War's Brighter Side Part 26

A BIRTHDAY GREETING.[10]

[Footnote 10: The birthday of Mr. Perceval Landon. Copyrighted, and used here by permission.]

(29th March.)

BY RUDYARD KIPLING.

Tell the smiling Afric morn, Let the stony kopje know, Landon of the _Times_ was born One and thirty years ago.

Whisper greetings soft and low, Pour the whisky, deal the bun, Only Bell and Buckle know All the evil he has done.

FOR WIDOWS AND ORPHANS.

In accordance with the public notice printed in this journal, a meeting of war correspondents was held yesterday afternoon at the Free State Hotel, Bloemfontein, when the arrangements for a concert to be given in the Town Hall "in aid of widows and orphans" were discussed.

Messrs. Bennet Burleigh (_Daily Telegraph_), Pea.r.s.e (_Daily News_), Maxwell (_Standard_), and Haarburgher, were appointed members of the Executive Committee with power to add to their number, and it was decided that the proceeds of the concert should be divided equally between the London and Bloemfontein funds. The date, which remains to be fixed, will probably be Friday of next week, and the prices of admission 5s., 3s., and 1s., the latter for soldiers in uniform.

A REALISTIC COMEDY.

I haven't often been really defeated, but I felt very like it that Black Monday.

My convoy consisted of self and Jimmy (my subaltern), two conductors, 100 native drivers, about 500 oxen, and 40 waggons. We were hundreds of miles from the front so had no escort, and were fifteen miles from anywhere. The country was simply a succession of kopjes as like each other as a pair of ammunition boots, the map was much too small a scale to be of any use, and our native guide had lost the way!

We ought to have struck water about dawn, after trekking all night, but there wasn't a sign of it. The heat was awful as we toiled our dusty way between those glaring kopjes, until about noon we sighted a stagnant dam, half full, and we went for it like savages, men, oxen and all.

It must have been absolute rank poison. In a couple of hours two men were writhing on the ground, a score more, blue and shivering, were feeling touched, and the whole lot were thoroughly funked. It was just like a native cholera camp in India, and to those who have experienced that I need say no more.

We sent out our most useful men on our best horses, to hunt the country, five miles round for a farm or well; we started fires to boil water and worked our wretched little filters for all they were worth.

Jimmy and I had a bottle of chlorodyne apiece, but they were empty in an hour or so and our whisky was finished soon afterward. I had meant to trek again as soon as it got dark, but before the sun touched the horizon all our scouts were back--not a drop of water anywhere! Had there been any, I doubt if we could have got to it--half our oxen were incapable of moving and the blacks were simply off their heads. But I noticed that our chlorodyne, either by its own power, or by the belief they put in it, had really done good. So I made up my mind to a night there and called up one of the conductors.--"Take the native guide and bring me two of the best horses you can find--ride straight on for all you are worth--find a farm--offer them any sum to send on this note of mine to Viten Siding for a doctor and medicines--bring back any drugs they've got and brandy or spirits--come back as hard as you can."

Then we settled down to the most ghastly night I've ever spent; we walked the bed cases up and down--don't know what good this is but had seen it done in India--put on mustard poultices till we fairly took the black's skins off--and knocked down a few who were howling about the camp in sheer panic. I don't know what I should have done without Jimmy, but even his chaff couldn't keep the poor devils amused. About midnight I had a bad turn myself and Jimmy put me to bed, but it wore off, and I fell into a nightmared slumber. Just before dawn I awoke; Jimmy was brewing coffee and whistling: "When we are married."

"How do you feel?" he said.

"Perfectly fit again. Any dead?"

"Only two, but they were sick before. All the lot in blue funks still."

"Conductor back?"

"No." Then we strained our eyes in the direction where he had disappeared.

I remember wondering dreamily why Jimmy whistled so d.a.m.ned out of tune, and whether any of us would ever get out of this death-trap, when we saw a speck far up the road. Jimmy stopped in the middle of "Dolly Day Dreams," spilt his coffee, and dashed off up the road.

The conductor had killed his own horse and the guide's; had found a farm ten miles away; had sent on my note but Doctor could not arrive till to-morrow; there were no drugs at the farm, but he'd brought us two bottles of Dop[11] and four loaves of fresh bread done up in a brown parcel!

[Footnote 11: Cape Good Hope brandy.]

A crowd of n.i.g.g.e.rs were hovering round as near my tent as they dared come, hoping to catch an inkling of the news, and I could tell from the tone of their low mutterings that they expected nothing good. For a moment I was badly defeated.

Then a Heaven-sent inspiration seized me--"Well, Brown," I said, raising my voice, "So that's the chlorodyne is it?"--I seized the big brown-paper parcel--"It's five o'clock now; tell every Jack man in camp he's to fall in here sharp at six for a dose of chlorodyne."

The conductor stared at me; I suppose he thought I was mad.

"Don't you hear," I cried; "go off at once, and don't let anybody interrupt us while we have breakfast." And I managed to give him the faintest wink--in another minute I heard him shouting my order through the camp.

"Jimmy, let's make chlorodyne." Jimmy grinned. "Collis Browne's is the best," he said; "twenty drops for an adult."

Then he started whistling again while we shut up the tent and went to work.

"Small bottles are no use," I said, "must have wholesale manufactory; we'll find that demi-john."

We started with two tins of condensed milk--to give it a bit of body--and a tin of Van Houten's cocoa made a grand colouring. Two big spoonfuls of red pepper, "to ginger it up." "Must mix our flavour,"

said Jimmy, "or they'll recognize the brand"--so in went Bengal chutney and strawberry jam. We were rummaging out our grocery box--"Sardines ain't much use, nor cheese, nor Danish b.u.t.ter; but here's a bottle of the nastiest pickles I ever tasted, let's give them the juice of that; they won't believe it's medicine unless it tastes bad."

"My tooth powder is nasty enough," said Jimmy, "Carbolic something, and warranted to do no harm--in it goes."

The two bottles of Dop were chucked in as a finish and the mixture was nasty enough for anybody--rich brown, creamy, and fiery hot.

Jimmy had entered heart and soul into the business.--"None's genuine without the label," he cried, and rushed at our small stationery box.

"Hullo, sealing wax, here, you find a cork and seal it up; these cards will do for labels. Some of these n.i.g.g.e.rs can read and write, so we must play the game right through. If they spot us we're done. Now, men--Genuine Chlorodyne--for coughs, colds, &c.--every three hours till the pain ceases; to be well shaken before taken. And another label--To O.C. No. 2, General Hospital, Viten Sideing,--On H.M.

Service--free--franked. Dirty the paper a bit to show it's come a long way--then when we throw the jar away they'll see it's genuine."

"They don't have chlorodyne in our hospitals," I suggested.

"Go to blazes! the n.i.g.g.e.rs aren't cute enough for that. But look here, old chap, you look a bit cheap; we'll resurrect you to start with. I'm afraid you'll have to take some, but I'll make it as small a dose as I can."

Then I lay down huddled up in a corner. The opening tableau was ready, and we rang up the curtain, or rather the tent-flap. Jimmy was as serious as a judge: "All present, conductor? All right; where's that medicine got to? Oh, there; now then, anybody got a corkscrew?" A hum went up from the figures squatting round. Jimmy held up his hand: "Quiet there, the captain is very bad; I must see to him first." He lifted my drooping head and forced a spoonful of the filth between my teeth.

I heaved a sigh, patted myself below the belt, rolled my eyes open, and stood up, fully recovered!

Astonishment mingled with applause!

We selected a hulking, big brute as the next victim. He was palpably shamming; he spluttered a bit over his dose, but took the cue from me: patted himself, rolled his eyes, and was recovered.

Genuine plaudits.

"Next," said Jimmy. It reminded me of the brimstone and treacle at Dotheboys Hall.

Applause gave way to regular hilarity, and the blacks were soon ragging each other on the faces they made.

"This is the biggest thing of modern times," said Jimmy as the last man went off grinning and spluttering. "Talk about faith-healing--well, either it's an absolute fact, or else we two are the leading medical stars of the new century."

Then Jimmy and I shook hands, and he tried to whistle "Dolly Day Dreams" again, but couldn't manage it for a minute or two.

There were a few real bad cases still, but they all pulled through.