India -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, English
"We were alone in that passage. Maybe I was a trifle too pressin', but
considher fwhat I had done for the good av the temple and the iverlastin'
joy av those women. Twas cheap at the price. I wud ha' taken more if I cud
ha' found ut. I turned the ould man upside down at the last, but he was
milked dhry. Thin he opened a door in another passage an' I found mysilf
up to my knees in Benares river-water, an' bad smellin' ut is. More by
token I had come out on the river-line close to the burnin' ghat and
contagious to a cracklin' corpse. This was in the heart av the night, for
I had been four hours in the temple. There was a crowd av boats tied up,
so I tuk wan an' wint across the river, Thin I came home acrost country,
lyin' up by day."
"How on earth did you manage?" I said.
"How did Sir Frederick Roberts get from Cabul to Candahar? He marched an'
he niver tould how near he was to breakin' down. That's why he is fwhat he
is. An' now"--Mulvaney yawned portentously, "Now I will go an' give myself
up for absince widout leave. It's eight an' twenty days an' the rough end
of the colonel's tongue in orderly room, any way you look at ut. But 'tis
cheap at the price."
"Mulvaney," said I, softly. "If there happens to be any sort of excuse
that the colonel can in any way accept, I have a notion that you'll get
nothing more than the dressing-down, The new recruits are in, and"--
"Not a word more, sorr. Is ut excuses the old man wants? Tis not my way,
but he shall have thim. I'll tell him I was engaged in financial
operations connected wid a church," and he flapped his way to cantonments
and the cells, singing lustily--
"So they sent a corp'ril's file,
And they put me in the gyard-room
For conduck unbecomin' of a soldier."
And when he was lost in the midst of the moonlight we could hear the
refrain--
"Bang upon the big drum, bash upon the cymbals,
As we go marchin' along, boys, oh!
For although in this campaign
There's no whisky nor champagne,
We'll keep our spirits goin' with a song, boys!"
Therewith he surrendered himself to the joyful and almost weeping guard,
and was made much of by his fellows. But to the colonel he said that he
had been smitten with sunstroke and had lain insensible on a villager's
cot for untold hours; and between laughter and good-will the affair was
smoothed over, so that he could, next day, teach the new recruits how to
"Fear God, Honor the Queen, Shoot Straight, and Keep Clean."
HIS MAJESTY THE KING
"Where the word of a King is, there is power: And who may say unto
him--What doest thou?"
"Yeth! And Chimo to sleep at ve foot of ve bed, and ve pink pikky-book,
and ve bwead--'cause I will be hungwy in ve night--and vat's all, Miss
Biddums. And now give me one kiss and I'll go to sleep.--So! Kite quiet.
Ow! Ve pink pikky-book has slidded under ve pillow and ve bwead is
cwumbling! Miss Biddums! Miss _Bid_dums! I'm _so_ uncomfy! Come and tuck
me up, Miss Biddums."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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