Rudyard Kipling - Soldiers Three

Faith, there must ha'been some stingo in the ginger.'

Come back, you maniac. I'm going to take you home, and you're going to lie down.

CAPT. G. What on earth do I want to lie down for?

CAPT. M. Give me a light from your cheroot and see.

CAPT. G. ( Watching cheroot–butt quiver like a tuning–fork .) Sweet state I'm in!

CAPT. M. You are. I'll get you a peg and you'll go to sleep.

They return and M. compounds a four–finger peg .

CAPT. G. O bus! bus! It'll make me as drunk as an owl.

CAPT. M. Curious thing, 'twon't have the slightest effect on you. Drink it off, chuck yourself down there, and go to bye–bye.

CAPT. G. It's absurd. I shan't sleep. I know I shan't!

Falls into heavy doze at end of seven minutes . CAPT. M. watches him tenderly .

CAPT. M. Poor old Gaddy! I've seen a few turned off before, but never one who went to the gallows in this condition. 'Can't tell how it affects 'em, though. It's the thoroughbreds that sweat when they're backed into double–harness.–And that's the man who went through the guns at Amdheran like a devil possessed of devils. ( Leans over G.) But this is worse than the guns, old pal—worse than the guns, isn't it? (G. t urns in his sleep, and M. touches him clumsily on the forehead .) Poor, dear old Gaddy! Going like the rest of 'em–going like the rest of 'em―Friend that sticketh closer than a brother―eight years. Dashed bit of a slip of a girl–eight weeks! And–where's your friend? ( Smokes disconsolately till church clock strikes three .)

CAPT. M. Up with you! Get into your kit.

CAPT. G. Already? Isn't it too soon? Hadn't I better have a shave?

CAPT. M. NO! You're all right. ( Aside .) He'd chip his chin to pieces.

CAPT. G. What's the hurry?

CAPT. M. You've got to be there first.

CAPT. G. To be stared at?

CAPT. M. Exactly. You're part of the show. Where's the burnisher? Your spurs are in a shameful state.

CAPT. G. ( Gruffly ) Jack, I be damned if you shall do that for me.

CAPT. M. ( More gruffly. ) Dry up and get dressed! If I choose to clean your spurs, you're under my orders.

CAPT. G. dresses . M. follows suit.

CAPT. M. ( Critically, walking round. ) M'yes, you'll do. Only don't look so like a criminal. Ring, gloves, fees—that's all right for me. Let your moustache alone. Now, if the ponies are ready, we'll go.

CAPT. G. ( Nervously. ) It's much too soon. Let's light up! Let's have a peg! Let's—

CAPT. M. Let's make bally asses of ourselves!

BELLS. ( Without. )—

'Good—peo—ple—all

To prayers—we call."

CAPT. M. There go the bells! Come on—unless you'd rather not. ( They ride off. )

BELLS.—

'We honour the King

And Brides joy do bring—

Good tidings we tell,

And ring the Dead's knell.'

CAPT. G. ( Dismounting at the door of the Church. ) I say, aren't we much too soon? There are no end of people inside. I say, aren't we much too late? Stick by me, Jack! What the devil do I do?

CAPT. M. Strike an attitude at the head of the aisle and wait for Her. (G. groans as M. wheels him into position before three hundred eyes. )

CAPT. M. ( Imploringly. ) Gaddy, if you love me, for pity's sake, for the Honour of the Regiment, stand up! Chuck yourself into your uniform! Look like a man! I've got to speak to the Padre a minute. (G. breaks into a gentle perspiration. ) If you wipe your face I'll never be your best man again. Stand up! (G. trembles visibly. )

CAPT. M. ( Returning. ) She's coming now. Look out when the music starts. There's the organ beginning to clack.

Bride steps out of 'rickshaw at Church door. G. catches a glimpse of her and takes heart.

ORGAN.—

'The Voice that breathed o'er Eden,

That earliest marriage day,

The primal marriage–blessing,

It hath not passed away.'

CAPT. M. ( Watching G.) By Jove! He is looking well. 'Didn't think he had it in him.

CAPT. G. How long does this hymn go on for?

CAPT. M. It will be over directly. ( Anxiously. ) Beginning to bleach and gulp? Hold on, Gaddy, and think o' the Regiment.

CAPT. G. ( Measuredly. ) I say, there's a big brown lizard crawling up that wall.

CAPT. M. My Sainted Mother! The last stage of collapse!

Bride comes up to left of altar, lifts her eyes once to G. who is suddenly smitten mad.

CAPT. G. ( To himself again and again. ) Little Featherweight's a woman—a woman! And I thought she was a little girl.

CAPT. M. ( In a whisper. ) Form the halt—inward wheel.

CAPT. G. obeys mechanically and the ceremony proceeds.

PADRE…. only unto her as long as ye both shall live?

CAPT. G. ( His throat useless. ) Ha–hmmm!

CAPT. M. Say you will or you won't. There's no second deal here.

Bride gives response with perfect coolness, and is given away by the father.

CAPT. G. ( Thinking to show his learning. ) Jack, give me away now, quick!

CAPT. M. You're given yourself away quite enough. Her right hand, man! Repeat! Repeat! 'Theodore Philip.' Have you forgotten your own name?

CAPT. G. stumbles through Affirmation, which Bride repeats without a tremor.

CAPT. M. Now the ring! Follow the Padre! Don't pull off my glove! Here it is! Great Cupid, he's found his voice!

G. repeats Troth in a voice to be heard to the end of the Church and turns on his heel.

CAPT. M. ( Desperately. ) Rein back! Back to your troop! 'Tisn't half legal yet.

PADRE…. joined together let no man put asunder.

CAPT. G. paralysed with fear jibs after Blessing.

CAPT. M. ( Quickly. ) On your own front—one length. Take her with you. I don't come. You've nothing to say. (CAPT. G. jingles up to altar. )

CAPT. M. ( In a piercing rattle meant to be a whisper. )

Kneel, you stiff–necked ruffian! Kneel!

PADRE…. whose daughters are ye so long as ye do well and are not afraid with any amazement.

CAPT. M. Dismiss! Break off! Left wheel!

All troop to vestry. They sign.

CAPT. M. Kiss Her, Gaddy.

CAPT. G. ( Rubbing the ink into his glove. ) Eh! Wha—at?

CAPT. M. ( Taking one pace to Bride. ) If you don't, I shall.

CAPT. G. ( Interposing an arm. ) Not this journey!

General kissing, in which CAPT. G. is pursued by unknown female.

CAPT. G. ( Faintly to M.) This is Hades! Can I wipe my face now?

CAPT. M. My responsibility has ended. Better ask Missis Gadsby.

CAPT. G. winces as though shot and procession is Mendelssohned out of Church to house, where usual tortures take place over the wedding–cake.

CAPT. M. ( At table. ) Up with you, Gaddy. They expect a speech.

CAPT. G. ( After three minutes' agony. ) Ha–hmmm. ( Thunders of applause. )

CAPT. M. Doocid good, for a first attempt. Now go and change your kit while Mamma is weeping over—'the Missus.' (CAPT. G. disappears. CAPT. M. starts up tearing his hair. ) It's not half legal. Where are the shoes? Get an ayah.

AYAH. Missie Captain Sahib done gone band karo all the jutis.

CAPT. M. ( Brandishing scabbarded sword. ) Woman, produce those shoes! Some one lend me a bread–knife. We mustn't crack Gaddy's head more than it is. ( Slices heel off white satin slipper and puts slipper up his sleeve. ) Where is the Bride? ( To the company at large. ) Be tender with that rice. It's a heathen custom. Give me the big bag.