Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (623 page)

‘“No — no!” I said. “Let us three poor men kneel and thank God for His mercies.”

‘We kneeled, and old Padda shuffled up and thrust his head under Meon’s elbows. I laid my hand upon it and blessed him. So did Eddi.

‘“And now, my son,” I said to Meon, “shall I baptize thee?”

‘“Not yet,” said he. “Wait till we are well ashore and at home. No God in any Heaven shall say that I came to him or left him because I was wet and cold. I will send Padda to my people for a boat. Is that witchcraft, Eddi?”

‘“Why, no. Surely Padda will go and pull them to the beach by the skirts of their gowns as he pulled me in Wittering Church to ask me to sing. Only then I was afraid, and did not understand,” said Eddi.

‘“You are understanding now,” said Meon, and at a wave of his arm off went Padda to the mainland, making a wake like a war-boat till we lost him in the rain. Meon’s people could not bring a boat across for some hours; even so it was ticklish work among the rocks in that tideway. But they hoisted me aboard, too stiff to move, and Padda swam behind us, barking and turning somersaults all the way to Manhood End!’

‘Good old Padda!’ murmured Dan.

‘When we were quite rested and re-clothed, and his people had been summoned — not an hour before — Meon offered himself to be baptized.’

‘Was Padda baptized too?’ Una asked.

‘No, that was only Meon’s joke. But he sat blinking on his ox-hide in the middle of the hall. When Eddi (who thought I wasn’t looking) made a little cross in holy water on his wet muzzle, he kissed Eddi’s hand. A week before Eddi wouldn’t have touched him. That was a miracle, if you like! But seriously, I was more glad than I can tell you to get Meon. A rare and splendid soul that never looked back — never looked back!’ The Arch-bishop half closed his eyes.

‘But, sir,’ said Puck, most respectfully, ‘haven’t you left out what Meon said afterwards?’ Before the Bishop could speak he turned to the children and went on: ‘Meon called all his fishers and ploughmen and herdsmen into the hall and he said: “Listen, men! Two days ago I asked our Bishop whether it was fair for a man to desert his fathers’ Gods in a time of danger. Our Bishop said it was not fair. You needn’t shout like that, because you are all Christians now. My red war-boat’s crew will remember how near we all were to death when Padda fetched them over to the Bishop’s islet. You can tell your mates that even in that place, at that time, hanging on the wet, weedy edge of death, our Bishop, a Christian, counselled me, a heathen, to stand by my fathers’ Gods. I tell you now that a faith which takes care that every man shall keep faith, even though he may save his soul by breaking faith, is the faith for a man to believe in. So I believe in the Christian God, and in Wilfrid His Bishop, and in the Church that Wilfrid rules. You have been baptized once by the King’s orders. I shall not have you baptized again; but if I find any more old women being sent to Wotan, or any girls dancing on the sly before Balder, or any men talking about Thun or Lok or the rest, I will teach you with my own hands how to keep faith with the Christian God. Go out quietly; you’ll find a couple of beefs on the beach.” Then of course they shouted “Hurrah!” which meant “Thor help us!” and — I think you laughed, sir?’

‘I think you remember it all too well,’ said the Archbishop, smiling. ‘It was a joyful day for me. I had learned a great deal on that rock where Padda found us. Yes — yess! One should deal kindly with all the creatures of God, and gently with their masters. But one learns late.’

He rose, and his gold-embroidered sleeves rustled thickly.

The organ cracked and took deep breaths.

‘Wait a minute,’ Dan whispered. ‘She’s going to do the trumpety one. It takes all the wind you can pump. It’s in Latin, sir.’

‘There is no other tongue,’ the Archbishop answered.

‘It’s not a real hymn,’ Una explained. ‘She does it as a treat after her exercises. She isn’t a real organist, you know. She just comes down here sometimes, from the Albert Hall.’

‘Oh, what a miracle of a voice!’ said the Archbishop.

It rang out suddenly from a dark arch of lonely noises — every word spoken to the very end:

     ‘Dies Irae, dies illa,

     Solvet saeclum in favilla,

     Teste David cum Sibylla.’

The Archbishop caught his breath and moved forward. The music carried on

by itself a while.

‘Now it’s calling all the light out of the windows,’ Una whispered to Dan.

‘I think it’s more like a horse neighing in battle,’ he whispered back. The voice continued:

     ‘Tuba mirum spargens sonum

     Per sepulchre regionum.’

Deeper and deeper the organ dived down, but far below its deepest note they heard Puck’s voice joining in the last line:

     ‘Coget omnes ante thronum.’

As they looked in wonder, for it sounded like the dull jar of one of the very pillars shifting, the little fellow turned and went out through the south door.

‘Now’s the sorrowful part, but it’s very beautiful.’ Una found herself speaking to the empty chair in front of her.

‘What are you doing that for?’ Dan said behind her. ‘You spoke so politely too.’

‘I don’t know... I thought — ’ said Una. ‘Funny!’

‘‘Tisn’t. It’s the part you like best,’ Dan grunted.

The music had turned soft — full of little sounds that chased each other on wings across the broad gentle flood of the main tune. But the voice was ten times lovelier than the music.

     ‘Recordare Jesu pie,

     Quod sum causa Tuae viae,

     Ne me perdas illi die!’

There was no more. They moved out into the centre aisle.

‘That you?’ the Lady called as she shut the lid. ‘I thought I heard you, and I played it on purpose.’

‘Thank you awfully,’ said Dan. ‘We hoped you would, so we waited. Come on, Una, it’s pretty nearly dinner-time.’

Song of the Red War-Boat

     Shove off from the wharf-edge!  Steady!

     Watch for a smooth!  Give way!

     If she feels the lop already

     She’ll stand on her head in the bay.

     It’s ebb — it’s dusk — it’s blowing,

     The shoals are a mile of white,

     But (snatch her along!) we’re going

     To find our master tonight.

          For we hold that in all disaster

          Of shipwreck, storm, or sword,

          A man must stand by his master

          When once he had pledged his word!

     Raging seas have we rowed in,

     But we seldom saw them thus;

     Our master is angry with Odin —

     Odin is angry with us!

     Heavy odds have we taken,

     But never before such odds.

     The Gods know they are forsaken,

     We must risk the wrath of the Gods!

     Over the crest she flies from,

     Into its hollow she drops,

     Crouches and clears her eyes from

     The wind-torn breaker-tops,

     Ere out on the shrieking shoulder

     Of a hill-high surge she drives.

     Meet her!  Meet her and hold her!

     Pull for your scoundrel lives!

     The thunder bellow and clamour

     The harm that they mean to do;

     There goes Thor’s Own Hammer

     Cracking the dark in two!

     Close!  But the blow has missed her,

     Here comes the wind of the blow!

     Row or the squall’ll twist her

     Broadside on to it! — -Row!

     Hearken, Thor of the Thunder!

     We are not here for a jest —

     For wager, warfare, or plunder,

     Or to put your power to test.

     This work is none of our wishing —

     We would stay at home if we might —

     But our master is wrecked out fishing,

     We go to find him tonight.

          For we hold that in all disaster —

          As the Gods Themselves have said —

          A man must stand by his master

          Till one of the two is dead.

     That is our way of thinking,

     Now you can do as you will,

     While we try to save her from sinking,

     And hold her head to it still.

     Bale her and keep her moving,

     Or she’ll break her back in the trough...

     Who said the weather’s improving,

     And the swells are taking off?

     Sodden, and chafed and aching,

     Gone in the loins and knees —

     No matter — the day is breaking,

     And there’s far less weight to the seas!

     Up mast, and finish baling —

     In oars, and out with the mead —

     The rest will be two-reef sailing...

     That was a night indeed!

          But we hold that in all disaster

          (And faith, we have found it true!)

          If only you stand by your master,

          The Gods will stand by you!

A DOCTOR OF MEDICINE

An Astrologer’s Song

     To the Heavens above us

     Oh, look and behold

     The planets that love us

     All harnessed in gold!

     What chariots, what horses,

     Against us shall bide

     While the Stars in their courses

     Do fight on our side?

     All thought, all desires,

     That are under the sun,

     Are one with their fires,

     As we also are one;

     All matter, all spirit,

     All fashion, all frame,

     Receive and inherit

     Their strength from the same.

     (Oh, man that deniest

     All power save thine own,

     Their power in the highest

     Is mightily shown.

     Not less in the lowest

     That power is made clear.

     Oh, man, if thou knowest,

     What treasure is here!)

     Earth quakes in her throes

     And we wonder for why!

     But the blind planet knows

     When her ruler is nigh;

     And, attuned since Creation,

     To perfect accord,

     She thrills in her station

     And yearns to her Lord.

     The waters have risen,

     The springs are unbound —

     The floods break their prison,

     And ravin around.

     No rampart withstands ‘em,

     Their fury will last,

     Till the Sign that commands ‘em

     Sinks low or swings past.

     Through abysses unproven,

     And gulfs beyond thought,

     Our portion is woven,

     Our burden is brought.

     Yet They that prepare it,

     Whose Nature we share,

     Make us who must bear it

     Well able to bear.

     Though terrors o’ertake us

     We’ll not be afraid,

     No Power can unmake us

     Save that which has made.