Rudyard Kipling - Departmental Ditties and Barrack Room Ballads

‘T was Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house,
Where sailor-men reside,
And there were men of all the ports
From Mississip to Clyde,
And regally they spat and smoked,
And fearsomely they lied.

They lied about the purple Sea
That gave them scanty bread,
They lied about the Earth beneath,
The Heavens overhead,
For they had looked too often on
Black rum when that was red.

They told their tales of wreck and wrong,
Of shame and lust and fraud,
They backed their toughest statements with
The Brimstone of the Lord,
And crackling oaths went to and fro
Across the fist-banged board.

And there was Hans the blue-eyed Dane,
Bull-throated, bare of arm,
Who carried on his hairy chest
The maid Ultruda’s charm —
The little silver crucifix
That keeps a man from harm.

And there was Jake Without-the-Ears,
And Pamba the Malay,
And Carboy Gin the Guinea cook,
And Luz from Vigo Bay,
And Honest Jack who sold them slops
And harvested their pay.

And there was Salem Hardieker,
A lean Bostonian he —
Russ, German, English, Halfbreed, Finn,
Yank, Dane, and Portuguee,
At Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house
They rested from the sea.

Now Anne of Austria shared their drinks,
Collinga knew her fame,
From Tarnau in Galicia
To Juan Bazaar she came,
To eat the bread of infamy
And take the wage of shame.

She held a dozen men to heel —
Rich spoil of war was hers,
In hose and gown and ring and chain,
From twenty mariners,
And, by Port Law, that week, men called
her Salem Hardieker’s.

But seamen learnt – what landsmen know —
That neither gifts nor gain
Can hold a winking Light o’ Love
Or Fancy’s flight restrain,
When Anne of Austria rolled her eyes
On Hans the blue-eyed Dane.

Since Life is strife, and strife means knife,
From Howrah to the Bay,
And he may die before the dawn
Who liquored out the day,
In Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house
We woo while yet we may.

But cold was Hans the blue-eyed Dane,
Bull-throated, bare of arm,
And laughter shook the chest beneath
The maid Ultruda’s charm —
The little silver crucifix
That keeps a man from harm.

“You speak to Salem Hardieker;
“You was his girl, I know.

“I ship mineselfs tomorrow, see,
“Und round the Skaw we go,
“South, down the Cattegat, by Hjelm,
“To Besser in Saro.”

When love rejected turns to hate,
All ill betide the man.

“You speak to Salem Hardieker” —
She spoke as woman can.
A scream – a sob – “He called me – names!”
And then the fray began.

An oath from Salem Hardieker,
A shriek upon the stairs,
A dance of shadows on the wall,
A knife-thrust unawares —
And Hans came down, as cattle drop,
Across the broken chairs.

In Anne of Austria’s trembling hands
The weary head fell low: —
“I ship mineselfs tomorrow, straight
“For Besser in Saro;
“Und there Ultruda comes to me
“At Easter, und I go —

“South, down the Cattegat – What’s here?
“There – are – no – lights – to guide!”
The mutter ceased, the spirit passed,
And Anne of Austria cried
In Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house
When Hans the mighty died.

Thus slew they Hans the blue-eyed Dane,
Bull-throated, bare of arm,
But Anne of Austria looted first
The maid Ultruda’s charm —
The little silver crucifix
That keeps a man from harm.

As I left the Halls at Lumley, rose the vision of a comely
Maid last season worshipped dumbly, watched with fervor from afar;
And I wondered idly, blindly, if the maid would greet me kindly.

That was all – the rest was settled by the clinking tonga-bar.
Yea, my life and hers were coupled by the tonga coupling-bar.

For my misty meditation, at the second changin’-station,
Suffered sudden dislocation, fled before the tuneless jar
Of a Wagner obbligato, scherzo, doublehand staccato,
Played on either pony’s saddle by the clacking tonga-bar —

Played with human speech, I fancied, by the jigging, jolting bar.

“She was sweet,” thought I, “last season, but ‘twere surely wild unreason
Such tiny hope to freeze on as was offered by my Star,
When she whispered, something sadly: ‘I – we feel your going badly!’”
“And you let the chance escape you?” rapped the rattling tonga-bar.

“What a chance and what an idiot!” clicked the vicious tonga-bar.

Heart of man – oh, heart of putty! Had I gone by Kakahutti,
On the old Hill-road and rutty, I had ‘scaped that fatal car.
But his fortune each must bide by, so I watched the milestones slide by,
To “You call on Her tomorrow!” – fugue with cymbals by the bar —

“You must call on Her tomorrow!” – post-horn gallop by the bar.

Yet a further stage my goal on – we were whirling down to Solon,
With a double lurch and roll on, best foot foremost, ganz und gar —
“She was very sweet,” I hinted. “If a kiss had been imprinted?” —
“‘Would ha’ saved a world of trouble!” clashed the busy tonga-bar.

“‘Been accepted or rejected!” banged and clanged the tonga-bar.

Then a notion wild and daring, ‘spite the income tax’s paring,
And a hasty thought of sharing – less than many incomes are,
Made me put a question private, you can guess what I would drive at.
“You must work the sum to prove it,” clanked the careless tonga-bar.

“Simple Rule of Two will prove it,” lilted back the tonga-bar.

It was under Khyraghaut I mused. “Suppose the maid be haughty —
(There are lovers rich – and rotty) – wait some wealthy Avatar?
Answer monitor untiring, ‘twixt the ponies twain perspiring!”
“Faint heart never won fair lady,” creaked the straining tonga-bar.

“Can I tell you ere you ask Her?” pounded slow the tonga-bar.

Last, the Tara Devi turning showed the lights of Simla burning,
Lit my little lazy yearning to a fiercer flame by far.

As below the Mall we jingled, through my very heart it tingled —
Did the iterated order of the threshing tonga-bar —

“Try your luck – you can’t do better!” twanged the loosened tonga-bar.

So long as ‘neath the Kalka hills
The tonga-horn shall ring,
So long as down the Solon dip
The hard-held ponies swing,
So long as Tara Devi sees
The lights of Simla town,
So long as Pleasure calls us up,
Or Duty drives us down,
If you love me as I love you
What pair so happy as we two?

So long as Aces take the King,
Or backers take the bet,
So long as debt leads men to wed,
Or marriage leads to debt,
So long as little luncheons, Love,
And scandal hold their vogue,
While there is sport at Annandale
Or whisky at Jutogh,
If you love me as I love you
What knife can cut our love in two?