Kipling and war, p.14
Kipling and War, page 14
Beyond the lines of the dead, a broad blood-stained Arab spear cast aside in the retreat lay across a stump of scrub, and beyond this again the illimitable dark levels of the desert. The sun caught the steel and turned it into a savage red disc. Some one behind him was saying, ‘Ah, get away, you brute!’ Dick raised his revolver and pointed towards the desert. His eye was held by the red splash in the distance, and the clamour about him seemed to die down to a very far-away whisper, like the whisper of a level sea. There was the revolver and the red light, … and the voice of some one scaring something away, exactly as had fallen somewhere before – probably in a past life. Dick waited for what should happen afterwards. Something seemed to crack inside his head, and for an instant he stood in the dark – a darkness that stung. He fired at random, and the bullet went out, across the desert as he muttered, ‘Spoilt my aim. There aren’t any more cartridges. We shall have to run home.’ He put his hand to his head and brought it away covered with blood.
‘Old man, you’re cut rather badly,’ said Torpenhow. ‘I owe you something for this business. Thanks. Stand up! I say, you can’t be ill here.’
Dick had fallen stiffly on Torpenhow’s shoulder, and was muttering something about aiming low and to the left. Then he sank to the ground and was silent. Torpenhow dragged him off to a doctor and sat down to work out an account of what he was pleased to call ‘a sanguinary battle, in which our arms had acquitted themselves,’ etc.
All that night, when the troops were encamped by the whale-boats, a black figure danced in the strong moonlight on the sand-bar and shouted that Khartoum the accursed one was dead – was dead – was dead – that two steamers were rock-staked on the Nile outside the city, and that of all their crews there remained not one; and Khartoum was dead – was dead – was dead!
But Torpenhow took no heed. He was watching Dick, who was calling aloud to the restless Nile for Maisie – and again Maisie!
‘Behold a phenomenon,’ said Torpenhow, rearranging the blanket. ‘Here is a man, presumably human, who mentions the name of one woman only. And I’ve seen a good deal of delirium, too – Dick, here’s some fizzy drink.’
‘Thank you, Maisie,’ said Dick.
[First published as The Light that Failed in Lipincott’s Monthly Magazine, January 1891, and then in book form (London: Macmillan 1891).]
BACK IN ENGLAND, 1890s
Bobs was General (from 1895 Field Marshal) Sir Frederick Roberts (later the 1st Earl Roberts), whom Kipling had got to know as commander-in-chief in India. Roberts, who had fought in the Indian Mutiny, made his name with his march from Kabul to raise the Siege of Kandahar in 1880. This provided a boost to British ambitions in Afghanistan since, in the wake of the British disaster at Maiwand, it saw off the threat of an Afghan pretender Ayub Khan, who was thought to be sympathetic to the Russians, and paved the way for a pro-British Amir Abdur Rahman (who, as reported by Kipling above, was received in a Durbar by Lord Dufferin in 1885). Roberts was later recalled to lead the British forces in the Boer War in 1899. He was a particular hero of Kipling’s.
Bobs
(Field Marshal Lord Roberts of Kandahar)
There’s a little red-faced man,
Which is Bobs,
Rides the talliest ’orse ’e can –
Our Bobs.
If it bucks or kicks or rears,
’E can sit for twenty years
With a smile round both ’is ears –
Can’t yer, Bobs?
Then ’ere’s to Bobs Bahadur – little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs!
’E’s our pukka Kandaharder –
Fightin’ Bobs, Bobs, Bobs!
’E’s the Dook of Aggy Chel;
’E’s the man that done us well,
An’ we’ll follow ’im to ’ell –
Won’t we, Bobs?
If a limber’s slipped a trace,
’Ook on Bobs.
If a marker’s lost ’is place,
Dress by Bobs.
For ’e’s eyes all up ’is coat,
An’ a bugle in ’is throat,
An’ you will not play the goat
Under Bobs.
’E’s a little down on drink
Chaplain Bobs;
But it keeps us outer Clink –
Don’t it, Bobs?
So we will not complain
Tho’ ’e’s water on the brain,
If ’e leads us straight again –
Blue-light Bobs.
If you stood ’im on ’is head,
Father Bobs,
You could spill a quart of lead
Outer Bobs.
’E’s been at it thirty years,
An-amassin’ soveneers
In the way o’ slugs an’ spears –
Ain’t yer Bobs?
What ’e does not know o’war,
Gen’ral Bobs,
You cun arst the shop next door –
Can’t they, Bobs?
Oh, ’e’s little but he’s wise;
’E’s terror for ’is size,
An’ – ’e – does – not – advertise –
Do yer, Bobs?
Now they’ve made a blooimin’ Lord
Outer Bobs,
Which was but ’is fair reward –
Weren’t it, Bobs?
So ’e’ll wear a coronet
Where ’is ’elmet used to set;
But we know you won’t forget –
Will yer, Bobs?
Then ’ere’s to Bobs Bahadur – little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs,
Pocket-Wellin’ton an’ ’arder –
Fightin’ Bobs, Bobs, Bobs!
This ain’t no bloomin’ ode,
But you’ve ’elped the soldier’s load,
An’ for benefits bestowed,
Bless yer, Bobs!
[First published in the Pall Mall Magazine, December 1893.]
* * *
In this poem an experienced soldier is addressing a band of new recruits on how to get along in the army. The Battle of Minden was fought in Prussia in August 1759 as part of the Seven Years War. It pitched an Anglo-German force headed by Field Marshal Ferdinand, Duke of Brunswick, against the French.
The Men that Fought at Minden
A Song of Instruction
The men that fought at Minden, they was rookies in their time –
So was them that fought at Waterloo!
All the ’ole command, yuss, from Minden to Maiwand,
They was once dam’ sweeps like you!
Then do not be discouraged, ’Eaven is your ’elper,
We’ll learn you not to forget;
An’ you mustn’t swear an’ curse, or you’ll only catch it worse,
For we’ll make you soldiers yet!
The men that fought at Minden, they ’ad stocks beneath their chins,
Six inch ’igh an’ more;
But fatigue it was their pride, and they would not be denied
To clean the cook-’ouse floor.
The men that fought at Minden, they had anarchistic bombs
Served to ’em by name of ’and-grenades;
But they got it in the eye (same as you will by-an’-by)
When they clubbed their field-parades.
The men that fought at Minden, they ’ad buttons up an’ down,
Two-an’-twenty dozen of ’em told;
But they didn’t grouse an’ shirk at an hour’s extry work,
They kept ’em bright as gold.
The men that fought at Minden, they was armed with musketoons,
Also, they was drilled by ’alberdiers;
I don’t know what they were, but the sergeants took good care
They washed be’ind their ears.
The men that fought at Minden, they ’ad ever cash in ’and
Which they did not bank nor save,
But spent it gay an’ free on their betters – such as me –
For the good advice I gave.
The men that fought at Minden, they was civil – yuss, they was –
Never didn’t talk o’ rights an’ wrongs,
But they got it with the toe (same as you will get it – so!) –
For interrupting songs.
The men that fought at Minden, they was several other things
Which I don’t remember clear;
But that’s the reason why, now the six-year men are dry,
The rooks will stand the beer!
Then do not be discouraged, ’Eaven is your ’elper,
We’ll learn you not to forget;
An’ you mustn’t swear an’ curse, or you’ll only catch it worse,
For we’ll make you soldiers yet!
Soldiers yet, if you’ve got it in you –
All for the sake of the Core;
Soldiers yet, if we ’ave to skin you –
Run an’ get the beer, Johnny Raw – Johnny Raw!
Ho! run an’ get the beer, Johnny Raw!
[First published in the Pall Mall Gazette, 9 May 1895.]
* * *
This is one of the 16 service songs published in 1903 at the end of Kipling’s post-Boer War collection The Five Nations, this poem celebrates the Royal Artillery which, at the behest of King William IV in 1833, adopted the word ‘Ubique’ meaning ‘Everywhere’ to add to its long-standing motto Quo Fas et Gloria ducunt – Where Right and Glory lead.
Ubique
There is a word you often see, pronounce it as you may –
‘You bike,’ ‘you bikwe,’ ‘ubbikwe’ – alludin’ to R.A.
It serves ’Orse, Field, an’ Garrison as motto for a crest,
An’ when you’ve found out all it means I’ll tell you ‘alf the rest.
Ubique means the long-range Krupp be’ind the low-range ’ill –
Ubique means you’ll pick it up an’, while you do stand, still.
Ubique means you’ve caught the flash an’ timed it by the sound.
Ubique means five gunners’ ’ash before you’ve loosed a round.
Ubique means Blue Fuse,1 an’ make the ’ole to sink the trail.
Ubique means stand up an’ take the Mauser’s ’alf-mile ’ail.
Ubique means the crazy team not God nor man can ’old.
Ubique means that ’orse’s scream which turns your innards cold.
Ubique means ‘Bank, ’Olborn, Bank – a penny all the way –
The soothin’ jingle-bump-an’-clank from day to peaceful day.
Ubique means ‘They’ve caught De Wet, an’ now we sha’n’t be long.’
Ubique means ‘I much regret, the beggar’s going strong!’
Ubique means the tearin’ drift where, breech-blocks jammed with mud,
The khaki muzzles duck an’ lift across the khaki flood.
Ubique means the dancing plain that changes rocks to Boers.
Ubique means the mirage again an’ shellin’ all outdoors.
Ubique means ‘Entrain at once for Grootdefeatfontein’!
Ubique means ‘Off-load your guns’ – at midnight in the rain!
Ubique means ‘More mounted men. Return all guns to store.’
Ubique means the R.A.M.R. Infantillery Corps!
Ubique means the warnin’ grunt the perished linesman knows,
When o’er ’is strung an’ sufferin’ front the shrapnel sprays ’is foes,
An’ as their firin’ dies away the ’usky whisper runs
From lips that ’aven’t drunk all day: ‘The Guns! Thank Gawd, the Guns!’
Extreme, depressed, point-blank or short, end-first or any’ow,
From Colesberg Kop to Quagga’s Poort – from Ninety-Nine till now –
By what I’ve ’eard the others tell an’ I in spots ’ave seen,
There’s nothin’ this side ’Eaven or ’Ell Ubique doesn’t mean!
1 Extreme range.
[First published in The Five Nations (London: Methuen, 1903).]
* * *
This is Kipling’s paean to the work of the sappers, or Royal Engineers.
Sappers
When the Waters were dried an’ the Earth did appear,
(‘It’s all one,’ says the Sapper),
The Lord He created the Engineer,
Her Majesty’s Royal Engineer,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!
When the Flood come along for an extra monsoon,
’Twas Noah constructed the first pontoon
To the plans of Her Majesty’s, etc.
But after fatigue in the wet an’ the sun,
Old Noah got drunk, which he wouldn’t ha’ done
If he’d trained with, etc.
When the Tower o’ Babel had mixed up men’s bat,
Some clever civilian was managing that,
An’ none of, etc.
When the Jews had a fight at the foot of a hill,
Young Joshua ordered the sun to stand still,
For he was a Captain of Engineers, etc.
When the Children of Israel made bricks without straw,
They were learnin’ the regular work of our Corps,
The work of, etc.
For ever since then, if a war they would wage,
Behold us a-shinin’ on history’s page –
First page for, etc.
We lay down their sidings an’ help ’em entrain,
An’ we sweep up their mess through the bloomin’ campaign,
In the style of, etc.
They send us in front with a fuse an’ a mine
To blow up the gates that are rushed by the Line,
But bent by, etc.
They send us behind with a pick an’ a spade,
To dig for the guns of a bullock-brigade
Which has asked for, etc.
We work under escort in trousers and shirt,
An’ the heathen they plug us tail-up in the dirt,
Annoying, etc.
We blast out the rock an’ we shovel the mud,
We make ’em good roads an’ – they roll down the khud,
Reporting, etc.
We make ’em their bridges, their wells, an’ their huts,
An’ the telegraph-wire the enemy cuts,
An’ it’s blamed on, etc.
An’ when we return, an’ from war we would cease,
They grudge us adornin’ the billets of peace,
Which are kept for, etc.
We build ’em nice barracks – they swear they are bad,
That our Colonels are Methodist, married or mad,
Insultin’, etc.
They haven’t no manners nor gratitude too,
For the more that we help ’em, the less will they do,
But mock at, etc.
Now the Line’s but a man with a gun in his hand,
An’ Cavalry’s only what horses can stand,
When helped by, etc.
Artillery moves by the leave o’ the ground,
But we are the men that do something all round,
For we are, etc.
I have stated it plain, an’ my argument’s thus
(‘It’s all one,’ says the Sapper),
