls in spring. Both men were soon all red, 
 but Dearsley Sahib was much mdre red than the 
 other. Seeing this, and fearing for his life — because 
 we greatly loved him — some fifty of us made shift 
 to rush upon the red-coats. But a certain man, — 
 very black as to the hair, and in no way to be con- 
 fused with the small man, or the fat man who fought, 
 — that man, we affirm, ran upon us, and of us he 
 embraced some ten or fifty in both arms, and beat 
 our heads together, so that our livers turned to water, 
 and we ran away. It is not good to interfere in the 
 fightings of white men. After that Dearsley Sahib fell 
 and did not rise, these men jumped upon his stomach 
 and despoiled him of all his money, and attempted to 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY ■ ISS 
 
 fire the pay-shed, and departed. Is it true th^t 
 Dearsley Sahib makes no complaint of these latter 
 things having been done ? We were senseless witl? 
 fear, and do not at all remember. There was no pal- 
 anquin near the pay-shed. What do we know about 
 palanquins ? Is it true that Dearsley Sahib does not 
 return to this place, on account of his sickness, for 
 ten days ? This is the fault of those bad men in 
 the red coats, who should be severely punished ; for 
 Dearsley Sahib is both our father and mother, and 
 we love him much. Yet, if Dearsley Sahib does not 
 return to this place at all, we will speak the truth. 
 There was a palanquin, for the up-keep of which we 
 were forced to pay nine-tenths of our monthly wage. 
 On such mulctings Dearsley Sahib allowed us to 
 make obeisance to him before the palanquin. What 
 could we do .' We were poor men. He took a full 
 half of our wages. Will the Government repay us 
 those moneys.' Those three men in red coats bore 
 the palanquin upon their shoulders and departed. 
 All the money that Dearsley Sahib had taken from 
 us was in the cushions of that palanquin. Therefore 
 they stole it. Thousands of rupees were there — all 
 our money. It was our bank-box, to fill which we 
 cheerfully contributed to Dearsley Sahib three- 
 sevenths of our monthly wage. Why does the white 
 man look upon us with the eye of disfavour.? Before 
 God, there was a palanquin, and now there is no 
 
tj* SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 palanquin ; and if they send the police here to make 
 inquisition, we can only say that there never has been 
 any palanquin. Why should a palanquin be near 
 these works ? We are poor men, and we know 
 nothing.' 
 
 Such is the simplest version of the simplest story 
 connected with the descent upon Dearsley. From 
 the lips of the coolies I received it. Dearsley him- 
 self was in no condition to say anything, and Mul- 
 vaney preserved a massive silence, broken only hf 
 the occasional licking of the lips. He had seen a 
 fight so gorgeous that even his power of speech was 
 taken from him. I respected that reserve until, three 
 days after the affair, I discovered in a disused stable 
 in my quarters a palanquin of unchastened splendour 
 — evidently in past days the litter of a queen. The 
 pole whereby it swung between the shoulders of the 
 bearers was rich with the painted papier-mack^ of 
 Cashmere. The shoulder-pads were of yellow silk. 
 The panels of the litter itself were ablaze with the 
 loves of all the gods and goddesses of the Hindu 
 Pantheon — lacquer on cedar. The cedar sliding 
 doors were fitted with hasps of translucent Jaipur 
 enamel and ran in grooves shod with silver. The 
 cushions were of brocaded Delhi silk, and the cur- 
 tains which once hid any glimpse of the beauty of 
 the king's palace were stiff with gold. Closer inves- 
 tigation showed that the entire fabric was every 
 
'Nine roun's they were even niatcheil, an' at the tenth .' — l'. I57 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MTJLVANEY 157 
 
 where rubbed and discoloured by time and wear; 
 but even thus it was sufficiently gorgeous to deserve 
 housing on the threshold of a royal zenana. I found 
 no fault with it, except that it was in my stable. 
 Then, trying to lift it by the silver-shod shoulder-pole, 
 I laughed. The road from Dearsley's pay-shed to 
 the cantonment was a narrow and uneven one, and, 
 traversed by three very inexperienced palanquin- 
 bearers, one of whom was sorely battered about the 
 head, must have been a path of torment. Still I 
 did not quite recognise the right of the three 
 musketeers to turn me into a ' fence ' for stolen 
 property. 
 
 ' I'm askin' you to warehouse ut,' said Mulvaney, 
 when he was brought to consider the question. 
 ' There's no steal in ut. Dearsley tould us we cud 
 have ut if we fought. Jock fought — an', oh, Sorr, 
 when the throuble was at uts finest an' Jock was 
 bleedin"^ like a stuck pig, an' little Orth'ris was 
 shquealin' on one leg chewin' big bites out av 
 Dearsley's watch, I wud ha' given my place at the 
 fight to have had you see wan round. He tuk Jock, 
 as I suspicioned he would, an' Jock was deceptive. 
 Nine roun's they were even matched, an' at the 
 
 tenth About that palanquin now. There's not 
 
 the least throuble in the world, or we wud not ha' 
 brought ut here. You will ondherstand that the 
 Queen — God bless her! — does not reckon for » 
 
IS* SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 privit soldier to kape elephints an' palanquins an' 
 sich in barricks. Afther we had dhragged ut down 
 from Dearslcys through that cruel scrub that near 
 broke Orth'ris's heart, we set ut in the ravine for a 
 night ; an' a thief av a porcupine an' a civet-cat av 
 a jackal roosted in ut, as well we knew in the 
 mornin'. I put ut to you, Sorr, is an elegint palan- 
 quin, fit for the princess, the natural abidin' place av 
 all the vermin in cantonmints ? We brought ut to 
 you, afther dhark, and put ut in your shtable. Do 
 not let your conscience prick. Think av the rejoicin' 
 men in the pay-shed yonder — lookin' at Dearsley 
 wid his head tied up in a towel — an' well knowin' 
 that they can dhraw their pay ivry month widout 
 stoppages for riffles. Indirectly, Sorr, you have 
 rescued from an onprincipled son av a night-hawk 
 the peasanthry av a numerous village. An' besides, 
 will I let that sedan-chair rot on our hands.' Not 
 I. 'Tis not every day a piece av pure joolry comes 
 into the market. There's not a king widin these 
 forty miles' — he waved his hand round the dusty 
 horizon — ' not a king wud not be glad to buy ut. 
 Some day mesilf, whin I have leisure, I'll take ut up 
 along the road an' dishpose av ut.' 
 
 ' How ? ' said I, for I knew the man was capable 
 of anything. 
 
 ' Get into ut, av coorse, and keep wan eye open 
 through the curtains. Whin I see a likely man av 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 'isg 
 
 the native persuasion, I will descind blushin' from 
 my canopy and say, " Buy a palanquin, ye black 
 scutt?" I will have to hire four men to carry me 
 first, though; and that's impossible till next pay- 
 day.' 
 
 Curiously enough, Learoyd, who had fought for 
 the prize, and in the winning secured the highest 
 pleasure life had to offer him, was altogether dis- 
 posed to undervalue it, while Ortheris openly said 
 k would be better to break the thing up. Dearsley, 
 he argued, might be a many-sided man, capable, 
 despite his magnificent fighting qualities, of setting 
 in motion the machinery of the civil law — a thing 
 much abhorred by the soldier. Under any circum- 
 stances their fun had come and passed ; the next 
 pay-day was close at hand, when there would be 
 beer for all. Wherefore longer conserve the painted 
 palanquin ? 
 
 'A first-class rifle-shot an' a good little man av 
 your inches you are,' said Mulvaney. ' But you 
 niver had a head worth a soft-boiled egg. 'Tis 
 me has to lie awake av nights schamin' an' plottin' 
 for the three av us. Orth'ris, me son, 'tis no mat- 
 ther av a few gallons av beer — no, nor twenty 
 gallons — but tubs an' vats an' firkins in that sedan, 
 chair. Who ut was, an' what ut was, an' how ut 
 got there, we do not know; but I know in my 
 bones that you an' me an' Jock wid his sprained 
 
lao ' SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 thumb will get a fortune thereby. Lave me alon«, 
 an' let me think.' 
 
 Meantime the palanquin stayed in my stall, the 
 key of which was in Mulvaney's hands. 
 
 Pay-day came, and with it beer. It was not in 
 experience to hope that Mulvaney, dried by four 
 weeks' drought, would avoid excess. Next morn- 
 ing he and the palanquin had disappeared. He 
 had taken the precaution of getting three days' 
 leave 'to see a friend on the railway,' and the 
 Colonel, well knowing that the seasonal outburst 
 was near, and hoping it would spend its force 
 beyond the limits of his jurisdiction, cheerfully gave 
 him all he demanded. At this point Mulvaney's 
 history, as recorded in the mess-room, stopped. 
 
 Ortheris carried it not much further. ' No, 'e 
 wasn't drunk,' said the little man loyally, 'the 
 liquor was no more than feelin' its way round 
 inside of 'im ; but 'e went an' filled that 'ole 
 bloomin' palanquin with bottles 'fore 'e went off. 
 'E's gone an' 'ired six men to carry 'im, an' I 'ad 
 to 'elp 'im into 'is nupshal couch, 'cause 'e wouldn't 
 'ear reason. 'E's gone off in 'is shirt an' trousies, 
 swearin' tremenjus — gone down the road- in the 
 palanquin, wavin' 'is legs out o' windy.' 
 
 'Yes,' said I, 'but where .>' 
 
 ' Now you arx me a question. 'E said 'e was 
 goin' to sell that palanquin, but from observations 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY iCi 
 
 what happened when I was stuffin' 'im through the 
 door, I fancy 'e's gone to the new embankment to 
 mock at Dearsley. 'Soon as Jock's off duty I'm 
 goin' there to see if 'e's safe — not Mulvaney, but 
 t'other man. My saints, but I pity 'im as 'elps 
 Terence out o' the palanquin when 'e's once fair 
 drunk ! ' 
 
 ' He'll come back without harm,' I said. 
 
 ' 'Corse 'e will. On'y question is, what'll 'e be 
 doin" on the road ? Killing Dearsley, like as not. 
 'E shouldn't 'a gone without Jock or me.' 
 
 Reinforced by Learoyd, Ortheris sought the fore- 
 man of the coolie-gang. Dearsley' s head was still 
 embellished with towels. Mulvaney, drunk or sober, 
 would have struck no man in that condition, and 
 Dearsley indignantly denied that he would have 
 taken advantage of the intoxicated brave. 
 
 ' I had my pick o' you two,' he explained to 
 Learoyd, 'and you got my palanquin — not before 
 I'd made ray profit on it. Why'd I do harm when 
 everything's settled.'' Your man did come here — 
 drunk as Davy's sow on a frosty night — came 
 a-purpose to mock me — stuck his head out of the 
 door an' called me a crucified hodman. I m.ade 
 him drunker, an' sent him along. But I nevei 
 touched him.' 
 
 To these things Learoyd, slow to perceive tht 
 evidences of sincerity, answered only, ' If owt comej 
 
 M 
 
t63 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 to Mulvaaney 'long o' you, I'll gripple you, clouts or 
 no clouts on your ugly head, an' I'll draw t' throat 
 twisty ways, man. See there now.' / 
 
 The embassy removed itself, and Dearsley, the 
 battered, laughed alone over his supper that evening. 
 
 Three days passed — a fourth and a fifth. The 
 week drew to a close and Mulvaney did not return. 
 He, his royal palanquin, and his six attendants, had 
 vanished into air. A very large and very tipsy 
 soldier, his feet sticking out of the litter of a reigning 
 princess, is not a thing to travel along the ways with- 
 out comment. Yet no man of all the country round 
 had seen any such wonder. He was, and he was 
 not; and Learoyd suggested the immediate smash- 
 ment of Dearsley as a sacrifice to his ghost. Ortheris 
 insisted that all was well, aild in the light of past ex- 
 perience his hopes seemed reasonable. 
 
 ' When Mulvaney goes up the road,' said he, * 'e's 
 like to go a very long ways up, specially when 'e's 
 so blue drunk as 'e is now. But what gits me is 'is 
 not bein' 'eard of puUin' wool off the niggers some- 
 wheres about. That don't look good. The drink 
 must ha' died out in 'im by this, unless 'e's broke a 
 bank, an' then — why don't 'e come back.' 'E 
 didn't ought to ha' gone off without us,' 
 
 Even Ortheris's heart sank at the end of the 
 seventh day, for half the regiment were out scouring 
 the countryside, and Learoyd had been forced to 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 163 
 
 fight two men who hinted openly that Mulvaney 
 had deserted. To do him justice, the Colonel laughed 
 at the notion, even when it was put forward by his 
 much-trusted Adjutant. 
 
 ' Mulvaney would as soon think of deserting as 
 you would,' said he. ' No ; he's either fallen into a 
 mischief among the villagers — and yet that isn't 
 likely, for he'd blarney himself out of the Pit; or 
 else he is engaged on urgent private affairs — some 
 stupendous devilment that we shall hear of at mess 
 after it has been the round of the barrack-rooms. 
 The worst of it is that I shall have to give him 
 twenty-eight days' confinement at least for being 
 absent without leave, just when I most want him to 
 lick the new batch of recruits into shape. I never 
 knew a man who could put a polish on young 
 soldiers as quickly as Mulvaney can. How does he 
 do it .' ' 
 
 ' With blarney and the buckle-end of a belt, Sir,' 
 said the Adjutant. ' He is worth a couple of non- 
 commissioned officers when we are dealing with an 
 Irish draft, and the London lads seem to adore him. 
 The worst of it is that if he goes to the cells the 
 other two are neither to hold nor to bind till he 
 comes out again. I believe Ortheris preaches mutiny 
 on those occasions, and I know that the mere pres- 
 ence of Learoyd mourning for Mulvaney kills all 
 the cheerfulness of his room. The sergeants tell me 
 
l64 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 that he allows no man to laugh when he feels un- 
 happy. They are a queer gang.' 
 
 ' For all that, I wish we had a few more of them. 
 I like a well-conducted regiment, but these pasty- 
 faced, shifty-eyed, mealy-mouthed young slouchers 
 from the Depot worry me sometimes with their 
 offensive virtue. They don't seem to have back- 
 bone enough to do anything but play cards and 
 prowl round the married quarters. I believe I'd 
 forgive that old villain on the spot if he turned up 
 with any sort of explanation that I could in decency 
 accept.' 
 
 ' Not likely to be much difficulty about that, Sir,' 
 said the Adjutant. ' Mulvaney's explanations are 
 only one degree less wonderful than his perform- 
 ances. They say that when he was in the Black 
 Tyrone, before he came to us, he was discovered 
 on the banks of the Liffey trying to sell his colo- 
 nel's charger to a Donegal dealer as a perfect 
 lady's hack. Shackbolt commanded the Tyrone 
 then.' 
 
 ' Shackbolt must have had apoplexy at the 
 thought of his ramping war-horses answering to 
 that description. He used to buy unbacked devils, 
 and tame them on some pet theory of starvation. 
 What did Mulvaney say .'' ' 
 
 'That he was a member of the Society for the 
 Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, anxious to "sell 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 165 
 
 the poor baste where he would get something to fill 
 out his dimples." Shackbolt laughed, but I fancy 
 that was why Mulvaney exchanged to ours.' 
 
 'I wish he were back,' said the Colonel; 'for I 
 like him and believe he likes me.' 
 
 That evening, to cheer our souls, Learoyd, Orthe- 
 ris, and I went into the waste to smoke out a por- 
 cupine. All the dogs attended, but even their 
 clamour — and they began to discuss the short- 
 comings of porcupines before they left canton- 
 ments — could not take us out of ourselves. A 
 large, low moon turned the tops of the plume- 
 grass to silver, and the stunted camelthorn bushes 
 and sour tamarisks into the likenesses of trooping 
 devils. The smell of the sun had not left the 
 earth, and little aimless winds blowing across the 
 rose-gardens to the southward brought the scent 
 of dried roses and water. Our fire once started, 
 and the dogs craftily disposed to wait the dash of 
 the porcupine, we climbed to the top of a rain- 
 scarred hillock of earth, and looked across the scrub 
 seamed with cattle paths, white with the long grass, 
 and dotted with spots of level pond-bottom, where 
 the snipe would gather in winter. 
 
 'This,' said Ortheris, with a sigh, as he took in 
 the unkempt desolation of it all, 'this is sangui- 
 nary. This is unusually sanguinary. Sort o' mad 
 country. Like a grate when the fire's put out by 
 
1 66 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 the sun.' He shaded his eyes against the moon- 
 light. ' An' there's a loony dancin' in the middle 
 of it all. Quite right. I'd dance too if I wasn't 
 so downheart.' 
 
 There pranced a Portent in the face of the 
 moon — a huge and ragged spirit of the waste, that 
 flapped its wings irom afar. It had risen out of 
 the earth; it was coming towards us, and its out- 
 line was never twice the same. The toga, table- 
 cloth, or dressing-gown, .whatever the creature wore, 
 took a hundred shapes. Once it stopped on a 
 neighbouring mound and flung all its legs and arms 
 to the winds. 
 
 ' My, but that scarecrow 'as got 'em bad ! ' said 
 Ortheris. ' Seems like if 'e comes any furder we'll 
 'ave to argify with 'im.' 
 
 Learoyd raised himself from the dirt as a bull 
 clears his flanks of the wallow. And as a bull 
 bellows, so he, after a short minute at gaze, gave 
 tongue to the stars. 
 
 ' MULVAANEY ! MULVAANEY ! A-hoO ! ' 
 
 Oh then it was that we yelled, and the figure 
 dipped into the hollow, till, with a crash of rending 
 grass, the lost one strode up to the light of the fir 
 and disappeared to the waist in a wave of joyous 
 dogs ! Then Learoyd and Ortheris gave greeting, 
 bass and falsetto together, both swallowing a lump 
 in the throat. 
 
There pranced a Portent in the face of the moon. — P. i66. 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 167 
 
 ' You damned fool ! ' said they, and severally- 
 pounded him with their fists. 
 
 ' Go easy ! ' he answered ; wrapping a huge arm 
 round each. ' I would have you to know that I 
 am a god, to be treated as such — tho', by my 
 faith, I fancy I've got to go to the guard-room just 
 like a privit soldier.' 
 
 The latter part of the sentence destroyed the 
 suspicions raised by the former. Any one would 
 have been justified in regarding Mulvaney as mad. 
 He was hatless and shoeless, and his shirt an(J 
 trousers were droppmg off him. But he wore one 
 wbndrous garment — a gigantic cloak that fell from 
 collar-bone to heel — of pale pink silk, wrought all 
 over in cunningest needlework of hands long since 
 dead, with the loves of the Hindu gods. The 
 monstrous figures leaped in and out of the light 
 of the fire as he settled the folds round him. 
 
 Ortheris handled the stuff respectfully for a 
 moment while I was trying to remember where I 
 had seen it before. Then he screamed, 'What 
 ^ave you done with the palanquin } You're wearin' 
 the linin'.' 
 
 ' I am,' said the Irishman, ' an' by the same token 
 the 'broidery is scrapin' my hide off. I've lived in 
 this sumpshus counterpane for four days. Me son, 
 I begin to ondherstand why the naygur is no use. 
 Wldout me boots, an' mc trousies like an openwork 
 
r68 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 stocking on a gyurl's leg at a dance, I begin to feel 
 like a naygur-man — all fearful an' timoreous. Givi 
 me a pipe an' I'll tell on.' 
 
 He lit a pipe, resumed his grip of his two friends, 
 and rocked to and fro in a gale of laughter. 
 
 ' Mulvaney,' said Ortheris sternly, ' 'taint no time 
 for laughin'. You've given Jock an' me more 
 trouble than you're worth. You 'ave been absent 
 without leave an' you'll go into cells for that; an' 
 you 'ave come back disgustin'ly dressed an' most 
 improper in the linin' o' that bloomin' palanquin. 
 Instid of which you laugh. An' we thought you 
 was dead all the time.' 
 
 ' Bhoys,' said the culprit, still shaking gently, 
 'whin I've done my tale you may cry if you like, 
 an' little Orth'ris here can thrample my inside out. 
 Ha' done an' listen. My performinces have been 
 stupenjus : my luck has been the blessed luck av 
 the British Army — an' there's no betther than 
 that. I went out dhrunk an' dhrinkin' in the 
 palanquin, and I have come back a pink god. Did 
 any of you go to Dearsley afther my time was up ? 
 He was at the bottom of ut all.' 
 
 ' Ah said so,' murmured Learoyd. ' To-morrow 
 ah'll smash t' face in upon his heead.' 
 
 'Ye will not. Dearsley's a jool av a man. Af 
 ther Ortheris had put me into the palanquin aft 
 the six bearer-men were gruntin' down the rot;' 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 169 
 
 * tuk thought to mock Dearsley for that fight. So 
 I tould thim, "Go to the embankmint," and there, 
 bein' most amazin' full, I shtuck my head out av 
 the concern an' passed compliments wid Dearsley. 
 I must ha' miscalled him outrageous, for whin I am 
 that way the power av the tongue comes on me. 
 I can bare remimber tellin' him that his mouth 
 opened endways like the mouth av a skate, which 
 was thrue afther Learoyd had handled ut; an' I 
 clear remimber his takin' no manner nor matter 
 av offence, but givin' me a big dhrink of beer. 
 'Twas the beer did the thrick, for I crawled back 
 into the palanquin, steppin' on me right ear wid 
 me left foot, an' thin 1 slept like the dead. Wanst 
 I half roused, an' begad the noise in my head was 
 treraenjus — roarin' and rattlin' an' poundin', such 
 as was quite new to me. " Mother av Mercy," 
 thinks I, "phwat a concertina I will have on my 
 shoulders whin I wake ! " An' wid that I curls 
 mysilf up to sleep before ut should get hould on 
 me. Bhoys, that noise was not dhrink, 'twas the 
 rattle av a thrain ! ' 
 
 There followed an impressive pause. 
 
 'Yes, he had put me on a thrain — put me pal- 
 anquin an' all, an' six black assassins av his own 
 coolies that was in his nefarious confidence, on the 
 flat av a ballast-thruck, and we were rowlin' an' 
 bowlin' along to Benares. Glory be that I did not 
 
170 SOLJ3IER STORIES 
 
 wake up thin an' introjuce mysilf to the coolies- 
 As I was sayin' I slept for the betther part av 
 a day an' a night. But remimber you, that that 
 man Dearsley had packed me off on wan av his 
 material-thrains to Benares, all for to make me 
 overstay my leave an' get me into the cells.' 
 
 The explanation was an eminently rational one. 
 Benares lay at least ten hours by rail from the 
 cantonments, and nothing in the world could have 
 saved Mulv^ney from arrest as a deserter had he 
 appeared the're in the apparel of his orgies. Dears- 
 ley had not forgotten to take revenge. Learoyd, 
 drawing back a little, began to play soft blows over 
 selected portions of Mulvaney's body. His thoughts 
 were away on the embankment, and they meditated 
 evil for Dearsley. Mulvaney continued : — 
 
 ' Whin I was full awake the palanquin was set 
 down in a street, I suspicioned, for I cud hear 
 people passin' an' talkin'. But I knew well I was 
 far from. home. There is a queer smell upon our 
 cantonments — a smell av dried earth and brick- 
 kilns wid whiffs av cavalry stable-litter. This place 
 smelt marigold flowers an' bad water, an' wanst 
 somethin' alive came an' blew heavy with his muz- 
 zle at the chink av the shutter. " It's in a village 
 I am," thinks I to mysilf, "an' the parochial buffalo 
 is investigatin' the palanquin." But anyways I had 
 no desire to move. Only lie still whin you're ii 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 1 71 
 
 foreign parts an' the standin' luck av the British 
 Army will carry ye through. That is an epigram. 
 I made ut. 
 
 'Thin a lot av whishperin' divils surrounded the 
 palanquin. "Take ut up," sez wan man. "But 
 who'll pay us?" sez another. "The Maharanee's 
 minister, av coorse," sez the man. " Oho ! " sez I 
 to mysilf, " I'm a quane in me own right, wid a 
 minister to pay me expenses. .I'll be an emperor 
 if I lie still long enough; but this is no village 
 I've found." I lay quiet, but I gummed me right 
 eye to a crack av the shutters, an' I saw that 
 the whole street was crammed wid palanquins an' 
 horses, an' a sprinklin' av naked priests all yellow 
 powder an' tigers' tails. But I may tell you, Orth'- 
 ris an' you, Learoyd, that av all the palanquins 
 ours was the most imperial an' magnificent. Now 
 a palanquin means a native lady all the world 
 over, except whin a soldier av the quane happens 
 to be takin' a ride. "Women an' priests!" sez I. 
 "Your father's son is in the right pew this time, 
 Terence. There will be . proceedin's." Six black 
 divils in pink muslin tuk up the palanquin, an' 
 oh! but the rowlin' an' the rockin' made me sick. 
 Thin we got fair jammed among the palanquins — 
 not more than fifty av them — an' we grated an' 
 bumped like Queenstown potato-smacks in a run- 
 nir' tide. I cud hear the women gigglin' and 
 
I7S SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 squirkin' in their palanquins, but mine was the 
 royal equipage. They rnade way for ut, an', be- 
 gad, the pink muslin men o' mine were howlin', 
 " Room for the Maharanee av Gokral-Seetarun." 
 Do you know aught av the lady, Sorr?' 
 
 ' Yes,' said I. ' She is a very estimable old queen 
 of the Central Indian States, and they say she is fat. 
 How on earth could she go to Benares without all 
 the city knowing her palanquin ? ' 
 
 ' 'Twas the eternal foolishness av the naygur-man. 
 They saw the palanquin lying loneful an' forlorn- 
 some, an' the beauty av ut, after Dearsley's men had 
 dhropped ut and gone away, an' they gave ut the 
 best name that occurred to thim. Quite right 
 too. For aught we know the ould lady was 
 thravellin' incog — like me. I'm glad to hear she's 
 fat. I was no light weight mysilf, an' my men 
 were mortial anxious to dhrop me under a great 
 big archway promiscuously ornamented wid the 
 most improper carvin's an' cuttin's I iver saw. 
 Begad ! they made me blush — like a — like a 
 Maharanee.' 
 
 ' The temple of Prithi-Devi,' I murmured, remem- 
 bering the monstrous horrors of that sculptured 
 archway at Benares. 
 
 ' Pretty Devilskins, savin' your presence, Sorr ! 
 There was nothin' pretty about ut, except me. 
 'Twas all half dhark, an' whin the coolies left they 
 
THE INCARNATION OP KRISHNA MULVANEY 173 
 
 shut a big black gate behind av us, an' half a com- 
 pany 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 re- 
 mainder 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 palan- 
 quins 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' iraralds an' great red rubies all over 
 
174 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 thim. But that was the least part av the glory. O 
 bhoys, they were more lovely than the like av any 
 lovelmess 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 saiv^ 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-Seetanin, 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. 
 
THE INXARNATION 6¥ KRISHNA MULVANEY 17S 
 
 '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 them- 
 selves 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 betuhe 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, fan 
 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 m.oustache of 
 the god made up a far-off resemblance to Mul- 
 vaney. 
 
 'The blaze was gone in a wink, but the whole 
 
176 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 palan- 
 quin. 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 tootjin' 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. 
 
 ' Me .? Oh ! ' Mulvaney sprang up, suiting the ac- 
 

 *I was Krishna toutlin' on the flute.' — P. 176. 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 177 
 
 tion 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 
 ■iown 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 faceSj an' a young priest was holdin' 
 Dut his arms above their heads. 
 
 ' " This way," sez my fat friend, duckin' behind 
 a big bull-god an' divin' into a passage. Thin I 
 ^■emimbered that I must ha' made the miraculous 
 
fjS SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 reputation av that temple for the next fifty yeans. 
 " 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 sun- 
 strook. 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 un- 
 ruffled, 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 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 179 
 
 huadreil an' thirty-four rupees by my reckonin', an 
 a big fat gold necklace that I took from him as a 
 reraimbrancer, 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 1 He marched an' he niver tould how 
 near he was to breakin' down. Th&c's why he is 
 fwhat he is. An' now ' Mulvaney yawned por- 
 tentously. ' Now I will go an' give myself up for ab- 
 since widout leave. It's eight-an'-twenty days an' the 
 rough end of the Colonel's tongue in orderly-room, 
 
l8o SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 any way you look at ut. But 'tis cheap at th« 
 ••^rice.' 
 
 ' 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 opera- 
 tions connected wid a church,' and he flapped his 
 way to cantonments and the cells, singing lustily: — 
 
 ' So tliey sent a coipVU'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 in- 
 
THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY l8l 
 
 sensible on a villager's cot for untold hours; and 
 between laughter and good-will the affair was 
 jmoothed over, so that he could, next day, teach 
 :he new recruits how to ' Fear God, Honour the 
 Queen, Shoot Straight, and Keep Clean.' 
 
 
 
 m 
 
 \^ywlam^ yg v§B8 
 
 !/ 
 
 '^ — 
 
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! Myl 
 
 Don't ycr come anigh, 
 t<hen 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 pipe- 
 clay's in the marrow av me. Av I cud have kept 
 out av wan big dhrink a month, I wud have been a 
 
 i3a 
 
THE TAKING OF LUNGTUNGPEN 183 
 
 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 Say- 
 sar 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 
 /Surma, me aa' four-an'-twenty young wans undher a 
 
1 84 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 culti- 
 vator, 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 f rind here, where your 
 frinds are whin they're at home ? " Wid that I intro- 
 juced 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'_;V«- 
 gles. " Good ! " sez I ; " this office will now close ! " 
 
 'That night, I went to the Lift'nint an' commu- 
 nicates my information. I never thought much of 
 Lift'nint Brazenose till that night. He was shtifP 
 wid books an' the-ouries, an' all manner av thrim- 
 min's no manner av use. "Town did ye say.V" sez 
 he. " Accordin' to the-ouries av War, we shud wait 
 for reinforcemints." — "Faith!" thinks I, "we'd 
 
'" Shtrip, bhoys," sez I. " Shtrip to the buff, an' shwim in where 
 glory waits ! " ' — P. 185. 
 
THE TAKING OF LUNGTUNGPEN 185 
 
 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 Lung- 
 tungpen to-night." 
 
 ' 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 
 catit shwim ! " sez two av thim. " To think I should 
 live to hear that from a bhoy wid a board-school edu- 
 kashin!" sez I. "Take a lump av thimber, an' me 
 an' ConoUy 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 al- 
 ready." 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 
 
1 86 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 
 _ hould av their rifles an' some thried to put their 
 belts on ; we was marchin' wid fixed baynits av 
 coorse. Thin we knew where I-ungtungpen was ; for 
 'x& had hit the river-wall av it in the dhark, an' the 
 iwhole town blazed wid thim ratssm' jingles an' Sniders 
 like a cat's back on a frosty night. They was firin' 
 all ways at wanst ; but over our bids into the shtrame. 
 
 ' " Have you got your rifles ? " sez Brazenose. 
 " Got 'em ! " sez Orth'ris. " I've got that thief Mul- 
 vaney'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 
 
'There was a indly av a sumpshus kind for a whuile.' — v. 1S7. 
 
THE TAKING OF LUNGTUNGPEN 187 
 
 on an' take the town ! An' the Lord have mercy on 
 our sowls! " 
 
 '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, w^ was busy till mornin' takin' po3se«» 
 sion av the town of Lungtungpen. 
 
l88 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 ' Thin we halted an' formed up, the wimmea 
 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/ayrience. I pathroUed 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' dabs, 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 
 
THE TAKING OF LUNGTUNGPEN 189 
 
 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 wid- 
 out the war-paint, an' you say I'm too fond av the- 
 urisin' ? "— " Sorr," sez I, for I loved the bhoy ; " I 
 .I'ud 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 
 
1 90 
 
 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 But the three-year-olds know little an' care less ; an' 
 •• here there's no fear, there's no danger. Catch thim 
 joung, 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 Can- 
 teen 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. 
 
THE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS 
 
 Ob I Where would I be when my froat was dry ? 
 Oh I Where would 1 be when the bullet* fly? 
 Oh I Where would I be when I come to die? 
 
 Why, 
 Somewheres anigh my chum. 
 
 If 'e'« 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 Bend 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 
 
 <9» 
 
iga SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 
 !own to tiffin — ' bull-mate an' bran bread,' Mul- 
 vaney called it — by the side of the river, and took 
 pot shots at the crocodiles in the intervals of cut- 
 ting up the food with our only pocket-knife. TJien 
 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 
 itomach 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.' 
 
Ortheris heaved a big sit;h. — F. 192 
 
THE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS 193 
 
 Ortheris went on slowly, not heeding the inter- 
 ruption : — 
 
 'I'm a Tommy — a bloomin', eight-anna, dog- 
 stealin' Tommy, with a number instead of a decent 
 name. Wot's the good o' me ? If I 'ad a stayed 
 at 'Ome, I might a married that gal and a kep' a 
 little shorp in the 'Ammersmith 'Igh. — " S. Orth'ris, 
 Prac-ti-cal Taxi-der-mist." With a stuff' fox, like 
 they 'as in the Haylesbury Dairies, in the winder, 
 an' a little case of blue and yaller glass-heyes, an' 
 a little wife to call " shorp ! " " shorp ! " when, the 
 door-bell rung. As it his, I'm on'y a Tommy — 
 a Bloomin' Gawd-forsaken Beer-swillin' Tommy. 
 "Rest on your harms — 'versed. Stan' at — hease ; 
 'shun. 'Verse — harms. Right an' lef — tarrn. 
 Slow — march. 'Alt — front. Rest on your harms 
 — 'versed. With blank-cartridge — load." An' that's 
 the end o' me.' He was quoting fragments from 
 Funeral Parties' Orders. 
 
 'Stop ut!' shouted Mulvaney. 'Whin you've 
 fired into nothin' as often as me, over a better man 
 than yoursilf, you will not make a mock av thim 
 orders. 'Tis worse than whistlin' the Dead March 
 in barricks. An' you full as a tick, an' the sun 
 cool, an' all an' all ! I take shame for you. You're 
 no better than a Pagin — you an' your firin'-parties 
 an' your glass-eyes. Won't you stop ut, Sorr ? ' 
 
 What could I do? Could I tell Ortheris any. 
 
194 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 thing that he did not know of the pleasures o( his 
 life ? I was not a Chaplain nor a Subaltern, and 
 Ortheris had a right to speak as he thought fit. 
 
 ' Let him run, Mulvaney/ I said. ' It's the beer.' 
 
 ' No ! 'Tisn't the beer,' said Mulvaney. ' I know 
 fwhat's comin'. He's tuk this way now an' agin, 
 an' it's bad — it's bad — for I'm fond av the bhoy.' 
 
 Indeed, Mulvaney seemed needlessly anxious; 
 but I knew that he looked after Ortheris in a 
 fatherly way. 
 
 ' Let me talk, let me talk,' said Ortheris dreamily. 
 ' D'you stop your parrit screamin' of a 'ot day 
 when the cage is a-cookin' 'is pore little pink toes 
 orf , Mulvaney .' ' ^ 
 
 ' Pink toes ! D'ye mane to say you've pink toes 
 undher your buUswools, ye blandanderin',' — Mul- 
 vaney gathered himself together for a terrific de- 
 nunciation — ' school-misthress ! Pink toes ! How 
 much Bass wid the label did that ravin' child 
 dhrink ? ' 
 
 ' 'Tain't Bass,' said Ortheris. ' It's a bitterer beer 
 nor that. It's 'ome-sickness ! ' 
 
 ' Hark to him ! An' he goin' Home in the Shera- 
 pis in the inside av four months ! ' 
 
 ' I don't care. It's all one to me. 'Ow d'you 
 know I ain't 'fraid o' dyin' 'fore I gets my discharge 
 paipers.'' He recommenced, in a sing-song voice, 
 the Orders. 
 
THE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS 19S 
 
 I had never seen thiji side of Ortheris's character 
 before, but evidently Mulvaney had, and attached 
 serious importance to it. While Ortheris babbled, 
 with his head on his arms, Mulvaney whispered to 
 me : — 
 
 ' He's always tuk this way whin he's been checked 
 overmuch by the childher they make Sarjints nowa- 
 days. That an' havin' nothin' to do. I can't make 
 ut out anyways.' 
 
 'Well, what does it matter? Let him talk him- 
 self through.' 
 
 Ortheris began singing a parody of Tke Ramrod 
 Corps, full of cheerful allusions to battle, murder, 
 and sudden death. He looked out across the river 
 as he sang ; and his face was quite strange t ~ 
 me. Mulvaney caught me by the elbow to ensure 
 attention. 
 
 ' Matther } It matthers everything ! 'Tis some 
 sort av fit that's on him. I've seen ut. 'Twill hould 
 him all this night, an' in the middle av it he'll get 
 out av his cot an' go rakin' in the rack for his 
 'courtreraints. Thin he'll come over to me an' say, 
 " I'm goin' to Bombay. Answer for me in the 
 momin'." Thin me an' him will fight as we've done 
 before — him to go an' me to hould him — an' so 
 we'll both come on the books for disturbin' in 
 barricks. I've belted him, an' I've bruk his head, 
 an' I've talked to him, but 'tis no manner av usi 
 
196 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 whin the fit's on him. He's as good a bhoy as 
 ever stepped whin his mind's clear. I know fwhat's 
 comin', though, this night in barricks. Lord send 
 he doesn't loose on me whin I rise to knock him 
 down. 'Tis that that's in my mind day an' night.' 
 
 This put the case in a much less pleasant light, 
 and fully accounted for Mulvaney's anxiety. He 
 seemed to be trying to coax Ortheris out of the fit ; 
 for he shouted down the bank where the boy was 
 lying : — 
 
 ' Listen now, you wid the " pore pink toes " an' 
 the glass-eyes! Did you shwim the Irriwaddy at 
 night, behin' me, as a bhoy shud; or were you 
 hidin' under a bed, as you was at Ahmid Kheyl.'' 
 
 This was at once a gross insult and a direct lie, 
 and Mulvaney meant it to bring on a fight. But 
 Ortheris seemed shut up in some sort of trance. 
 He answered slowly, without a sign of irritation, in 
 the same cadenced voice as he had used for his 
 firing-party orders : — 
 
 'Hi swum the Irriwaddy in the night, as you 
 know, for to take the town of Lungtungpen, nakid 
 an' without fear. Hand where I was at Ahmed 
 Kheyl you know, and four bloomin' Paythans know 
 too. But that was summat to do, an' I didn't think 
 o' dyin'. Now I'm sick to go 'Ome — go 'Ome — 
 go 'Ome ! No, I ain't mammysick, because my 
 uncle brung me up, but I'm sick for London again : 
 
THE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS 197 
 
 sick for the sounds of 'er, an' the sights of 'er, and 
 the stinks of 'er; orange-peel and hasphalte an' 
 gas comin' in over Vaux'all Bridge. Sick for the 
 rail goin' down to Box '111, with your gal on your 
 knee an' a new clay pipe in your face. That, an' 
 the Stran' lights where you knows ev'ry one, an' 
 the Copper that takes you up is a old friend that 
 tuk you up before, when you was a little, smitchy 
 boy lying loose 'tween the Temple an' the Dark 
 Marches. No bloomin' guard-mountin', no bloomin' 
 rotten-stone, nor khaki, an' yourself your own mas- 
 ter with a gal to take an' see the Humaners prac- 
 tisin' a-hookin' dead corpses out of the Serpentine 
 o' Sundays. An' I lef all that for to ^erve the 
 Widder beyond the seas, where there ain't no 
 women and there ain't no liquor worth 'avin', and 
 there ain't nothin' to see, nor do,, nor say, nor feel, 
 nor think. Lord love you, Stanley Qrth'ris, but 
 you're a bigger bloomin' fool than the rest o' the 
 reg'ment and Mulvaney wired together! There's 
 the Widder sittin' at 'Ome with a gold crownd on 
 'er 'ead; and 'ere am Hi, Stanley Orth'ris, the 
 ^Vidder's property, a rottin' fool ! ' 
 
 His voice rose at the end of the sentence, and he 
 wound up with a sixrshot Anglo-Vernacular oath. 
 Mulvaney said nothing, but looked at me as if he 
 expected that I could bring peace to poor Ortheris'? 
 troubled brain. 
 
19* SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 I remembered once at Rawal Pindi having seen 
 a man, nearly mad with drink, sobered by being 
 made a fool of. Some regiments may know what 
 I mean. I hoped that we might slake off Ortheris 
 in the same way, though he was perfectly sober. 
 So I said : — 
 
 ' What's the use of grousing there, and speaking 
 against The Widow ? ' 
 
 ' I didn't ! ' said Ortheris. ' S'elp me, Gawd, I 
 never said a word agin 'er, an' ' I wouldn't — not 
 if I was to desert this minute ! ' 
 
 Here was my opening. 'Well, you meant to, any- 
 how. What's the use of cracking-on for nothing.' 
 Would you slip it now if you got the chance ? ' 
 
 ' On'y try me ! ' said Ortheris, jumping to his 
 feet as if he had been stung. 
 
 Mulvaney jumped too. ' Fwhat are you going 
 to do .' ' said he. 
 
 ' Help Ortheris down to Bombay or Karachi, 
 whichever he likes. You can report that he sepa- 
 rated from you before tiffin, and left his gun on 
 the bank here ! ' 
 
 'I'm to report that — am I.'' said Mulvaney 
 slowly. 'Very well. If Orth'ris manes to desert 
 now, and will desert now, an' you, Sorr, who have 
 been a frind to me an' to him, will help him tc 
 ut, I, Terence Mulvaney, on my oath which I'vt 
 never bruk yet, will report as you say. But 
 
THE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS 199 
 
 here he stepped up to Ortheris, and shook the 
 stock of the fowling-piece in his face — ' your fistes 
 help you, Stanley Orth'ris, if ever I come across 
 you agin ! ' 
 
 'I don't care!' said Ortheris. 'I'm sick o' this 
 dorg's life. Give me a chanst. Don't play with 
 me. Le' me go ! ' 
 
 ' Strip,' said I, ' and change with me, and then I'll 
 tell you what to do.' 
 
 I hoped that the absurdity of this would check 
 Ortheris; but he had kicked off his ammunition- 
 boots and got rid of his tunic almost before I hac' 
 loosed my shirt-collar. Mulvaney gripped me b» 
 the arm : — 
 
 'The fit's on him: the fit's workin' on him still'- 
 By my Honour and Sowl, we shall be accessiry to =« 
 desartion yet. Only twenty-eight days,' as you say, 
 Sorr, or fifty-six, but think o' the shame — the black 
 shame to him an' me ! ' I had never seen Mulvaney 
 so excited. 
 
 But Ortheris was quite calm, and, as soon as he 
 had exchanged clothes with me, and I stood up a 
 Private of the Line, he said shortly, ' Now ! Come 
 on. What nex ? D'ye mean fair. What must I 
 do to get out o' this 'ere a-Hell .' ' 
 
 I told him that, if he would wait for two or three 
 hours near the river, I would ride into the Station 
 and come back with one hundred rupees. He would, 
 
»ao SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 with that money in his pocket, walk to the nearest 
 side-station on the line, about five miles away, and 
 would there take a first-class ticket for Karachi. 
 Knowing that he had no money on him when he 
 went out shooting, his regiment would not immedi- 
 ately wire to the seaports, but would hunt for him 
 in the native villages near the river. Further, no 
 one would think of seeking a deserter in a first-class 
 carriage. At Karachi, he was to buy white clothes 
 and ship, if he could, on a cargo-steamer. 
 
 Here he broke in. If I helped him to Karachi, 
 he would arrange all the rest. Then I ordered him 
 to wait where he was until it was dark enough for 
 me to ride into the station without my dress being 
 noticed. Now God in His wisdom has made the 
 heart of the British Soldier, who is very often an 
 unlicked ruffian, as soft as the heart of a little child, 
 in order that he may believe in and follow his officers 
 into tight and nasty places. He does not so readily 
 come to believe in a ' civilian,' but, when he does, he 
 believes implicitly and like a dog. I had had the 
 honour of the friendship of Private Ortheris, at inter- 
 vals, for more than three years, and we had dealt 
 with each other as man by man. Consequently, he 
 considered that all my words were true, and not 
 spoken lightly. 
 
 Mulvaney and I left him in the high grass near 
 the river-bank, and went away, still keeping to the 
 
We set off at the double and found him plunging about wildly through 
 the grass. — p. 201. 
 
THE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS aoi 
 
 high grass, towards my horse. The shirt scratched 
 me horribly. 
 
 We waited nearly two hours for the dusk to fall 
 and allow me to ride off. We spoke of Ortheris in 
 whispers, and strained our ears to catch any sound 
 from the spot where we had left him. But we 
 heard nothing except the wind in the plume-grass 
 
 ' I've bruk his head,' said Mulvaney earnestly, 
 ' time an' agin. . I've nearly kilt him wid the belt, 
 an' yet I can't knock thim fits out av his soft head. 
 No ! An' he's not soft, for he's reasonable an' likely 
 by natur'. Fwhat is ut.' Is ut his breedin' which 
 is nothin', or his edukashin which he niver got .' 
 You that think ye know things, answer me that.' 
 
 But I found no answer. I was wondering how 
 long Ortheris, in the bank of the river, would 
 hold out, and whether I should be forced to help 
 him to desert, as I had given my word. 
 
 Just as the dusk shut down and, with a very 
 heavy heart, I was beginning to saddle up my 
 horse, we heard wild shouts from the river. 
 
 The devils had departed from Private Stanley 
 Ortheris, No. 22639, B company. The loneliness, 
 the dusk, and the waiting had driven them out as 
 I had hoped. We set off at the double and found 
 him plunging about wildly through the grass, with 
 his coat off — my coat off, I mean. He was call- 
 ing for us like a madman. 
 
»02 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 When we reached him he was dripping with 
 perspiration, and trembling like a startled horse. 
 We had great difficulty in soothing him. He com- 
 plained that he was in civilian kit, and wanted to 
 tear my clothes off his body. I ordered him to 
 strip, and we made a second exchange as quickly 
 as possible. 
 
 The rasp of his own 'grayback' shirt and the 
 squeak of his boots seemed to bring him to him- 
 self. He put his hands before his eyes and said: — 
 
 ' Wot was it ? I ain't mad, I ain't sunstrook, 
 an' I've bin an' gone an' said, an' bin an' gone 
 an' done Woi 'ave I bin an' done ! ' 
 
 'Fwhat have you done.-'' said Mulvaney. 'You've 
 dishgraced yourself — though that's no matter. 
 You've dishgraced B comp'ny, an' worst av all, 
 you've dishgraced Me ! Me that taught you how 
 for to walk abroad like a man — whin you was a 
 dhirty little, fish-backed little, whimperin' little re- 
 cruity. As you are now, Stanley Orth'ris ! ' 
 
 Ortheris said nothing for a while. Then he un- 
 slung his belt, heavy with the badges of half-a- 
 dozen regiments that his own had lain with, and 
 handed it over to Mulvaney. 
 
 ' I'm too little for to mill you, Mulvaney,' said 
 he, ' an' you've strook me before ; but you can 
 take an' cut me in two with this 'ere if you like.' 
 
 Mulvaney turned to me. 
 
THE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS 
 
 203 
 
 ' Lave me to talk to him, Sorr,' said Mulvaney. 
 
 I left, and on my way home thought a good 
 deal over Ortheris in particular, and my friend 
 Private Thomas Atkins, whom I love, in general 
 
 But I could not come to any conclusion of any 
 kind whatever. 
 
IHE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
 GARDEN CITY, N. Y.