Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (162 page)

‘“Faith,” thinks I, “that’s Honour an’ Glory”; for ‘twas Lift’nint
Brazenose did that job. “I’m wid ye, Sorr,” sez I, “if I’m av use.
They shud niver ha’ sent you down wid the draf’. Savin’ your presince,
Sorr,” I sez, “‘tis only Lift’nint Hackerston in the Ould Rig’mint can
manage a Home draf’.”

‘“I’ve niver had charge of men like this before,” sez he, playin’ wid the pens on the table; “an’ I see by the Rig’lations — ”

‘“Shut your oi to the Rig’lations, Sorr,” I sez, “till the throoper’s into blue wather. By the Rig’lations you’ve got to tuck thim up for the night, or they’ll be runnin’ foul av my coolies an’ makin’ a shiverarium half through the country. Can you trust your non-coms, Sorr?”

‘“Yes,” sez he.

‘“Good,” sez I; “there’ll be throuble before the night. Are you marchin’, Sorr?”

‘“To the next station,” sez he.

‘“Better still,” sez I; “there’ll be big throuble.”

‘“Can’t be too hard on a Home draf’,” sez he; “the great thing is to get thim in-ship.”

‘“Faith you’ve larnt the half av your lesson, Sorr,” sez I, “but av you shtick to the Rig’lations you’ll niver get thim in-ship at all, at all. Or there won’t be a rag av kit betune thim whin you do.”

‘‘Twas a dear little orf’cer bhoy, an’ by way av kapin’ his heart up,
I tould him fwhat I saw wanst in a draf’ in Egypt.’

‘What was that, Mulvaney?’ said I.

‘Sivin an’ fifty men sittin’ on the bank av a canal, laughin’ at a poor little squidgereen av an orf’cer that they’d made wade into the slush an’ pitch the things out av the boats for their Lord High Mightinesses. That made me orf’cer bhoy woild with indignation.

‘“Soft an’ aisy, Sorr,” sez I; “you’ve niver had your draf’ in hand since you left cantonmints. Wait till the night, an’ your work will be ready to you. Wid your permission, Sorr, I will investigate the camp, an’ talk to my ould frinds. ‘Tis no manner av use thryin’ to shtop the divilment
now.
”

‘Wid that I wint out into the camp an’ inthrojuced mysilf to ivry man sober enough to remimber me. I was some wan in the ould days, an’ the bhoys was glad to see me — all excipt Peg Barney wid a eye like a tomata five days in the bazar, an’ a nose to match. They come round me an’ shuk me, an’ I tould thim I was in privit employ wid an income av me own, an’ a drrrawin’-room fit to bate the Quane’s; an’ wid me lies an’ me shtories an’ nonsinse gin’rally, I kept ‘em quiet in wan way an’ another, knockin’ roun’ the camp. ‘Twas
bad
even thin whin I was the Angil av Peace.

‘I talked to me ould non-coms —
they
was sober — an’ betune me an’ thim we wore the draf’ over into their tents at the proper time. The little orf’cer bhoy he comes round, decint an’ civil-spoken as might be.

‘“Rough quarters, men,” sez he, “but you can’t look to be as comfortable as in barricks. We must make the best av things. I’ve shut my eyes to a dale av dog’s tricks today, an’ now there must be no more av ut.”

‘“No more we will. Come an’ have a dhrink, me son,” sez Peg Barney, staggerin’ where he stud. Me little orf’cer bhoy kep’ his timper.

‘“You’re a sulky swine, you are,” sez Peg Barney, an’ at that the men in the tent began to laugh.

‘I tould you me orf’cer bhoy had bowils. He cut Peg Barney as near as might be on the oi that I’d squshed whin we first met. Peg wint spinnin’ acrost the tent.

‘“Peg him out, Sorr,” sez I, in a whishper.

‘“Peg him out!” sez me orf’cer bhoy, up loud, just as if ‘twas battalion-p’rade an’ he pickin’ his wurrds from the Sargint.

‘The non-coms tuk Peg Barney — a howlin’ handful he was — an’ in three minutes he was pegged out — chin down, tight-dhrawn — on his stummick, a tent-peg to each arm an’ leg, swearin’ fit to turn a naygur white.

‘I tuk a peg an’ jammed ut into his ugly jaw. — ”Bite on that, Peg Barney,” I sez; “the night is settin’ frosty, an’ you’ll be wantin’ divarsion before the mornin’. But for the Rig’lations you’d be bitin’ on a bullet now at the thriangles, Peg Barney,” sez I.

‘All the draf’ was out av their tents watchin’ Barney bein’ pegged.

‘“‘Tis agin the Rig’lations! He strook him!” screeches out Scrub Greene, who was always a lawyer; an’ some of the men tuk up the shoutin’.

‘“Peg out that man!” sez my orf’cer bhoy, niver losin’ his timper; an’ the non-coms wint in and pegged out Scrub Greene by the side av Peg Barney.

‘I cud see that the draf’ was comin’ roun’. The men stud not knowin’ fwhat to do.

‘“Get to your tents!” sez me orf’cer bhoy. “Sargint, put a sintry over these two men.”

‘The men wint back into the tents like jackals, an’ the rest av the night there was no noise at all excipt the stip av the sintry over the two, an’ Scrub Greene blubberin’ like a child. ‘Twas a chilly night, an’ faith, ut sobered Peg Barney.

‘Just before Revelly, my orf’cer bhoy comes out an’ sez: “Loose those men an’ send thim to their tents!” Scrub Greene wint away widout a word, but Peg Barney, stiff wid the cowld, stud like a sheep, thryin’ to make his orf’cer understhand he was sorry for playin’ the goat.

‘There was no tucker in the draf’ whin ut fell in for the march, an’ divil a wurrd about “illegality” cud I hear.

‘I wint to the ould Colour Sargint and I sez: — ”Let me die in glory,” sez I. “I’ve seen a man this day!”

‘“A man he is,” sez ould Hother; “the draf’s as sick as a herrin’. They’ll all go down to the sea like lambs. That bhoy has the bowils av a cantonmint av Gin’rals.”

‘“Amin,” sez I, “an’ good luck go wid him, wheriver he be, by land or by sea. Let me know how the draf gets clear.”

‘An’ do you know how they
did?
That bhoy, so I was tould by letter from Bombay, bullydamned ‘em down to the dock, till they cudn’t call their sowls their own. From the time they left me oi till they was ‘tween decks, not wan av thim was more than dacintly dhrunk. An’, by the Holy Articles av War, whin they wint aboard they cheered him till they cudn’t spake, an’
that
, mark you, has not come about wid a draf in the mim’ry av livin’ man! You look to that little orf’cer bhoy. He has bowils. ‘Tis not ivry child that wud chuck the Rig’lations to Flanders an’ stretch Peg Barney on a wink from a brokin an’ dilapidated ould carkiss like mesilf. I’d be proud to serve — ’

‘Terence, you’re a civilian,’ said Dinah Shadd warningly.

‘So I am — so I am. Is ut likely I wud forget ut? But he was a gran’ bhoy all the same, an’ I’m only a mud-tipper wid a hod on my shoulthers. The whiskey’s in the heel av your hand, Sorr. Wid your good lave we’ll dhrink to the Ould Rig’mint — three fingers — standin’ up!’

And we drank.

THE WRECK OF THE VISIGOTH

[Footnote: 1895]

       ’Eternal Father, strong to save,
        Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
        Who bidst the mighty ocean keep
        Its own appointed limits deep.’

The lady passengers were trying the wheezy old harmonium in front of the cuddy, because it was Sunday night. In the patch of darkness near the wheel-grating sat the Captain, and the end of his cheroot burned like a head-lamp. There was neither breath nor motion upon the waters through which the screw was thudding. They spread, dull silver, under the haze of the moonlight till they joined the low coast of Malacca away to the eastward. The voices of the singers at the harmonium were held down by the awnings, and came to us with force.

       ’Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
        For those in peril on the sea.’

It was as though the little congregation were afraid of the vastness of the sea. But a laugh followed, and some one said, ‘Shall we take it through again a little quicker?’ Then the Captain told the story of just such a night, lowering his voice for fear of disturbing the music and the minds of the passengers.

‘She was the
Visigoth
, — five hundred tons, or it may have been six, — in the coasting trade; one of the best steamers and best found on the Kutch-Kasauli line. She wasn’t six years old when the thing happened: on just such a night as this, with an oily smooth sea, under brilliant starlight, about a hundred miles from land. To this day no one knows really what the matter was. She was so small that she could not have struck even a log in the water without every soul on board feeling the jar; and even if she had struck something, it wouldn’t have made her go down as she did. I was fourth officer then; we had about seven saloon passengers, including the Captain’s wife and another woman, and perhaps five hundred deck-passengers going up the coast to a shrine, on just such a night as this, when she was ripping through the level sea at a level nine knots an hour. The man on the bridge, whoever it was, saw that she was sinking at the head. Sinking by the head as she went along. That was the only warning we got. She began to sink as she went along. Of course the Captain was told, and he sent me to wake up the saloon passengers and tell them to come on deck. ‘Sounds a curious sort of message that to deliver on a dead still night. The people tumbled up in their dressing-gowns and
pyjamas
, and wouldn’t believe me. We were just sinking as fast as we could, and I had to tell ‘em that. Then the deck-passengers got wind of it, and all Hell woke up along the decks.

‘The rule in these little affairs is to get your saloon passengers off first, then to fill the boats with the balance, and afterwards — God help the extras, that’s all. I was getting the starboard stern boat — the mail-boat — away. It hung as it might be over yonder, and as I came along from the cuddy, the deck-passengers hung round me, shoving their money-belts into my hand, taking off their nose-rings and earrings, and thrusting ‘em upon me to buy just one chance for life. If I hadn’t been so desperately busy, I should have thought it horrible. I put biscuits and water into the boat, and got the two ladies in. One of ‘em was the Captain’s wife. She had to be put in by main force. You’ve no notion how women can struggle. The other woman was the wife of an officer going to meet her husband; and there were a couple of passengers beside the lascars. The Captain said he was going to stay with the ship. You see the rule in these affairs, I believe, is that the Captain has to bow gracefully from the bridge and go down. I haven’t had a ship under my charge wrecked yet. When that comes, I’ll have to do like the others. After the boats were away, and I saw that there was nothing to be got by waiting, I jumped overboard exactly as I might have vaulted over into a flat green field, and struck out for the mail-boat. Another officer did the same thing, but he went for a boat full of natives, and they whacked him on the chest with oars, so he had some difficulty in climbing in.

‘It was as well that I reached the mail-boat. There was a compass in it, but the idiots had managed to fill the boat half full of water somehow or another, and none of the crew seemed to know what was required of them. Then the
Visigoth
went down and took every one with her — ships generally do that; the corpses don’t cumber the sea for some time.

‘What did I do? I kept all the boats together, and headed into the track of the coasting steamers. The aggravating thing was the thought that we were close to land as far as a big steamer was concerned, and in the middle of eternity as far as regarded a little boat. The sea looks hugeous big from a boat at night.’

       ’Oh, Christ, whose voice the waters heard
        And hushed their ravings at Thy word,
        Who walkedst on the foaming deep
        And calm amidst its rage did keep, —
        Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
        For those in peril on the sea!’

sang the passengers cheerily.

‘That harmonium is disgracefully out of tune,’ said the Captain. ‘The sea air affects their insides. Well, as I was saying, we settled down in the boat. The Captain’s wife was unconscious; she lay in the bottom of the boat and moaned. I was glad she wasn’t threshing about the boat: but what I did think was wrong, was the way the two men passengers behaved. They were useless with funk — out and out fear. They lay in the boat and did nothing. Fetched a groan now and again to show they were alive; but that was all. But the other woman was a jewel. Damn it, it was worth being shipwrecked to have that woman in the boat; she was awfully handsome, and as brave as she was lovely. She helped me bail out the boat, and she worked like a man.

‘So we kicked about the sea from midnight till seven the next evening, and then we saw a steamer. “I’ll — I’ll give you anything I’m wearing to hoist as a signal of distress,” said the woman; but I had no need to ask her, for the steamer picked us up and took us back to Bombay. I forgot to tell you that, when the day broke, I couldn’t recognise the Captain’s wife — widow, I mean. She had changed in the night as if fire had gone over her. I met her a long time afterwards, and even then she hadn’t forgiven me for putting her into the boat and obeying the Captain’s orders. But the husband of the other woman — he’s in the Army — wrote me no end of a letter of thanks. I don’t suppose he considered that the way his wife behaved was enough to make any decent man do all he could. The other fellows, who lay in the bottom of the boat and groaned, I’ve never met. Don’t want to. Shouldn’t be civil to ‘em if I did. And that’s how the
Visigoth
went down, for no assignable reason, with eighty bags of mail, five hundred souls, and not a single packet insured, on just such a night as this.’

       ’Oh, Trinity of love and power,
        Our brethren shield in that dread hour,
        From rock and tempest, fire and foe,
        Protect them whereso’er they go.
        Thus evermore shall rise to Thee
        Glad hymns of praise by land and sea.’

‘Strikes me they’ll go on singing that hymn all night. Imperfect sort of doctrine in the last lines, don’t you think? They might have run in an extra verse specifying sudden collapse — like the
Visigoth’s
. I’m going on to the bridge, now. Good-night,’ said the Captain.

And I was left alone with the steady thud, thud, of the screw and the gentle creaking of the boats at the davits.