Captain Jinks, Hero Part 24

"I see there is another clergyman here," said Sam, looking at Mr.

Parker.

"Yes, and I must say I am surprised to see him. Let me warn you, Colonel. He is, I fear, altogether heterodox. I don't know what kind of Christianity he teaches, but he has actually kept on good terms with the Porsslanese near his mission throughout all these events. He is disloyal to our flag, there can be no question of it, and he openly criticizes the actions of our governments. He should not be received in society. He ought to be sent home--but, hist! some one is going to sing."

It was the young lieutenant who had seated himself at the piano and was clearing his throat as he ran his hands over the keys. Then he began to sing in a rather feeble voice:

"Let the Frenchy sip his cognac in his caffy, Let the Cossack gulp his kva.s.s and usquebaugh; Let the Prussian grenadier Swill his d.i.n.kle-doonkle beer, And the Yankee suck his c.o.c.ktail through a straw, Through a straw, And the Yankee suck his c.o.c.ktail through a straw.

"Let the Ghoorka drink his pugaree and pukka, Let the Hollander imbibe old schnapps galore.

Tommy Atkins is the chap Who has broached a better tap, For he takes his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore.

Blood and gore, For he takes his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore.

"When at 'ome he may content himself with whisky, But if once he lands upon a foreign sh.o.r.e-- On the Nile or Irrawady-- He forgets his native toddy, And he takes his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore.

Blood and gore, And he takes his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore.

"He's a connoisseur of every foreign vintage, From the claret of the fat and juicy Boer To the thicker n.i.g.g.e.r brand That he spills upon the sand, When he draws his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore.

Blood and gore, When he draws his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore."

"Fine, isn't it!" exclaimed Sam's neighbor, the captain, who was standing by him, as they all joined in hearty applause. "I tell you Bludyard Stripling ought to be our poet laureate. He's the laureate of the Empire, at any rate. Why, a song like that binds a nation together.

You haven't any poet like that, have you?"

"No-o," answered Sam, thinking in shame of Shortfellow, Slowell, and Pittier. "I'm afraid all our poets are old women and don't understand us soldiers."

"Stripling understands everything," said the captain. "He never makes a mistake. He is a universal genius."

"I don't think we ever drink c.o.c.ktails with a straw," ventured Sam.

"Oh, yes, you must. He never makes a mistake. You may be sure that, before he wrote that, he drank each one of those drinks, one after another."

"Quite likely," whispered Cleary to Sam, as he came up on the other side.

"I wish I could hear it sung in Lunnon," said the captain. "A chorus of d.u.c.h.esses are singing it at one of the biggest music-halls every evening, and then they pa.s.s round their coronets, lined with velvet, you know, and take up a collection of I don't know how many thousand pounds for the wounded in South Africa. It stirs my blood every time I hear it sung."

The party broke up at a late hour, and Sam and Cleary walked back together to the hotel.

"Interesting, wasn't it?" said Cleary.

"Yes," said Sam.

"Canon is a good t.i.tle for that parson, isn't it? He's a fighter. They ought to promote him. 'Bombsh.e.l.l Gleed' would sound better than 'Canon Gleed,'" said Cleary.

"'M," said Sam.

"And that old general looked rather queer in that red and gilt bob-tailed Eton jacket," said Cleary.

"Yes, rather."

"Convenient for spanking, I suppose."

"The captain next to me told me a lot about Bobbets," said Sam. "Wasn't he nearly kidnaped in South Africa?"

"Yes; that comes of sending generals away from home who only weigh ninety-five pounds. We hadn't any such trouble with Laughter. They'd have had to kidnap him with a derrick."

"I never thought of that," said Sam. "Perhaps that's the real reason they selected him. I shouldn't wonder."

"Of course it was," responded Cleary.

"What sort of a chap was the one with the V.C. next to you?" asked Sam.

"A fine fellow," said Cleary. "But it does seem queer, when you think of it, to wear a cross like that, that says 'I'm a hero,' just as plain as the beggar's placard says, 'I am blind.'"

"I don't see why," said Sam.

"On the whole I think that a placard would be better," said Cleary.

"Everybody would be sure to understand it. 'I performed such and such an heroic action on such and such a day, signed John Smith.' Print it in big letters and then stand around graciously so that people could read it through when they wanted to. I'll get the idea patented when I get home."

"It's a pity we don't give more attention to decorations at home," said Sam. "But I don't quite like the placard idea."

CHAPTER XII

The Great White Temple

[Ill.u.s.tration]

On the following morning the two friends started on their journey up the river toward the Imperial City. They went on a barge filled with soldiers, some of them their own troops who had arrived earlier the same morning. The barge was drawn by ropes pulled by natives, who walked and ran along the banks of the river. It was a day of ever-increasing horrors. All the desolation which they had remarked the day previous was reproduced and accentuated, and as they were so much nearer to the bank, and occasionally took walks on sh.o.r.e, they saw it all more clearly. Sam was much interested in the foreign troops. Their uniforms looked strange and uncouth.

"What funny pill-boxes those are that those Anglian soldiers have stuck to the side of their heads," he said, pointing to two men at Gin-Sin before they set sail.

"Yes," answered Cleary. "They'll put on their helmets when the sun gets higher. They do look queer, tho. Perhaps they think our fellows look queer too."

"I never thought of that," said Sam. "Perhaps they do," and he looked at his fellow-countrymen who were preparing to embark, endeavoring to judge of their appearance as if he had never seen them before. He scrutinized carefully their slouch hats creased in four quarters, their loose, dark-blue jackets, generally unb.u.t.toned, and their easy-going movements.

"Perhaps they do look queer," he said at last. "I never thought of that."

The river was more full of corpses than ever, and there were many to be seen on the sh.o.r.e, all of them of natives. Children were playing and bathing in the shallows, oblivious of the dead around them. Dogs prowled about, sleek and contented, and usually sniffing only at the cadavers, for their appet.i.tes were already sated. At one place they saw a father and son lying hand in hand where they had been shot while imploring mercy. A dog was quietly eating the leg of the boy. The natives who pulled the boat along with great difficulty under the hot sun were drawn from all cla.s.ses, some of them coolies accustomed to hard work, others evidently of the leisure cla.s.ses who could hardly keep up with the rest. Soldiers were acting as task-masters, and they whipped the men who did not pull with sufficient strength. Now and then a man would try to escape by running, but such deserters were invariably brought down by a bullet in the back. More than once one of the men would fall as they waded along, and be swept off by the current. None of them seemed to know how to swim, but no one paid any attention to their fate. Parties were sent out to bring in other natives to take the place of those who gave out. One of the men thus brought in was paralyzed on one side and carried a crutch. The soldiers made sport of him, s.n.a.t.c.hed the crutch from him, and made him pull as best he could with the rest. Sam, Cleary, and an Anglian officer who had served through the whole war took a long walk together back from the river during the halt at noon. They entered a deserted house, with gables and a tiled roof, which by chance had not been burned. The house had been looted, and such of its contents as were too large to carry away were lying broken to bits about the floor. A nasty smell came from an inner room, and they looked in and saw the whole family--father, mother, and three daughters--lying dead in a row on the floor. A b.l.o.o.d.y knife was in the hand of the man.

"They probably committed suicide when they saw the soldiers coming,"

said the Anglian, whose name was Major Brown. "They often do that, and they do quite right. When they don't, the soldiers, and even the officers sometimes, do what they will with the women and then bayonet them afterward. Our people draw the line at that, and so do yours."

"We certainly conduct war most humanely," said Sam.

They heard a groan from another room, and opening the door saw an old woman lying in a pool of blood, quite unconscious.

"I'll put her out of her misery," said the major, and he drew his revolver and shot her through the head.