Soldiers Three [Stories]
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Rudyard Kipling >> Soldiers Three [Stories]
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"Thin I knew he spoke the truth about bein' in hell, for whin
liquor does not take hould, the sowl av a man is rotten in him.
But me bein' such as I was, fwhat could I say to him?
"'Di'monds an' pearls,' he begins again. 'Di'monds and pearls I
have thrown away wid both hands - an' fwhat have I left? Oh, fwhat
have I left?'
"He was shakin' an' thremblin' up against my shouldher, an' the
slugs was singin' overhead, an' I was wonderin' whether my little
bhoy wud have sinse enough to kape his men quiet through all this
firin'.
"'So long as I did not think,' sez Love-o'-Women, 'so long I did
not see - I wud not see - but I can now, what I've lost. The time
an' the place,' he sez, 'an' the very words I said whin ut pleased
me to go off alone to hell. But thin, even thin,' he sez,
wrigglin' tremenjus, 'I wud not ha' been happy. There was too much
behind av me. How cud I ha' believed her sworn oath - me that have
bruk mine again an' again for the sport av seein' thim cry. An'
there are the others,' he sez. 'Oh, what will I do - what will I
do'?' He rocked back an' forward again, an' I think he was cryin'
like wan av the women he dealt wid.
"The full half av fwhat he said was Brigade Ordhers to me, but
from the rest an' the remnint I suspicioned somethin' av his
throuble. 'Twas the judgmint av God had grup the heel av him, as I
tould him 'twould in the Tyrone barricks. The slugs was singin'
over our rock more an' more, an' I sez for to divart him: 'Let bad
alone,' I sez. 'They'll be thryin' to rush the camp in a minut'.'
"I had no more than said that whin a Paythan man crep' up on his
belly wid his knife betune his teeth, not twinty yards from us.
Love-o'-Women jumped up an' fetched a yell, an' the man saw him
an' ran at him (he'd left his rifle under the rock) wid the knife.
Love-o'-Women niver turned a hair, but by the Living Power, for I
saw ut, a stone twisted under the Paythan man's feet an' he came
down full sprawl, an' his knife wint tinklin' acrost the rocks! 'I
tould you I was Cain,' sez Love-o'-Women.' 'Fwhat's the use av
killin' him? He's an honest man - by compare.'
"I was not dishputin' about the morils av Paythans that tide, so I
dhropped Love-o'-Women's burt acrost the man's face, an' 'Hurry
into camp,' I sez, 'for this may be the first av a rush.'
"There was no rush afther all, though we waited undher arms to
give thim a chanst. The Paythan man must ha' come alone for the
mischief, an' afther a while Love-o'-Women wint back to his tint
wid that quare lurchin' sind-off in his walk that I cud niver
undherstand. Begad, I pitied him, an' the more bekaze he made me
think for the rest av the night av the day whin I was confirmed
Corp'ril, not actin' Lef'tenant, an' my thoughts was not good.
"Ye can undherstand that afther that night we came to talkin' a
dale together, an' bit by bit ut came out fwhat I'd suspicioned.
The whole av his carr'in's on an' divilmints had come back on him
hard as liquor comes back whin you've been on the dhrink for a
wake. All he'd said an' all he'd done, an' only he cud tell how
much that was, come back, an' there was niver a minut's peace in
his sowl. 'Twas the Horrors widout any cause to see, an' yet, an'
yet - fwhat am I talkin' av? He'd ha' taken the Horrors wid
thankfulness. Beyon' the repentince av the man, an' that was
beyon' the natur av man - awful, awful, to behould! - there was
more that was worst than any repentince. Av the scores an' scores
that he called over in his mind (an' they were dhrivin' him mad),
there was, mark you, wan woman av all, an' she was not his wife,
that cut him to the quick av his marrow. 'Twas there he said that
he'd thrown away di'monds an' pearls past count, an' thin he'd
begin again like a blind byle in an oil-mill, walkin' round an'
round, to considher (him that was beyond all touch av being happy
this side hell!) how happy he wud ha' been wid her. The more he
considhered, the more he'd consate himself that he'd lost mighty
happiness, an' thin he wud work ut all backwards, an' cry that he
niver cud ha' been happy anyways.
"Time an' time an' again in camp, on p'rade, ay, an' in action,
I've seen that man shut his eyes an' duck his head as you wud duck
to the flicker av a bay'nit. For 'twas thin he tould me that the
thought av all he'd missed came an' stud forninst him like red-hot
irons. For what he'd done wid the others he was sorry, but he did
not care; but this wan woman that I've tould of, by the Hilts av
God she made him pay for all the others twice over! Niver did I
know that a man cud enjure such tormint widout his heart crackin'
in his ribs, an' I have been" - Terence turned the pipe-stem
slowly between his teeth -" I have been in some black cells. All I
iver suffered tho' was not to be talked of alongside av him . . .
an' what could I do? Paternosters was no more than peas for his
sorrow.
"Evenshually we finished our prom'nade acrost the hills, and
thanks to me for the same, there was no casualties an' no glory.
The campaign was comin' to an ind, an' all the rig'mints was bein'
drawn together for to be sint back home. Love-o'-Women was mighty
sorry bekaze he had no work to do, an' all his time to think in.
I've heard that man talkin' to his belt-plate an' his side-arms
while he was soldierin' thim, all to prevint himself from
thinkin', an' ivry time he got up afther he had been settin' down
or wint on from the halt, he'd start wid that kick an' traverse
that I tould you of - his legs sprawlin' all ways to wanst. He wud
niver go see the docthor, tho' I tould him to be wise. He'd curse
me up an' down for my advice; but I knew he was no more a man to
be reckoned wid than the little bhoy was a commandin' orf'cer, so
I let his tongue run if it aised him.
"Wan day - 'twas on the way back - I was walkin' round camp wid
him, an' he stopped an' struck ground wid his right fut three or
four times doubtful. 'Fwhat is ut?' I sez. 'Is that ground?' sez
he; an' while I was thinkin' his mind was goin', up comes the
docthor, who'd been anatomisin' a dead bullock. Love-o'-Women
starts to go on quick, an' lands me a kick on the knee while his
legs was gettin' into marchin' ordher.
"Hould on there,' sez the docthor; an' Love-o'-Women's face, that
was lined like a gridiron, turns red as brick.
"'Tention,' says the docthor; an' Love-o'-Women stud so. 'Now
shut your eyes,' sez the docthor. 'No, ye must not hould by your
comrade.'
"'Tis all up,' sez Love-o'-Women, trying to smile. 'I'd fall,
docthor, an' you know ut.'
"'Fall?' I sez. 'Fall at attention wid your eyes shut! Fwhat do
you mane?'
"The docthor knows,' he sez. 'I've hild up as long as I can, but
begad I'm glad 'tis all done. But I will die slow,' he sez, 'I
will die very slow.'
"I cud see by the docthor's face that he was mortial sorry for the
man, an' he ordhered him to hospital. We wint back together, an' I
was dumbstruck; Love-o'-Women was cripplin' and crumblin' at ivry
step. He walked wid a hand on my shoulder all slued sideways, an'
his right leg swingin' like a lame camel. Me not knowin' more than
the dead fwhat ailed him, 'twas just as though the docthor's word
had done ut all - as if Love-o'-Women had but been waitin' for the
ordher to let go.
"In hospital he sez somethin' to the docthor that I could not
catch.
"'Holy shmoke!' sez the docthor, 'an' who are you to be givin'
names to your diseases? 'Tis ag'in' all the regulations.'
"'I'll not be a privit much longer,' sez Love-o'-Women in his
gentleman's voice, an' the docthor jumped.
"'Thrate me as a study, Docthor Lowndes,' he sez; an' that was the
first time I'd iver heard a docthor called his name.
"'Good-bye, Terence,' sez Love-o'-Women. "Tis a dead man I am
widout the pleasure av dyin'. You'll come an' set wid me sometimes
for the peace av my soul.'
"Now I had been minded to ask Cruik to take me back to the Ould
Rig'mint, for the fightin' was over, an' I was wore out wid the
ways av the bhoys in the Tyrone; but I shifted my will, an' hild
on, an' wint to set wid Love-o'-Women in the hospital. As I have
said, Sorr, the man bruk all to little pieces undher my hand. How
long he had hild up an' forced himself fit to march I cannot tell,
but in hospital but two days later he was such as I hardly knew. I
shuk hands wid him, an' his grip was fair strong, but his hands
wint all ways to wanst, an' he cud not button his tunic.
"'I'll take long an' long to die yet,' he sez, 'for the ways av
sin they're like interest in the rig'mintal savin's-bank - sure,
but a damned long time bein' paid.'
"The docthor sez to me quiet one day, 'Has Tighe there anythin' on
his mind?' he sez. 'He's burnin' himself out.'
"'How shud I know, Sorr?' I sez, as innocent as putty.
"They call him Love-o'-Women in the Tyrone, do they not?' he sez.
'I was a fool to ask. Be wid him all you can. He's houldin' on to
your strength.'
"'But (what ails him, docthor,' I sez.
"'They call ut Locomotus attacks us,' he sez, 'bekaze,' sez he,
'ut attacks us like a locomotive, if ye know fwhat that manes. An'
ut comes,' sez he, lookin' at me, 'ut comes from bein' called
Love-o'-Women.'
"'You're jokin', docthor,' I sez.
"'Jokin'!' sez he. 'If iver you feel that you've got a felt sole
in your boot instead av a Government bull's-wool, come to me,' he
sez, 'an' I'll show you whether 'tis a joke.'
"You would not belave ut, Sorr, but that an' seein' Love-o'-Women
overtuk widout warnin' put the cowld fear av attacks us on me so
strong that for a week an' more I was kickin' my toes against
stones an' stumps for the pleasure av feelin' them hurt.
"An' Love-o'-Women lay in the cot (he might have gone down wid the
wounded before an' before, but he asked to stay wid me), aud fwhat
there was in his mind had full swing at him night an' day an' ivry
hour av the day an' the night, an' he withered like beef rations
in a hot sun, an' his eyes was like owls' eyes, an' his hands was
mut'nous.
"They was gettin' the rig'mints away wan by wan, the campaign
bein' inded, but as ushuil they was behavin' as if niver a
rig'mint had been moved before in the mem'ry av man. Now, fwhy is
that, Sorr? There's fightin' in an' out nine months av the twelve
somewhere in the Army. There has been - for years an' years an'
years, an' I wud ha' thought they'd begin to get the hang av
providin' for throops. But no! Ivry time it's like a girls' school
meetin' a big red bull whin they're goin' to church; an' 'Mother
av God,' sez the Commissariat an' the railways an' the Barrick-
masters, 'fwhat will we do now?' The ordhers came to us av the
Tyrone an' the Ould Rig'mint an' half a dozen more to go down, and
there the ordhers stopped dumb. We wint down, by the special grace
av God - down the Khaiber anyways. There was sick wid us, an' I'm
thinkin' that some av them was jolted to death in the doolies, but
they was anxious to be kilt so if they cud get to Peshawur alive
the sooner. I walked by Love-o'-Women - there was no marchin', an'
Love-o'-Women was not in a stew to get on. 'If I'd only ha' died
up there!' sez he through the doolie-curtains, an' then he'd twist
up his eyes an' duck his head for the thoughts that came to him.
"Dinah was in Depot at Pindi, but I wint circumspectuous, for well
I knew 'tis just at the rump-ind av all things that his luck turns
on a man. By token I ad seen a dhriver of a batthery goin' by at a
trot singin' 'Home, swate home' at the top av his shout, and
takin' no heed o his bridle-hand - I had seen that man dhrop under
the gun in the middle of a word, and come out by the limber like -
like a frog on a pave-stone. No. I wud not hurry, though, God
knows, my heart was all in Pindi. Love-o'-Women saw fwhat was in
my mind, an' 'Go on, Terence,' h sez, 'I know fwhat's waitin' for
you.' 'I will not,' I sez. "Twill kape a little yet.'
"Ye know the turn of the pass forninst Jumrood and the nine mile
road on the flat to Peshawur? All Peshawur was along that road day
and night waitin' for frinds - men, women, childer, and bands.
Some av the throops was camped
round Jumrood, an' some went on to Peshawur to get away down to
their cantonmints. We came through in the early mornin', havin'
been awake the night through, and we dhruv sheer into the middle
av the mess. Mother av Glory, will I ever forget that comin' back?
The light was not fair lifted, and the furst we heard was 'For
'tis my delight av a shiny night,' frum a band that thought we was
the second four comp'nies av the Lincolnshire. At that we was
forced to sind them a yell to say who we was, an' thin up wint
'The wearin' av the Green.' It made me crawl all up my backbone,
not havin' taken my brequist. Thin, right smash into our rear,
came fwhat was left av the Jock Elliotts - wid four pipers an' not
half a kilt among thim, playin' for the dear life, an' swingin'
their rumps like buck rabbits, an' a native rig'mint shrieking
blue murther. Ye niver heard the like. There was men cryin' like
women that did - an' faith I do not blame thim. Fwhat bruk me down
was the Lancers' Band - shinin' an' spick like angels, wid the
ould dhrum-horse at the head an' the silver kettle-dhrums an' all
an' all, waitin' for their men that was behind us. They shtruck up
the Cavalry Canter, an', begad, those poor ghosts that had not a
sound fut in a throop they answered to ut, the men rockin' in
their saddles. We thried to cheer them as they wint by, but ut
came out like a big gruntin' cough, so there must have been many
that was feelin' like me. Oh, but I'm forgettin'! The Fly-by-
Nights was waitin' for their second battalion, an' whin ut came
out, there was the Colonel's horse led at the head - saddle-empty.
The men fair worshipped him, an' he'd died at Au Musjid on the
road down. They waited till the remnint av the battalion was up,
and thin - clane against ordhers, for who wanted that chune that
day? - they wint back to Peshawur slow-time an' tearin' the bowils
out av ivry man that heard, wid 'The Dead March.' Right across our
line they wint, an' ye know their uniforms are as black as the
Sweeps, crawlin' past like the dead, an' the other bands damnin'
them to let be.
"Little they cared. The carpse was wid them, an' they'd ha' taken
ut so through a Coronation. Our ordhers was to go into Peshawur,
an' we wint hot-fut past the Fly-by-Nights, not singin', to lave
that chune behind us. That was how we tuk the road of the other
corps.
"'Twas ringin' in my ears still whin I felt in the bones of me
that Dinah was comin', an' I heard a shout, an' thin I saw a horse
an' a tattoo latherin' down the road, hell to shplit, under women.
I knew - I knew! Wan was the Tyrone Colonel's wife - ould Beeker's
lady - her gray hair flyin' an' her fat round carkiss rowlin' in
the saddle, an' the other was Dinah, that shud ha' been at Pindi.
The Colonel's lady she charged at the head av our column like a
stone wall, an' she all but knocked Beeker off his horse throwin'
her arms round his neck an' blubberin', 'Me bhoy! Me bhoy!' an'
Dinah wheeled left an' came down our flank, an' I let a yell that
had suffered inside av me for months, and - Dinah came. Will I
iver forget that while I live! She'd come on pass from Pindi, an'
the Colonel's lady had lint her the tattoo. They'd been huggin'
an' cryin' in each other's arms all the long night.
"So she walked along wid her hand in mine, askin' forty questions
to wanst, an' beggin' me on the Virgin to make oath that there was
not a bullet consaled in me, unbeknownst somewhere, an' thin I
remimbered Love-o'-Women. He was watchin' us, an' his face was
like the face av a divil that has been cooked too long. I did not
wish Dinah to see ut, for whin a woman's runnin' over wid
happiness she's like to be touched, for harm aftherwards, by the
laste little thing in life. So I dhrew the curtain, an' Love-o'-
Women lay back and groaned.
"Whin we marched into Peshawur, Dinah wint to barracks to wait for
me, an' me feelin' so rich that tide, I wint on to take Love-o'-
Women to hospital. It was the last I cud do, an' to save him the
dust an' the smother I turned the doolie-men down a road well
clear av the rest av the throops, an we wint along, me talkin'
through the curtains. Av a sudden I heard him say: -
"'Let me look. For the Mercy av Hiven, let me look!' I had been so
tuk up wid gettin' him out av the dust and thinkin' of Dinah that
1 had not kept my eyes about me. There was a woman ridin' a little
behind av us, an', talkin' ut over wid Dinah aftherwards, that
same woman must ha' rid not far on the Jumrood road. Dinah said
that she had been hoverin' like a kite on the left flank av the
column.
"I halted the doolie to set the curtains, an' she rode by walkin'-
pace, an' Love-o'-Women's eyes wint afther her as if he would fair
haul her down from the saddle.
"'Follow there,' was all he sez, but I niver heard a man spake in
that voice before or since, an' I knew by those two wan words an'
the look in his face that she was Di'monds-an'-Pearls that he'd
talked av in his disthresses.
"We followed till she turned into the gate av a little house that
stud near the Edwardes's Gate. There was two girls in the
verandah, an' they ran in whin they saw us. Faith, at long eye-
range ut did not take me a wink to see fwhat kind av house ut was.
The throops bein' there an' all, there was three or four such, but
aftherwards the polis bade them go. At the verandah Love-o'-Women
sez, catchin' his breath, 'Stop here,' an' thin, an' thin, wid a
grunt that must ha' tore the heart up from his stomach, he swung
himself out av the doolie, an' my troth he stud up on his feet wid
the sweat pourin' down his face. If Mackie was to walk in here now
I'd be less tuk back than I was thin. Where he'd dhrawn his power
from, God knows or the divil - but 't was a dead man walkin' in
the sun wid the face av a dead man and the breath av a dead man
held up by the Power, an' the legs an' the arms of the carpse
obeyin' ordhers!
-
"The woman stud in the verandah. She'd been a beauty too, though
her eyes was sunk in her head, an' she looked Love-o'-Women up an'
down terrible. 'An',' she sez, kickin' back the tail av her habit,
- 'An',' she sez, 'fwhat are you doin' here, married man?'
"Love-o'-Women said nothin', but a little froth came to his lips,
an' he wiped ut off wid his hand an' looked at her an' the paint
on her, an' looked, an' looked, an' looked.
"'An' yet,' she sez, wid a laugh. (Did you hear Mrs. Raines laugh
whin Mackie died? Ye did not? Well for you.) 'An' yet,' she sez,
'who but you have betther right,' sez she. 'You taught me the
road. You showed me the way,' she sez. 'Ay, look,' she sez, 'for
'tis your work; you that tould me - d'you remimber it? - that a
woman who was false to wan man cud be false to two. I have been
that,' she sez, 'that an' more, for you always said I was a quick
learner, Ellis. Look well,' she sez, 'for it is me that you called
your wife in the sight av God long since!' An' she laughed.
"Love-o'-Women stud still in the sun widout answerin'. Thin he
groaned an' coughed to wanst, an' I thought 'twas the death-
rattle, but he niver tuk his eyes off her face not for a wink. Ye
cud ha' put her eyelashes through the flies av an E. P. tent, they
were so long.
"'Fwhat do you do here?' she sez, word by word, 'that have taken
away my joy in my man this five years gone - that have broken my
rest an' killed my body an' damned my soul for the sake av seem'
how 'twas done? Did your expayrience aftherwards bring you acrost
any woman that gave more than I did? Wud I not ha' died for you
an' wid you, Ellis? Ye know that, man! If ever your lyin' sowl saw
truth in uts life ye know that.'
"An' Love-o'-Women lifted up his head and said, 'I knew,' an' that
was all. While she was spakin' the Power hild him up parade-set in
the 'sun, an the sweat dhropped undher his helmet. 'Twas more an'
more throuble for him to talk, an' his mouth was runnin'
twistways.
"Fwhat do you do here?' she sez, an' her voice whit up. 'Twas like
bells tollin' before. 'Time was whin you were quick enough wid
your words, - you that talked me down to hell. Are ye dumb now?'
An' Love-o'-W omen got his tongue, an' sez simple, like a little
child, 'May I come in?' he sez.
"The house is open day an' night,' she sez, wid a laugh; an' Love-
o'-Women ducked his head an' hild up his hand as tho' he was
gyardin'. The Power was on him still - it hild him up still, for,
by my sowl, as I'll never save ut, he walked up the verandah steps
that had been a livin' corpse in hospital for a month!
"'An' now'?' she sez, lookin' at him; an' the red paint stud lone
on the white av her face like a bull's-eye on a target.
"He lifted up his eyes, slow an' very slow, an' he looked at her
long an' very long, an' he tuk his spache betune his teeth wid a
wrench that shuk him.
"'I'm dyin', Aigypt - dyin',' he sez; ay, those were his words,
for I remimber the name he called her. He was turnin' the death-
colour, but his eyes niver rowled. They were set - set on her.
Widout word or warnin' she opened her arms full stretch, an'
'Here!' she sez. (Oh, fwhat a golden mericle av a voice ut was!)
'Die here,' she sez; an' Love-o'-Women dhropped forward, an' she
hild him up, for she was a fine big woman.
"I had no time to turn, bekaze that minut I heard the sowl quit
him - tore out in the death-rattle - an' she laid him back in a
long chair, an' she sez to me, 'Misther soldier,' she sez, 'will
ye not go in an' talk to wan av the girls. This sun's too much for
him.'
"Well I knew there was no sun he'd iver see, but I cud not spake,
so I wint away wid the empty doolie to find the docthor. He'd been
breakfastin' an' lunchin' ever since we'd come in, an' he was as
full as a tick.
"Faith ye've got dhrunk mighty soon,' he sez, whin I'd tould him,
'to see that man walk. Barrin' a puff or two av life, he was a
corpse before we left Jumrood. I've a great mind,' he sez, 'to
confine you.'
"There's a dale av liquor runnin' about, docthor,' I sez, solemn
as a hard-boiled egg. 'Maybe 'tis so, but will ye not come an' see
the corpse at the house?'
"Tis dishgraceful,' he sez, 'that I would be expected to go to a
place like that. Was she a pretty woman?'' he sez, an' at that he
set off double quick.
"I cud see that the two was in the verandah were I'd left them,
an' I knew by the hang av her head an' the noise av the crows
fwhat had happened. 'Twas the first and the last time that I'd
ever known woman to use the pistol. They dread the shot as a rule,
but Di'monds-an'-Pearls she did not - she did not.
"The docthor touched the long black hair av her head ('twas all
loose upon Love-o'-Women's chest), an' that cleared the liquor out
av him. He stud considherin' a long time, his hands in his
pockets, an' at last he sez to me, 'Here's a double death from
naturil causes, most naturil causes; an' in the presint state av
affairs the rig'mint will be thankful for wan grave the less to
dig. Issiwasti,' he sez, 'Issiwasti, Privit Mulvaney, these two
will be buried together in the Civil Cemet'ry at my expinse, an'
may the good God,' he sez, 'make it SO much for me whin my time
comes. Go to your wife,' he sez; 'go an' be happy. I'll see to
this all.'
"I left him still considherin'. They was buried in the Civil
Cemet'ry together, wid a Church of England service. There was too
many buryin's thin to ask questions, an' the docthor - he ran away
wid Major - Major Van Dyce's lady that year - he saw to ut all.
Fwhat the right an' the wrong av Love-o'-Women an' Di'monds-an'-
Pearls was I niver knew, an' I will niver know; but I've tould ut
as I came acrost ut - here an' there in little pieces. So, being
fwhat I am, an' knowin' fwhat I know, that's fwhy I say in this
shootin'-case here, Mackie that's dead an' in hell is the lucky
man. There are times, Sorr, whin 'tis betther for the man to die
than to live, an' by consequince forty million times betther for
the woman."
"H'up there!" said Ortheris. "It's time to go." The witnesses and
guard formed up in the thick white dust of the parched twilight
and swung off, marching easy and whistling. Down the road to the
green by the church I could hear Ortheris, the black Book-lie
still uncleansed on his lips, setting, with a fine sense of the
fitness of things, the shrill quick-step that runs -
"Oh, do not despise the advice of the wise,
Learn wisdom from those that are older,
And don't try for things that are out of your reach -
An' that's what the Girl told the Soldier
Soldier! Soldier!
Oh, that's what the Girl told the Soldier!"
THE BIG DRUNK DRAF'
We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome -
Our ship is at the shore,
An' you mus' pack your 'aversack,
For we won't come back no more.
Ho, don't you grieve for me,
My lovely Mary Ann,
For I'll marry you yet on a fourp'ny bit,
As a time-expired ma-a-an
Barrack Room Ballad.
AN awful thing has happened! My friend, Private Mulvaney, who went
home in the Serapis, time-expired, not very long ago, has come
back to India as a civilian! It was all Dinah Shadd's fault. She
could not stand the poky little lodgings, and she missed her
servant Abdullah more than words could tell. The fact was that the
Mulvaneys had been out here too long, and had lost touch of
England.
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