Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (486 page)

“The old man was displeased. I don’t deny he was quite a little displeased. With the mail-boats trottin’ into Madeira every twenty minutes, he didn’t see why a lop-eared Portugee had to take liberties with a man-o’-war’s first cutter. Any’ow, we couldn’t turn ship round for him. We drew him out and took him out to Number One. ‘Drown ‘im,’ ‘e says. ‘Drown ‘im before ‘e dirties my fine new decks.’ But our owner was tenderhearted. ‘Take him to the galley,’ ‘e says. ‘Boil ‘im! Skin ‘im! Cook ‘im! Cut ‘is bloomin’ hair? Take ‘is bloomin’ number! We’ll have him executed at Ascension.’

“Retallick, our chief cook, an’ a Carth’lic, was the on’y one any way near grateful; bein’ short-’anded in the galley. He annexes the blighter by the left ear an’ right foot an’ sets him to work peelin’ potatoes. So then, this Antonio that was avoidin’ the conscription — ”

“
Sub
scription, you pink-eyed matlow!” said the Marine, with the face of a stone Buddha, and whimpered sadly: “Pye don’t see any fun in it at all.”

“
Con
scription — come to his illegitimate sphere in Her Majesty’s Navy, an’ it was just then that Old ‘Op, our Yeoman of Signals, an’ a fastidious joker, made remarks to me about ‘is hands.

“‘Those ‘ands,’ says ‘Op, ‘properly considered, never done a day’s honest labour in their life. Tell me those hands belong to a blighted Portugee manual labourist and I won’t call you a liar, but I’ll say you an’ the Admiralty are pretty much unique in your statements.’ ‘Op was always a fastidious joker — in his language as much as anything else. He pursued ‘is investigations with the eye of an ‘awk outside the galley. He knew better than to advance line-head against Retallick, so he attacked
ong eshlong
, speakin’ his remarks as much as possible into the breech of the starboard four point seven, an’ ‘ummin’ to ‘imself. Our chief cook ‘ated ‘ummin’. ‘What’s the matter of your bowels?’ he says at last, fistin’ out the mess- pork agitated like. “‘Don’t mind me,’ says ‘Op. ‘I’m only a mildewed buntin’-tosser,’ ‘e says: ‘but speakin’ for my mess, I do hope,’ ‘e says, ‘you ain’t goin’ to boil your Portugee friend’s boots along o’ that pork you’re smellin’ so gay!’

“‘Boots! Boots! Boots!’ says Retallick, an’ he run round like a earwig in a alder-stalk. ‘Boots in the galley,’ ‘e says. ‘Cook’s mate, cast out an’ abolish this cutter-cuddlin’ aborigine’s boots!’”

“They was hove overboard in quick time, an’ that was what ‘Op was lyin’ to for. As subsequently transpired.

“‘Fine Arab arch to that cutter-cuddler’s hinstep,’ he says to me. ‘Run your eye over it, Pye,’ ‘e says. ‘Nails all present an’ correct,’ ‘e says. ‘Bunion on the little toe, too,’ ‘e says; ‘which comes from wearin’ a tight boot. What do
you
think?’

“‘Dook in trouble, per’aps,’ I says. ‘He ain’t got the hang of spud- skinnin’.’ No more he ‘ad. ‘E was simply cannibalisin’ ‘em.

“‘I want to know what ‘e ‘as got the ‘ang of,’ says ‘Op, obstructed-like.
‘Watch ‘im,’ ‘e says. ‘These shoulders were foreign-drilled somewhere.’

‘“When it comes to “Down ‘ammicks!” which is our naval way o’ goin’ to bye-bye, I took particular trouble over Antonio, ‘oo had ‘is ‘ammick ‘ove at ‘im with general instructions to sling it an’ be sugared. In the ensuin’ melly I pioneered him to the after-’atch, which is a orifice communicatin’ with the after-flat an’ similar suites of apartments. He havin’ navigated at three fifths power immejit ahead o’ me,
I
wasn’t goin’ to volunteer any assistance, nor he didn’t need it.’

“‘Mong Jew!’ says ‘e, sniffin’ round. An’ twice more ‘Mong Jew!’ — which is pure French. Then he slings ‘is ‘ammick, nips in, an’ coils down. ‘Not bad for a Portugee conscript,’ I says to myself, casts off the tow, abandons him, and reports to ‘Op.

“About three minutes later I’m over’auled by our sub-lootenant, navigatin’ under forced draught, with his bearin’s ‘eated. ‘E had the temerity to say I’d instructed our Antonio to sling his carcass in the alleyway, an’ ‘e was peevish about it. O’ course, I prevaricated like ‘ell. You get to do that in the service. Nevertheless, to oblige Mr. Ducane, I went an’ readjusted Antonio. You may not ‘ave ascertained that there are two ways o’ comin’ out of an ‘ammick when it’s cut down. Antonio came out t’other way — slidin’ ‘andsome to his feet. That showed me two things. First, ‘e had been in an ‘ammick before, an’ next, he hadn’t been asleep. Then I reproached ‘im for goin’ to bed where ‘e’d been told to go, instead o’ standin’ by till some one gave him entirely contradictory orders. Which is the essence o’ naval discipline.

“In the middle o’ this argument the gunner protrudes his ram-bow from ‘is cabin, an’ brings it all to an ‘urried conclusion with some remarks suitable to ‘is piebald warrant-rank. Navigatin’ thence under easy steam, an’ leavin’ Antonio to re-sling his little foreign self, my large flat foot comes in detonatin’ contact with a small objec’ on the deck. Not ‘altin’ for the obstacle, nor changin’ step, I shuffles it along under the ball of the big toe to the foot o’ the hatchway, when, lightly stoopin’, I catch it in my right hand and continue my evolutions in rapid time till I eventuates under ‘Op’s lee.

“It was a small moroccer-bound pocket-book, full of indelible pencil- writin’ — in French, for I could plainly discern the
doodeladays
, which is about as far as my education runs.

“‘Op fists it open and peruses. ‘E’d known an ‘arf-caste Frenchwoman pretty intricate before he was married; when he was trained man in a stinkin’ gunboat up the Saigon River. He understood a lot o’ French — domestic brands chiefly — the kind that isn’t in print.

“‘Pye,’ he says to me, ‘you’re a tattician o’ no mean value. I am a trifle shady about the precise bearin’ an’ import’ o’ this beggar’s private log here,’ ‘e says, ‘but it’s evidently a case for the owner. You’ll ‘ave your share o’ the credit,’ ‘e says.

“‘Nay, nay, Pauline,’ I says, ‘You don’t catch Emanuel Pyecroft mine- droppin’ under any post-captain’s bows,’ I says, ‘in search of honour,’ I says. ‘I’ve been there oft.’

“‘Well, if you must, you must,’ ‘e says, takin’ me up quick. ‘But I’ll speak a good word for you, Pye.’

“‘You’ll shut your mouth, ‘Op,’ I says, ‘or you an’ me’ll part brass-rags. The owner has his duties, an’ I have mine. We will keep station,’ I says, ‘nor seek to deviate.’

“‘Deviate to blazes!’ says ‘Op. ‘I’m goin’ to deviate to the owner’s comfortable cabin direct.’ So he deviated.”

Mr. Pyecroft leaned forward and dealt the Marine a large pattern Navy kick. “‘Ere, Glass! You was sentry when ‘Op went to the old man — the first time, with Antonio’s washin’-book. Tell us what transpired. You’re sober. You don’t know how sober you are!”

The Marine cautiously raised his head a few inches. As Mr. Pyecroft said, he was sober — after some R.M.L.I. fashion of his own devising. “‘Op bounds in like a startled anteloper, carryin’ ‘is signal-slate at the ready. The old man was settin’ down to ‘is bountiful platter — not like you an’ me, without anythin’ more in sight for an ‘ole night an’ ‘arf a day. Talkin’ about food — ”

“No! No! No!” cried Pyecroft, kicking again. “What about ‘Op?” I thought the Marine’s ribs would have snapped, but he merely hiccuped.

“Oh, ‘im! ‘E ‘ad it written all down on ‘is little slate — I think — an’ ‘e shoves it under the old man’s nose. ‘Shut the door,’ says ‘Op. ‘For ‘Eavin’s sake shut the cabin door!’ Then the old man must ha’ said somethin’ ‘bout irons. ‘I’ll put ‘em on, Sir, in your very presence,’ says ‘Op, ‘only ‘ear my prayer,’ or — words to that ‘fect…. It was jus’ the same with me when I called our Sergeant a bladder-bellied, lard-’eaded, perspirin’ pension-cheater. They on’y put on the charge-sheet ‘words to that effect,’ Spoiled the ‘ole ‘fect.”

“‘Op! ‘Op! ‘Op! What about ‘Op?” thundered Pyecroft.

“‘Op? Oh, shame thing. Words t’ that ‘fect. Door shut. Nushin’ more transphired till ‘Op comes out — nose exshtreme angle plungin’ fire or — or words ‘that effect. Proud’s parrot. ‘Oh, you prou’ old parrot,’ I says.”

Mr. Glass seemed to slumber again.

“Lord! How a little moisture disintegrates, don’t it? When we had ship’s theatricals off Vigo, Glass ‘ere played Dick Deadeye to the moral, though of course the lower deck wasn’t pleased to see a leatherneck interpretin’ a strictly maritime part, as you might say. It’s only his repartees, which ‘e can’t contain, that conquers him. Shall I resume my narrative?”

Another drink was brought on this hint, and Mr. Pyecroft resumed.

“The essence o’ strategy bein’ forethought, the essence o’ tattics is surprise. Per’aps you didn’t know that? My forethought ‘avin’ secured the initial advantage in attack, it remained for the old man to ladle out the surprise-packets. ‘Eavens! What surprises! That night he dines with the wardroom, bein’ of the kind — I’ve told you as we were a ‘appy ship? — that likes it, and the wardroom liked it too. This ain’t common in the service. They had up the new Madeira — awful undisciplined stuff which gives you a cordite mouth next morning. They told the mess-men to navigate towards the extreme an’ remote ‘orizon, an’ they abrogated the sentry about fifteen paces out of earshot. Then they had in the Gunner, the Bo’sun, an’ the Carpenter, an’ stood them large round drinks. It all come out later — wardroom joints bein’ lower-deck hash, as the sayin’ is — that our Number One stuck to it that ‘e couldn’t trust the ship for the job. The old man swore ‘e could, ‘avin’ commanded ‘er over two years. He was right. There wasn’t a ship, I don’t care in what fleet, could come near the
Archimandrites
when we give our mind to a thing. We held the cruiser big-gun records, the sailing-cutter (fancy-rig) championship, an’ the challenge-cup row round the fleet. We ‘ad the best nigger-minstrels, the best football an’ cricket teams, an’ the best squee-jee band of anything that ever pushed in front of a brace o’ screws. An’
yet
our Number One mistrusted us! ‘E said we’d be a floatin’ hell in a week, an’ it ‘ud take the rest o’ the commission to stop our way. They was arguin’ it in the wardroom when the bridge reports a light three points off the port bow. We overtakes her, switches on our search-light, an’ she discloses herself as a collier o’ no mean reputation, makin’ about seven knots on ‘er lawful occasions — to the Cape most like.

“Then the owner — so we ‘eard in good time — broke the boom, springin’ all mines together at close interval.

“‘Look ‘ere, my jokers,’ ‘e says (I’m givin’ the grist of ‘is arguments, remember), ‘Number One says we can’t enlighten this cutter-cuddlin Gaulish lootenant on the manners an’ customs o’ the Navy without makin’ the ship a market-garden. There’s a lot in that,’ ‘e says, ‘specially if we kept it up lavish, till we reached Ascension. But,’ ‘e says, ‘the appearance o’ this strange sail has put a totally new aspect on the game. We can run to just one day’s amusement for our friend, or else what’s the good o’ discipline? An’ then we can turn ‘im over to our presumably short-’anded fellow-subject in the small-coal line out yonder. He’ll be pleased,’ says the old man, ‘an’ so will Antonio. M’rover,’ he says to Number One, ‘I’ll lay you a dozen o’ liquorice an’ ink’ — it must ha’ been that new tawny port — ’that I’ve got a ship I can trust — for one day,’ ‘e says. ‘Wherefore,’ he says, ‘will you have the extreme goodness to reduce speed as requisite for keepin’ a proper distance behind this providential tramp till further orders?’ Now, that’s what I call tattics.

“The other manoeuvres developed next day, strictly in accordance with the plans as laid down in the wardroom, where they sat long an’ steady. ‘Op whispers to me that Antonio was a Number One spy when ‘e was in commission, and a French lootenant when ‘e was paid off, so I navigated at three ‘undred and ninety six revolutions to the galley, never ‘avin’ kicked a lootenant up to date. I may as well say that I did not manoeuvre against ‘im as a Frenchman, because I like Frenchmen, but stric’ly on ‘is rank an’ ratin’ in ‘is own navy. I inquired after ‘is health from Retallick.

“‘Don’t ask me,’ ‘e says, sneerin’ be’ind his silver spectacles. ‘‘E’s promoted to be captain’s second supernumerary servant, to be dressed and addressed as such. If ‘e does ‘is dooties same as he skinned the spuds,
I
ain’t for changin’ with the old man.’

“In the balmy dawnin’ it was given out, all among the ‘olystones, by our sub-lootenant, who was a three-way-discharge devil, that all orders after eight bells was to be executed in inverse ration to the cube o’ the velocity. ‘The reg’lar routine,’ he says, ‘was arrogated for reasons o’ state an’ policy, an’ any flat-foot who presumed to exhibit surprise, annoyance, or amusement, would be slightly but firmly reproached.’ Then the Gunner mops up a heathenish large detail for some hanky-panky in the magazines, an’ led ‘em off along with our Gunnery Jack, which is to say, our Gunnery Lootenant.

“That put us on the
viva voce
— particularly when we understood how the owner was navigatin’ abroad in his sword-belt trustin’ us like brothers. We shifts into the dress o’ the day, an’ we musters
an’
we prays
ong reggle
, an’ we carries on anticipatory to bafflin’ Antonio.

“Then our Sergeant of Marines come to me wringin’ his ‘ands an’ weepin’. ‘E’d been talkin’ to the sub-lootenant, an’ it looked like as if his upper-works were collapsin’.

“‘I want a guarantee,’ ‘e says, wringin’ ‘is ‘ands like this. ‘
I
‘aven’t ‘ad sunstroke slave-dhowin’ in Tajurrah Bay, an’ been compelled to live on quinine an’ chlorodyne ever since.
I
don’t get the horrors off glasses o’ brown sherry.’