Soldiers Three [Stories]

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This Etext repared by Bill Stoddard - Email: hscrr@vgernet.net

SOLDIERS THREE

by Rudyard Kipling

CONTENTS

"LOVE-O'-WOMEN" - from "Many Inventions"
THE BIG DRUNK DRAF'
THE MUTINY OF THE MAVERICKS
THE MAN WHO WAS
ONLY A SUBALTERN
IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE
THE LOST LEGION - from "Many Inventions"
THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT
JUDSON AND THE EMPIRE - from "Many Inventions"
A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS - from "Many Inventions"

'LOVE-O'WOMEN'

A lamentable tale of things
Done long ago, and ill done.

The horror, the confusion, and the separation
of the murderer from his comrades were all over before I came.
There remained only on the barrack-square the blood of man calling
from the ground. The hot sun had dried it to a dusky gold-beater-
skin film, cracked lozenge-wise by the heat, and as the wind rose
each lozenge, rising a little, curled up at the edges as if it
were a dumb tongue. Then a heavier gust blew all away down wind in
grains of dark-coloured dust. It was too hot to stand in the
sunshine before breakfast. The men were all in barracks talking
the matter over. A knot of soldiers' wives stood by one of the
entrances to the married quarters, while inside a woman shrieked
and raved with wicked filthy words.

A quiet and well-conducted sergeant had shot down in broad
daylight just after early parade one of his own corporals, had
then returned to barracks and sat on a cot till the guard came for
him. He would, therefore, in due time be handed over to the High
Court for trial. Further, but this he could hardly have considered
in his scheme of revenge, he would horribly upset my work; for the
reporting of the trial would fall on me without a relief. What
that trial would be like I knew even to weariness. There would be
the rifle carefully uncleaned, with the fouling marks about breech
and muzzle, to be sworn to by half a dozen superfluous privates;
there would be heat, reeking heat, till the wet pencil slipped
sideways between the fingers; and the punkah would swish and the
pleaders would jabber in the verandahs, and his Commanding Officer
would put in certificates of the prisoner's moral character, while
the jury would pant and the summer uniforms of the witnesses would
smell of dye and soaps; and some abject barrack-sweeper would lose
his head in cross-examination, and the young barrister who always
defended soldiers' cases for the credit that they never brought
him, would say and do wonderful things, and would then quarrel
with me because I had not reported him correctly. At the last, for
he surely would not be hanged, I might meet the prisoner again,
ruling blank account-forms in the Central Jail, and cheer him with
the hope of a wardership in the Andamans.

The Indian Penal Code and its interpreters do not treat murder,
under any provocation whatever,
in a spirit of jest. Sergeant Raines would be very lucky indeed if
he got off with seven years, I thought. He had slept the night
upon his wrongs, and had killed his man at twenty yards before any
talk was possible. That much I knew. Unless, therefore, the case
was doctored a little, seven years would be his least; and I
fancied it was exceedingly well for Sergeant Raines that he had
been liked by his Company.

That same evening - no day is so long as the day of a murder - I
met Ortheris with the dogs, and he plunged defiantly into the
middle of the matter. "I'll be one o' the witnesses," said he. "I
was in the verandah when Mackie came along. 'E come from Mrs.
Raines's quarters. Quigley, Parsons, an' Trot, they was in the
inside verandah, so they couldn't 'ave 'eard nothing. Sergeant
Raines was in the verandah talkin' to me, an' Mackie 'e come along
acrost the square an' 'e sez, 'Well,' sez 'e, ''ave they pushed
your 'elmet off yet, Sergeant?' 'e sez. An' at that Raines 'e
catches 'is breath an' 'e sez, 'My Gawd, I can't stand this!' sez
'e, an' 'e picks up my rifle an' shoots Mackie. See?"

"But what were you doing with your rifle in the outer verandah an
hour after parade?"

"Cleanin' 'er," said Ortheris, with the sullen brassy stare that
always went with his choice lies.

He might as well have said that he was dancing naked, for at no
time did his rifle need hand or rag on her twenty minutes after
parade. Still the High Court would not know his routine.

"Are you going to stick to that - on the Book?" I asked.

"Yes. Like a bloomin' leech."

"All right, I don't want to know any more. Only remember that
Quigley, Parsons, and Trot couldn't have been where you say
without hearing something; and there's nearly certain to be a
barrack-sweeper who was knocking about the square at the time.
There always is."

"Twasn't the sweeper. It was the beastie. 'E's all right."

Then I knew that there was going to be some spirited doctoring,
and I felt sorry for the Government Advocate who would conduct the
prosecution.

When the trial came on I pitied him more, for he was always quick
to lose his temper, and made a personal matter of each lost cause.
Raines's young barrister had for once put aside his unslaked and
Welling passion for alibis and insanity, had forsworn gymnastics
and fireworks, and worked soberly for his client. Mercifully the
hot weather was yet young, and there had been no flagrant cases of
barrack-shootings up to the time; and the jury was a good one,
even for an Indian jury, where nine men out of every twelve are
accustomed to weighing evidence. Ortheris stood firm and was not
shaken by any cross-examination. The one weak point in his tale -
the presence of his rifle in the outer verandah - went
unchallenged by civilian wisdom, though some of the witnesses
could not help smiling. The Government Advocate called for the
rope; contending throughout
that the murder had been a deliberate one. Time had passed, he
argued, for that reflection which comes so naturally to a man
whose honour is lost. There was also the Law, ever ready and
anxious to right the wrongs of the common soldier if, in deed,
wrong had been done. But he doubted much whether there had been
any sufficient wrong. Causeless suspicion over-long brooded upon
had led, by his theory, to deliberate crime. But his attempts to
minimise the motive failed. The most disconnected witness knew -
had known for weeks - the causes of offence, and the prisoner, who
naturally was the last of all to know, groaned in the
dock while he listened. The one question that the trial circled
round was whether Raines had fired under sudden and blinding
provocation given that very morning, and in the summing up it was
clear that Ortheris's evidence told. He had contrived, most
artistically, to suggest that he personally hated the Sergeant,
who had come into the verandah to give him a talking to for
insubordination. In a weak moment the Government Advocate asked
one question too many, "Beggin' your pardon, sir," Ortheris
replied, "'e was callin' me a dam' impudent little lawyer." The
Court shook. The jury brought it in a killing, but with every
provocation and extenuation known to God or man, and the Judge put
his hand to his brow before giving sentence, and the Adam's apple
in the prisoner's throat went up and down mercury-pumping before a
cyclone.

In consideration of all considerations, from his Commanding
Officer's certificate of good conduct to the sure loss of pension,
service, and honour, the prisoner would get two years, to be
served in India, and - there need be no demonstration in Court.
The Government Advocate scowled and picked up his papers; the
guard wheeled with a clash, and the prisoner was relaxed to the
Secular Arm, and driven to the jail in a broken-down ticca-gharri.

His guard and some ten or twelve military witnesses, being less
important, were ordered to wait till what was officially called
the cool of the evening before marching back to cantonments. They
gathered together in one of the deep red brick verandahs of a
disused lock-up and congratulated Ortheris, who bore his honours
modestly. I sent my work into the office and joined them. Ortheris
watched the Government Advocate driving off lunch.

"That's a nasty little bald-'eaded little butcher, that is," he
said. "'E don't please me. 'E's got a colley dog wot do, though.
I'm goin' up to Murree in a week. That dawg'll bring fifteen
rupees anywheres."

"You had better spend it in Masses," said Terence, unbuckling his
belt, for he had been on the prisoner's guard, standing helmeted
and bolt up right for three long hours.

"Not me," said Ortheris cheerfully. "Gawd'll put it down to B
Comp'ny's barrick damages one o' these days. You look strapped,
Terence."

"Faith, I'm not so young as I was. That guard-mountin' wears on
the sole av the fut, and this" - he sniffed contemptuously at the
brick verandah - "is as hard setting as standin'!"

"Wait a minute. I'll get the cushions out of my cart," I said.

"Strewth - sofies! We're going it gay," said Ortheris, as Terence
dropped himself section by section on the leather cushions, saying
prettily, "May you niver want a soft place wheriver you go, an'
power to share utt wid a frind. Another for yourself? That's good.
It lets me sit long ways. Stanley, pass me a poipe. Augrrh! An'
that's another man gone all to pieces bekaze av a woman. I must
ha' been on forty or fifty prisoners' gyards, first an' last, an'
I hate ut new ivry time."

"Let's see. You were on Losson's, Lancey's, Dugard's, and
Stebbins's, that I can remember," I said.

"Ay, an' before that an' before that - scores av thim," he
answered with a worn smile. "Tis betther to die than to live for
thim, though. Whin Raines comes out - he'll be changin' his kit at
the jail now - he'll think that too. He shud ha' shot himself an'
the woman by rights, an' made a clean bill av all. Now he's left
the woman - she tuk tay wid Dinah Sunday gone last - an' he's left
himself. Mackie's the lucky man."
-
"He's probably getting it hot where he is," I ventured, for I knew
something of the dead Corporal's record.

"Be sure av that," said Terence, spitting over the edge of the
verandah. "But fwhat he'll get there is light marchin'-ordher to
fwhat he'd ha' got here if he'd lived."

"Surely not. He'd have gone on and forgotten like the others."

"Did ye know Mackie well, Sorr?" said Terence.

"He was on the Pattiala guard of honour last winter, and I went
out shooting with him in an ekka for the day, and I found him
rather an amusing man."

"Well, he'll ha' got shut av amusemints, excipt turnin' from wan
side to the other, these few years come. I knew Mackie, an' I've
seen too many to be mistuk in the muster av wan man. He might ha'
gone on an' forgot, as you say, Sorr, but was a man wid an
educashin, an' he used ut for his schames, an' the same educashin,
an' talk an' all that made him able to do fwhat he had a mind to
wid a woman, that same wud turn back again in the long run an'
tear him alive. I can't say fwhat that I mane to say bekaze I
don't know how, but Mackie was the spit an' livin' image av a man
that I saw march the same march all but; an' 'twas worse for him
that he did not come by Mackie's ind. Wait while I remimber now.
'Twas fwhin I was in the Black Tyrone, an' he was drafted us from
Portsmouth; an' fwhat was his misbegotten name? Larry - Larry
Tighe ut was; an' wan of the draft said he was a gentleman ranker,
an' Larry tuk an' three parts killed him for saying so. An' he was
a big man, an' a strong man, an' a handsome man, an' that tells
heavy in practice wid some women, but, takin' thim by an' large,
not wid all. Yet 'twas wid all that Larry dealt - all - for he 'ud
put the comether on any woman that trod the green earth av God,
an' he knew ut. Like Mackie that's roastin' now, he knew ut; an'
niver did he put the comether on any woman save an' excipt for the
black shame. 'Tis not me that shud be talkin', dear knows, dear
knows, but the most av my mis - misalli'nces was for pure devilry,
an' mighty sorry I have been whin harm came; an' time an' again
wid a girl, ay, an' a woman too, for the matter av that, whin I
have seen by the eyes av her that I was makin' more throuble than
I talked, I have hild off an' let be for the sake av the mother
that bore me. But Larry, I'm thinkin', he was suckled by a she-
devil, for he niver let wan go that came nigh to listen to him.
'Twas his business, as if it might ha' bin sinthry-go. He was a
good soldier too. Now there was the Colonel's governess - an' he a
privit too! - that was never known in barricks; an' wan av the
Major's maids, and she was promised to a man; an' some more
outside; an' fwhat ut was amongst us we'll never know till
Judgment Day! 'Twas the nature av the baste to put the comether on
the best av thim - not the prettiest by any manner av manes - but
the like av such woman as you cud lay your band on the Book an'
swear there was niver thought av foolishness in. An' for that very
reason, mark you, he was niver caught. He came close to ut wanst
or twice, but caught he niver was, an' that cost him more at the
ind than the beginnin'. He talked to me more than most, bekaze he
tould me, barrin' the accident av my educashin, I'd ha' been the
same kind av divil he was. 'An' is ut
like,' he wud say, houldin' his head high - 'is ut like that I'd
iver be thrapped? For fwhat am I when all's said an' done?' he
sez. 'A damned privit,' sez he. 'An' is ut like, think you, that
thim I know wud be connect wid a privit like me? Number tin
thousand four hundred an' sivin,' he sez, grinnin'. I knew by the
turn av his spache whin he was not takin' care to talk rough that
he was a gentleman ranker.

I do not undherstan' ut at all,' I sez; 'but I know,' sez I, 'that
the divil looks out av your eyes, an' I'll have no share wid you.
A little fun by way av amusemint where 't will do no harm, Larry,
is right and fair, but I am mistook if 'tis any amusemint to you,'
I sez.

"'You are much mistook,' he sez. 'An' I counsel you not to judge
your betters.'

"'My betthers!' I sez. 'God help you, Larry. There's no betther in
this. 'Tis all bad, as you will find for yoursilf.'

"You're not like me,' he says, tossin' his head.

"'Praise the Saints, I am not,' I sez. 'Fwhat I have done I have
done an' been crool sorry for. Fwhin your time comes,' sez I,
'ye'll remimber fwhat I say.'

"'An' whin that time comes,' sez he, 'I'll come to you for ghostly
consolation, Father Terence,' an' at that he wint off afther some
more divil's business - for to get expayrience, he tould me. He
was wicked - rank wicked - wicked as all Hell! I'm not construct
by nature to go in fear av any man, but, begad, I was afraid av
Larry. He'd come in to barricks wid his cap on three hairs, an'
lie on his cot and stare at the ceilin', and now an' again he'd
fetch a little laugh, the like av a splash in the bottom av a
well, an' by that I knew he was schamin' new wickedness, an' I'd
be afraid. All this was long an' long ago, but ut hild me straight
- for a while.

"I tould you, did I not, Sorr, that I was caressed an' pershuaded
to lave the Tyrone on account av a throuble?"

"Something to do with a belt and a man's head, wasn't it?" Terence
had never given me the exact facts.

"It was. Faith, ivry time I go on prisoner's gyard in coort I
wondher fwhy I am not where the pris'ner is. But the man I struk
tuk it in fair fight, an' he had the good sinse not to die.
Considher now, fwhat wud ha' come to the Arrmy if he had! I was
enthreated to exchange, an' my Commandin' Orf'cer pled wid me. I
wint, not to be disobligin', an' Larry tould me he was powerful
sorry to lose me, though fwhat I'd done to make him sorry I do not
know. So to the Ould Rig'mint I came, lavin' Larry to go to the
divil his own way, an' niver expectin' to see him again except as
a shootin'-case in barricks. . . . Who's
that lavin' the compound?" Terence's quick eye had caught sight of
a white uniform skulking behind hedge.

"The Sergeant's gone visiting," said a voice.

"Thin I command here, an' I will have no
sneakin' away to the bazar, an' huntin' for you wid a pathrol at
midnight. Nalson, for I know ut's you, come back to the verandah."

Nalson, detected, slunk back to his fellows. There was a grumble
that died away in a minute or two, and Terence, turning on the
other side, went on:-

"That was the last I saw av Larry for a while. Exchange is the
same as death for not thinkin', an' by token I married Dinah, an'
that kept me from remimberin' ould times. Thin we wint up to the
Front, an' ut tore my heart in tu to lave
Dinah at the Depot in Pindi. Consequint whin was at the Front I
fought circumspectuous till I warrmed up, an thin I fought double
tides. You remimber fwhat I tould you in the gyard-gate av the
fight at Silver's Theatre."

"Wot's that about Silver's Theayter!" said Ortheris quickly, over
his shoulder.

"Nothin', little man. A tale that ye know. As I was sayin', afther
that fight us av the Ould Rig'mint an' the Tyrone was all mixed
together takin' shtock ay the dead, an' av coorse I wint about to
find if there was any man that remimbered me. The second man I
came acrost - an' how I'd missed him in the fight I do not know -
was Larry, an' a fine man he looked, but oulder, by token that he
had a call to be. 'Larry,' sez I, 'how is ut wid you?'

"'Ye're callin' the wrong man,' he sez, wid his gentleman's smile;
'Larry has been dead these three years. They call him "Love-o'-
Women" now,' he sez. By that I knew the ould divil was in him yet,
but the ind av a fight is no time for the beginnin' av confession,
so we sat down an' talked av times.

"'They tell me you're a married man,' he sez, puffing slow at his
poipe. 'Are ye happy?'

"'I will be whin I get back to Depot,' I sez. ''Tis a
reconnaissance honeymoon now.'

"'I'm married too,' he sez, puffin' slow an' more slow, an'
stopperin' wid his forefinger.

"'Sind you happiness,' I sez. 'That's the best hearin' for a long
time.'

"'Are ye av that opinion?' he sez; an' thin he began talkin' av
the campaign. The sweat av Silver's Theatre was not dhry upon him,
an' he was prayin' for more work. I was well contint to lie and
listen to the cook-pot lids.

"Whin he got up off the ground he shtaggered a little, an' laned
over all twisted.

"'Ye've got more than ye bargained for,' I sez. 'Take an
inventory, Larry. 'Tis like you're hurt.'

"He turned round stiff as a ramrod an' damned the eyes av me up
an' down for an impartinent Irish-faced ape. If that had been in
barricks, I'd ha' stretched him an' no more said; but 'twas at the
Front, an' afther such a fight as Silver's Theatre I knew there
was no callin' a man to account for his timpers. He might as well
ha' kissed me. Aftherwards I was well pleased I kept my fistes
home. Then our Captain Crook - Cruik-na-bul-leen - came up. He'd
been talkin' to the little orf'cer bhoy av the Tyrone. 'We're all
cut to windystraws,' he sez, 'but the Tyrone are damned short for
noncoms. Go you over there, Mulvaney,
an' be Deputy-Sergeant, Corp'ral, Lance, an' everything else ye
can lay hands on till I bid you stop.'

"'I wint over an' tuk hould. There was wan sergeant left standin',
an' they'd pay no heed to him. The remnint was me, an' 'twas high
time I came. Some I talked to, an' some I did not, but before
night the bhoys av the Tyrone stud to attention, begad, if I
sucked on my poipe above a whishper. Betune you an' me an' Bobs, I
was commandin' the company, an' that was what Cruik had
thransferred me for, an' the little orf'cer bhoy knew ut, and I
knew ut, but the comp'ny did not. And there, mark you, is the
vartue that no money an' no dhrill can buy - the vartue av the
ould soldier that knows his orf'cer's work an' does ut - at the
salute!

"Thin the Tyrone, wid the Ould Rig'mint in touch, was sint
maraudin' and prowlin' acrost the hills promishcuous an'
unsatisfactory. 'Tis my privit opinion that a gin'ral does not
know half his time fwhat to do wid three-quarthers his command. So
he shquats on his hunkers an' bids thim run round an' round
forninst him while he considhers on ut. Whin by the process av
nature they get sejuced into a big fight that was none av their
seekin', he sez: 'Obsarve my shuparior janius! I meant ut to come
so.' We ran round an' about, an' all we got was shootin' into the
camp at night, an' rushin' empty sungars wid the long bradawl, an'
bein' hit from behind rocks till we was wore out - all except
Love-o'-Women. That puppy-dog business was mate an' dhrink to him.
Begad, he cud niver get enough av ut. Me well knowin' that it is
just this desultorial campaignin' that kills the best men, an'
suspicionin' that if I was cut the little orf'cer bhoy wud expind
all his men in thryin' to get out, I wud lie most powerful doggo
whin I heard a shot, an' curl my long legs behind a bowlder, an'
run like blazes whin the ground was clear. Faith, if I led the
Tyrone in rethreat wanst I led them forty times. Love-o'-Women wud
stay pottin' an' pottin' from behind a rock, and wait till the
fire was heaviest, an' thin stand up an' fire man-height clear. He
wud lie out in camp too at night snipin' at the shadows, for he
niver tuk a mouthful av slape. My commandin' orf'cer - save his
little soul! - cud not see the beauty av of my strategims, an'
whin the Ould Rig'mint crossed us, an' that was wanst a week, he'd
throt off to Cruik, wid his big blue eyes as round as saucers, an'
lay an information against me. I heard thim wanst talkin' through
the tent-wall, an' I nearly laughed.

"'He runs - runs like a hare,' sez the little orf'cer bhoy. "Tis
demoralisin' my men.'

"'Ye damned little fool,' sez Cruik, laughin'. 'He's larnin' you
your business. Have ye been rushed at night yet?'

"'No,' sez the child, wishful that he had been.

"'Have you any wounded?' sez Cruik.

"'No,' he sez. 'There was no chanst for that. They follow Mulvaney
too quick,' he sez.

"'Fwhat more do you want, thin?' sez Cruik. 'Terence is bloodin'
you neat an' handy,' he sez. 'He knows fwhat you do not, an'
that's that there's
a time for ivrything. He'll not lead you wrong,' he sez, 'but I'd
give a month's pay to larn fwhat he thinks av you.'

"That kept the babe quiet, but Love-o'-Women was pokin' at me for
ivrything I did, an' specially my manoeuvres.

"'Mr. Mulvaney,' he sez wan evenin', very contempshus, 'you're
growin' very jeldy wid your feet. Among gentlemen,' he sez, 'among
gentlemen that's called no pretty name.'

"'Among privits 'tis different,' I sez. 'Get back to your tent.
I'm sergeant here,' I sez.

"There was just enough in the voice av me to tell him he was
playin' wid his life betune his teeth. He wint off, an' I noticed
that this man that was contempshus set off from the halt wid a
shunt as tho' he was bein' kicked behind. That same night there
was a Paythan picnic in the hills about, an' firin' into our tents
fit to wake the livin' dead. 'Lie down all,' I sez. 'Lie down an'
kape still. They'll no more than waste ammunition.'

"I heard a man's feet on the ground, an' thin a 'Tini joinin' in
the chorus. I'd been lyin' warm, thinkin' av Dinah an' all, but I
crup out wid the bugle for to look round in case there was a rush,
an' the 'Tini was flashin' at the fore-ind av the camp, an' the
hill near by was fair flickerin' wid long-range fire. Undher the
starlight I beheld Love-o'-Women settin' on a rock wid his belt
and helmet off. He shouted wanst or twice, an' thin I heard him
say: 'They should ha' got the range long ago. Maybe they'll fire
at the flash.' Thin he fired again, an' that dhrew a fresh volley,
and the long slugs that they chew in their teeth came floppin'
among the rocks like tree-toads av a hot night. 'That's better,'
sez Love-o'-Women. 'Oh Lord, how long, how long!' he sez, an' at
that he lit a match an' held ut above his head.

"'Mad,' thinks I, 'mad as a coot,' an' I tuk wan stip
forward, an' the nixt I knew was the sole av my boot flappin' like
a cavalry gydon an' the
- funny-bone av my toes tinglin'. 'Twas a clane-cut shot - a
slug - that niver touched sock or
hide, but set me bare-fut on the rocks. At that I tuk Love-o'-
Women by the scruff an' threw him under
a bowlder, an' whin I sat down I heard the bullets patterin' on
that good stone.

"'Ye may dhraw your own wicked fire,' I sez, shakin' him, 'but I'm
not goin' to be kilt too.'

"Ye've come too soon,' he sez. 'Ye've come too soon. In another
minute they cud not ha' missed me. Mother av God,' he sez, 'fwhy
did ye not lave me be? Now 'tis all to do again,' an' he hides his
face in his hands.

"'So that's it,' I sez, shakin' him again. 'That's th manin' av
your disobeyin' ordhers.'

"'I dare not kill meself,' he sez, rockin' to and fro. 'My own
hand wud not let me die, and there's not a bullet this month past
wud touch me. I'm to die slow,' he sez. 'I'm to die slow. But I'm
in hell now,' he sez, shriekin' like a woman. 'I'm in hell now!'

"'God be good to us all,' I sez, for I saw his face. 'Will ye tell
a man the throuble. If 'tis not murder, maybe we'll mend it yet.'

"At that he laughed. 'D'you remimber fwhat I said in the Tyrone
barricks about comin' to you for ghostly consolation. I have not
forgot,' he sez. 'That came back, an' the rest av my time is on me
now, Terence. I've fought ut off for months an' months, but the
liquor will not bite any more, Terence,' he sez. 'I can't get
dhrunk.'

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