Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (309 page)

‘Trouble! My Gawd!’ said Ortheris. ‘Terence, I was be’ind that blooming ‘uttee up to my stock in dust. Trouble!’

‘Tell on then, little man; I only saw the hospital ind av ut.’ Mulvaney knocked the ashes out of his pipe, as Ortheris heaved the dogs aside and went on.

‘We was escort to them guns, three comp’nies of us,’ he said. ‘Dewcy was our major, an’ our orders was to roll up anything we come across in the Tangi an’ shove it out t’other end. Sort o’ pop-gun picnic, see? We’d rolled up a lot o’ lazy beggars o’ native followers, an’ some commissariat supplies that was bivoo-whackin’ for ever seemin’ly, an’ all the sweepin’s of ‘arf a dozen things what ought to ‘ave bin at the front weeks ago, an’ Dewcy, he sez to us: “You’re most ‘eart- breakin’ sweeps,” ‘e sez. “For ‘eving’s sake,” sez ‘e, “do a little sweepin’ now.” So we swep’, — s’welp me, ‘ow we did sweep ‘em along! There was a full reg’ment be’ind us; most anxious to get on they was; an’ they kep’ on sendin’ to us with the colonel’s compliments, an’ what in ‘ell was we stoppin’ the way for, please? Oh, they was partic’lar polite! So was Dewcy! ‘E sent ‘em back wot-for, an’ ‘e give us wot-for, an’ we give the guns wot-for, an’ they give the commissariat wot-for, an’ the commissariat give first-class extry wot- for to the native followers, an’ on we’d go again till we was stuck, an’ the ‘ole Pass ‘ud be swimmin’ Allelujah for a mile an’ a ‘arf. We ‘adn’t no tempers, nor no seats to our trousies, an’ our coats an’ our rifles was chucked in the carts, so as we might ha’ been cut up any minute, an’ we was doin’ droverwork. That was wot it was; drovin’ on the Islin’ton road!

‘I was close up at the lead of the column when we saw the end of the Tangi openin’ out ahead of us, an’ I sez: “The door’s open, boys. ‘Oo’ll git to the gall’ry fust?” I sez. Then I saw Dewcy screwin’ ‘is bloomin’ eyeglass in ‘is eye an’ lookin’ straight on. “Propped, — ther beggar!” he sez; an’ the be’ind end o’ that bloomin’ old ‘uttee was shinin’ through the dust like a bloomin’ old moon made o’ tarpaulin. Then we ‘alted, all chock-ablock, one atop o’ the other, an’ right at the back o’ the guns there sails in a lot o’ silly grinnin’ camels, what the commissariat was in charge of — sailin’ away as if they was at the Zoological Gardens an’ squeezin’ our men most awful. The dust was that up you couldn’t see your ‘and; an’ the more we ‘it ‘em on the lead the more their drivers sez, “Accha! Accha!” an’ by Gawd it was “at yer” before you knew where you was. An’ that ‘uttee’s Wind end stuck in the Pass good an’ tight, an’ no one knew wot for.

‘Fust thing we ‘ad to do was to fight they bloomin’ camels. I wasn’t goin’ to be eat by no bull-oont; so I ‘eld up my trousies with one ‘and; standin’ on a rock, an’ ‘it away with my belt at every nose I saw bobbin’ above me. Then the camels fell back, an’ they ‘ad to fight to keep the rear-guard an’ the native followers from crushin’ into them; an’ the rearguard ‘ad to send down the Tangi to warn the other reg’ment that we was blocked. I ‘eard the mahouts shoutin’ in front that the ‘uttee wouldn’t cross the bridge; an’ I saw Dewcy skippin’ about through the dust like a musquito worm in a tank. Then our comp’nies got tired o’ waitin’ an’ begun to mark time, an’ some goat struck up Tommy, make room for your Uncle. After that, you couldn’t neither see nor breathe nor ‘ear; an’ there we was, singin’ bloomin’ serenades to the end of a’ elephant that don’t care for tunes! I sung too; I couldn’t do nothin’ else. They was strengthenin’ the bridge in front, all for the sake of the ‘uttee. By an’ by a’ orf’cer caught me by the throat an’ choked the sing out of me. So I caught the next man I could see by the throat an’ choked the sing out of ‘im.’

‘What’s the difference between being choked by an officer and being hit?’ I asked, remembering a little affair in which Ortheris’s honour had been injured by his lieutenant.

‘One’s a bloomin’ lark, an’ one’s a bloomin’ insult!’ said Ortheris. ‘Besides, we was on service, an’ no one cares what an orf’cer does then, s’long as ‘e gets our rations an’ don’t get us unusual cut up. After that we got quiet, an’ I ‘eard Dewcy say that ‘e’d court-martial the lot of us soon as we was out of the Tangi. Then we give three cheers for Dewcy an’ three more for the Tangi; an’ the ‘uttee’s be’ind end was stickin’ in the Pass, so we cheered that. Then they said the bridge had been strengthened, an’ we give three cheers for the bridge; but the ‘uttee wouldn’t move a bloomin’ hinch. Not ‘im! Then we cheered ‘im again, an’ Kite Dawson, that was corner-man at all the singsongs (‘e died on the way down), began to give a nigger lecture on the be’ind ends of elephants, an’ Dewcy, ‘e tried to keep ‘is face for a minute, but, Lord, you couldn’t do such when Kite was playin’ the fool an’ askin’ whether ‘e mightn’t ‘ave leave to rent a villa an’ raise ‘is orphan children in the Tangi, ‘cos ‘e couldn’t get ‘ome no more. Then up come a orf’cer (mounted, like a fool, too) from the reg’mint at the back with some more of his colonel’s pretty little compliments, an’ what was this delay, please. We sung ‘im There’s another bloomin’ row downstairs till ‘is ‘orse bolted, an’ then we give ‘im three cheers; an’ Kite Dawson sez ‘e was goin’ to write to The Times about the awful state of the streets in Afghanistan. The ‘uttee’s be’ind end was stickin’ in the Pass all the time. At last one o’ the mahouts came to Dewcy an’ sez something. “Oh Lord! “ sez Dewcy, “I don’t know the beggar’s visiting-list! I’ll give ‘im another ten minutes an’ then I’ll shoot ‘im.” Things was gettin’ pretty dusty in the Tangi, so we all listened. “‘E wants to see a friend,” sez Dewcy out loud to the men, an’ ‘e mopped ‘is forehead an’ sat down on a gun- tail.

‘I leave it to you to judge ‘ow the reg’ment shouted. “That’s all right,” we sez. “Three cheers for Mister Winterbottom’s friend,” sez we. “Why didn’t you say so at first? Pass the word for old Swizzletail’s wife,” — and such like. Some o’ the men they didn’t laugh. They took it same as if it might have been a’ introduction like, ‘cos they knew about ‘uttees. Then we all run forward over the guns an’ in an’ out among the elephants’ legs, — Lord, I wonder ‘arf the comp’nies wasn’t squashed — an’ the next thing I saw was Terence ‘ere, lookin’ like a sheet o’ wet paper, comin’ down the ‘illside wid a sergeant. “‘Strewth,” I sez. “I might ha’ knowed ‘e’d be at the bottom of any cat’s trick,” sez I. Now you tell wot ‘appened your end?’

‘I lay be the same as you did, little man, listenin’ to the noises an’ the bhoys singin’. Presintly I heard whisperin’ an’ the doctor sayin’, “Get out av this, wakin’ my sick wid your jokes about elephints.” An’ another man sez, all angry “‘Tis a joke that is stoppin’ two thousand men in the Tangi. That son av sin av a haybag av an elephint sez, or the mahouts sez for him, that he wants to see a friend, an’ he’ll not lift hand or fut till he finds him. I’m wore out wid inthrojucin’ sweepers an’ coolies to him, an’ his hide’s as full o’ bay’net pricks as a musquito-net av holes, an’ I’m here undher ordhers, docther dear, to ask if any one, sick or well, or alive or dead, knows an elephint. I’m not mad,” he sez, settin’ on a box av medical comforts. “‘Tis my ordhers, an’ ‘tis my mother,” he sez, “that would laugh at me for the father av all fools to-day. Does any wan here know an elephint?” We sick was all quiet.

‘“Now you’ve had your answer,” sez the doctor. “Go away.”

‘“Hould on,” I sez, thinkin’ mistiways in my cot, an’ I did not know my own voice. “I’m by way av bein’ acquainted wid an elephant, myself,” I sez.

‘“That’s delirium,” sez the doctor. “See what you’ve done, sergeant. Lie down, man,” he sez, seein’ me thryin’ to get up.

‘“‘Tis not,” I sez. “I rode him round Cawnpore barricks. He will not ha’ forgotten. I bruk his head wid a rifle.”

‘“Mad as a coot,” sez the doctor, an’ thin he felt my head. “It’s quare,” sez he. “Man,” he sez, “if you go, d’you know ‘twill either kill or cure?”

‘“What do I care?” sez I. “If I’m mad, ‘tis better dead.”

‘“Faith, that’s sound enough,” sez the doctor. “You’ve no fever on you now.”

‘“Come on,” sez the sergeant. “We’re all mad to-day, an’ the throops are wantin’ their dinner.” He put his arm round av me an’ I came into the sun, the hills an’ the rocks skippin’ big giddy-go-rounds. “Seventeen years have I been in the army,” sez the sergeant, “an’ the days av mericles are not done. They’ll be givin’ us more pay next. Begad,” he sez, “the brute knows you!”

‘Ould Obstructionist was screamin’ like all possist whin I came up, an’ I heard forty million men up the Tangi shoutin’, “He knows him!” Thin the big thrunk came round me an’ I was nigh fainting wid weakness. “Are you well, Malachi?” I sez, givin’ him the name he answered to in the lines. “Malachi, my son, are you well?” sez I, “for I am not.” At that he thrumpeted again till the Pass rang to ut, an’ the other elephints tuk it up. Thin I got a little strength back. “Down, Malachi,” I sez, “an’ put me up, but touch me tendher for I am not good.” He was on his knees in a minut an’ he slung me up as gentle as a girl. “Go on now, my son,” I sez. “You’re blockin’ the road.” He fetched wan more joyous toot, an’ swung grand out av the head av the Tangi, his gungear clankin’ on his back; an’ at the back av him there wint the most amazin’ shout I iver heard. An’ thin I felt my head shpin, an’ a mighty sweat bruk out on me, an’ Malachi was growin’ taller an’ taller to me settin’ on his back, an’ I sez, foolish like an’ weak, smilin’ all round an’ about, “Take me down,” I sez, “or I’ll fall.”

‘The next I remimber was lyin’ in my cot again, limp as a chewed rag, but, cured av the fever, an’ the Tangi as empty as the back av my hand. They’d all gone up to the front, an’ ten days later I wint up too, havin’ blocked an’ unblocked an entire army corps. What do you think av ut, sorr?’

‘I’ll wait till I see Learoyd,’ I repeated.

‘Ah’m here,’ said a shadow from among the shadows. ‘Ah’ve heard t’ tale too.’

‘Is it true, Jock?’

‘Ay; true as t’owd bitch has getten t’mange. Orth’ris, yo’ maun’t let t’dawgs hev owt to do wi’ her.’

ONE VIEW OF THE QUESTION

From Shafiz Ullah Khan, son of Hyat Ullah Khan, in the honoured service of His Highness the Rao Sahib of Jagesur, which is in the northern borders of Hindustan, and Orderly to his Highness, this to Kazi Yamal-ud-Din, son of Kazi Ferisht-ud-Din Khan, in the service of the Rao Sahib, a minister much honoured. From that place which they call the Northbrook Club, in the town of London, under the shadow of the Empress, it is written:

BETWEEN brother and chosen brother be no long protestations of Love and Sincerity. Heart speaks naked to Heart, and the Head answers for all. Glory and Honour on thy house till the ending of the years and a tent in the borders of Paradise.

MY BROTHER, — In regard to that for which I was despatched follows the account. I have purchased for the Rao Sahib, and paid sixty pounds in every hundred, the things he most desired. Thus; two of the great fawn-coloured tiger-dogs, male and female, their pedigree being written upon paper, and silver collars adorning their necks. For the Rao Sahib’s greater pleasure I send them at once by the steamer, in charge of a man who will render account of them at Bombay to the bankers there. They are the best of all dogs in this place. Of guns I have bought five — two silver-sprigged in the stock, with gold scroll- work about the hammer, both double-barrelled, hard-striking, cased in velvet and red leather; three of unequalled workmanship, but lacking adornment; a pump-gun that fires fourteen times — this when the Rao Sahib drives pig; a double-barrelled shell-gun for tiger, and that is a miracle of workmanship; and a fowling-piece no lighter than a feather, with green and blue cartridges by the thousand. Also a very small rifle for blackbuck, that yet would slay a man at four hundred paces. The harness with the golden crests for the Rao Sahib’s coach is not yet complete, by reason of the difficulty of lining the red velvet into leather; but the two-horse harness and the great saddle with the golden holsters that is for state use have been put with camphor into a tin box, and I have signed it with my ring. Of the grained leather case of women’s tools and tweezers for the hair and beard, of the perfumes and the silks, and all that was wanted by the women behind the curtains, I have no knowledge. They are matters of long coming, and the hawk-bells, hoods, and jesses with the golden lettering are as much delayed as they. Read this in the Rao Sahib’s ear, and speak of my diligence and zeal, that favour may not be abated by absence, and keep the eye of constraint upon that jesting dog without teeth — Bahadur Shah — for by thy aid and voice, and what I have done in regard to the guns, I look, as thou knowest, for the headship of the army of Jagesur. That conscienceless one desires it also, and I have heard that the Rao Sahib leans thatward. Have ye done, then, with the drinking of wine in your house, my brother, or has Bahadur Shah become a forswearer of brandy? I would not that drink should end him; but the well-mixed draught leads to madness. Consider.

And now in regard to this land of the Sahibs, follows that thou hast demanded. God is my witness that I have striven to understand all that I saw and a little of what I heard. My words and intention are those of truth, yet it may be that I write of nothing but lies. Since the first wonder and bewilderment of my beholding is gone — we note the jewels in the ceiling-dome, but later the filth on the floor — I see clearly that this town, London, which is as large as all Jagesur, is accursed, being dark and unclean, devoid of sun, and full of low-born, who are perpetually drunk, and howl in the streets like jackals, men and women together. At nightfall it is the custom of countless thousands of women to descend into the streets and sweep them, roaring, making jests, and demanding liquor. At the hour of this attack it is the custom of the householders to take their wives and children to the playhouses and the places of entertainment; evil and good thus returning home together as do kine from the pools at sundown. I have never seen any sight like this sight in all the world, and I doubt that a double is to be found on the hither side of the gates of Hell. Touching the mystery of their craft, it is an ancient one, but the householders assemble in herds, being men and women, and cry aloud to their God that it is not there; the said women pounding at the doors without. Moreover, upon the day when they go to prayer the drink-places are only opened when the mosques are shut; as who should dam the Jumna river for Friday only. Therefore the men and women, being forced to accomplish their desires in the shorter space, become the more furiously drunk, and roll in the gutter together. They are there regarded by those going to pray. Further, and for visible sign that the place is forgotten of God, there falls upon certain days, without warning, a cold darkness, whereby the sun’s light is altogether cut off from all the city, and the people, male and female, and the drivers of the vehicles, grope and howl in this Pit at high noon, none seeing the other. The air being filled with the smoke of Hell — sulphur and pitch as it is written — they die speedily with gaspings, and so are buried in the dark. This is a terror beyond the pen, but, by my head, I write of what I have seen!