Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated), page 636
“Well, about three months ago he was commanding a treasure-guard — a cart full of rupees to pay troops with — five thousand rupees in silver. He was comin’ to a place called Fort Pearson, near Kalabagh.”
“I was born there,” squeaked a small fag. “It was called after my uncle.”
“Shut up — you and your uncle! Never mind him, Crandall.”
“Well, ne’er mind. The Afridis found out that this treasure was on the move, and they ambushed the whole show a couple of miles before he got to the fort, and cut up the escort. Duncan was wounded, and the escort hooked it. There weren’t more than twenty Sepoys all told, and there were any amount of Afridis. As things turned out, I was in charge at Fort Pearson. Fact was, I’d heard the firing and was just going to see about it, when Duncan’s men came up. So we all turned back together. They told me something about an officer, but I couldn’t get the hang of things till I saw a chap under the wheels of the cart out in the open, propped up on one arm, blazing away with a revolver. You see, the escort had abandoned the cart, and the Afridis — they’re an awfully suspicious gang — thought the retreat was a trap — sort of draw, you know — and the cart was the bait. So they had left poor old Duncan alone. ‘Minute they spotted how few we were, it was a race across the flat who should reach old Duncan first. We ran, and they ran, and we won, and after a little hackin’ about they pulled off. I never knew it was one of us till I was right on top of him. There are heaps of Duncans in the service, and of course the name didn’t remind me. He wasn’t changed at all hardly. He’d been shot through the lungs, poor old man, and he was pretty thirsty. I gave him a drink and sat down beside him, and — funny thing, too — he said, ‘Hullo, Toffee!’ and I said, ‘Hullo, Fat-Sow! hope you aren’t hurt,’ or something of the kind. But he died in a minute or two — never lifted his head off my knees... I say, you chaps out there will get your death of cold. Better go to bed.”
“All right. In a minute. But your cuts — your cuts. How did you get wounded?”
“That was when we were taking the body back to the Fort. They came on again, and there was a bit of a scrimmage.”
“Did you kill any one?”
“Yes. Shouldn’t wonder. Good-night.”
“Good-night. Thank you, Crandall. Thanks awf’ly, Crandall. Good-night.”
The unseen crowds withdrew. His own dormitory rustled into bed and lay silent for a while.
“I say, Crandall” — Stalky’s voice was tuned to a wholly foreign reverence.
“Well, what?”
“Suppose a chap found another chap croaking with diphtheria — all bunged up with it — and they stuck a tube in his throat and the chap sucked the stuff out, what would you say?”
“Um,” said Crandall, reflectively. “I’ve only heard of one case, and that was a doctor. He did it for a woman.”
“Oh, this wasn’t a woman. It was just a boy.”
“Makes it all the finer, then. It’s about the bravest thing a man can do. Why?”
“Oh, I heard of a chap doin’ it. That’s all.”
“Then he’s a brave man.”
“Would you funk it?”
“Ra-ather. Anybody would. Fancy dying of diphtheria in cold blood.”
“Well — ah! Er! Look here!” The sentence ended in a grunt, for Stalky had leaped out of bed and with McTurk was sitting on the head of Beetle, who would have sprung the mine there and then.
Next day, which was the last of the term and given up to a few wholly unimportant examinations, began with wrath and war. Mr. King had discovered that nearly all his house — it lay, as you know, next door but one to Prout’s in the long range of buildings — had unlocked the doors between the dormitories and had gone in to listen to a story told by Crandall. He went to the Head, clamorous, injured, appealing; for he never approved of allowing so-called young men of the world to contaminate the morals of boyhood. Very good, said the Head, he would attend to it.
“Well, I’m awf’ly sorry,” said Crandall guiltily. “I don’t think I told ‘em anything they oughtn’t to hear. Don’t let them get into trouble on my account.”
“Tck!” the Head answered, with the ghost of a wink. “It isn’t the boys that make trouble; it’s the masters. However, Prout and King don’t approve of dormitory gatherings on this scale, and one must back up the house-masters. Moreover, it’s hopeless to punish two houses only, so late in the term. We must be fair and include everybody. Let’s see. They have a holiday task for the Easters, which, of course, none of them will ever look at. We will give the whole school, except prefects and study-boys, regular prep. to-night; and the Common-room will have to supply a master to take it. We must be fair to all.”
“Prep. on the last night of the term. Whew!” said Crandall, thinking of his own wild youth. “I fancy there will be larks.”
The school, frolicking among packed trunks, whooping down the corridor, and “gloating” in form-rooms, received the news with amazement and rage. No school in the world did prep. on the last night of the term. This thing was monstrous, tyrannical, subversive of law, religion, and morality. They would go into the form-rooms, and they would take their degraded holiday task with them, but — here they smiled and speculated what manner of man the Common-room would send up against them. The lot fell on Mason, credulous and enthusiastic, who loved youth. No other master was anxious to take that “prep.,” for the school lacked the steadying influence of tradition; and men accustomed to the ordered routine of ancient foundations found it occasionally insubordinate. The four long form-rooms, in which all below the rank of study-boys worked, received him with thunders of applause. Ere he had coughed twice they favored him with a metrical summary of the marriage laws of Great Britain, as recorded by the High Priest of the Israelites and commented on by the leader of the host. The lower forms reminded him that it was the last day, and that therefore he must “take it all in play.” When he dashed off to rebuke them, the Lower Fourth and Upper Third began with one accord to be sick, loudly and realistically. Mr. Mason tried, of all vain things under heaven, to argue with them, and a bold soul at a back desk bade him “take fifty lines for not ‘olding up ‘is ‘and before speaking.” As one who prided himself upon the perfection of his English this cut Mason to the quick, and while he was trying to discover the offender, the Upper and Lower Second, three form-rooms away, turned out the gas and threw ink-pots. It was a pleasant and stimulating “prep.” The study-boys and prefects heard the echoes of it far off, and the Common-room at dessert smiled.
Stalky waited, watch in hand, till half-past eight. “If it goes on much longer the Head will come up,” said he. “We’ll tell the studies first, and then the dorm-rooms. Look sharp!”
He allowed no time for Beetle to be dramatic or McTurk to drawl. They poured into study after study, told their tale, and went again so soon as they saw they were understood, waiting for no comment; while the noise of that unholy “prep.” grew and deepened. By the door of Flint’s study they met Mason flying towards the corridor. — ”He’s gone to fetch the Head. Hurry up! Come on!” They broke into Number Twelve form-room abreast and panting.
“The Head! The Head! The Head!” That call stilled the tumult for a minute, and Stalky, leaping to a desk, shouted, “He went and sucked the diphtheria stuff out of Stettson major’s throat when we thought he was in town. Stop rotting, you asses! Stettson major would have croaked if the Head hadn’t done it. The Head might have died himself. Crandall says it’s the bravest thing any livin’ man can do, and I” — his voice cracked — ”the Head don’t know we know!”
McTurk and Beetle, jumping from desk to desk, drove the news home among the junior forms. There was a pause, and then, Mason behind him, the Head entered. It was in the established order of things that no boy should speak or move under his eye. He expected the hush of awe. He was received with cheers — steady, ceaseless cheering. Being a wise man, he went away, and the forms were silent and a little frightened.
“It’s all right,” said Stalky. “He can’t do much. ‘Tisn’t as if you’d pulled the desks up like we did when old Carleton took prep. once. Keep it up! Hear ‘em cheering in the studies!” He rocketed out with a yell, to find Flint and the prefects lifting the roof off the corridor.
When the Head of a limited liability company, paying four per cent., is cheered on his saintly way to prayers, not only by four form-rooms of boys waiting punishment, but by his trusted prefects, he can either ask for an explanation or go his road with dignity, while the senior house-master glares like an excited cat and points out to a white and trembling mathematical master that certain methods — not his, thank God — -usually produce certain results. Out of delicacy the Old Boys did not attend that call-over; and it was to the school drawn up in the gymnasium that the Head spoke icily.
“It is not often that I do not understand you; but I confess I do not to-night. Some of you, after your idiotic performances at prep., seem to think me a fit person to cheer. I am going to show you that I am not.”
Crash — crash — crash — came the triple cheer that disproved it, and the Head glowered under the gas. “That is enough. You will gain nothing. The little boys (the Lower School did not like that form of address) will do me three hundred lines apiece in the holidays. I shall take no further notice of them. The Upper School will do me one thousand lines apiece in the holidays, to be shown up the evening of the day they come back. And further — ”
“Gummy, what a glutton!” Stalky whispered.
“For your behavior towards Mr. Mason I intend to lick the whole of the Upper School to-morrow when I give you your journey-money. This will include the three study-boys I found dancing on the form-room desks when I came up. Prefects will stay after call-over.”
The school filed out in silence, but gathered in groups by the gymnasium door waiting what might befall.
“And now, Flint,” said the Head, “will you be good enough to give me some explanation of your conduct?”
“Well, sir,” said Flint desperately, “if you save a chap’s life at the risk of your own when he’s dyin’ of diphtheria, and the Coll. finds it out, wha-what can you expect, sir?”
“Um, I see. Then that noise was not meant for — ah, cheek. I can connive at immorality, but I cannot stand impudence. However, it does not excuse their insolence to Mr. Mason. I’ll forego the lines this once, remember; but the lickings hold good.”
When this news was made public, the school, lost in wonder and admiration, gasped at the Head as he went to his house. Here was a man to be reverenced. On the rare occasions when he caned he did it very scientifically, and the execution of a hundred boys would be epic — immense.
“It’s all right, Head Sahib. We know,” said Crandall, as the Head slipped off his gown with a grunt in his smoking-room. “I found out just now from our substitute. He was gettin’ my opinion of your performance last night in the dormitory. I didn’t know then that it was you he was talkin’ about. Crafty young animal. Freckled chap with eyes — -Corkran, I think his name is.”
“Oh, I know him, thank you,” said the Head, and reflectively. “Ye-es, I should have included them even if I hadn’t seen ‘em.”
“If the old Coll. weren’t a little above themselves already, we’d chair you down the corridor,” said the Engineer. “Oh, Bates, how could you? You might have caught it yourself, and where would we have been, then?”
“I always knew you were worth twenty of us any day. Now I’m sure of it,” said the Squadron Commander, looking round for contradictions.
“He isn’t fit to manage a school, though. Promise you’ll never do it again, Bates Sahib. We — we can’t go away comfy in our minds if you take these risks,” said the Gunner.
“Bates Sahib, you aren’t ever goin’ to cane the whole Upper School, are you?” said Crandall.
“I can connive at immorality, as I said, but I can’t stand impudence. Mason’s lot is quite hard enough even when I back him. Besides, the men at the golf-club heard them singing ‘Aaron and Moses.’ I shall have complaints about that from the parents of day-boys. Decency must be preserved.”
“We’re coming to help,” said all the guests.
The Upper School were caned one after the other, their overcoats over their arms, the brakes waiting in the road below to take them to the station, their journey-money on the table. The Head began with Stalky, McTurk, and Beetle. He dealt faithfully by them.
“And here’s your journey-money. Good-by, and pleasant holidays.”
“Good-by. Thank you, sir. Good-by.”
They shook hands. “Desire don’t outrun performance — much — this mornin’. We got the cream of it,” said Stalky. “Now wait till a few chaps come out, and we’ll really cheer him.”
“Don’t wait on our account, please,” said Crandall, speaking for the Old Boys. “We’re going to begin now.”
It was very well so long as the cheering was confined to the corridor, but when it spread to the gymnasium, when the boys awaiting their turn cheered, the Head gave it up in despair, and the remnant flung themselves upon him to shake hands. Then they seriously devoted themselves to cheering till the brakes were hustled off the premises in dumb-show.
“Didn’t I say I’d get even with him?” said Stalky on the box-seat, as
they swung into the narrow Northam street. “Now all together — takin’
time from your Uncle Stalky: It’s a way we have in the Army,
It’s a way we have in the Navy,
It’s a way we have at the Public Schools,
Which nobody can deny!”
THE FLAG OF THEIR COUNTRY.
It was winter and bitter cold of mornings. Consequently Stalky and Beetle — McTurk being of the offensive type that makes ornate toilet under all circumstances — drowsed till the last moment before turning out to call-over in the gas-lit gymnasium. It followed that they were often late; and since every unpunctuality earned them a black mark, and since three black marks a week meant defaulters’ drill, equally it followed that they spent hours under the Sergeant’s hand. Foxy drilled the defaulters with all the pomp of his old parade-ground. “Don’t think it’s any pleasure to me” (his introduction never varied). “I’d much sooner be smoking a quiet pipe in my own quarters — but I see we ‘ave the Old Brigade on our ‘ands this afternoon. If I only ‘ad you regular, Muster Corkran,” said he, dressing the line.
“You’ve had me for nearly six weeks, you old glutton. Number off from the right!”
“Not quite so previous, please. I’m taking this drill. Left, half — turn! Slow — march.” Twenty-five sluggards, all old offenders, filed into the gymnasium. “Quietly provide yourselves with the requisite dumb-bells; returnin’ quietly to your place. Number off from the right, in a low voice. Odd numbers one pace to the front. Even numbers stand fast. Now, leanin’ forward from the ‘ips, takin’ your time from me.”
The dumb-bells rose and fell, clashed and were returned as one. The boys were experts at the weary game.
“Ve-ry good. I shall be sorry when any of you resume your ‘abits of punctuality. Quietly return dumb-bells. We will now try some simple drill.”
“Ugh! I know that simple drill.”
“It would he ‘ighly to your discredit if you did not, Muster Corkran. At the same time, it is not so easy as it looks.”
“Bet you a bob, I can drill as well as you, Foxy.”
“We’ll see later. Now try to imagine you ain’t defaulters at all, but an ‘arf company on parade, me bein’ your commandin’ officer. There’s no call to laugh. If you’re lucky, most of you will ‘ave to take drills ‘arf your life. Do me a little credit. You’ve been at it long enough, goodness knows.”
They were formed into fours, marched, wheeled, and countermarched, the spell of ordered motion strong on them. As Foxy said, they had been at it a long time.
The gymnasium door opened, revealing McTurk in charge of an old gentleman.
The Sergeant, leading a wheel, did not see. “Not so bad,” he murmured. “Not ‘arf so bad. The pivot-man of the wheel honly marks time, Muster Swayne. Now, Muster Corkran, you say you know the drill? Oblige me by takin’ over the command and, reversin’ my words step by step, relegate them to their previous formation.”
“What’s this? What’s this?” cried the visitor authoritatively.
“A — a little drill, sir,” stammered Foxy, saying nothing of first causes.
“Excellent — excellent. I only wish there were more of it,” he chirruped. “Don’t let me interrupt. You were just going to hand over to someone, weren’t you?”
He sat down, breathing frostily in the chill air. “I shall muck it. I know I shall,” whispered Stalky uneasily; and his discomfort was not lightened by a murmur from the rear rank that the old gentleman was General Collinson, a member of the College Board of Council.
“Eh — what?” said Foxy.
“Collinson, K.C.B. — He commanded the Pompadours-my father’s old regiment,” hissed Swayne major.
“Take your time,” said the visitor. “I know how it feels. Your first drill — eh?”
“Yes, sir.” He drew an unhappy breath. “‘Tention. Dress!” The echo of his own voice restored his confidence.
The wheel was faced about, flung back, broken into fours, and restored to line without a falter. The official hour of punishment was long passed, but no one thought of that. They were backing up Stalky — Stalky in deadly fear lest his voice should crack.
“He does you credit, Sergeant,” was the visitor’s comment. “A good drill — and good material to drill. Now, it’s an extraordinary thing: I’ve been lunching with your head-master and he never told me you had a cadet-corps in the College.”
“We ‘aven’t, sir. This is only a little drill,” said the Sergeant.
“But aren’t they keen on it?” said McTurk, speaking for the first time, with a twinkle in his deep-set eyes.
“Why aren’t you in it, though, Willy?”
“Oh, I’m not punctual enough,” said McTurk. “The Sergeant only takes the pick of us.”
