Life's Handicap: Being Stories of Mine Own PeopleKipling, Rudyard
History
Life's Handicap: Being Stories of Mine Own People
Kipling, Rudyard
India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction; India -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, English
I drifted across to the men’s fires in search of Mulvaney, whom I
found strategically greasing his feet by the blaze. There is nothing
particularly lovely in the sight of a private thus engaged after a long
day’s march, but when you reflect on the exact proportion of the ‘might,
majesty, dominion, and power’ of the British Empire which stands on
those feet you take an interest in the proceedings.
‘There’s a blister, bad luck to ut, on the heel,’ said Mulvaney. ‘I
can’t touch ut. Prick ut out, little man.’
Ortheris took out his house-wife, eased the trouble with a needle,
stabbed Mulvaney in the calf with the same weapon, and was swiftly
kicked into the fire.
‘I’ve bruk the best av my toes over you, ye grinnin’ child av
disruption,’ said Mulvaney, sitting cross-legged and nursing his feet;
then seeing me, ‘Oh, ut’s you, sorr! Be welkim, an’ take that maraudin’
scutt’s place. Jock, hold him down on the cindhers for a bit.’
But Ortheris escaped and went elsewhere, as I took possession of the
hollow he had scraped for himself and lined with his greatcoat. Learoyd
on the other side of the fire grinned affably and in a minute fell fast
asleep.
‘There’s the height av politeness for you,’ said Mulvaney, lighting
his pipe with a flaming branch. ‘But Jock’s eaten half a box av your
sardines at wan gulp, an’ I think the tin too. What’s the best wid you,
sorr, an’ how did you happen to be on the losin’ side this day whin we
captured you?’
‘The Army of the South is winning all along the line,’ I said.
‘Then that line’s the hangman’s rope, savin’ your presence. You’ll
learn to-morrow how we rethreated to dhraw thim on before we made thim
trouble, an’ that’s what a woman does. By the same tokin, we’ll be
attacked before the dawnin’ an’ ut would be betther not to slip your
boots. How do I know that? By the light av pure reason. Here are three
companies av us ever so far inside av the enemy’s flank an’ a crowd av
roarin’, tarin’, squealin’ cavalry gone on just to turn out the whole
hornet’s nest av them. Av course the enemy will pursue, by brigades like
as not, an’ thin we’ll have to run for ut. Mark my words. I am av the
opinion av Polonius whin he said, “Don’t fight wid ivry scutt for the
pure joy av fightin’, but if you do, knock the nose av him first an’
frequint.” We ought to ha’ gone on an’ helped the Ghoorkhas.’
‘But what do you know about Polonius?’ I demanded. This was a new side
of Mulvaney’s character.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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