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Soldiers Three

R >> Rudyard Kipling >> Soldiers Three




'And what do you think of that now?' said the man from Saigon.




PRIVATE LEAROYD'S STORY

And he told a tale.
--_Chronicles of Gautama Buddha._

FAR from the haunts of Company Officers who insist upon kit-inspections,
far from keen-nosed Sergeants who sniff the pipe stuffed into the
bedding-roll, two miles from the tumult of the barracks, lies the Trap.
It is an old dry well, shadowed by a twisted _pipal_ tree and fenced
with high grass. Here, in the years gone by, did Private Ortheris
establish his depot and menagerie for such possessions, dead and living,
as could not safely be introduced to the barrack-room. Here were
gathered Houdin pullets, and fox-terriers of undoubted pedigree and
more than doubtful ownership, for Ortheris was an inveterate poacher
and pre-eminent among a regiment of neat-handed dog-stealers.

Never again will the long lazy evenings return wherein Ortheris,
whistling softly, moved surgeon-wise among the captives of his craft
at the bottom of the well; when Learoyd sat in the niche, giving sage
counsel on the management of 'tykes,' and Mulvaney, from the crook of
the overhanging _pipal_, waved his enormous boots in benediction above
our heads, delighting us with tales of Love and War, and strange
experiences of cities and men.

Ortheris--landed at last in the 'little stuff bird-shop' for which
your soul longed; Learoyd--back again in the smoky, stone-ribbed North,
amid the clang of the Bradford looms; Mulvaney--grizzled, tender, and
very wise Ulysses, sweltering on the earthwork of a Central India
line--judge if I have forgotten old days in the Trap!

Orth'ris, as allus thinks he knaws more than other foaks, said she
wasn't a real laady, but nobbut a Hewrasian. I don't gainsay as her
culler was a bit doosky like. But she _was_ a laady. Why, she rode iv
a carriage, an' good 'osses, too, an' her 'air was that oiled as you
could see your faice in it, an' she wore dimond rings an' a goold
chain, an' silk an' satin dresses as mun 'a' cost a deal, for it isn't
a cheap shop as keeps enough o' one pattern to fit a figure like hers.
Her name was Mrs. DeSussa, an't' waay I coom to be acquainted wi' her
was along of our Colonel's Laady's dog Rip.

I've seen a vast o' dogs, but Rip was t' prettiest picter of a cliver
fox-tarrier 'at iver I set eyes on. He could do owt you like but speeak,
an' t' Colonel's Laady set more store by him than if he hed been a
Christian. She hed bairns of her awn, but they was i' England, and Rip
seemed to get all t' coodlin' and pettin' as belonged to a bairn by
good right.

But Rip were a bit on a rover, an' hed a habit o' breakin' out o'
barricks like, and trottin' round t' plaice as if he were t' Cantonment
Magistrate coom round inspectin'. The Colonel leathers him once or
twice, but Rip didn't care an' kept on gooin' his rounds, wi' his taail
a-waggin' as if he were flag-signallin' to t' world at large 'at he
was 'gettin' on nicely, thank yo', and how's yo'sen?' An' then t'
Colonel, as was noa sort of a hand wi' a dog, tees him oop. A real
clipper of a dog, an' it's noa wonder yon laady. Mrs. DeSussa, should
tek a fancy tiv him. Theer's one o' t' Ten Commandments says yo' maun't
cuwet your neebor's ox nor his jackass, but it doesn't say nowt about
his tarrier dogs, an' happen thot's t' reason why Mrs. DeSussa cuvveted
Rip, tho' she went to church reg'lar along wi' her husband who was so
mich darker 'at if he hedn't such a good coaat tiv his back yo' might
ha' called him a black man and nut tell a lee nawther. They said he
addled his brass i' jute, an' he'd a rare lot on it.

Well, you seen, when they teed Rip up, t' poor awd lad didn't enjoy
very good 'elth. So t' Colonel's Laady sends for me as 'ad a naame for
bein' knowledgeable about a dog, an' axes what's ailin' wi' him.

'Why,' says I, 'he's getten t' mopes, an' what he wants is his libbaty
an' coompany like t' rest on us, wal happen a rat or two 'ud liven him
oop. It's low, mum,' says I,'is rats, but it's t' nature of a dog; an'
soa's cuttin' round an' meetin' another dog or two an' passin' t' time
o' day. an' hevvin' a bit of a turn-up wi' him like a Christian.'

So she says _her_ dog maunt niver fight an' noa Christians iver fought.

'Then what's a soldier for?' says I; an' I explains to her t' contrairy
qualities of a dog, 'at, when yo' coom to think on't, is one o't'
curusest things as is. For they larn to behave theirsens like gentlemen
born, fit for t' fost o' coompany--they tell me t' Widdy herself is
fond of a good dog and knaws one when she sees it as well as onny body:
then on t' other hand a-tewin' round after cats an' gettin' mixed oop
i' all manners o' blackguardly street-rows, an' killin' rats, an'
fightin' like divils.

T' Colonel's Laady says:--'Well, Learoyd, I doan't agree wi' you, but
you're right in a way o' speeakin', an' I should like yo' to tek Rip
out a-walkin' wi' you sometimes; but yo' maun't let him fight, nor
chase cats, nor do nowt 'orrid': an them was her very wods.

Soa Rip an' me goes out a-walkin' o' evenin's, he bein' a dog as did
credit tiv a man, an' I catches a lot o' rats an we hed a bit of a
match on in an awd dry swimmin'-bath at back o't' cantonments, an' it
was none so long afore he was as bright as a button again. He hed a
way o' flyin' at them big yaller pariah dogs as if he was a harrow
offan a bow, an' though his weight were nowt, he tuk 'em so suddint-like
they rolled over like skittles in a halley, an' when they coot he
stretched after 'em as if he were rabbit-runnin'. Saame with cats when
he cud get t' cat agaate o' runnin'.

One evenin', him an' me was trespassin' ovver a compound wall after
one of them mongooses 'at he'd started, an' we was busy grubbin' round
a prickle-bush, an' when we looks up there was Mrs. DeSussa wi' a
parasel ovver her shoulder, a-watchin' us. 'Oh my!' she sings out;
'there's that lovelee dog! Would he let me stroke him, Mister Soldier?'

'Ay, he would, mum,' sez I, 'for he's fond o' laady's coompany. Coom
here, Rip, an' speeak to this kind laady.' An'Rip, seein' 'at t'mongoose
hed getten clean awaay, cooms up like t' gentleman he was, nivver a
hauporth shy or okkord.

'Oh, you beautiful--you prettee dog!' she says, clippin' an' chantin'
her speech in a way them sooart has o' their awn; 'I would like a dog
like you. You are so verree lovelee--so awfullee prettee,' an' all
thot sort o' talk, 'at a dog o' sense mebbe thinks nowt on, tho' he
bides it by reason o' his breedin'.

An' then I meks him joomp ovver my swagger-cane, an' shek hands, an'
beg, an' lie dead, an' a lot o' them tricks as laadies teeaches dogs,
though I doan't haud with it mysen, for it's makin' a fool o' a good
dog to do such like.

An' at lung length it cooms out 'at she'd been thrawin' sheep's eyes,
as t' sayin' is, at Rip for many a day. Yo' see, her childer was grown
up, an' she'd nowt mich to do, an' were allus fond of a dog. Soa she
axes me if I'd tek somethin' to dhrink. An' we goes into t' drawn-room
wheer her husband was a-settin'. They meks a gurt fuss ower t' dog an'
I has a bottle o' aale, an' he gave me a handful o' cigars.

Soa I coomed away, but t' awd lass sings out--'Oh, Mister Soldier,
please coom again and bring that prettee dog.'

I didn't let on to t' Colonel's Laady about Mrs. DeSussa, and Rip, he
says nowt nawther; an' I gooes again, an' ivry time there was a good
dhrink an' a handful o' good smooaks. An' I telled t' awd lass a heeap
more about Rip than I'd ever heeared; how he tuk t' fost prize at
Lunnon dog-show and cost thotty-three pounds fower shillin' from t'
man as bred him; 'at his own brother was t' propputty o' t' Prince o'
Wailes, an' 'at he had a pedigree as long as a Dook's. An' she lapped
it all oop an' were niver tired o' admirin' him. But when t' awed lass
took to givin' me money an' I seed 'at she were gettin' fair fond about
t' dog, I began to suspicion summat. Onny body may give a soldier t'
price of a pint in a friendly way an' theer's no 'arm done, but when
it cooms to five rupees slipt into your hand, sly like, why, it's what
t' 'lectioneerin' fellows calls bribery an' corruption. Specially when
Mrs. DeSussa threwed hints how t' cold weather would soon be ower an'
she was goin' to Munsooree Pahar an' we was goin' to Rawalpindi, an'
she would niver see Rip any more onless somebody she knowed on would
be kind tiv her.

Soa I tells Mulvaney an' Ortheris all t' taale thro', beginnin' to end.

''Tis larceny that wicked ould laady manes,' says t' Irishman, ' 'tis
felony she is sejuicin' ye into, my frind Learoyd, but I'll purtect
your innocince. I'll save ye from the wicked wiles av that wealthy
ould woman, an' I'll go wid ye this evenin' and spake to her the wurrds
av truth an' honesty. But Jock,' says he, waggin' his heead, ''twas
not like ye to kape all that good dhrink an' thim fine cigars to
yerself, while Orth'ris here an' me have been prowlin' round wid throats
as dry as lime-kilns, and nothin' to smoke but Canteen plug. 'Twas a
dhirty thrick to play on a comrade, for why should you, Learoyd, be
balancin' yourself on the butt av a satin chair, as if Terence Mulvaney
was not the aquil av anybody who thrades in jute!'

'Let alone me/ sticks in Orth'ris, 'but that's like life. Them wot's
really fitted to decorate society get no show while a blunderin'
Yorkshireman like you--'

'Nay,' says I, 'it's none o' t' blunderin' Yorkshireman she wants;
it's Rip. He's the gentleman this journey.'

Soa t' next day, Mulvaney an' Rip an' me goes to Mrs. DeSussa's, an'
t' Irishman bein' a strainger she wor a bit shy at fost. But you've
heeard Mulvaney talk, an' yo' may believe as he fairly bewitched t'
awd lass wal she let out 'at she wanted to tek Rip away wi' her to
Munsooree Pahar. Then Mulvaney changes his tune an' axes her solemn-like
if she'd thought o' t' consequences o' gettin' two poor but honest
soldiers sent t' Andamning Islands. Mrs. DeSussa began to cry, so
Mulvaney turns round oppen t' other tack and smooths her down, allowin'
'at Rip ud be a vast better off in t' Hills than down i' Bengal, and
'twas a pity he shouldn't go wheer he was so well beliked. And soa he
went on, backin' an' fillin' an' workin' up t' awd lass wal she felt
as if her life warn't worth nowt if she didn't hev t' dog.

Then all of a suddint he says:--'But ye _shall_ have him, marm, for
I've a feelin' heart, not like this could-blooded Yorkshireman; but
'twill cost ye not a penny less than three hundher rupees.'

'Don't yo' believe him, mum,' says I; 't' Colonel's Laady wouldn't
tek five hundred for him.'

'Who said she would?' says Mulvaney; 'it's not buyin' him I mane, but
for the sake o' this kind, good laady, I'll do what I never dreamt to
do in my life. I'll stale him!'

'Don't say steal,' says Mrs. DeSussa; 'he shall have the happiest home.
Dogs often get lost, you know, and then they stray, an' he likes me
and I like him as I niver liked a dog yet, an' I _must_ hev him. If
I got him at t' last minute I could carry him off to Munsooree Pahar
and nobody would niver knaw.'

Now an' again Mulvaney looked acrost at me, an' though I could mak
nowt o' what he was after, I concluded to take his leead.

'Well, mum,' I says, 'I never thowt to coom down to dog-steealin', but
if my comrade sees how it could be done to oblige a laady like yo'sen,
I'm nut t' man to hod back, tho' it's a bad business I'm thinkin', an'
three hundred rupees is a poor set-off again t' chance of them Damning
Islands as Mulvaney talks on.'

'I'll mek it three fifty,' says Mrs. DeSussa; 'only let me hev t'dog!'

So we let her persuade us, an' she teks Rip's measure theer an' then,
an' sent to Hamilton's to order a silver collar again t' time when he
was to be her awn, which was to be t' day she set off for Munsooree
Pahar.

'Sitha, Mulvaney,' says I, when we was outside, 'you're niver goin'
to let her hev Rip!'

'An' would ye disappoint a poor old woman?' says he; 'she shall have
_a_ Rip.'

'An' wheer's he to come through?' says I.

'Learoyd, my man,' he sings out, 'you're a pretty man av your inches
an' a good comrade, but your head is made av duff. Isn't our friend
Orth'ris a Taxidermist, an' a rale artist wid his nimble white fingers?
An' what's a Taxidermist but a man who can thrate shkins? Do ye mind
the white dog that belongs to the Canteen Sargint, bad cess to him--he
that's lost half his time an' snarlin' the rest? He shall be lost for
_good_ now; an' do ye mind that he's the very spit in shape an' size
av the Colonel's, barrin' that his tail is an inch too long, an' he
has none av the colour that divarsifies the rale Rip, an' his timper
is that av his masther an' worse. But fwhat is an inch on a dog's tail?
An' fwhat to a professional like Orth'ris is a few ringstraked shpots
av black, brown, an' white? Nothin' at all, at all.'

Then we meets Orth'ris, an' that little man, bein' sharp as a needle,
seed his way through t' business in a minute. An' he went to work
a-practisin' 'air-dyes the very next day, beginnin' on some white
rabbits he had, an' then he drored all Rip's markin's on t' back of
a white Commissariat bullock, so as to get his 'and in an' be sure of
his colours; shadin' off brown into black as nateral as life. If Rip
_hed_ a fault it was too mich markin', but it was straingely reg'lar
an' Orth'ris settled himself to make a fost-rate job on it when he got
haud o' t' Canteen Sargint's dog. Theer niver was sich a dog as thot
for bad timper, an' it did nut get no better when his tail hed to be
fettled an inch an' a half shorter. But they may talk o' theer Royal
Academies as they like. _I_ niver seed a bit o' animal paintin' to
beat t' copy as Orth'ris made of Rip's marks, wal t' picter itself was
snarlin' all t' time an' tryin' to get at Rip standin' theer to be
copied as good as goold.

Orth'ris allus hed as mich conceit on himsen as would lift a balloon,
an' he wor so pleeased wi' his sham Rip he wor for tekking him to Mrs.
DeSussa before she went away. But Mulvaney an' me stopped thot, knowin'
Orth'ris's work, though niver so cliver, was nobut skin-deep.

An' at last Mrs. DeSussa fixed t' day for startin' to Munsooree Pahar.
We was to tek Rip to t' stayshun i' a basket an' hand him ovver just
when they was ready to start, an' then she'd give us t' brass--as was
agreed upon.

An' my wod! It were high time she were off, for them 'air-dyes upon
t' cur's back took a vast of paintin' to keep t' reet culler, tho'
Orth'ris spent a matter o' seven rupees six annas i' t' best drooggist
shops i' Calcutta.

An' t' Canteen Sargint was lookin' for 'is dog everywheer; an', wi'
bein' tied up, t' beast's timper got waur nor ever.

It wor i' t' evenin' when t' train started thro' Howrah, an' we 'elped
Mrs. DeSussa wi' about sixty boxes, an' then we gave her t' basket.
Orth'ris, for pride av his work, axed us to let him coom along wi' us,
an' he couldn't help liftin' t' lid an' showin' t' cur as he lay coiled
oop.

'Oh!' says t' awd lass; 'the beautee! How sweet he looks!' An' just
then t' beauty snarled an' showed his teeth, so Mulvaney shuts down
t' lid and says: 'Ye'll be careful, marm, whin ye tek him out. He's
disaccustomed to travelling by t' railway, an' he'll be sure to want
his rale mistress an' his friend Learoyd, so ye'll make allowance for
his feelings at fost.'

She would do all thot an' more for the dear, good Rip, an' she would
nut oppen t' basket till they were miles away, for fear anybody should
recognise him, an' we were real good and kind soldier-men, we were,
an' she bonds me a bundle o' notes, an' then cooms up a few of her
relations an' friends to say good-by--not more than seventy-five there
wasn't--an' we cuts away.

What coom to t' three hundred and fifty rupees? Thot's what I can
scarcelins tell yo', but we melted it--we melted it. It was share an'
share alike, for Mulvaney said: 'If Learoyd got hold of Mrs. DeSussa
first, sure 'twas I that renumbered the Sargint's dog just in the nick
av time, an' Orth'ris was the artist av janius that made a work av art
out av that ugly piece av ill-nature. Yet, by way av a thank-offerin'
that I was not led into felony by that wicked ould woman, I'll send
a thrifle to Father Victor for the poor people he's always beggin'
for.'

But me an' Orth'ris, he bein' Cockney an' I bein' pretty far north,
did nut see it i' t' saame way. We'd getten t' brass, an' we meaned
to keep it. An' soa we did--for a short time.

Noa, noa, we niver heered a wod more o' t' awd lass. Our rig'mint went
to Pindi, an' t' Canteen Sargint he got himself another tyke insteead
o' t' one 'at got lost so reg'lar, an' was lost for good at last.




THE BIG DRUNK DRAF'

We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome--
Our ship is _at_ the shore,
An' you mus' pack your 'aversack,
For we won't come back no more.
Ho, don't you grieve for me,
My lovely Mary Ann,
For I'll many you yet on a fourp'ny bit,
As a time expired ma-a-an!
_Barrack-room Ballad._

An awful thing has happened! My friend, Private Mulvaney, who went
home in the _Serapis_, time-expired, not very long ago, has come back
to India as a civilian! It was all Dinah Shadd's fault. She could not
stand the poky little lodgings, and she missed her servant Abdullah
more than words could tell. The fact was that the Mulvaneys had been
out here too long, and had lost touch of England.

Mulvaney knew a contractor on one of the new Central India lines, and
wrote to him for some sort of work. The contractor said that if Mulvaney
could pay the passage he would give him command of a gang of coolies
for old sake's sake. The pay was eighty-five rupees a month, and Dinah
Shadd said that if Terence did not accept she would make his life a
'basted purgathory.' Therefore the Mulvaneys came out as 'civilians,'
which was a great and terrible fall; though Mulvaney tried to disguise
it, by saying that he was 'Ker'nel on the railway line, an' a
consequinshal man.'

He wrote me an invitation, on a tool-indent form, to visit him; and
I came down to the funny little 'construction' bungalow at the side
of the line. Dinah Shadd had planted peas about and about, and nature
had spread all manner of green stuff round the place. There was no
change in Mulvaney except the change of clothing, which was deplorable,
but could not be helped. He was standing upon his trolly, haranguing
a gangman, and his shoulders were as well drilled, and his big, thick
chin was as clean-shaven as ever.

'I'm a civilian now,' said Mulvaney. 'Cud you tell that I was iver a
martial man? Don't answer, Sorr, av you're strainin' betune a compliment
an' a lie. There's no houldin' Dinah Shadd now she's got a house av
her own. Go inside, an' dhrink tay out av chiny in the drrrrawin'-room,
an' thin we'll dhrink like Christians undher the tree here. Scutt, ye
naygur-folk! There's a Sahib come to call on me, an' that's more than
he'll iver do for you onless you run! Get out, an' go on pilin' up the
earth, quick, till sundown.'

When we three were comfortably settled under the big _sisham_ in front
of the bungalow, and the first rush of questions and answers about
Privates Ortheris and Learoyd and old times and places had died away,
Mulvaney said, reflectively--'Glory be there's no p'rade to-morrow,
an' no bun-headed Corp'ril-bhoy to give you his lip. An' yit I don't
know. 'Tis harrd to be something ye niver were an' niver meant to be,
an' all the ould days shut up along wid your papers. Eyah! I'm growin'
rusty, an' 'tis the will av God that a man mustn't serve his Quane for
time an' all.'

He helped himself to a fresh peg, and sighed furiously.

'Let your beard grow, Mulvaney,' said I, 'and then you won't be troubled
with those notions. You'll be a real civilian.'

Dinah Shadd had told me in the drawing-room of her desire to coax
Mulvaney into letting his beard grow. 'Twas so civilian-like,' said
poor Dinah, who hated her husband's hankering for his old life.

'Dinah Shadd, you're a dishgrace to an honust, clanescraped man!' said
Mulvaney, without replying to me. 'Grow a beard on your own chin,
darlint, and lave my razors alone. They're all that stand betune me
and dis-ris-pect-ability. Av I didn't shave, I wud be torminted wid
an outrajis thurrst; for there's nothin' so dhryin' to the throat as
a big billy-goat beard waggin' undher the chin. Ye wudn't have me
dhrink ALWAYS, Dinah Shadd? By the same token, you're kapin' me crool
dhry now. Let me look at that whiskey.'

The whiskey was lent and returned, but Dinah Shadd, who had been just
as eager as her husband in asking after old friends, rent me with--

'I take shame for you, Sorr, coming down here--though the Saints know
you're as welkim as the daylight whin you DO come--an' upsettin'
Terence's head wid your nonsense about--about fwhat's much better
forgotten. He bein' a civilian now, an' you niver was aught else. Can
you not let the Arrmy rest? 'Tis not good for Terence.'

I took refuge by Mulvaney, for Dinah Shadd has a temper of her own.

'Let be--let be,' said Mulvaney. 'Tis only wanst in a way I can talk
about the ould days.' Then to me:--'Ye say Dhrumshticks is well, an'
his lady tu? I niver knew how I liked the gray garron till I was shut
av him an' Asia.'--'Dhrumshticks' was the nickname of the Colonel
commanding Mulvaney's old regiment.--'Will you be seein' him again?
You will. Thin tell him'--Mulvaney's eyes began to twinkle--'tell him
wid Privit--'

'MISTER, Terence,' interrupted Dinah Shadd.

'Now the Divil an' all his angils an' the Firmament av Hiven fly away
wid the "Mister," an' the sin av making me swear be on your confession,
Dinah Shadd! _Privit_, I tell ye. Wid _Privit_ Mulvaney's best
obedience, that but for me the last time-expired wud be still pullin'
hair on their way to the sea.'

He threw himself back in the chair, chuckled, and was silent.

'Mrs. Mulvaney,' I said, 'please take up the whiskey, and don't let
him have it until he has told the story.'

Dinah Shadd dexterously whipped the bottle away, saying at the same
time, 'Tis nothing to be proud av,' and thus captured by the enemy,
Mulvaney spake:--

'Twas on Chuseday week. I was behaderin' round wid the gangs on the
'bankmint--I've taught the hoppers how to kape step an' stop
screechin'--whin a head-gangman comes up to me, wid two inches av
shirt-tail hanging round his neck an' a disthressful light in his oi.
"Sahib," sez he, "there's a rig'mint an' a half av soldiers up at the
junction, knockin' red cinders out av ivrything an' ivrybody! They
thried to hang me in my cloth," he sez, "an' there will be murder an'
ruin an' rape in the place before nightfall! They say they're comin'
down here to wake us up. What will we do wid our women-folk?"

'"Fetch my throlly!" sez I; "my heart's sick in my ribs for a wink at
anything wid the Quane's uniform on ut. Fetch my throlly, an' six av
the jildiest men, and run me up in shtyle.'"

'He tuk his best coat,' said Dinah Shadd reproachfully.

''Twas to do honour to the Widdy. I cud ha' done no less, Dinah Shadd.
You and your digresshins interfere wid the coorse av the narrative.
Have you iver considhered fwhat I wud look like wid me _head_ shaved
as well as my chin? You bear that in your mind, Dinah darlin'.

'I was throllied up six miles, all to get a shquint at that draf'. I
_knew_ 'twas a spring draf' goin' home, for there's no rig'mint
hereabouts, more's the pity.'

'Praise the Virgin!' murmured Dinah Shadd. But Mulvaney did not hear.

'Whin I was about three-quarters av a mile off the rest-camp, powtherin'
along fit to burrst, I heard the noise av the men an', on my sowl,
Sorr, I cud catch the voice av Peg Barney bellowin' like a bison wid
the belly-ache. You remimber Peg Barney that was in D Comp'ny--a red,
hairy scraun, wid a scar on his jaw? Peg Barney that cleared out the
Blue Lights' Jubilee meeting wid the cook-room mop last year?

'Thin I knew ut was a draf of the ould rig'mint, an' I was conshumed
wid sorrow for the bhoy that was in charge. We was harrd scrapin's at
any time. Did I iver tell you how Horker Kelley went into clink nakid
as Phoebus Apollonius, wid the shirts av the Corp'ril an' file undher
his arrum? An' _he_ was a moild man! But I'm digreshin'. 'Tis a shame
both to the rig'mints and the Arrmy sendin' down little orf'cer bhoys
wid a draf av strong men mad wid liquor an' the chanst av gettin' shut
av India, an' _niver a punishment that's fit to be _given right down
an' away from cantonmints to the dock!_ 'Tis this nonsince. Whin I am
servin' my time, I'm undher the Articles av War, an' can be whipped
on the peg for _thim_. But whin I've _served_ my time, I'm a Reserve
man, an' the Articles av War haven't any hould on me. An orf'cer _can't_
do anythin' to a time-expired savin' confinin' him to barricks. 'Tis
a wise rig'lation bekaze a time-expired does _not_ have any barricks;
bein' on the move all the time. 'Tis a Solomon av a rig'lation, is
that. I wud like to be inthroduced to the man that made ut. 'Tis easier
to get colts from a Kibbereen horse-fair into Galway than to take a
bad draf' over ten miles av country. Consiquintly that rig'lation--for
fear that the men wud be hurt by the little orf'cer bhoy. No matther.
The nearer my throlly came to the rest-camp, the woilder was the shine,
an' the louder was the voice av Peg Barney. "'Tis good I am here,"
thinks I to myself, "for Peg alone is employmint for two or three."
He bein', I well knew, as copped as a dhrover.

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