Soldiers Three. Rudyard Kipling
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,