Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated), page 242
The gun-elephant was breaking into peal after peal of indignant trumpetings, to the disgust of the other animals who had finished their food and wished to drowse. Between the outcries we could hear him picking restlessly at his ankle ring.
‘As I was sayin’,’ Mulvaney went on, ‘he behaved dishgraceful. He let out wid his fore-fut like a steam-hammer, bein’ convinced that I was in ambuscade adjacent; an’ that wag’nette ran back among the other carriages like a field-gun in charge. Thin he hauled ut out again an’ shuk ut, an’ by nature it came all to little pieces. Afther that he went sheer damn, slam, dancin’, lunatic, double-shuffle demented wid the whole of Antonio’s shtock for the season. He kicked, an’ he straddled, and he stamped, an’ he pounded all at wanst, his big bald head bobbin’ up an’ down, solemn as a rigadoon. He tuk a new shiny broom an’ kicked ut on wan corner, an’ ut opened out like a blossomin’ lily; an’ he shtuck wan fool-foot through the flure av ut an’ a wheel was shpinnin’ on his tusk. At that he got scared, an’ by this an’ that he fair sat down plump among the carriages, an’ they pricked ‘im wid splinters till he was a boundin’ pincushin. In the middle av the mess, whin the kyarts was climbin’ wan on top av the other, an’ rickochettin’ off the mud walls, an’ showin’ their agility, wid him tearin’ their wheels off, I heard the sound av distrestful wailin’ on the housetops, an’ the whole Antonio firm an’ fam’ly was cursin’ me an’ him from the roof next door; me bekase I’d taken refuge wid them, and he bekase he was playin’ shtep-dances wid the carriages av the aristocracy.
‘“Divart his attention,” sez Antonio, dancin’ on the roof in his big white waistcoat. “Divart his attention,” he sez, “or I’ll prosecute you.” An’ the whole fam’ly shouts, “Hit him a kick, mister soldier.”
‘“He’s divartin’ himself,” I sez, for it was just the worth av a man’s life to go down into the compound. But by way av makin’ show I threw the whisky-bottle (‘twas not full whin I came there) at him. He shpun round from what was left av the last kyart, an’ shtuck his head into the verandah not three feet below me. Maybe ‘twas the temptin’ness av his back or the whisky. Anyways, the next thing I knew was me, wid my hands full av mud an’ mortar, all fours on his back, an’ the Snider just slidin’ off the slope av his head. I grabbed that an’ scuffled on his neck, dhruv my knees undher his big flappin’ ears, an’ we wint to glory out av that compound wid a shqueal that crawled up my back an’ down my belly. Thin I remimbered the Snider, an’ I grup ut by the muzzle an’ hit him on the head. ‘Twas most forlorn — like tappin’ the deck av a throopship wid a cane to stop the engines whin you’re sea- sick. But I parsevered till I sweated, an’ at last from takin’ no notice at all he began to grunt. I hit wid the full strength that was in me in those days, an’ it might ha’ discommoded him. We came back to the p’rade-groun’ forty miles an hour, trumpetin’ vainglorious. I never stopped hammerin’ him for a minut’; ‘twas by way av divartin’ him from runnin’ undher the trees an’ scrapin’ me off like a poultice. The p’rade-groun’ an’ the road was all empty, but the throops was on the roofs av the barricks, an’ betune Ould Thrajectory’s gruntin’ an’ mine (for I was winded wid my stone-breakin’), I heard them clappin’ an’ cheerin’. He was growin’ more confused an’ tuk to runnin’ in circles.
‘“Begad,” sez I to mysilf, “there’s dacincy in all things, Terence. ‘Tis like you’ve shplit his head, and whin you come out av Clink you’ll be put under stoppages for killin’ a Gov’ment elephint.” At that I caressed him.’
‘‘Ow the devil did you do that? Might as well pat a barrick,’ said Ortheris.
‘Thried all manner av endearin’ epitaphs, but bein’ more than a little shuk up I disremimbered what the divil would answer to. So, “Good dog,” I sez; “Pretty puss,” sez I; “Whoa mare,” I sez; an’ at that I fetched him a shtroke av the butt for to conciliate him, an’ he stud still among the barricks.
‘“Will no one take me off the top av this murderin’ volcano?” I sez at the top av my shout; an’ I heard a man yellin’, “Hould on, faith an’ patience, the other elephints are comin’.” “Mother av Glory,” I sez, “will I rough-ride the whole stud? Come an’ take me down, ye cowards!”
‘Thin a brace av fat she-elephints wid mahouts an’ a commissariat sergint came shuffling round the corner av the barricks; an’ the mahouts was abusin’ ould Potiphar’s mother an’ blood-kin.
‘“Obsarve my reinforcemints,” I sez. “The’re goin’ to take you to Clink, my son;” an’ the child av calamity put his ears forward an’ swung head on to those females. The pluck av him, afther my oratorio on his brain-pan, wint to the heart av me. “I’m in dishgrace mesilf,” I sez, “but I’ll do what I can for ye. Will ye go to Clink like a man, or fight like a fool whin there’s no chanst?” Wid that I fetched him wan last lick on the head, an’ he fetched a tremenjus groan an’ dhropped his thrunk. “Think,” sez I to him, an’ “Halt!” I sez to the mahouts. They was anxious so to do. I could feel the ould reprobit meditating undher me. At last he put his thrunk straight out an’ gave a most melancholious toot (the like av a sigh wid an elephint); an’ by that I knew the white flag was up an’ the rest was no more than considherin’ his feelin’s.
‘“He’s done,” I sez. “Kape open ordher left an’ right alongside. We’ll go to Clink quiet.”
‘Sez the commissariat sergeant to me from his elephant, “Are you a man or a mericle?” sez he.
‘“I’m betwixt an’ betune,” I sez, thryin’ to set up stiff back. “An’ what,” sez I, “may ha’ set this animal off in this opprobrious shtyle?” I sez, the gun-butt light an’ easy on my hip an’ my left hand dhropped, such as throopers behave. We was bowlin’ on to the elephint- lines under escort all this time.
‘“I was not in the lines whin the throuble; began,” sez the sergeant. “They tuk him off carryin’ tents an’ such like, an’ put him to the gun-team. I knew he would not like ut, but by token it fair tore his heart out.”
‘“Faith, wan man’s meat is another’s poison,” I sez. “‘Twas bein’ put on to carry tents that was the ruin av me.” An’ my heart warrumed to Ould Double Ends bekase he had been put upon.
‘“We’ll close on him here,” sez the sergeant, whin we got to the elephint-lines. All the mahouts an’ their childher was round the pickets cursin’ my poney from a mile to hear. “You skip off on to my elephint’s back,” he sez. “There’ll be throuble.”
‘“Sind that howlin’ crowd away,” I sez, “or he’ll thrample the life out av thim.” I cud feel his ears beginnin’ to twitch. “An’ do you an’ your immoril she-elephints go well clear away. I will get down here. He’s an Irishman,” I sez, “for all his long Jew’s nose, an’ he shall be threated like an Irishman.”
‘“Are ye tired av life?” sez the sergeant.
‘“Divil a bit,” I sez; “but wan av us has to win, an’ I’m av opinion ‘tis me. Get back,” I sez.
‘The two elephints wint off, an’ Smith O’Brine came to a halt dead above his own pickuts. “Down,” sez I, whackin’ him on the head, an’ down he wint, shouldher over shouldher like a hill-side slippin’ afther rain. “Now,” sez I, slidin’ down his nose an’ runnin’ to the front av him, “you will see the man that’s betther than you.”
‘His big head was down betune his big forefeet, an’ they was twisted in sideways like a kitten’s. He looked the picture av innocince an’ forlornsomeness, an’ by this an’ that his big hairy undherlip was thremblin’, an’ he winked his eyes together to kape from cryin’. “For the love av God,” I sez, clean forgettin’ he was a dumb baste, “don’t take ut to heart so! Aisy, be aisy,” I sez; an’ wid that I rubbed his cheek an’ betune his eyes an’ the top av his thrunk, talkin’ all the time. “Now,” sez I, “I’ll make you comfortable for the night. Send wan or two childher here,” I sez to the sergeant who was watchin’ for to see me killed. “He’ll rouse at the sight av a man.”‘
‘You got bloomin’ clever all of a sudden,’ said Ortheris. ‘‘Ow did you come to know ‘is funny little ways that soon?’
‘Bekase,’ said Terence with emphasis, ‘bekase I had conquered the beggar, my son.’
‘Ho!’ said Ortheris between doubt and derision. ‘G’on.’
‘His mahout’s child an’ wan or two other line-babies came runnin’ up, not bein’ afraid av anything, an’ some got wather, an’ I washed the top av his poor sore head (begad, I had done him to a turn!), an’ some picked the pieces av carts out av his hide, an’ we scraped him, an’ handled him all over, an’ we put a thunderin’ big poultice av neem- leaves (the same that we stick on a pony’s gall) on his head, an’ it looked like a smokin’-cap, an’ we put a pile av young sugar-cane forninst him, an’ he began to pick at ut. “Now,” sez I, settin’ down on his fore-foot, “we’ll have a dhrink, an’ let bygones be.” I sent a naygur-child for a quart av arrack, an’ the sergeant’s wife she sint me out four fingers av whisky, an’ when the liquor came I cud see by the twinkle in Ould Typhoon’s eye that he was no more a stranger to ut than me, — worse luck, than me! So he tuk his quart like a Christian, an’ thin I put his shackles on, chained him fore an’ aft to the pickets, an’ gave him my blessin’ an wint back to barricks.’
‘And after?’ I said in the pause.
‘Ye can guess,’ said Mulvaney. ‘There was confusion, an’ the colonel gave me ten rupees, an’ the adj’tant gave me five, an’ my comp’ny captain gave me five, an’ the men carried me round the barricks shoutin’.’
‘Did you go to Clink?’ said Ortheris.
‘I niver heard a word more about the misundherstandin’ wid Kearney’s beak, if that’s what you mane; but sev’ril av the bhoys was tuk off sudden to the Holy Christians’ Hotel that night. Small blame to thim, — they had twenty rupees in dhrinks. I wint to lie down an’ sleep ut off, for I was as done an’ double done as him there in the lines. ‘Tis no small thing to go ride elephants.
‘Subsequint, me an’ the Venerable Father av Sin became mighty friendly. I wud go down to the lines, whin I was in dishgrace, an’ spend an afthernoon collogin’ wid him; he chewin’ wan stick av sugar- cane an’ me another, as thick as thieves. He’d take all I had out av my pockets an’ put ut back again, an’ now an’ thin I’d bring him beer for his dijistin’, an’ I’d give him advice about bein’ well behaved an’ keepin’ off the books. Afther that he wint the way av the Army, an’ that’s bein’ thransferred as soon as you’ve made a good friend.’
‘So you never saw him again?’ I demanded.
‘Do you belave the first half av the affair?’ said Terence.
‘I’ll wait till Learoyd comes,’ I said evasively. Except when he was carefully tutored by the other two and the immediate money-benefit explained, the Yorkshireman did not tell lies; and Terence, I knew, had a profligate imagination.
‘There’s another part still,’ said Mulvaney. ‘Ortheris was in that.’
‘Then I’ll believe it all,’ I answered, not from any special belief in Ortheris’s word, but from desire to learn the rest. Ortheris stole a pup from me when our acquaintance was new, and with the little beast stifling under his overcoat, denied not only the theft, but that he ever was interested in dogs.
‘That was at the beginnin’ av the Afghan business,’ said Mulvaney; ‘years afther the men that had seen me do the thrick was dead or gone home. I came not to speak av ut at the last, — bekase I do not care to knock the face av ivry man that calls me a liar. At the very beginnin’ av the marchin’ I wint sick like a fool. I had a bootgall, but I was all for keepin’ up wid the rig’mint and such like foolishness. So I finished up wid a hole in my heel that you cud ha’ dhruv a tent-peg into. Faith, how often have I preached that to recruities since, for a warnin’ to thim to look afther their feet! Our docthor, who knew our business as well as his own, he sez to me, in the middle av the Tangi Pass it was: “That’s sheer damned carelessness,” sez he. “How often have I tould you that a marchin’ man is no stronger than his feet, — his feet, — his feet!” he sez. “Now to hospital you go,” he sez, “for three weeks, an expense to your Quane an’ a nuisince to your counthry. Next time,” sez he, “perhaps you’ll put some av the whisky you pour down your throat, an’ some av the tallow you put into your hair, into your socks,” sez he. Faith he was a just man. So soon as we come to the head av the Tangi I wint to hospital, hoppin’ on wan fut, woild wid disappointment. ‘Twas a field-hospital (all flies an’ native apothecaries an’ liniment) dhropped, in a way av speakin’, close by the head av the Tangi. The hospital guard was ravin’ mad wid us sick for keepin’ thim there, an’ we was ravin’ mad at bein’ kept; an’ through the Tangi, day an’ night an’ night an’ day, the fut an’ horse an’ guns an’ commissariat an’ tents an’ followers av the brigades was pourin’ like a coffee-mill. The doolies came dancin’ through, scores an’ scores av thim, an’ they’d turn up the hill to hospital wid their sick, an’ I lay in bed nursin’ my heel, an’ hearin’ the men bein’ tuk out. I remimber wan night (the time I was tuk wid fever) a man came rowlin’ through the tents an,’ “Is there any room to die here?” he sez; “there’s none wid the columns”; an’ at that he dhropped dead acrost a cot, an’ thin the man in ut began to complain against dyin’ all alone in the dust undher dead men. Thin I must ha’ turned mad wid the fever, an’ for a week I was prayin’ the saints to stop the noise av the columns movin’ through the Tangi. Gun-wheels it was that wore my head thin. Ye know how ‘tis wid fever?’
We nodded; there was no need to explain.
‘Gun-wheels an’ feet an’ people shoutin’, but mostly gun-wheels. ‘Twas neither night nor day to me for a week. In the mornin’ they’d rowl up the tent-flies, an’ we sick cud look at the Pass an’ considher what was comin’ next. Horse, fut, or guns, they’d be sure to dhrop wan or two sick wid us an’ we’d get news. Wan mornin,’ whin the fever hild off of me, I was watchin’ the Tangi, an’ ‘twas just like the picture on the backside av the Afghan medal, — men an’ elephints an’ guns comin’ wan at a time crawlin’ out of a dhrain.’
‘It were a dhrain,’ said Ortheris with feeling. ‘I’ve fell out an’ been sick in the Tangi twice; an’ wot turns my innards ain’t no bloomin’ vi’lets neither.’
‘The Pass gave a twist at the ind, so everything shot out suddint an’ they’d built a throop-bridge (mud an’ dead mules) over a nullah at the head av ut. I lay an’ counted the elephints (gun-elephints) thryin’ the bridge wid their thrunks an’ rolling out sagacious. The fifth elephint’s head came round the corner, an’ he threw up his thrunk, an’ he fetched a toot, an’ there he shtuck at the head of the Tangi like a cork in a bottle. “Faith,” thinks I to mysilf, “he will not thrust the bridge; there will be throuble.”‘
‘Trouble! My Gawd!’ said Ortheris. ‘Terence, I was be’ind that blooming ‘uttee up to my stock in dust. Trouble!’
‘Tell on then, little man; I only saw the hospital ind av ut.’ Mulvaney knocked the ashes out of his pipe, as Ortheris heaved the dogs aside and went on.
‘We was escort to them guns, three comp’nies of us,’ he said. ‘Dewcy was our major, an’ our orders was to roll up anything we come across in the Tangi an’ shove it out t’other end. Sort o’ pop-gun picnic, see? We’d rolled up a lot o’ lazy beggars o’ native followers, an’ some commissariat supplies that was bivoo-whackin’ for ever seemin’ly, an’ all the sweepin’s of ‘arf a dozen things what ought to ‘ave bin at the front weeks ago, an’ Dewcy, he sez to us: “You’re most ‘eart- breakin’ sweeps,” ‘e sez. “For ‘eving’s sake,” sez ‘e, “do a little sweepin’ now.” So we swep’, — s’welp me, ‘ow we did sweep ‘em along! There was a full reg’ment be’ind us; most anxious to get on they was; an’ they kep’ on sendin’ to us with the colonel’s compliments, an’ what in ‘ell was we stoppin’ the way for, please? Oh, they was partic’lar polite! So was Dewcy! ‘E sent ‘em back wot-for, an’ ‘e give us wot-for, an’ we give the guns wot-for, an’ they give the commissariat wot-for, an’ the commissariat give first-class extry wot- for to the native followers, an’ on we’d go again till we was stuck, an’ the ‘ole Pass ‘ud be swimmin’ Allelujah for a mile an’ a ‘arf. We ‘adn’t no tempers, nor no seats to our trousies, an’ our coats an’ our rifles was chucked in the carts, so as we might ha’ been cut up any minute, an’ we was doin’ droverwork. That was wot it was; drovin’ on the Islin’ton road!
‘I was close up at the lead of the column when we saw the end of the Tangi openin’ out ahead of us, an’ I sez: “The door’s open, boys. ‘Oo’ll git to the gall’ry fust?” I sez. Then I saw Dewcy screwin’ ‘is bloomin’ eyeglass in ‘is eye an’ lookin’ straight on. “Propped, — ther beggar!” he sez; an’ the be’ind end o’ that bloomin’ old ‘uttee was shinin’ through the dust like a bloomin’ old moon made o’ tarpaulin. Then we ‘alted, all chock-ablock, one atop o’ the other, an’ right at the back o’ the guns there sails in a lot o’ silly grinnin’ camels, what the commissariat was in charge of — sailin’ away as if they was at the Zoological Gardens an’ squeezin’ our men most awful. The dust was that up you couldn’t see your ‘and; an’ the more we ‘it ‘em on the lead the more their drivers sez, “Accha! Accha!” an’ by Gawd it was “at yer” before you knew where you was. An’ that ‘uttee’s Wind end stuck in the Pass good an’ tight, an’ no one knew wot for.
