Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (318 page)

‘How do you get on with — ?’

‘Oh, ‘im! First-rate! Theres nothin’ wrong with ‘im.’

‘Was it all settled then?’

‘‘Asn’t Terence told you? I should say it was. ‘E’s a gentleman, ‘e is.’

‘Let’s hear,’ I said.

Ortheris twinkled all over, tucked his rifle across his knees and repeated, ‘‘E’s a gentleman. ‘E’s an officer too. You saw all that mess in Fort ‘Ammerer. ‘Twasn’t none o’ my fault, as you can guess. Only some goat in the drill judged it was be’aviour or something to play the fool on p’rade. That’s why we drilled so bad. When ‘e ‘it me, I was so took aback I couldn’t do nothing, an’ when I wished for to knock ‘im down the wheel ‘ad gone on, an’ I was facin’ you there lyin’ on the guns. After the captain had come up an’ was raggin’ me about my tunic bein’ tore, I saw the young beggar’s eye, an’ ‘fore I could ‘elp myself I begun to lie like a good ‘un. You ‘eard that? It was quite instinkive, but, my! I was in a lather. Then he said to the captain, “I struck ‘im!” sez ‘e, an’ I ‘eard Brander whistle, an’ then I come out with a new set o’ lies all about portin’ arms an’ ‘ow the rip growed, same as you ‘eard. I done that too before I knew where I was. Then I give Samuelson what-for in barricks when he was dismissed. You should ha’ seen ‘is kit by the time I’d finished with it. It was all over the bloomin’ Fort! Then me an’ Jock went off to Mulvaney in ‘orspital, five-mile walk, an’ I was hoppin’ mad. Ouless, ‘e knowed it was court-martial for me if I ‘it ‘im back — ’e must ha’ knowed. Well, I sez to Terence, whisperin’ under the ‘orspital balcony — ”Terence,” sez I, “what in ‘ell am I to do?” I told ‘im all about the row same as you saw. Terence ‘e whistles like a bloomin’ old bullfinch up there in ‘orspital, an’ ‘e sez, “You ain’t to blame,” sez ‘e. “‘Strewth,” sez I, “d’you suppose I’ve come ‘ere five mile in the sun to take blame?” I sez. “I want that young beggar’s hide took off. I ain’t a bloomin’ conscrip’,” I sez. “I’m a private servin’ of the Queen, an’ as good a man as ‘e is,” I sez, “for all ‘is commission an’ ‘is airs an’ ‘is money,” sez I’

‘What a fool you were,’ I interrupted. Ortheris, being neither a menial nor an American, but a free man, had no excuse for yelping.

‘That’s exactly what Terence said. I wonder you set it the same way so pat if ‘e ‘asn’t been talkin’ to you. ‘E sez to me — ”You ought to ‘ave more sense,” ‘e sez, “at your time of life. What differ do it make to you,” ‘e sez, “whether ‘e ‘as a commission or no commission? That’s none o’ your affair. It’s between man an’ man,” ‘e sez, “if ‘e ‘eld a general’s commission. Moreover,” ‘e sez, “you don’t look ‘andsome ‘oppin’ about on your ‘ind legs like that. Take him away, Jock.” Then ‘e went inside, an’ that’s all I got outer Terence. Jock, ‘e sez as slow as a march in slow time, — ”Stanley,” ‘e sez, “that young beggar didn’t go for to ‘it you.” “I don’t give a damn whether ‘e did or ‘e didn’t. ‘It me ‘e did,” I sez. “Then you’ve only got to report to Brander,” sez Jock. “What d’yer take me for?” I sez, as I was so mad I nearly ‘it Jock. An’ he got me by the neck an’ shoved my ‘ead into a bucket o’ water in the cook-’ouse an’ then we went back to the Fort, an’ I give Samuelson a little more trouble with ‘is kit. ‘E sez to me, “I haven’t been strook without ‘ittin’ back.” “Well, you’re goin’ to be now,” I sez, an’ I give ‘im one or two for ‘isself, an’ arxed ‘im very polite to ‘it back, but he didn’t. I’d ha’ killed ‘im if ‘e ‘ad. That done me a lot o’ good.

‘Ouless ‘e didn’t make no show for some days, — not till after you was gone; an’ I was feelin’ sick an’ miserable, an’ didn’t know what I wanted, ‘cept to black his little eyes good. I ‘oped ‘e might send me some money for my tunic. Then I’d ha’ had it out with him on p’rade and took my chance. Terence was in ‘orspital still, you see, an’ ‘e wouldn’t give me no advice.

‘The day after you left, Ouless come across me carrying a bucket on fatigue, an’ ‘e sez to me very quietly, “Ortheris, you’ve got to come out shootin’ with me,” ‘e sez. I felt like to bunging the bucket in ‘is eye, but I didn’t. I got ready to go instead. Oh, ‘es a gentleman! We went out together, neither sayin’ nothin’ to the other till we was well out into the jungle beyond the river with ‘igh grass all round, — pretty near that place where I went off my ‘ead with you. Then ‘e puts his gun down an’ sez very quietly: “Ortheris, I strook you on p’rade,” ‘e sez. “Yes, sir,” sez I, “you did.” “I’ve been studying it out by myself,” ‘e sez. “Oh, you ‘ave, ‘ave you?” sez I to myself, “an’ a nice time you’ve been about it, you bun-faced little beggar.” “Yes, sir,” sez I. “What made you screen me?” ‘e sez. “I don’t know,” I sez, an’ no more I did, nor do. “I can’t ask you to exchange,” ‘e sez. “An’ I don’t want to exchange myself,” sez ‘e. “What’s comin’ now?” I thinks to myself. “Yes, sir,” sez I. He looks round at the ‘igh grass all about, an’ ‘e sez to himself more than to me, — ”I’ve got to go through it alone, by myself!” ‘E looked so queer for a minute that, s’elp me, I thought the little beggar was going to pray. Then he turned round again an’ ‘e sez, “What do you think yourself? ‘e sez. “I don’t quite see what you mean, sir,” I sez. “What would you like?” ‘e sez. An’ I thought for a minute ‘e was goin’ to give me money, but ‘e run ‘is ‘and up to the top-button of ‘is shootin’ coat an’ loosed it. “Thank you, sir,” I sez. “I’d like that very well,” I sez, an’ both our coats was off an’ put down.’

‘Hooray!’ I shouted incautiously.

‘Don’t make a noise on the butts,’ said Ouless from the shooting- place. ‘It puts the men off.’

I apologised, and Ortheris went on.

‘Our coats was off, an’ ‘e sez, “Are you ready?” sez ‘e. “Come on then.” I come on, a bit uncertain at first, but he took me one under the chin that warmed me up. I wanted to mark the little beggar an’ I hit high, but he went an’ jabbed me over the heart like a good one. He wasn’t so strong as me, but he knew more, an’ in about two minutes I calls “Time.” ‘E steps back, — it was in — fightin’ then: “Come on when you’re ready,” ‘e sez; and when I had my wind I come on again, an’ I got ‘im one on the nose that painted ‘is little aristocratic white shirt for ‘im. That fetched ‘im, an’ I knew it quicker nor light. He come all round me, close-fightin’, goin’ steady for my heart. I held on all I could an’ split ‘is ear, but then I began to hiccup, an’ the game was up. I come in to feel if I could throw ‘im, an’ ‘e got me one on the mouth that downed me an’ — look ‘ere!’

Ortheris raised the left corner of his upper lip. An eye-tooth was wanting.

‘‘E stood over me an’ ‘e sez, “Have you ‘ad enough?” ‘e sez. “Thank you, I ‘ave,” sez I. He took my ‘and an’ pulled me up, an’ I was pretty shook. “Now,” ‘e sez, “I’ll apologise for ‘ittin’ you. It was all my fault,” ‘e sez, “an’ it wasn’t meant for you.” “I knowed that, sir,” I sez, “an’ there’s no need for no apology.” “Then it’s an accident,” ‘e sez; “an’ you must let me pay for the coat; else it’ll be stopped out o’ your pay.” I wouldn’t ha’ took the money before, but I did then. ‘E give me ten rupees, — enough to pay for a coat twice over, ‘an we went down to the river to wash our faces, which was well marked. His was special. Then he sez to himself, sputterin’ the water out of ‘is mouth, “I wonder if I done right?” ‘e sez. “Yes, sir,” sez I; “there’s no fear about that.” “It’s all well for you,” ‘e sez, “but what about the comp’ny?” “Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” I sez, “I don’t think the comp’ny will give no trouble.” Then we went shootin’, an’ when we come back I was feelin’ as chirpy as a cricket, an’ I took an’ rolled Samuelson up an’ down the verandah, an’ give out to the comp’ny that the difficulty between me an’ Lieutenant Ouless was satisfactory put a stop to. I told Jock, o’ course, an’ Terence. Jock didn’t say nothing, but Terence ‘e sez: “You’re a pair, you two. An’, begad, I don’t know which was the better man.” There ain’t nothin’ wrong with Ouless. ‘E’s a gentleman all over, an’ ‘e’s come on as much as B Comp’ny. I lay ‘e’d lose ‘is commission, tho’, if it come out that ‘e’d been fightin’ with a private. Ho! ho! Fightin’ all an afternoon with a bloomin’ private like me! What do you think?” he added, brushing the breech of his rifle.

‘I think what the umpires said at the sham fight; both sides deserve great credit. But I wish you’d tell me what made you save him in the first place.’

‘I was pretty sure that ‘e ‘adn’t meant it for me, though that wouldn’t ha’ made no difference if ‘e’d been copped for it. An’ ‘e was that young too that it wouldn’t ha’ been fair. Besides, if I had ha’ done that I’d ha’ missed the fight, and I’d ha’ felt bad all my time. Don’t you see it that way, sir.’

‘It was your right to get him cashiered if you chose,’ I insisted.

‘My right!’ Ortheris answered with deep scorn. ‘My right! I ain’t a recruity to go whinin’ about my rights to this an’ my rights to that, just as if I couldn’t look after myself. My rights! ‘Strewth A’mighty! I’m a man.’

The last squad were finishing their shots in a storm of low-voiced chaff. Ouless withdrew to a little distance in order to leave the men at ease, and I saw his face in the full sunlight for a moment, before he hitched up his sword, got his men together, and marched them back to barracks. It was all right. The boy was proven.

A MATTER OF FACT

And if ye doubt the tale I tell.

Steer through the South Pacific swell;

Go where the branching coral hives

Unending strife of endless lives.

Where, leagued about the ‘wildered boat.

The rainbow jellies fill and float;

And, lilting where the laver lingers.

The starfish trips on all her fingers;

Where, ‘neath his myriad spines ashock.

The sea-egg ripples down the rock;

An orange wonder dimly guessed.

From darkness where the cuttles rest.

Moored o’er the darker deeps that hide

The blind white Sea-snake and his bride

Who, drowsing, nose the long-lost ships

Let down through darkness to their lips.

— The Palms.

ONCE a priest, always a priest; once a mason, always a mason; but once a journalist, always and for ever a journalist.

There were three of us, all newspaper men, the only passengers on a little tramp steamer that ran where her owners told her to go. She had once been in the Bilbao iron ore business, had been lent to the Spanish Government for service at Manilla; and was ending her days in the Cape Town coolie-trade, with occasional trips to Madagascar and even as far as England. We found her going to Southampton in ballast, and shipped in her because the fares were nominal. There was Keller, of an American paper, on his way back to the States from palace executions in Madagascar; there was a burly half-Dutchman, called Zuyland, who owned and edited a paper up country near Johannesburg; and there was myself, who had solemnly put away all journalism, vowing to forget that I had ever known the difference between an imprint and a stereo advertisement.

Ten minutes after Keller spoke to me, as the Rathmines cleared Cape Town, I had forgotten the aloofness I desired to feign, and was in heated discussion on the immorality of expanding telegrams beyond a certain fixed point. Then Zuyland came out of his cabin, and we were all at home instantly, because we were men of the same profession needing no introduction. We annexed the boat formally, broke open the passengers’ bath-room door — on the Manilla lines the Dons do not wash — cleaned out the orange-peel and cigar-ends at the bottom of the bath, hired a Lascar to shave us throughout the voyage, and then asked each other’s names.

Three ordinary men would have quarrelled through sheer boredom before they reached Southampton. We, by virtue of our craft, were anything but ordinary men. A large percentage of the tales of the world, the thirty-nine that cannot be told to ladies and the one that can, are common property coming of a common stock. We told them all, as a matter of form, with all their local and specific variants which are surprising. Then came, in the intervals of steady card-play, more personal histories of adventure and things seen and suffered: panics among white folk, when the blind terror ran from man to man on the Brooklyn Bridge, and the people crushed each other to death they knew not why; fires, and faces that opened and shut their mouths horribly at red-hot window frames; wrecks in frost and snow, reported from the sleet-sheathed rescue-tug at the risk of frostbite; long rides after diamond thieves; skirmishes on the veldt and in municipal committees with the Boers; glimpses of lazy tangled Cape politics and the mule- rule in the Transvaal; card-tales, horse-tales, woman-tales, by the score and the half hundred; till the first mate, who had seen more than us all put together, but lacked words to clothe his tales with, sat open-mouthed far into the dawn.

When the tales were done we picked up cards till a curious hand or a chance remark made one or other of us say, ‘That reminds me of a man who — or a business which — ’ and the anecdotes would continue while the Rathmines kicked her way northward through the warm water.

In the morning of one specially warm night we three were sitting immediately in front of the wheel-house, where an old Swedish boatswain whom we called ‘Frithiof the Dane’ was at the wheel, pretending that he could not hear our stories. Once or twice Frithiof spun the spokes curiously, and Keller lifted his head from a long chair to ask, ‘What is it? Can’t you get any steerage-way on her?’

‘There is a feel in the water,’ said Frithiof, ‘that I cannot understand. I think that we run downhills or somethings. She steers bad this morning.’

Nobody seems to know the laws that govern the pulse of the big waters. Sometimes even a lands-man can tell that the solid ocean is atilt, and that the ship is working herself up a long unseen slope; and sometimes the captain says, when neither full steam nor fair wind justifies the length of a day’s run, that the ship is sagging downhill; but how these ups and downs come about has not yet been settled authoritatively.

‘No, it is a following sea,’ said Frithiof; ‘and with a following sea you shall not get good steerage-way.’

The sea was as smooth as a duck-pond, except for a regular oily swell. As I looked over the side to see where it might be following us from, the sun rose in a perfectly clear sky and struck the water with its light so sharply that it seemed as though the sea should clang like a burnished gong. The wake of the screw and the little white streak cut by the log-line hanging over the stern were the only marks on the water as far as eye could reach.