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 THE LIBRARY 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
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 LOS ANGELES
 
 
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 SOLDIER TALES
 
 ' He ran forward wid the Haymakers' Lift on his bay'nit.'— P. 10. 
 
 Frontispiece.
 
 ) L L) I b K 
 
 l 
 
 
 
 Stontion 
 
 .L.
 
 SOLDIER TALES 
 
 BY 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING 
 
 ilontion 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd. 
 
 NEW YORK : THE MACMILLAN CO. 
 1896 
 
 All rights reserved
 
 ?' 
 
 . 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 With the Main Guard i 
 
 The Drums of the Fore and Aft 21 
 
 The Man who was 66 
 
 The Courting of Dinah Shadd 86 
 
 The Incarnation of Krishna Mulvaney . . . 11S 
 
 The Taking of Lungtungpen 154 
 
 The Madness of Private Ortheris 162
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 ' He ran forward wid the Haymakers' Lift 
 
 on his bay'nit ' (p. 10) . . . . Frontispiece 
 
 ' Put yer 'ead between your legs. It'll go 
 
 orf in a minute' ..... To face page 2 
 
 He picked her up in the growing light, and 
 
 set her on his shoulder ... ,, ,,19 
 
 'Hey! What? Are you going to argue 
 
 with me?' said the colonel . . ,, ,, 29 
 
 cris slid an arm round his neck . . ,, j, 39 
 
 The men strolled across the tracks to 
 
 inspect the Afghan prisoners ..,,,, 42 
 
 The tune settled into full swing and the 
 
 boys kept shoulder to shoulder . ,, ,, 5S 
 
 ' Rung ho, Hira Singh ! ' ,, ,,72 
 
 He found the spring ,, ,,77 
 
 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 ,, ,, 80
 
 vm SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 'Thin whin the kettle was to be filled, 
 
 Dinah came in— my Dinah'. . . To face page 100 
 
 '"My collar-bone's bruk," sez he' . . „ „ I0 3 
 
 '"The half ay that I'll take," sez she' . ,, „ u 2 
 
 '"Out of this," sez he. "I'm in charge 
 ay this section ay construction." — 
 " I'm in charge ay mesilf," sez I, "an" 
 
 IT'S LIKE I WILL STAY A WHILE"'. . 12fi 
 
 ' Nine roun's they were eyen matched, ax' 
 
 at the tenth " . t --> 
 
 There tranced a Portent in the face of 
 
 THE MOON" .... 
 
 'I was Krishna tootlin' on the flute' 
 
 " ' SHTRIP, BHOYS," SEZ I. " SHTRir TO THE 
 BUFF, AN' SHWIM IN WHERE GLORY 
 WAITS ! " ' 
 
 'There was a melly av a sumpshus kind 
 for a whoilf. ' 
 
 We set off at the double and found him 
 tlunging about wildly through the 
 
 GRASS 
 
 140 
 
 149 
 
 157 
 
 „ 158 
 
 Ortheris heayed a big sigh .... ,, ,, 163 
 
 171
 
 WITH THE MAIN GUARD 
 
 ] >er jungere Uhlanen 
 Sit round mit open mouth 
 While lireitmann tell dem stdories 
 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 Breitmami 's Ballads. 
 
 ' MARY, Mother av Mercy, fwhat the divil possist us 
 to take an' kape this melancolious counthry? Answer 
 me that, Sorr.' 
 
 It was 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, 
 and the men on the gate. 
 
 ' Slape,' said Mulvaney, 'is a shuparfluous necessity. 
 This gyard'll shtay lively till relieved.' He himself 
 was stripped to the waist ; Learoyd on the next bed- 
 stead was dripping from the skinful of water which 
 Ortheris, clad only in white trousers, had just sluiced 
 over his shoulders; and a fourth private was muttering 
 IE B
 
 2 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 uneasily as he dozed open-mouthed in the glare of 
 the great guard-lantern. The heat under the bricked 
 archway was terrifying. 
 
 ' 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-tivvy 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 moment 
 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, Sargint nex\ Red-hot on his C'mission, but 
 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 I 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
 
 Put yer 'ead between your legs. It'll go orf in a minute.' — P. 2.
 
 WITH THE MAIN GUARD 3 
 
 be me whoilc 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 ? ' 
 answered Ortheris. ' Arst the mess-man.' 
 
 ' 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 quakin' hayrick, 
 come an' dhrink.' 
 
 But Learoyd, half mad with the fear of death 
 presaged in the swelling veins of his neck, was beg- 
 ging 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.
 
 4 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 ' An' Ah divn't see thot a raon 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 
 magician Mulvaney. 
 
 ' 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 for 
 the choicest collection of unmitigated blackguards, 
 dog-stealers, robbers of hen-roosts, assaulters of in-
 
 WITH THE MAIN GUARD 5 
 
 nocent citizens, and recklessly daring heroes in the 
 Army List. Half Europe and half Asia has had 
 cause to know the Black Tyrone — good luck be with 
 their tattered Colours as Glory has ever been ! 
 
 ' They was 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 which I will oblite- 
 rate, 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'ny 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 thimselves 
 a Reserve — bein' impident by natur ! Our Scotchies 
 an' lashins av Gurkys was poundin' into some Pay- 
 than rig'ments, I think 'twas. Scotchies and Gurkys 
 are twins bekaze they're so onlike, an' they get 
 dhrunk together whin 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 Pay- 
 than 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
 
 6 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 comp'ny ; but he was a Man that had his feet be- 
 neath him, an' all his teeth in their sockuts.' 
 
 ' Who was he ? ' I asked. 
 
 'Captain O'Neil — Old Crook — Cruikna-bulleen 
 — him that I tould ye that tale av whin he was in 
 Burma. 1 Hah ! He was a Man. The Tyrone tuk 
 a little orf'cer bhoy, but divil a bit was he in command, 
 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 tremenjus, 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' 
 take 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, laughin', 
 an' down we wint as fast as we cud. Learoyd bein' 
 sick at the Base, he, av coorse, was not there.' 
 
 ' Thot's a lie ! ' said Learoyd, dragging his bed- 
 stead nearer. ' Ah gotten tliot thecr, an' you knaw 
 it, Mulvaney.' He threw up his arms, and from the 
 
 1 Now first of the focmen of Boh Da Thone 
 Was Captain O'Neil of the Black Tyrone. 
 
 The Ballad of Boh Da Thone.
 
 WITH THE MAIN GUARD 7 
 
 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 
 Pay than s ? ' 
 
 ' 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, an' the Tyrone 
 was yelpin' behind av us in a way I didn't see the 
 lean av at first. But I knew later, an' so did the 
 Paythans. 
 
 ' " 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
 
 8 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 behin'. I saw a sword lick out past Crook's ear, an' 
 the Paythan was tuk 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 to 
 say.' 
 
 ' 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 'cm compot 
 from the lef flank when we opened out. No ! ' he 
 said, bringing down his hand with a thump on the 
 bedstead, ' a bay'nit ain't no good to a little man — 
 might as well 'ave a bloomin' fishin'-rod ! I 'ate a 
 clawin', maulin' mess, but gimme a breech that's wore 
 out a bit, an' hamminition one year in store, to let the
 
 WITH THE MAIN GUARD 9 
 
 powder kiss the bullet, an' put me somewheres 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 yer 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 underhanded 
 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, 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' my 
 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 Pay than man forninst 
 me, him that cut at me whin I cudn't move hand or 
 foot ? Hot or cowld was ut ? '
 
 io SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 ' 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 promishkuous hackin' 
 we shtuck again, an' the Tyrone behin' was callin' us 
 dogs an' cowards an' all manner av names ; we barrin' 
 their way. 
 
 ' " 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 
 whin 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 bruk at the lockin'-ring. 
 
 ' " Tim Coulan '11 slape easy to-night," sez he wid
 
 WITH THE MAIN GUARD n 
 
 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 was swearin' at thim, an' Crook was workin' 
 away in front av us all, his sword-arm swingin' like 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 ex- 
 pinded 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 
 vvurrd, though they would not ha' given room for 
 all Hell wid the chill off. When I got clear, I was, 
 savin' your presince, Sorr, outragis 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 mornin'-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. 
 
 '"His father howlds my mother's cow-feed in
 
 12 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 afther- 
 wards." 
 
 ' " Good," sez I ; " 'tis the likes av him makes the 
 likes av the Commandher-in-Chief, but we must pre- 
 sarve 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' hovv'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 I. 
 
 ' " 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 skinful, 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. 
 
 ' " 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
 
 WITH THE MAIN GUARD 13 
 
 this day. By the same token," sez he, " I'll con fish - 
 cate that iligant nickel -plated scent-sprinkler av 
 yours, for my own has been vomitin' dishgraceful ! " 
 
 1 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, 
 tJiere'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 together 
 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 remimber Tim Coulan. 
 
 ' Crook stopped outside av the strife an' looked 
 anxious, his eyes rowlin' roun'. 
 
 ' " Fwhat is ut, Sorr ? " sez I ; " can I get ye 
 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 acrost little 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 your 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' carries 
 him to Crook who was watchin' how the fight wint.
 
 14 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 fvvhat had gone before wud be kissin' an' 
 huggin' to fwhat was to come. We'd dhruv thim 
 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 Paythans was dhroppin'. 
 We opined out vvid the widenin' av the valley, an' 
 whin the valley narrowed 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 ammuni- 
 tion 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 mile 
 away,' said Mulvaney, ' an' 'twas all their Sargints 
 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
 
 WITH THE MAIN GUARD 15 
 
 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 discommoded, the gallery have enjoyed the 
 performinces av 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 
 thremblin' 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,
 
 i6 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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.' 
 
 ' The what, Mulvaney ? ' 
 
 ' Fog av fightin'. You know, Sorr, that, like 
 makin' love, ut takes each man diffrint. 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 wint to bury our dead, for we wud not 
 lave thim to the Paythans, an' in movin' among the 
 hay then 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
 
 WITH THE MAIN GUARD 17 
 
 wounded Paythan's worse than a live wan." My 
 troth, before the words was out of my mouth, the 
 man on the ground fires at the orfcer bhoy lanin' 
 over him, an' I saw the helmit fly. I dropped the 
 butt on the face av the man an' tuk his pistol. The 
 little orfcer bhoy turned very white, for the hair av 
 half his head was singed away. 
 
 ' " I tould you so, Sorr," sez I ; an', afther that, 
 whin 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 over 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 north 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 another. 
 
 ' A Staff Orfcer 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' 
 
 c
 
 18 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 wan av the Ould Rig'mint," sez Crook very quiet, 
 givin' our visitors the flure as 'twas. 
 
 ' " Oh ! " sez the Staff Orf 'cer ; " did you dislodge 
 that 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' : " Come 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 
 hoight av society." D'you remimber that, Orth'ris ? ' 
 
 ' Hi do. Toomey, 'e died in 'orspital, next week 
 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 invistigations 
 into M'Grath's shtable.' The relieved guard strolled 
 round the main bastion on its way to the swimming-
 
 He picked her up in the growing light, and set her on his shoulder. — p. 19.
 
 WITH THE MAIN GUARD 19 
 
 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 
 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 — crool hard 
 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.'
 
 20 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 ' 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 
 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 Mulvaney's 
 speech, when we were alone, ' it's you that have 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- Auspach's 
 Merthyr-Tydfilshire Own Royal Loyal Light In- 
 fantry, Regimental District 3 29 A,' 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 honourable, 
 but at present they are bitterly ashamed, and the 
 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 a 
 time all their world knows that they were openly 
 beaten, whipped, dumb -cowed, shaking, and afraid. 
 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
 
 22 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 standing 
 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 
 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 handful : 
 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 encour- 
 age the others ; but he should not be vilified in news- 
 papers, for that is want of tact and waste of space.
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 23 
 
 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 Regi- 
 ment. He wants to drink, he wants to enjoy him- 
 self — 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 understand 
 half the purport of the orders he receives, and to 
 speculate on the nature of clean, incised, and shatter- 
 ing 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 deploy- 
 ing, 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. 
 
 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
 
 24 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 playing 
 with their triggers and saying : ' What the Hell's up 
 now ? ' while the Company Commanders are sweat- 
 ing into their sword-hilts and shouting : ' Front-rank, 
 fix bayonets. Steady there — steady ! Sight for 
 three hundred — no, for five ! Lie down, all! Steady ! 
 Fronk-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 
 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
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 25 
 
 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 
 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
 
 26 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 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 Regiment. 
 They ended their sinful career by open and flagrant 
 mutiny and were shot for it. Their names were 
 J akin 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 cold- 
 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. Barnardo's hands 
 ere he arrived at the dignity of drummer-boy. Lew 
 could remember nothing except the regiment and 
 the delight of listening to the Band from his earliest 
 years. He hid somewhere in his grimy little soul 
 a genuine love for music, and was most mistakenly
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 27 
 
 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 combined 
 forces of Lew and Jakin ; and the consequences were 
 painful. The boys were the Ishmaels 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. 
 
 'I tell you I 'id the pipe back o' barracks,' said 
 Jakin pacifically. 
 
 1 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 vocabulary 
 of barrack-room abuse that cannot pass without com-
 
 28 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 ment. 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 might 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, employ- 
 less 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 you to my 
 father, and he'll report you to the Colour-Sergeant.' 
 
 ' What's that to you ? ' said Jakin with an un- 
 pleasant dilation of the nostrils. 
 
 ' 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 
 diff'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 suc- 
 ceeded had not Jakin punched him vehemently in the
 
 Hey! What? Are you going to argue with me ?' said the Colonel. — P. 29.
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 29 
 
 stomach, or had Lew refrained from kicking his 
 shins. They fought together, bleeding and breath- 
 less, for half an hour, and, after heavy punishment, 
 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 
 appeared to answer the charge of half-murdering a 
 ' civilian.' The Bazar-Sergeant thirsted for a criminal 
 action, and his son lied. The boys stood to atten- 
 tion while the black clouds of evidence accumulated. 
 
 'You little devils are more trouble than the rest 
 of the Regiment put together,' said the Colonel angrily. 
 ' 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 ? ' 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 turn-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.
 
 3° SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 ' That was what that measly jar nwar 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 manner o' right 
 to interfere with us, Sir. I don't mind bein' birched 
 by the Drum-Major, Sir, nor yet reported 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 man in the Army.' 
 A second shout of laughter shook the Orderly- 
 room, but the Colonel was grave. 
 
 ' What sort of characters have these boys ? ' he 
 asked 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 
 much 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 
 of time that Lew, looking like a Seraph in red 
 worsted 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.
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 31 
 
 ' There's nothing to prevent your becoming a 
 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 J akin 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 pension — I'll take on 
 as a privit. Then I'll be a Lance in a year — know- 
 in' 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 know 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.' 
 
 1 'S'pose I'm going to be a Bandmaster ? Not I, 
 quite. I'll be a orf'cer too. There's nothin' like 
 taking to a thing an' stickin' to it, the Schoolmaster 
 says. The reg'ment don't go 'ome for another seven 
 years. I'll be a Lance then or near to.' 
 
 Thus the boys discussed their futures, and con- 
 ducted themselves piously for a week. That is to 
 say, Lew started a flirtation with the Colour-Sergeant's 
 daughter, aged thirteen — ' not,' as he explained to 
 Jakin, ' with any intention o' matrimony, but by way
 
 32 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 sermons 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 
 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 form- 
 ally 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
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 33 
 
 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. Wherefore they 
 cheered lustily when the rumour ran, and the shrewd, 
 clerkly non-commissioned officers speculated on the 
 chances of batta and of saving their pay. At Head- 
 quarters men said : ' The Fore 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 clone but for the fact that British Reea- 
 
 o 
 
 ments 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, but 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 
 
 D
 
 34 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 J akin 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'll like 
 that,' said Jakin sarcastically. 
 
 ' '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 
 medical fit, Piggy ? ' said Jakin, digging Lew in the 
 ribs with force. 
 
 ' Yus,' said Lew with an oath. ' The Doctor 
 says your 'eart's weak through smokin' on an empty 
 stummick. Throw a chest an' I'll try yer.' 
 
 Jakin threw out his chest, which Lew smote with
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 35 
 
 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 dying 
 when you 'it 'em fair on the breastbone.' 
 
 ' Don't bring us no nearer goin', though,' said 
 Jakin. ' Do you know where we're ordered ? ' 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 1 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 was 
 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
 
 36 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 mutiny,' Jakin and Lew being the ringleaders. This 
 looked like an organised conspiracy. 
 
 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 'c'll 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 
 after long p'rade, Sir. If 'c can go, we can go, Sir.' 
 ' Again the Colonel looked at them long and 
 intently.
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 37 
 
 ' 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 ? 
 
 Jakin and Lew entered the boys' barrack-room 
 with great stateliness, and refused to hold any con- 
 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
 
 38 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 bang the bloomin' drums." Kidd, if you throw your 
 'courtrements at me for tellin' you the truth to your 
 own advantage, your legs '11 swell' 
 
 None the less there was a Battle-Royal in the 
 barrack-room, for the boys were consumed with envy 
 and hate, and neither J akin 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 for 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. 
 
 ' 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'.'
 
 Cris slid an arm round his neck. — P. 39.
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 39 
 
 • An' all the kissin ; in the world isn't like 'avin' a 
 medal to wear on the front o' your coat.' 
 
 1 Yon 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. 
 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 Jakin 
 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. 
 
 1 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.
 
 40 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 had been cut down to the 
 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 medical 
 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 sec 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-
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 41 
 
 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 
 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 followers, 
 and legions of laden mules, the throng thickening 
 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.' 
 
 ' Wot are the niggers like ? ' demanded a private.
 
 42 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 ' 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 
 used 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 Jakin, who 
 was in the rear of the procession. ' Say, old man, 
 how you got puckrozved, eh ? Kisivasti you wasn't 
 hanged for your ugly face, hey ? ' 
 
 The tallest of the company turned, his leg-irons 
 clanking at the movement, and stared at the boy. 
 ' See ! ' he cried to his fellows in Pushto. ' They 
 send children against us. What a people, and what 
 fools!' 
 
 'Ufa/' said Jakin, nodding his head cheerily. 
 ' You go down -country. Kkana get, peenikapanee 
 get — live like a bloomin' Raja ke marfik. That's a 
 
 t>
 
 The men strolled across the tracks to inspect the Afghan prisoners. — P. 42
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 43 
 
 better bandobust than baynit get it in your innards. 
 Good-bye, ole man. Take care o' your beautiful 
 figure-'ed, 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 skittles. 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 
 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 
 occasional 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 could not halt
 
 44 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 
 was 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 
 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 them sorely. 
 
 Thus, at every march, the hidden enemy became 
 bolder and the regiment writhed and twisted under 
 attacks it could not avenge. The crowning triumph
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 45 
 
 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. 
 
 ' 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.'
 
 46 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 1 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 sickness 
 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 them- 
 selves, 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 unsatisfactory, 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 to- 
 gether. 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
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 47 
 
 tot for Johnny ? ' Whereat the 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 borrowed 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. 
 
 1 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- 
 deed, when you come to think of it, had the British 
 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.
 
 48 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 The three regiments debouching from three 
 separate 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 Eng- 
 lish, 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 valley, were 
 to gently stimulate the break-up which would follow 
 on the combined attack. The Brigadier, sitting 
 upon a rock overlooking the valley, would watch 
 the battle unrolled at his feet. The Fore and Aft 
 would debouch from the central gorge, the Gurkhas 
 from the left, and the Highlanders 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 crumple 
 '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
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 49 
 
 dysentery, to recover their nerve. But they were 
 not happy, for they did not know the work in hand, 
 and had they known, 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 and 
 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 con- 
 servation in barracks had done nothing to make 
 them look upon it with less dread. 
 
 Very early in the dawn the bugles began to blow, 
 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 
 stir 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 
 
 E
 
 50 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 
 bullets which cut up the ground a hundred yards in 
 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 courtesy 
 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 
 accounted 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 
 orders 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 hundred 
 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-
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 51 
 
 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. 
 Once in this formation, each man felt himself 
 desperately 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 
 the mad riot to die down, and were firing quietly into
 
 52 SOLDIER STORIES ' 
 
 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 shouting, 
 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 determined to die 
 carried home. The fifty were Ghazis, half-maddened 
 with drugs and wholly mad with religious 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 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
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 53 
 
 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 
 bringing 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 
 amazing 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 in 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. 
 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 
 company, 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
 
 54 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 retreating, always retreating, trampled him under 
 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— Hallelujah ! 
 
 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 ! 
 
 The Gurkha rear-companies tripped and blundered 
 over loose stones. The front-files halted for a 
 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
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 55 
 
 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 time 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- 
 fully. ' 'Serves '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 fiat — 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 reserves 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 officers, maddened beyond control,
 
 5b SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 subalterns 
 swore aloud. But the Regiment wanted to go — to 
 go anywhere out of the range of those merciless knives. 
 It swayed to and fro irresolutely with shouts and out- 
 cries, while from the right the 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 un- 
 supported. 
 
 ' Get back to that rock,' gasped Jakin. ' They 
 won't see us there.' 
 
 And they returned to the scattered instruments 
 of the Band ; their hearts nearly bursting their 
 ribs. 
 
 ' Here's a nice show for us,' 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.
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 57 
 
 ' Drink,' said he shortly. ' They'll come back in 
 a minute or two — you see.' 
 
 Jakin drank, but there was no sign of the 
 regiment's return. They could hear a dull clamour 
 from 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' 
 cowards yonder the word to come back. The 
 Paythan beggars are well away. Come on, Lew J 
 We won't get hurt. Take the fife an' 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 shattered line 
 and the enemy, who with Afghan suspicion feared
 
 5S SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 forhever ? ' 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 
 Gurkhas, 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 ! 
 
 The men of the Fore and Aft were Catherine 
 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.
 
 The tune settled into full swing: and the boys kept shoulder to shoulder. — p. 58.
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 59 
 
 Jakin halted and beat the long roll of the 
 Assembly, 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 valley. 
 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 of open shame. 
 
 Half the men had seen the drummers die, and 
 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 vicious 
 Gurkha knives.
 
 60 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 On the right there was no rush. The Highlanders, 
 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 impertinent mud fort aforementioned, 
 dropped shell after shell into the clusters round the 
 flickering green standards on the heights. 
 
 ' Charrging is an unfortunate necessity,' 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 charrge 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 ? ' 
 
 The English were not running. They 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 certain 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
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 61 
 
 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 t 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 
 affairs. On the third occasion he returned, with a 
 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
 
 62 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 
 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 between 
 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
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 63 
 
 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 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 
 yourself 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 
 doing 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,
 
 64 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.' 
 
 1 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. 
 
 ' 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
 
 THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT 
 
 65 
 
 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 Jakin 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 our 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 serving 
 the Czar as an officer in a Cossack regiment, and 
 corresponding for a Russian newspaper with a name 
 that was never twice alike. He was a handsome 
 young Oriental, fond of wandering through unex- 
 plored portions of the earth, and he arrived in India
 
 THE MAN WHO WAS 67 
 
 from nowhere in particular. At least no living man 
 could ascertain whether it was by way of Balkh, 
 Badakshan, Chitral, Beluchistan, or Nepaul, or any- 
 where 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 another, till he fore- 
 gathered 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 dis- 
 turb the peace of head of a foreigner — that foreigner 
 is certain to be a superior man. 
 
 The White Hussars were as conscientious in 
 choosing their wine as in charging the enemy. All 
 that they possessed, including some wondrous brandy, 
 was placed at the absolute disposition of Dirkovitch, 
 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
 
 68 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 aforetime. 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 - yourself 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 proposed 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 herself with one hussar. Wherefore she 
 wedded a little man in a Rifle Regiment, being by
 
 THE MAN WHO WAS 69 
 
 nature contradictious ; 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 persons 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. They 
 had once met the regiment officially and for something 
 less than twenty minutes, but the interview, which was 
 complicated with many casualties, had filled them 
 with prejudice. They even called the White Hussars 
 children of the devil and sons of persons 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-Henry carbines 
 that would lob 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 sentries ; 
 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
 
 7° SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 season, 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 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 burglaries 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
 
 THE MAN WHO WAS 71 
 
 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 
 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, God 
 bless her,' and the big spurs clanked as the big men 
 heaved themselves up and drank the Queen upon
 
 72 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 desert, 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 into 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 ? ' ' Shalmsh, 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, 
 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
 
 Rung ho, Hira Singh ! ' — P. 72.
 
 THE MAN WHO WAS 73 
 
 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 leap- 
 ing glasses. 
 
 Dirkovitch, who had devoted himself steadily to 
 the brandy — the terrible brandy aforementioned— 
 did not understand, nor did the expurgated trans- 
 lations offered to him at all convey the point. De- 
 cidedly Hira Singh's was the speech of the evening, 
 and the clamour might have continued to the dawn 
 had it not been broken by the noise of a shot 
 without that sent every man feeling at his defence- 
 less 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. 
 
 1 Why don't they put him in the cells till the
 
 74 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 demoral- 
 ised an Afghan. He was turbanless, shoeless, caked 
 with dirt, and all but dead with rough handling. 
 Hira Singh started slightly at the sound of the man's 
 pain. Dirkovitch took another glass of brandy. 
 
 l What does the sentry say?' said the Colonel. 
 
 ' 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 beginning to blaze, promptly 
 removed himself and his men. The mess was left
 
 THE MAN WHO WAS 75 
 
 alone with the carbine-thief, who laid his head on 
 the table and wept bitterly, hopelessly, and incon- 
 solably, as little children weep. 
 
 Hira Singh leapt to his feet. ' Colonel Sahib,' 
 said he, ' that man is no Afghan, for they weep Ai ! 
 At! Nor is he of Hindustan, for they weep Oh! 
 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 Lushkar 
 team. 
 
 ' 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 him to hospital. 
 He's been man-handled.' 
 
 Now the Adjutant loved his carbines. They were 
 to him as his grandchildren, the men standing 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.
 
 76 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 digestion of the 
 White Hussars. They were in fact rather proud 
 of it. 
 
 ' 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 Dirko- 
 vitch had departed into a brandy -paradise of his 
 own. His lips moved without sound and he was 
 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
 
 He found the spring, —p. yy.
 
 THE MAN WHO WAS 77 
 
 than a man till ' Boot and saddle ' was sounded, 
 repeated the question in a voice that would have 
 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 remembering the pit 
 whence he was digged and descending thither. The 
 Band began to play the tune with which the White 
 Hussars from the date of their formation have con- 
 cluded 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 
 morning. 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 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
 
 78 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 
 beating 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 our 
 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 
 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'
 
 THE MAN WHO WAS 79 
 
 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 without 
 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 vast 
 delight of the mess-contractors. The custom is now 
 dead, because there is nothing to break anything for, 
 except now and again the word of a Government, 
 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.
 
 So SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 
 changed. He said something that sounded like 
 SJito ve takete, and the man fawning answered, 
 Chctyre. 
 
 ' 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 
 number ? ' 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
 
 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. — p. 80.
 
 ■-•
 
 THE MAN WHO WAS Si 
 
 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 the mess, ' but he says it was very 
 long ago in a war. I think that there was an acci- 
 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 
 apologised to that our colonel, which he had in- 
 sulted.' 
 
 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 
 
 G
 
 82 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 ex- 
 hibited un- Christian delight and other emotions, 
 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 out.' 
 
 ' But he never apologised. Said he'd see him 
 damned first,' chorused 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 ? ' 
 
 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 not 
 explain how, like a homing pigeon, he had found his 
 way to his own old mess again. Of what he had
 
 THE MAN WHO WAS 83 
 
 suffered or seen he knew nothing. He cringed 
 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 
 peoples 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 not 
 good to see. He was just one little — oh, so little — 
 accident, that no 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
 
 84 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 ? 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 revoirl said the Russian. 
 
 ' Indeed ! But we thought you were going 
 home? ' 
 
 ' Yes, but I will come again. My dear friends, is 
 that road shut ? ' He pointed to where the North 
 Star burned over the Khyber Pass. 
 
 ' By Jove ! I forgot. Of course. Happy to meet 
 you, old man, any time you like. Got everything 
 you want ? Cheroots, ice, bedding ? That's all 
 right. Well, au revoiv, Dirkovitch.' 
 
 ' Um,' said the other man, as the tail-lights of
 
 THE MAN WHO WAS 
 
 85 
 
 the train grew small. ' Of — all 
 gated ! ' 
 
 the 
 
 unmiti- 
 
 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 
 
 What did the colonel's lady think 1 
 
 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. 
 
 Barrack 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 unshaken in- 
 fantry at the trot. Infantry captured artillery by 
 frontal attacks delivered in line of quarter columns, 
 and mounted infantry skirmished up to the wheels 
 of an armoured train which carried nothing more 
 deadly than a twenty-five pounder Armstrong, two 
 Nordenfeldts, and a few score volunteers all cased in 
 three-eighths-inch boiler-plate. Yet it was a very 
 lifelike camp. Operations did not cease at sundown ;
 
 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 87 
 
 nobody knew the country and nobody 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 hammered 
 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 
 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
 
 88 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 Army, our first intimation of the attack was at 
 twilight, 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 
 division. And listen, — there go the Gurkhas ! ' 
 
 A weak fire broke from the rear-guard more than 
 a mile away, and was answered by cheerful howlings. 
 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.
 
 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD S 9 
 
 ' 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 choking 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 '11 
 fetch ut out.' 
 
 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'rything. 
 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 ! 
 T'is 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 haversack
 
 90 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 correspond- 
 ents : 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 flying 
 column had taken three days' rations with it, and 
 there be few things nastier than Government rations 
 — especially when Government is experimenting with 
 German toys. Erbsvvurst, 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 collect brushwood had 
 returned, the men were settled down by their valises, 
 kettles and pots had appeared 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
 
 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 91 
 
 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 between the 
 howling of the jackals, the movement of the wind in 
 the tamarisks, and the fitful mutter of musketry-fire 
 leagues away to the left. A native woman from 
 some unseen hut began to sing, the mail-train 
 thundered past on its way to Delhi, and a roosting 
 crow cawed drowsily. Then there was a belt-loosen- 
 ing 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 
 intricate 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, T/ie 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
 
 92 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 without empires. Burma, 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 house - wife, 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 
 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
 
 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 93 
 
 uid 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 
 presince. 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 
 betther not to slip your boots. How do I know 
 that ? By the light av pure reason. Here are 
 three companies 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 
 that the gallery shouted,' said the man of war, care- 
 fully lacing his boots. ' Did I not tell you av 
 Silver's Theatre in Dublin, 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
 
 94 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 pay for the fun. Faith, I've seen Hamlut played 
 wid a new black eye 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 soliloquishms 
 mid-between. " My shtockin's may be comin' down 
 or they may not," sez he, screwin' his eye into the 
 gallery, for well he knew who I was. " But afther 
 this performince is over me an' the Ghost '11 trample 
 the tripes out av you, Terence, wid your ass's bray ! " 
 An' that's how I come to know about Hamlut. 
 Eyah ! Those days, those days ! Did you iver 
 have onendin' devilmint 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 fut. 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
 
 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 95 
 
 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 little Kathleen, my sweet little Kathleen, 
 Kathleen, my Kathleen, 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. 
 
 1 For all we take we must pay, but the price is 
 cruel high,' murmured Mulvaney when the chorus 
 had ceased. 
 
 ' What's the trouble ? ' I said gently, for I knew 
 that he was a man of an inextinguishable sorrow. 
 
 ' 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, untrust- 
 able baste av a privit that has seen the Rig'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 off in ord'ly-room through some
 
 96 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 Rig'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 myself; 
 an' I am sure, as tho' I heard ut, that the minut 
 wan av these pink-eyed recruities gets away from 
 my " Mind ye now," an' " Listen to this, Jim, bhoy," 
 — sure I am that the sargint houlds me up to him 
 for a warnin'. So I tache, as they say at musketry- 
 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 '11 break, an' so you'll ha' killed him, manin'
 
 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 97 
 
 no more than to kape yourself warm. 'Tis a 
 recruity's thrick that. Pass the clanin'-rod, Sorr.' 
 
 I snuggled down abashed ; and after an interval 
 the voice of Mulvaney began. 
 
 ' Did I iver tell you how Dinah Shadd came to 
 be wife av mine ? ' 
 
 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. 
 
 4 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. Mulvaney 
 continued — 
 
 H
 
 98 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 ' Thin I will assume that ye have not. I did. In 
 the days av my youth, as I have more than wanst 
 tould you, I was a man that rilled 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 ut ! For the first five 
 years av my service, whin I was what I wud give 
 my sowl to be now, I tuk whatever 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, an' 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 rig'mintal 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 to 
 mesilf, " Terence, you're a great man an' the best set- 
 up in the rig'mint. Go on an' get promotion." 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
 
 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 99 
 
 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' wicl that I considhered on ut a 
 long while. Did you iver feel that way, Sorr ? ' 
 
 I snored gently, knowing that if Mulvaney were 
 uninterrupted 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- 
 Sargint Shadd than for any thruck wid women-folk. 
 I was a corp'ril then — rejuced afther wards, 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. 
 
 ' Wid that I tuk off my gloves — there was pipe- 
 clay in thim, so that they stud alone — an' pulled up 
 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, Sargint," 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 compliment. " That manes you want 
 money," sez she.
 
 ioo SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 1 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,' 
 said Mulvaney, driving his boot into the dying fire. 
 ' If you read the Soldier's Pocket-Book, which niver 
 any soldier reads, you'll see that there are exceptions. 
 Whin Dinah was out av the door (an' 'twas as tho' 
 the sunlight had shut too) — " Mother av Hiven, 
 Sargint," 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 Mother 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 last year, an' she shot 
 up wid the spring," sez ould Mother Shadd. " I'll 
 thrapese no more," sez I " D'you mane that ? " sez
 
 ■S'vlflifryrE 
 
 Thin whin the kettle was to be filled, Dinah came in— my Dinah.'— p. 100.
 
 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 101 
 
 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'lry 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 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 as 
 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 be- 
 tune 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 imperious- 
 ness out av the Duchess av Clonmel in those days. 
 Flower hand, foot av shod air, an' the eyes av the 
 livin' mornin' she had that is my wife to-day — ould 
 Dinah, and niver aught else than Dinah Shadd to me. 
 
 1 'Twas after three weeks stand in' off an' on, an' 
 niver makin' headway excipt through the eyes, that
 
 102 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 a little drummer-boy grinned in me face whin I had 
 admonished him vvid the buckle av my belt for 
 riotin' all over the place. " An' I'm not the only- 
 wan that doesn't kape to barricks," sez he. 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 Dempsey," 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'lry-man not fit to trust on a 
 trunk. Presintly I found him in our lines — the 
 Bobtails was quartered next us — an' a tallowy, 
 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 
 
 'fc> 4 
 
 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-corp'ril." 
 
 ' Before I cud gyard he had his gloved fist home 
 on my cheek an' down I went full-sprawl. " Will 
 that content you ? " sez he, blowin' on his knuckles
 
 ' "My collar-bone's bruk," sez he.' — p. 103.
 
 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 103 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 1 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 
 met Dinah Shadd wid a cheek on me like all the 
 rig'mintal tailor's 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 ? "
 
 104 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 ' " 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. 
 
 ' 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 never 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 roll in'
 
 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 105 
 
 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 iv'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 from my mouth, I 
 must go through the married lines on my way to 
 quarters an' I must stay talkin' to a red-headed 
 Mullingar heifer av a girl, Judy Sheehy, that was 
 daughter to Mother Sheehy, the wife of Nick Sheehy, 
 the canteen-sargint — the Black Curse av Shielygh 
 be on the whole brood that are above groun' this 
 day ! 
 
 1 " 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 on- 
 trustable 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 ? "
 
 106 SOtDIER STORIES 
 
 1 " I can endure," se z I ; ould Mother Sheehy bein' 
 no divarsion av mine, nor her daughter too, ludv 
 
 fetched the tea things an' put thim on the table, 
 leanin' over me vet)- close to get thim square. 1 
 dhrew back, thinkin' av Dinah. 
 
 ' " Is ut afraid you are av a girl alone ? " se.- Judy, 
 
 '"No," sez 1. '"Why should 1 be 5 " 
 
 "'That rests wid the girl," sez Judy, dhrawin 1 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 
 sweet enough for my taste. Tut your little finger in 
 the cup, 1 udy. 'Twill make tit 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 ve, Corp'ril," se/. she. " You're a 
 flirrt." 
 
 '"On me sowl I'm not," sez 1. 
 
 '"Then you're a cruel handsome man, an' that's 
 worse," sez she, heaving big sighs an' lookin' cross- 
 ways. 
 
 1 " Von 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 avut, then, Terence, darlin'," 
 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. 
 
 1 " There's no more to be said afthcr that," sez I,
 
 THE ' JIADD 
 
 \x\ her back again — Oh the man tt that I 
 
 : . d ringin' md Dinah How does 
 
 ut come about, Son*, 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 iv'ry shot goes wide or into the bank, an' the 
 xt, lay high ! snap, ye can't get off 
 
 the bull .-'.;'■- for ten shots runnin'.' 
 
 ' That only happens to a man who has had a 
 -perience. Pie does it without think- 
 ing,' I replied. 
 
 ' 'I hankin' you for the complimint, Sorr, ut may 
 be so. But I'm doubtful whether you mint ut for a 
 
 nplimint. 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. Presently, 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 sec 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 promust, mother," sez she, an' the 
 could sweat bruk out all over me. Ould Mother 
 Sheehy sat down of a heap an' began playin' wid the 
 cups. "Thin you're a well-matched pair," she sez 
 very thick. " For he's the biggest rogue that iver 
 ipoiled the Queen's shoe-leather, an' " 
 
 '"I'm off, Judy," sez I. "Ye should not talk 
 nonsinse to your mother. Get her to bed, girl." 
 
 ' " Nonsinse ! " sez the ould woman, prickin' up
 
 io8 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 her ears like a cat an' grippin' the table-edge. 
 " '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 
 avday 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 my way to canteen I ran against Lascelles, 
 Colour-Sargint 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 worse 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, ye 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 
 that comp'ny. If you said anythin', an' for 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 I not know what
 
 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 109 
 
 ut is to marry a woman that was the very spit an' 
 image av Judy whin she was young? I'm gettin' 
 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 rig'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 and 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' I 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'. 
 
 ' " 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 Dinah 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."
 
 no SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 1 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 and 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'. 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' tho' 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
 
 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD in 
 
 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 ? " 
 
 'Judy wint 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, 
 an' ye've lost what ye niver had — your common 
 honesty. If you manage your men as you manage 
 your love-makin', small wondher they call you the 
 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, " tho' 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 iv'ry sorrow that came into
 
 ii2 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 iv'ry step av the dark path you take 
 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' onable to stir hand or 
 foot ! " 
 
 ' I heard a scufflin' 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 Sheehy, 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
 
 The half av that I'll take," sez she.' — p. 112.
 
 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 113 
 
 quarther- master -sargint's wife in five years. You 
 look too high, child. You shall wash for the 
 quarther-master-sargint, whin he plases to give you 
 the job out av charity ; but a privit's wife you shall 
 be to the end, an' iv'ry 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 shall 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 iv'ry 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 sargints' wives shall look down on 
 you contemptuous, daughter av a sargint, 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 
 veranda 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." 
 
 I
 
 H4 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 '11 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 ? Iv'ry word that wicked 
 ould woman spoke fell thrue in my life aftherwards, 
 an' I cud ha' stud ut all — stud ut all, — excipt when 
 my little Shadd was born. That was on the line av 
 march three months afther the regiment was taken 
 with cholera. We were betune Umballa an' Kalka 
 thin, an' I was on picket. Whin I came off duty 
 the women showed me the child, an' ut turned on 
 uts side an' died as I looked. We buried him by 
 the road, an' Father Victor was a day's march 
 behind wid the heavy baggage, so the comp'ny 
 captain read a prayer. An' since then I've been a 
 childless man, an' all else that ould Mother Sheehy 
 put upon me an' Dinah Shadd. What do you 
 think, Sorr ? ' 
 
 I thought a good deal, but it seemed better then 
 to reach out for Mulvaney's hand. The demonstra- 
 tion nearly cost me the use of three fingers. What- 
 ever he knows of his weaknesses, Mulvaney is entirely 
 ignorant of his strength.
 
 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 115 
 
 ' But what do you think ? ' he repeated, as I was 
 straightening out the crushed fingers. 
 
 My reply was drowned in yells and outcries from 
 the next fire, where ten men were shouting for 
 ' Orth'ris,' ( Privit Orth'ris,' ' Mistah Or — ther — ris ! ' 
 ' Deah boy,' ' Cap'n Orth'ris,' ' Field-Marshal Orth'ris,' 
 ' Stanley, you pen'north o' pop, come 'ere to your 
 own comp'ny ! ' And the Cockney, who had been 
 delighting another audience with recondite and 
 Rabelaisian yarns, was shot down among his admirers 
 by the major force. 
 
 ' You've crumpled my dress-shirt 'orrid/ said he, 
 ' an' I shan't sing no more to this 'ere bloomin' 
 drawin'-room.' 
 
 Learoyd, roused by the confusion, uncoiled 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 : — 
 
 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 give me a shillin' 
 
 To fight for 'er over the seas ; 
 But Guv'ment built me a fever-trap, 
 
 An' Injia give 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.
 
 "6 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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' da/i, 
 But the cartridge stuck and the bay'nit bruk, 
 
 An' all I got was the scar. 
 
 Cliorus. 
 
 Ho ! don't you aim at a Afghan 
 
 When you stand on the sky-line clear ; 
 
 An' don't you go for a Burman 
 If none o' your friends is near. 
 
 I served my time for a corp'ral, 
 
 An' wetted my stripes with pop, 
 For I went on the bend with a intimate friend, 
 
 An' finished the night in the ' shop.' 
 I served my time for a sergeant ; 
 
 The colonel 'e sez ' No ! 
 The most you'll see is a full C.B.' l 
 
 An' . . . very next night 'twas so. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Ho ! don't you go for a corp'ral 
 
 Unless your 'ed is clear ; 
 But I was an ass when I was at grass, 
 
 An' that is why I'm 'ere. 
 
 I've tasted the luck o' the army 
 
 In barrack an 5 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! 
 
 1 Confined to barracks.
 
 THE COURTING OF DINAH SHADD 117 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Ho ! don't you 'eed what a girl says, 
 An' don't you go for the beer ; 
 
 But I was an ass when I was at grass, 
 An' that is why I'm 'ere. 
 
 ' Ay, listen to our little man now, singin' an' 
 shoutin' as tho' trouble had niver touched him. 
 D' you remember when he went mad with the home- 
 sickness ? ' said Mulvaney, recalling a never-to-be- 
 forgotten season when Ortheris waded through the 
 deep waters of affliction and behaved abominably. 
 ' But he's talkin' bitter truth, though. Eyah ! 
 
 ' My very worst frind from beginnin' to ind 
 By the blood av a mouse was mesilf ! ' 
 
 When I woke I saw Mulvaney, the night -dew 
 gemming his moustache, leaning on his rifle at 
 picket, lonely as Prometheus on his rock, with I 
 know not what vultures tearing his liver. 
 
 
 
 
 m\ 
 
 
 1 ;:-'JSS^ 
 
 13 
 
 1 
 
 
 <M 
 
 
 H 
 
 
 
 ™SJJf/f? 
 
 
 ft.
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA 
 MULVANEY 
 
 Wohl auf, my bully cavaliers 
 
 We ride to church to-day, 
 The man that hasn't got a horse 
 
 Must steal one straight away. 
 
 Be reverent, men, remember 
 
 This is a Gottes haus. 
 Du, Conrad, cut along der aisle 
 
 And schenck der whiskey aus. 
 
 Hans Breitmann's Ride to Chunk. 
 
 ONCE upon a time, very far from England, there 
 lived three men who loved each other so greatly 
 that neither man nor woman could come between 
 them. They were in no sense refined, nor to be 
 admitted to the outer- door mats of decent folk, 
 because they happened to be private soldiers in 
 Her Majesty's Army ; and private soldiers of our 
 service have small time for self-culture. Their 
 duty is to keep themselves and their accoutrements 
 specklessly clean, to refrain from getting drunk more 
 often than is necessary, to obey their superiors, and 
 to pray for a war. All these things my friends 
 accomplished ; and of their own motion threw in 
 some fighting-work for which the Army Regulations
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 119 
 
 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 swift- 
 ness, 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, reck- 
 less, resourceful, and in his pious hours an unequalled 
 soldier. To him turned for help and comfort six 
 and a half feet of slow-moving, heavy-footed York- 
 shireman, born on the wolds, bred in the dales, and 
 educated chiefly among the carriers' carts at the back 
 of York railway-station. His name was Learoyd, 
 and his chief virtue an unmitigated patience which 
 helped him to win fights. How Ortheris, a fox- 
 terrier of a Cockney, ever came to be one of the trio, 
 is a mystery which even to-day I cannot explain. 
 ' There was always three av us,' Mulvaney used to say. 
 ' An' by the grace av God, so long as our service 
 lasts, three av us they'll always be. 'Tis betther so.' 
 They desired no companionship beyond their
 
 120 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 own, and it was evil for any man of the regiment 
 who attempted dispute with them. Physical argu- 
 ment 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 friend- 
 ship — frankly by Mulvaney from the beginning, 
 sullenly and with reluctance by Learoyd, and sus- 
 piciously by Ortheris, who held to it that no man 
 not in the Army could fraternise with a red-coat. 
 ' Like to like,' said he. 'I'm a bloomin' sodger — 
 he's a bloomin' civilian. 'Taint natural — that's all.' 
 
 But that was not all. They thawed progressively, 
 and in the thawing told me more of their lives and 
 adventures than I am ever likely to write. 
 
 Omitting all else, this tale begins with the 
 Lamentable Thirst that was at the beginning of 
 First Causes. Never was such a thirst — Mulvaney 
 told me so. They kicked against their compulsory 
 virtue, but the attempt was only successful in the 
 case of Ortheris. He, whose talents were many, 
 went forth into the highways and stole a dog from 
 a ' civilian ' — videlicet, some one, he knew not who, 
 not in the Army. Now that civilian was but 
 newly connected by marriage with the Colonel of 
 the regiment, and outcry was made from quarters
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 121 
 
 least anticipated by Ortheris, and, in the end, he 
 was forced, lest a worse thing should happen, to 
 dispose at ridiculously un remunerative rates of as 
 promising a small terrier as ever graced one end of 
 a leading string. The purchase-money was barely 
 sufficient for one small outbreak which led him to 
 the guard-room. He escaped, however, with nothing 
 worse than a severe reprimand, and a few hours of 
 punishment drill. Not for nothing had he acquired 
 the reputation of being ' the best soldier of his 
 inches ' in the regiment. Mulvaney had taught 
 personal cleanliness and efficiency as the first articles 
 of his companions' creed. ' A dhirty man,' he was 
 used to say, in the speech of his kind, ' goes to Clink 
 for a weakness in the knees, an' is coort-martialled 
 for a pair av socks missin' ; but a clane man, such 
 as is an ornament to his service — a man whose 
 buttons are gold, whose coat is wax upon him, an' 
 whose 'coutrements are widout a speck — that man 
 may, spakin' in reason, do fvvhat 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 a holy bird
 
 122 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 throughout India, and he who slays one is in danger 
 of being mobbed by the nearest villagers ; but on 
 the last occasion that Mulvaney had gone forth, he 
 had contrived, without in the least offending local 
 religious susceptibilities, to return with six beautiful 
 peacock skins which he sold to profit. It seemed 
 just possible then 
 
 ' But fwhat manner av use is ut to me goin' out 
 widout a dhrink? The ground's powdher-dhry 
 underfoot, an' ut gets unto the throat fit to kill,' 
 wailed Mulvaney, looking at me reproachfully. ' An' 
 a peacock is not a bird you can catch the tail av 
 onless ye run. Can a man run on wather — an' 
 jungle-wather too ? ' 
 
 Ortheris had considered the question in all its 
 bearings. He spoke, chewing his pipe-stem medita- 
 tively the while : 
 
 ' Go forth, return in glory, 
 To Clusium's royal 'ome : 
 An' round these bloomin' temples 'ang 
 The bloomin' shields o' Rome. 
 
 You better go. You ain't like to shoot yourself — 
 not while there's a chanst of liquor. Me an' Learoyd '11 
 stay at 'ome an' keep shop — 'case o' anythin' turnin' 
 up. But you go out with a gas-pipe gun an' ketch 
 the little peacockses or somethin'. You kin get one 
 day's leave easy as winkin'. Go along an' get it, an' 
 get peacockses or somethin'.' 
 
 'Jock,' said Mulvaney, turning to Learoyd, who 
 was half asleep under the shadow of the bank. He 
 roused slowly. 
 
 ' Sitha, Mulvaaney, go,' said he.
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 123 
 
 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 permiscuous huntin' 
 afther peacockses in a desolit Ian' ; an' I know that 
 I will lie down an' die wid thirrrst. Me catch pea- 
 cockses for you, ye lazy scutts — an' be sacrificed by 
 the peasanthry — Ugh ! ' 
 
 He waved a huge paw and went away. 
 
 At twilight, long before the appointed hour, he 
 returned empty-handed, much begrimed with dirt. 
 
 ' Peacockses ? ' queried Ortheris from the safe rest 
 of a barrack-room table whereon he was smoking 
 cross-legged, Learoyd fast asleep on a bench. 
 
 ' Jock,' said Mulvaney without answering, as he 
 stirred up the sleeper. ' Jock, can ye fight ? Will 
 ye fight ? ' 
 
 Very slowly the meaning of the words com- 
 municated 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 break- 
 ing of bonds. 
 
 Barrack -room etiquette is stringent. On the 
 direct challenge must follow the direct reply. This 
 is more binding than the ties of tried friendship. 
 Once again Mulvaney repeated the question. Lea- 
 royd answered by the only means in his power, and
 
 i2 4 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 so swiftly that the Irishman had barely time to avoid 
 the blow. The laughter around increased. Learoyd 
 looked bewilderedly at his friend — himself as greatly 
 bewildered. Ortheris dropped from the table be- 
 cause his world was falling. 
 
 ' Come outside,' said Mulvaney, and as the occu- 
 pants of the barrack-room prepared joyously to follow, 
 he turned and said furiously, ' There will be no fight 
 this night — onless any wan av you is wishful to 
 assist. The man that does, follows on.' 
 
 No man moved. The three passed out into the 
 moonlight, Learoyd fumbling with the buttons of his 
 coat. The parade-ground was deserted except for 
 the scurrying jackals. Mulvaney's impetuous rush 
 carried his companions far into the open ere Learoyd 
 attempted to turn round and continue the discussion. 
 
 ' Be still now. 'Twas my fault for beginnin' 
 things in the middle av an end, Jock. I should ha' 
 comminst wid an explanation ; but Jock, dear, on 
 your sowl are ye fit, think you, for the finest fight 
 that iver was — betther than fightin' me ? Considher 
 before ye answer.' 
 
 More than ever puzzled, Learoyd turned round 
 two or three times, felt an arm, kicked tentatively, 
 and answered, ' Ah'm fit.' He was accustomed to 
 fight blindly at the bidding of the superior mind. 
 
 They sat them down, the men looking on from afar, 
 and Mulvaney untangled himself in mighty words. 
 
 ' Followin' your fools' scheme I wint out into the 
 thrackless desert beyond the barricks. An' there I 
 met a pious Hindu dhriving a bullock-kyart. I tuk 
 Ut for granted he wud be delighted for to convoy me 
 a piece, an' I jumped in '
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 125 
 
 ' 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 iver kyarted. Dhrive on, 
 me son, an' glory be wid you." At that I wint to 
 slape, an' took no heed till he pulled up on the 
 embankmint av the line where the coolies were pilin' 
 mud. There was a matther av two thousand coolies 
 on that line— you remimber that. Prisintly a bell 
 rang, an' they throops off to a big pay-shed. " Where's 
 the white man in charge ? " sez I to my kyart-dhriver. 
 "In the shed," sez he, "engaged on a riffle." — "A 
 fwhat ? " sez I. " Riffle," sez he. " You take ticket. 
 He take money. You get nothin'."— " Oho ! " sez I, 
 " that's fwhat the shuperior an' cultivated man calls 
 a raffle, me misbeguided child av darkness an' sin. 
 Lead on to that raffle, though fwhat the mischief 'tis 
 doin' so far away from uts home — which is the 
 charity-bazaar at Christmas, an' the Colonel's wife 
 grinnin' behind the tea-table — is more than I know." 
 Wid that I wint to the shed an' found 'twas pay-day 
 among the coolies. Their wages was on a table 
 forninst a big, fine, red buck av a man — sivun fut 
 high, four fut wide, an' three fut thick, wid a fist on 
 him like a corn-sack. He was payin' the coolies fair 
 an' easy, but he wud ask each man if he wud raffle 
 that month, an' each man sez, " Yes," av course. 
 Thin he wud deduct from their wages accord in'.
 
 126 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 Whin all was paid, he filled an ould cigar-box full av 
 gun-wads an' scatthered ut among the coolies. They 
 did not take much joy av that performince, an' small 
 wondher. A man close to me picks up a black gun- 
 wad 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 sump- 
 shus, jooled, enamelled an' variously bedivilled sedan- 
 chair I iver saw.' 
 
 ' Sedan-chair ! Put your 'cad in a bag. That 
 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 construction." 
 — " I'm in charge av mesilf," sez I, " an' it's like I 
 will stay a while. D'ye raffle much in these parts ? " 
 — " Fwhat's that to you ? " sez he. " Nothin'," sez I,
 
 " Out of this," sez he. " I'm in charge av this section av construction." — 
 " I'm in charge av mesilf," sez I, "an' it's like I will stay a while." ' — I'. 126.
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 127 
 
 " but a great dale to you, for begad I'm thinkin' you 
 get the full half av your revenue from that sedan- 
 chair. Is ut always raffled so ? " I sez, an' wid that 
 I wint to a coolie to ask questions. Bhoys, that 
 man's name is Dearsley, an' he's been rafflin' that 
 ould sedan-chair monthly this matther av nine months. 
 Iv'ry coolie on the section takes a ticket — or he gives 
 'em the go — wanst a month on pay-day. Iv'ry 
 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
 
 128 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 himself and partly to his friends. Ortheris wriggled 
 with suppressed emotion. 
 
 ' I thought ye wud see the reasonableness av 
 ut,' said Mulvaney. ' I made bould to say as 
 much to the man before. He was for a direct front 
 
 attack — fut, horse, an' guns an' all for nothin', 
 
 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-earned 
 emolumints, an' by presint informashin" — 'twas the 
 kyart man that tould me — " ye've been perpethrating 
 that same for nine months. But I'm a just man," 
 sez I, " an' overlookin' the presumpshin that yondher 
 settee wid the gilt top was not come by honust," — at 
 that he turned sky-green, so I knew things was more 
 thrue than tellable — " not come by honust, I'm willin' 
 to compound the felony for this month's winnin's." ' 
 
 ' Ah ! Ho ! ' from Learoyd and Ortheris. 
 
 ' That man Dearsley 's rushin' on his fate,' 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 
 for me to argue," sez I, " fwhatever ye are, Mister 
 Dearsley, but, by my hand, I'll take away the 
 temptation for you that lies in that sedan-chair." — 
 " You will have to fight me for ut," sez he, " for well 
 I know you will never dare make report to any 
 one." — " Fight I will," sez I, " but not this day, for
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 129 
 
 I'm rejuced for want av nourishmint." — " Ye're an 
 ould bould hand," sez he, sizin' me up an' down ; " an' 
 a jool av a fight we will have. Eat now an' dhrink, 
 an' go your way." Wid that he gave me some hump 
 an' whisky — good whisky — an' we talked av this an' 
 that the while. "It goes hard on me now," sez I, 
 wipin' my mouth, " to confiscate that piece av 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 rig'mint 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 '11 see fair play. Jock, 
 I tell you, 'twill be big fightin' — whipped, wid the 
 cream above the jam. Afther the business 'twill take 
 a good three av us — Jock '11 be very hurt — to haul 
 away that sedan-chair.' 
 
 ' Palanquin.' This from Ortheris. 
 
 ' Fwhatever ut is, we must have ut. 'Tis the 
 only sellin' piece av property widin reach that we 
 can get so cheap. An' fvvhat's a fight afther all ? 
 He has robbed the naygur-man, dishonust. We rob 
 him honust for the sake av the whisky he gave me.' 
 
 ' But wot'll we do with the bloomin' article when 
 we've got it ? Them palanquins are as big as 
 'ouses, an' uncommon 'ard to sell, as M'Cleary said 
 when ye stole the sentry-box from the Curragh.' 
 
 K
 
 130 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 ' 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 — Dearsley Sahib. 
 They made 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
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 131 
 
 spring. Both men were soon all red, but Dearsley 
 Sahib was much more 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 confused 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 fight- 
 ings 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 fire the pay-shed, and departed. Is it 
 true that Dearsley Sahib makes no complaint of 
 these latter things having been done ? We were 
 senseless with fear, and do not at all remember. 
 There was no palanquin 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 ?
 
 132 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 Those three men in reel 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 con- 
 tributed 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 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 himself 
 was in no condition to say anything, and Mulvaney 
 preserved a massive silence, broken only by 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-mache oi 
 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
 
 Nine roun's they were even matched, an' at the tenth 
 
 -P. i'
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 133 
 
 cushions were of brocaded Delhi silk, and the curtains 
 which once hid any glimpse of the beauty of the 
 king's palace were stiff with gold. Closer investiga- 
 tion showed that the entire fabric was everywhere 
 rubbed and discoloured by time and wear ; but even 
 thus it was sufficiently gorgeous to deserve housing 
 on the threshold of a royal zenana. - 1 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. 
 
 1 I'm askin' you to warehouse ut,' said Mulvaney, 
 when he was brought to consider the question. 
 1 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 a 
 privit soldier to kape elephints an' palanquins an'
 
 134 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 sich in barricks. Afther we had dhragged ut down 
 from Dearsley's 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 iv'ry 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 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 INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 135 
 
 the prize, and in the winning secured the highest 
 pleasure life had to offer him, was altogether disposed 
 to undervalue it, while Ortheris openly said it 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 circumstances 
 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 matther 
 av a few garlons 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 thumb will get a 
 fortune thereby. Lave me alone, 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 morning 
 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.
 
 136 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 
 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 '11 '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. 
 
 1 1 had my pick o' you two,' he explained to
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 137 
 
 Learoyd, ' and you got my palanquin — not before 
 I'd made my 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 made him 
 drunker, an' sent him along. But I never touched 
 him.' 
 
 To these things Learoyd, slow to perceive the 
 evidences of sincerity, answered only, ' If owt comes 
 to Mulvaaney 'long o' you, I'll gripple you, clouts or 
 no clouts on your ugly head, an' I'll draw t' throat 
 twistyways, 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, and in the light of past 
 experience 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' 'card of pullin' 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
 
 13S SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 
 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 pre- 
 sence of Learoyd mourning for Mulvaney kills all 
 the cheerfulness of his room. The sergeants tell me
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 139 
 
 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 performances. 
 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 colonel'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 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,
 
 Mo SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 Ortheris, and I went into the waste to smoke out a 
 porcupine. All the dogs attended, but even their 
 clamour — and they began to discuss the short- 
 comings of porcupines before they left cantonments 
 — 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 south- 
 ward 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 sanguinary. 
 This is unusually sanguinary. Sort o' mad country. 
 Like a grate when the fire's put out by the sun.' 
 He shaded his eyes against the moonlight. '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 from afar. It had risen out of the earth ; 
 it was coming towards us, and its outline 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
 
 "" 
 
 
 There pranced a Portent in the face of the moon. — p. 140.
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 141 
 
 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 fire, 
 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. 
 
 ' 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 and 
 trousers were dropping off him. But he wore one 
 wondrous 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
 
 142 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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. 
 Widout me boots, an' me trousies like an openwork 
 stocking on a gyurl's leg at a dance, I begin to feel 
 like a naygur-man — all fearful an' timoreous. Give 
 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.'
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 143 
 
 ' Ye will not. Dearsley's a jool av a man. 
 Afther Ortheris had put me into the palanquin an' 
 the six bearer-men were gruntin' down the road, I 
 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 I slept like the dead. Wanst I half-roused, 
 an' begad the noise in my head was tremenjus — 
 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, palan- 
 quin 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 rovvlin' an' bowlin' along 
 to Benares. Glory be that I did not 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
 
 144 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 Mulvaney from arrest as a deserter had he 
 appeared there in the apparel of his orgies. Dear- 
 sley 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 — 
 
 1 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 muzzle at the chink av the 
 shutter. " It's in a village I am," thinks I to mysilf, 
 " an' the parochial buffalo is investigatin' the palan- 
 quin." But anyways I had no desire to move. 
 Only lie still whin you're in 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
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 145 
 
 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 
 proceeding." 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 — ran' we 
 grated an' bumped like Queenstown potato-smacks in 
 a runnin' tide. I cud hear the women gigglin' and 
 squirkin' in their palanquins, but mine was the royal 
 equipage. They made way for ut, an', begad, 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' forlornsome, 
 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' 
 
 L
 
 146 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 incog — like me. I'm glad to hear she's fat. I was 
 no light weight mysilf, an' my men were mortial 
 anxious to clhrop 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 
 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 
 remainder av the palanquins was in a big half circle 
 facing in to the biggest, fattest, an' most amazin' 
 she-god that iver I dreamed av. Her head ran up 
 into the black above us, an' her feet stuck out in the 
 lieht 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'
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEV 147 
 
 '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 
 transformations at a pantomime, for they was in 
 pink an' blue an' silver an' red an' grass green, wid 
 dimonds an' imralds an' great red rubies all over 
 thim. But that was the least part av the glory. O 
 bhoys, they were more lovely than the like av any 
 loveliness in hiven ; ay, their little bare feet were 
 better than the white hands av a lord's lady, an' 
 their mouths were like puckered roses, an' their eyes 
 were bigger an' dharker than the eyes av any 
 livin' women I've seen. Ye may laugh, but I'm 
 speakin' truth. I niver saw the like, an' niver I will 
 again.' 
 
 ' Seeing that in all probability you were watching 
 the wives and daughters of most of the kings of 
 India, the chances are that you won't,' I said, for 
 it was dawning on me that Mulvaney had stumbled 
 upon a big Queens' Praying at Benares. 
 
 ' I niver will,' he said mournfully. ' That sight 
 doesn't come twist to any man. It made me 
 ashamed to watch. A fat priest knocked at my 
 door. I didn't think he'd have the insolince to 
 disturb the Maharanee av Gokral-Seetarun, so I 
 lay still. " The old cow's asleep," sez he to another. 
 " Let her be," sez that. " 'Twill be long before she 
 has a calf!" I might ha' known before he spoke 
 that all a woman prays for in Injia — an' for matter 
 o' that in England too — is childher. That made 
 me more sorry I'd come, me bein' as you well know, 
 a childless man.'
 
 148 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 He was silent for a moment, thinking of his little 
 son, dead many years ago. 
 
 'They prayed, an' the butter-fires blazed up an' 
 the incense turned everything blue, an' between that 
 an' the fires the women looked as tho' they were all 
 ablaze an' twinklin'. They took hold av the she- 
 god's knees, they cried out an' they threw 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 betune their hands, an' the lights 
 were goin' lower an' dharker. Thin there was a 
 blaze like lightnin' from the roof, an' that showed 
 me the inside av the palanquin, an' at the end 
 where my foot was, stood the livin' spit an' image 
 o' mysilf worked on the linin'. This man here, ut 
 was.' 
 
 He hunted in the folds of his pink cloak, ran 
 a hand under one, and thrust into the firelight a 
 foot-long embroidered presentment of the great god 
 Krishna, playing on a flute. The heavy jowl, the 
 staring eye, and the blue-black moustache of the 
 god made up a far-off resemblance to Mulvaney. 
 
 ' The blaze was gone in a wink, but the whole 
 schame came to me thin. I believe I was mad too. 
 I slid the off-shutter open an' rowled out into the 
 dhark behind the elephint-head pillar, tucked up my 
 trousies to my knees, slipped off my boots an' tuk
 
 ; I was Krishna tootlin' on the flute. ' — p. 149.
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 149 
 
 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 draught blowin' 
 round my bare legs. By this hand that did ut, I 
 was Krishna tootlin' on the flute — the god that the 
 rig'mental chaplain talks about. A sweet sight I 
 must ha' looked. I knew my eyes were big, and 
 my face was wax-white, an' at the worst I must ha' 
 looked like a ghost. But they took me for the livin' 
 god. The music stopped, and the women were 
 dead dumb, an' I crooked my legs like a shepherd 
 on a china basin, an' I did the ghost-waggle with 
 my feet as I had done ut at the rig'mental theatre 
 many times, an' I slid acrost the width av that 
 temple in front av the she-god tootlin' on the beer 
 bottle.' 
 
 ' Wot did you toot ? ' demanded Ortheris the 
 practical. 
 
 ' Me ? Oh ! ' Mulvaney sprang up, suiting the 
 action to the word, and sliding gravely in front of 
 us, a dilapidated but imposing deity in the half 
 light. ' I sang — 
 
 ' Only say 
 
 You'll be Mrs. Brallaghan. 
 Don't say nay, 
 Charmin' Judy Callaghan. 
 
 I didn't know me own voice when I sang. An' oh ! 
 'twas pitiful to see the women. The darlin's were 
 down on their faces. Whin I passed the last wan
 
 150 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 I cud see her poor little fingers workin' one in 
 another as if she wanted to touch my feet. So I 
 dhrevv the tail av this pink overcoat over her head 
 for the greater honour, an' I slid into the dhark on 
 the other side av the temple, and fetched up in the 
 arms av a big fat priest. All I wanted was to get 
 away clear. So I tuk him by his greasy throat 
 an' shut the speech out av him. " Out ! " sez I. 
 "Which way, ye fat heathen?" — "Oh!" sez he. 
 " Man," sez I. " White man, soldier man, common 
 soldier man. Where in the name av confusion is 
 the back door ? " The women in the temple were 
 still on their faces, an' a young priest was holdin' 
 out his arms above their heads. 
 
 ' " This way," sez my fat friend, duckin' behind 
 a big bull-god an' divin' into a passage. Thin I 
 remimbered that I must ha' made the miraculous 
 reputation av that temple for the next fifty years. 
 " Not so fast," I sez, an' I held out both my hands 
 wid a wink. That ould thief smiled like a father. 
 I tuk him by the back av the neck in case he 
 should be wishful to put a knife into me un- 
 beknowst, 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
 
 THE INCARNATION OF KRISHNA MULVANEY 151 
 
 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 unruffled, 
 nodding across the scrub. ' An' there's a dale more 
 in nature than your squidgy little legs have iver 
 taken you to, Orth'ris, me son. Four hundred an' 
 thirty- four rupees by my reckonin', an' a big fat 
 gold necklace that I took from him as a remim- 
 brancer, was our share in that business.' 
 
 ' An' 'e give it you for love ? ' said Ortheris. 
 
 ' We were alone in that passage. Maybe I was 
 a trifle too pressin', but considher fwhat I had done 
 for the good av the temple and the iverlastin' joy 
 av those women. 'Twas cheap at the price. I wud 
 ha' taken more if I cud ha' found ut. I turned the 
 ould man upside down at the last, but he was milked 
 dhry. Thin he opened a door in another passage 
 an' I found mysilf up to my knees in Benares river- 
 water, an' bad smellin' ut is. More by token I had 
 come out on the river-line close to the burnin' ghat 
 and contagious to a cracklin' corpse. This was in 
 the heart av the night, for I had been four hours in 
 the temple. There was a crowd av boats tied up, 
 so I tuk wan an' wint across the river. Thin I 
 came home acrost country, lyin' up by day.' 
 
 ' How on earth did you manage ? ' I said. 
 
 ' How did Sir Frederick Roberts get from Cabul 
 to Candahar ? He marched an' he niver tould how
 
 152 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 near he was to breakin' down. That's why he is 
 fwhat he is. An' now — ' Mulvaney yawned por- 
 tentously. ' Now I will go an' give myself up for 
 absince widout leave. It's eight-an'-twenty days an' 
 the rough end of the Colonel's tongue in orderly 
 room, any way you look at ut. But 'tis cheap at 
 the price.' 
 
 ' Mulvaney,' said I softly. ' If there happens to 
 be any sort of excuse that the Colonel can in any 
 way accept, I have a notion that you'll get nothing 
 more than the dressing-down. The new recruits are 
 in, and ' 
 
 ' Not a word more, Sorr. Is ut excuses the old 
 man wants ? 'Tis not my way, but he shall have 
 thim. I'll tell him I was engaged in financial opera- 
 tions connected wid a church,' and he flapped his 
 way to cantonments and the cells, singing lustily — 
 
 ' So they sent a corp'ril's file, 
 And they put me in the gyard-room 
 For conduck unbecomin' of a soldier.' 
 
 And when he was lost in the mist of the moon- 
 light 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 153 
 
 sensible on a villager's cot for untold hours ; and 
 between laughter and goodwill the affair was smoothed 
 over, so that he could, next day, teach the new re- 
 cruits how to ' Fear God, Honour the Queen, Shoot 
 Straight, and Keep Clean.'
 
 THE TAKING OF LUNGTUNGPEN 
 
 So we loosed a bloomin' volley, 
 An' we made the beggars cut, 
 An' when our pouch was emptied out, 
 We used the bloomin' butt, 
 Ho ! My ! 
 
 Don't yer come anigh, 
 When Tommy is a playin' with the baynit an' the butt. 
 
 Barrack Room Ballad. 
 
 My friend Private Mulvaney told me this, sitting on 
 the parapet of the road to Dagshai, when we were 
 hunting butterflies together. He had theories about 
 the Army, and coloured clay pipes perfectly. He 
 said that the young soldier is the best to work with, 
 ' on account av the surpassing innocinse av the 
 child.' 
 
 ' Now, listen ! ' said Mulvaney, throwing himself 
 full length on the wall in the sun. ' I'm a born 
 scutt av the barrick-room ! The Army's mate an' 
 dhrink to me, bekaze I'm wan av the few than 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 
 Hon'ry Lift'nint by this time — a nuisince to my 
 bctthers, a laughin'-shtock to my equils, an' a curse
 
 THE TAKING OF LUNGTUNGPEN 155 
 
 to meself. Bcin' fwhat I am, I'm Privit Mulvaney, 
 wid no good-conduc' pay an' a devourin' thirst. 
 Always barrin' me little frind Bobs Bahadur, I know- 
 as much about the Army as most men.' 
 
 I said something here. 
 
 • Wolseley be shot ! Betune you an' me an' that 
 butterfly net, he's a ramblin', incoherint sort av a 
 divil, wid wan oi on the Quane an' the Coort, an' the 
 other on his blessed silf — everlastin'ly playing Saysar 
 an' Alexandrier rowled into a lump. Now Bobs is 
 a sensible little man. Wid Bobs an' a few three- 
 year-olds, I'd swape any army av the earth into a 
 towel, an' throw it away aftherwards. Faith, I'm 
 not jokin' ! 'Tis the bhoys — the raw bhoys — that 
 don't know fwhat a bullut manes, an' wudn't care av 
 they did — that dhu the work. They're crammed 
 wid bull-mate till they fairly ramps wid good livin' ; 
 and thin, av they don't fight, they blow each other's 
 hids off. 'Tis the trut' I'm tellin' you. They shud 
 be kept on water an' rice in the hot weather ; but 
 there'd be a mut'ny av 'twas done. 
 
 ' Did ye iver hear how Privit Mulvaney tuk the 
 town av Lungtungpen ? I thought not ! 'Twas the 
 Lift'nint got the credit ; but 'twas me planned the 
 schame. A little before I was inviladed from 
 Burma, me an' four-an'-twenty young wans undher a 
 Lift'nint Brazenose was ruinin' our dijeshins thryin' 
 to catch dacoits. An' such double-ended divils I 
 niver knew ! 'Tis only a dah an' a Snider that 
 makes a dacoit. Widout thim, he's a paceful 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 puckarozved wan
 
 156 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 man. " Trate him tinderly," sez the Lift'nint. So 
 I tuk him away into the jungle, wid the Burmese 
 Interprut'r an' my clanin'-rod. Sez I to the man, 
 " My paceful squireen," sez I, " you shquot on your 
 hunkers an' dimonstrate to my frind here, where your 
 frinds are whin they're at home ? " Wid that I 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' 
 
 jingles. " Good ! " sez I ; " this office will now 
 
 close ! " 
 
 ' That night, I went to the Lift'nint an' communi- 
 cates my information. I never thought much of 
 Lift'nint Brazenose till that night. He was shtiff 
 wid books an' the-ouries, an' all manner av thrim- 
 min's no manner av use. " Town did ye say ? " sez 
 he. " Accordin' to the the-ouries av War, we shud 
 wait for reinforcemints." — " Faith ! " thinks I, " we'd 
 betther dig our graves thin ; " for the nearest throops 
 was up to their shtocks in the marshes out Mimbu 
 way. " But," says the Lift'nint, " since 'tis a speshil 
 case, I'll make an excepshin. • We'll visit this 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
 
 Shtrip, bhoys," sez I. " Shtrip to the buft", an' shwim in where glory 
 waits ! " ' — P. IS7-
 
 THE TAKING OF LUNGTUNGPEN 157 
 
 to the-ourise. " Shtrip, bhoys," sez I. " Shtrip to 
 the buff, an' shvvim in where glory waits ! " — " But I 
 can't shwim ! " sez two av thim. " To think I should 
 live to hear that from a bhoy wid a board-school 
 edukashin ! " sez I. " Take a lump av thimber, an' 
 me an' Conolly here will ferry ye over, ye young 
 ladies ! " 
 
 ' We got an ould tree-trunk, an' pushed off wid 
 the kits an' the rifles on it. The night was chokin' 
 dhark, an' just as we was fairly embarked, I heard 
 the Lift'nint behind av me callin' out. " There's a 
 bit av a nullaJi here, Sorr," sez I, " but I can feel the 
 bottom already." So I cud, for I was not a yard 
 from the bank. 
 
 ' " Bit av a nullah ! Bit av an eshtuary ! " sez the 
 Lift'nint. " Go on, ye mad Irishman ! Shtrip, 
 bhoys ! " I heard him laugh ; an' the bhoys began 
 shtrippin' an' rollin' a log into the wather to put 
 their kits on. So me an' Conolly shtruck out through 
 the warm wather wid our log, an' the rest come on 
 behind. 
 
 1 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, w r e hit ground — a bit av sand — an' 
 a man. I put my heel on the back av him. He 
 skreeched an' ran.
 
 158 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 ' " Now we've done it ! " sez Lift'nint Brazenose. 
 " Where the Divil is Lungtungpen ? " There was 
 about a minute and a half to wait. The bhoys laid 
 a hould av their rifles an' some thried to put their 
 belts on ; we was marchin' wid fixed baynits av 
 coorse. Thin we knew where Lungtungpen was ; 
 for we had hit the river-wall av it in the dhark, an' 
 the whole town blazed wid thim messin' jingles an' 
 Sniders like a cat's back on a frosty night. They was 
 firin' all ways at wanst ; but over our hids into the 
 shtrame. 
 
 ' " Have you got your rifles ? " says 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 
 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
 
 There was a melly av a sumpshus kind for a whoile. ' — p. 158.
 
 THE TAKING OF LUNGTUNGPEN 159 
 
 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 iv ry time he 
 loosed my long-shtock Martini ; an' Brazenose walk- 
 in' into the gang wid his sword, like Diarmid av the 
 Gowlden Collar — barring he hadn't a stitch av clothin' 
 on him. We diskivered elephints wid dacoits under 
 their bellies, an', what wid wan thing an' another, we 
 was busy till mornin' takin' possession av the town 
 of Lungtungpen. 
 
 ' Thin we halted an' formed up, the wimmen 
 howlin' in the houses an' Lift'nint Brazenose blushin' 
 pink in the light av the mornin' sun. 'Twas the 
 most ondasint p'rade I iver tuk a hand in. Foive- 
 and-twenty privits an' an orficer av the Line in 
 review ordher, an' not as much as wud dust a fife 
 betune 'em all in the way of clothin' ! Eight av us 
 had their belts an' pouches on ; but the rest had gone 
 in wid a handful av cartridges an' the skin God gave 
 thim. They was as nakid as Vanus. 
 
 ' " Number off from the right ! " sez the Lift'nint. 
 " Odd numbers fall out to dress ; even numbers 
 pathrol the town till relieved by the dressing party." 
 Let me tell you, pathrollin' a town wid nothing on is 
 an ex/vzjrience. I pathrolled for tin minutes, an' 
 begad, before 'twas over, I blushed. The women 
 laughed so. I niver blushed before or since ; but I 
 blushed all over my carkiss thin. Orth'ris didn't 
 pathrol. He sez only, " Portsmith Barricks an' the 
 'Ard av a Sunday ! " Thin he lay down an' rowled 
 any ways wid laughin'. 
 
 ' Whin we was all dhressed, we counted the dead
 
 160 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 — sivinty-foive dacoits besides wounded. We tuk 
 five elephints, a hunder' an' sivinty Sniders, two 
 hunder' dahs, and a lot av other burglarious thruck. 
 Not a man av us was hurt — excep' maybe the 
 Lift'nint, an' he from the shock to his dasincy. 
 
 ' The Headman av Lungtungpen, who surrinder'd 
 himself, asked the Interprut'r — " Av the English 
 fight like that wid their clo'es off, what in the wurruld 
 do they do wid their clo'es on ? " Orth'ris began 
 rowlin' his eyes an' crackin' his fingers an' dancin' a 
 step-dance for to impress the Headman. He ran to 
 his house ; an' we spint the rest av the day carryin' 
 the Lift'nint on our showlthers round the town, an' 
 playin' wid the Burmese babies — fat, little, brown 
 little divils, as pretty as picturs. 
 
 ' Whin I was inviladed for the dysent'ry to India, 
 I sez to the Lift'nint, " Sorr," sez I, " you've the 
 makin's in you av a great man ; but, av you'll let an 
 ould sodger spake, you're too fond of the-ourisin'." 
 He shuk hands wid me and sez, " Hit high, hit low, 
 there's no plasin' you, Mulvaney. You've seen me 
 waltzin' through Lungtungpen like a Red Injin wid- 
 out the war-paint, an' you say I'm too fond av the- 
 ourisin' ? " — " Sorr," sez I, for I loved the bhoy ; " I 
 wud waltz wid you in that condishin through Hell, 
 an' so wud the rest av the men ! " Thin I wint 
 downshtrame in the flat an' left him my blessin'. 
 May the Saints carry ut where ut should go, for he 
 was a fine upstandin' young orficer. 
 
 ' To reshume. Fwhat I've said jist shows the 
 use av three-year-olds. Wud fifty seasoned sodgers 
 have taken Lungtungpen in the dhark that way? 
 No ! They'd know the risk av fever and chill. Let
 
 THE TAKING OF LUNGTUNGPEN 
 
 161 
 
 alone the shootin'. Two hunder' might have done ut. 
 But the three-year-olds know little an' care less ; an' 
 where there's no fear, there's no danger. Catch thim 
 young, feed thim high, an' by the honour av that 
 great little man Bobs, behind a good orficer 'tisn't 
 only dacoits they'd smash wid their clo'es off — 'tis 
 Con-ti-nental Ar-r-r-mies ! They tuk Lungtungpen 
 nakid ; an' they'd take St. Pethersburg in their 
 dhrawers ! Begad, they would that ! 
 
 ' Here's your pipe, Sorr. Shmoke her tinderly 
 wid honey-dew, afther letting the reek av the Canteen 
 plug die away. But 'tis no good, thanks to you all 
 the same, fillin' my pouch wid your chopped hay. 
 Canteen baccy 's like the Army. It shpoils a man's 
 taste for moilder things.' 
 
 So saying, Mulvaney took up his butterfly-net, 
 and returned to barracks. 
 
 M
 
 ^mfrm^:^^VP,'r' 
 
 ftL^P 
 
 IE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS 
 
 Oh ! Where would I be when my froat was dry ? 
 Oh ! Where would I be when the bullets fly ? 
 Oh ! Where would I be when I come to die ? 
 
 _ Why, 
 Somewheres anigh my chum. 
 
 If 'e's liquor 'e'll give me some, 
 
 If I'm dyin' 'e'll 'old my 'ead, 
 
 An' 'e'll write 'em 'Ome when I'm dead. — 
 
 Gawd send us a trusty chum ! 
 
 Barrack Room Ballad. 
 
 friends Mulvaney and Ortheris had gone on a 
 oting expedition for one day. Learoyd was still 
 lospital, recovering from fever picked up in Burma. 
 ly sent me an invitation to join them, and were 
 uinely pained when I brought beer — almost 
 ugh beer to satisfy two Privates of the Line — 
 
 Me. 
 ' 'Twasn't for that we bid you welkim, Sorr,' said 
 lvaney sulkily. ' 'Twas for the pleasure av your 
 lp'ny.' 
 
 Ortheris came to the rescue with — ' Well, 'e won't 
 none the worse for bringin' liquor with 'im. We 
 t a file o' Dooks. We're bloomin' Tommies, ye
 
 Ortheris heaved a big sigh. — p. 163.
 
 THE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS 163 
 
 cantankris H irishman ; an' 'ere's your very good 
 'ealth ! ' 
 
 We shot all the forenoon, and killed two pariah- 
 dogs, four green parrots, sitting, one kite by the 
 burning-ghaut, one snake flying, one mud-turtle, and 
 eight crows. Game was plentiful. Then we sat 
 down to tiffin — ' bull-mate an' bran bread,' Mulvaney 
 called it — by the side of the river, and took pot shots 
 at the crocodiles in the intervals of cutting up the 
 food with our only pocket-knife. Then we drank 
 up all the beer, and threw the bottles into the water 
 and fired at them. After that, we eased belts and 
 stretched ourselves on the warm sand and smoked. 
 We were too lazy to continue shooting. 
 
 Ortheris heaved a big sigh, as he lay on his 
 stomach with his head between his fists. Then he 
 swore quietly into the blue sky. 
 
 ' Fwhat's that for ? ' said Mulvaney. ' Have ye 
 not drunk enough ? ' 
 
 'Tott'nim Court Road, an' a gal I fancied there. 
 Wot's the good of sodgerin' ? ' 
 
 ' Orth'ris, me son,' said Mulvaney hastily, ' 'tis 
 more than likely you've got throuble in your inside 
 wid the beer. I feel that way mesilf whin my liver 
 gets rusty.' 
 
 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 
 
 M 2
 
 1 64 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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- 
 thing that he did not know of the pleasures of 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 MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS 165 
 
 the cage is a-cookin' 'is pore little pink toes orf, 
 Mul van ey ? ' 
 
 ' Pink toes ! D'ye mane to say you've pink toes 
 undher your bullswools, ye blandanderin',' — Mulvaney 
 gathered himself together for a terrific denunciation 
 — ' 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 
 Sherapis in the inside av four months ! ' 
 
 ' I don't care. It's all one to me. 'Ovv d'you 
 know I ain't 'fraid o' dyin' 'fore I gets my discharge 
 paipers ? ' He recommenced, in a sing-song voice, 
 the Orders. 
 
 I had never seen this 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 Sargints 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 ' The 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 to me. 
 Mulvaney caught me by the elbow to ensure atten- 
 tion. 
 
 ' Matther ? It matthers everything ! 'Tis some
 
 166 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 
 'courtremints. Thin he'll come over to me an' say, 
 " I'm goin' to Bombay. Answer for me in the 
 mornin'." 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 use 
 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
 
 THE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS 167 
 
 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 ; 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 H arches. 
 No bloomin' guard -mountin', no bloomin' rotten - 
 stone, nor khaki, an' yourself your own master with 
 a gal to take an' see the Humaners practisin' a- 
 hookin' dead corpses out of the Serpentine o' Sun- 
 days. An' I lef all that for to serve 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 Orth'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 Widder's property, 
 a rottin' FOOL ! ' 
 
 His voice rose at the end of the sentence, and he 
 wound up with a six-shot Anglo -Vernacular oath. 
 Mulvaney said nothing, but looked at me as if he 
 expected that I could bring peace to poor Ortheris's 
 troubled brain.
 
 i68 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, 
 anyhow. 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 separ- 
 ated 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 to ut, I, Terence 
 Mulvaney, on my oath which I've never bruk yet, 
 
 will report as you say. But ' 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
 
 THE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS 169 
 
 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 had 
 loosed my shirt-collar. Mulvaney gripped me by 
 the arm- — 
 
 ' The fit's on him : the fit's workin' on him still ! 
 By my Honour and Sowl, we shall be accessiry to a 
 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, 
 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.
 
 170 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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 
 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
 
 We set off at the double and found him plunging about wildly through the 
 
 grass. — P. 171.
 
 THE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS 171 
 
 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 calling 
 for us like a madman. 
 
 When we reached him he was dripping with per- 
 spiration, 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 himself. 
 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 Wot '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 Mc ! Me that taught you how 
 for to walk abroad like a man — whin you was a dhirty 
 little, fish -backed little, whimperin' little recruity. 
 As you are now, Stanley Orth'ris ! '
 
 172 SOLDIER STORIES 
 
 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. 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 Printed by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh.
 
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