Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (1067 page)

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),
There’s only one Corps which is perfect — that’s us;
 An’ they call us Her Majesty’s Engineers,
 Her Majesty’s Royal Engineers,
 With the rank and pay of a Sapper!

The Scholars

1919
Some handreds of the young naval officers
whose education was interrupted by the War
are now to be sent to various colleges at Cambridge
to continue their studies. The experiment will be watched with great interest.” -
DAYLY PAPERS
“OH, SHOW
me how a rose can shut and be a bud again!”
Nay, watch my Lords of the Admiralty, for they have the work
         in train.
They have taken the men that were careless lads at Dartmouth in
         ‘Fourteen
And entered them at the landward schools as though no war had
         been.
They have piped the children off all the seas from the Falklands
         to the Bight,
And quartered them on the Colleges to learn to read and write!
Their books were rain and sleet and fog-the dry gale and the
         snow,
Their teachers were the horned mines and the hump-backed
         Death below.
Their schools were walled by the walking mist and roofed by
         the waiting skies,
When they conned their task in a new-sown field with the
         Moonlight Sacrifice.
They were not rated too young to teach, nor reckoned unfit to
          guide
When they formed their class on Helles’ beach at the bows of the
          “River Clyde.”

Their eyes are sunk by endless watch, their faces roughed lay
         spray,  .
Their feet are drawn by the wet sea-boots they changed not night
         or day
When they guarded the six-knot convoy’s flank on the road  to
         Norroway.
Their ears are stuffed with the week-long roar of the West-
         Atlantic gale
When the sloops were watching the Irish Shore from Galway
         to Kinsale.
Their hands are scored where the life-lines cut or the dripping
         funnel-stays

When they followed their leader at thirty knot between the
         Skaw and the Naze.
Their mouths are filled with the magic words they learned at
          collier’s hatch
When they coaled in the foul December dawns and sailed in
          forenoon-watch;
Or measured the weight of a Pentland tide and the wind off
          Ronaldshay,
Till the target mastered the breathless tug and the hawser carried
          away.

They know the price to be paid for a fault-for a gauge-clock
         wrongly read,
Or a picket-boat to the gangway brought bows-on and full-
         ahead,
Or the drowsy’s second’s lack of thought that costs a dozen dead.
They have touched a knowledge outreaching speech- as when
         the cutters were sent
To harvest the dreadful mile of beach after the
Vanguard
         went.
They have learned great faith and little fear and a high heart in
         distress,
And how to suffer each sodden year of heaped-up wearness.
They have borne the bridle upon their lips and the yoke upon
         their neck,
Since they went down to the sea in ships to save the world from
         wreck-
Since the chests were slung down the College stair at Dartmouth
         in ‘Fourteen,
And now they are quit of the sea-affair as though no war had
         been.
Far have they steamed and much have they known, and most
          would they fain forget;
But now they are come to their joyous own with all the world
           in their debt.
.         .          .        .          .         .           .          .           .           .
Soft-blow soft on them, little East Wind! Be smooth for them,
         mighty stream!
Though the cams they use are not of your kind, and they bump,
         for choice, by steam.
Lightly dance with them, Newnharn maid-but none too lightly
         believe.
They are hot from the fifty-month blockade, and they carry
         their hearts on their sleeve.
Tenderly, Proctor, let them down, if they do not walk as they
         should:
For, by God, if they owe you half a crown, you owe ‘em your
         four years’ food!

Hallowed River, most gracious Trees, Chapel beyond compare,
Here be gentlemen sick of the seas-take them into your care.
Far have they come, much have they braved. Give them their
         hour of play,
While the hidden things their hands have saved work for them
         day by day:
Till the grateful Past their youth redeemed return them their
         youth once more,
And the Soul of the Child at last lets fall the unjust load that it
         bore!

A School Song

Prelude to “Stalky & Co.”
“Let us now praise famous men” —
     Men of little showing —
For their work continueth,
And their work continueth,
Broad and deep continues,
    Greater then their knowing!

Western wind and open surge
    Took us from our mothers —
Flung us on a naked shore
(Twelve bleak houses by the shore.
Seven summers by the shore! )
    ‘Mid two hundred brothers.

There we met with famous men
    Set in office o’er us;
And they beat on us with rods —
Faithfully with many rods —
Daily beat us on with rods,
     For the love they bore us!

Out of Egypt unto Troy —
    Over Himalaya —
Far and sure our bands have gone —
Hy-Brazil or Babylon,
Islands of the Southern Run,
   And Cities of Cathaia!

And we all praise famous men —
    Ancients of the College;
For they taught us common sense —
Tried to teach us common sense —
Truth and God’s Own Common Sense,
    Which is more than knowledge!

Each degree of Latitude
    Strung about Creation
Seeth one or more of us
(Of one muster each of us),
Diligent in that he does,
    Keen in his vocation.

This we learned from famous men,
     Knowing not its uses,
When they showed, in daily work —
Man must finish off his work —
Right or wrong, his daily work —
    And without excuses.

Servant of the Staff and chain,
  Mine and fuse and grapnel —
Some, before the face of Kings,
Stand before the face of Kings;
Bearing gifts to divers Kings —
  Gifts of case and shrapnel.

This we learned from famous men
  Teaching in our borders,
Who declared it was best,
Safest,  easiest,  and best —
Expeditious, wise, and best —
  To obey your orders.

Some beneath the further stars
  Bear the greater burden:
Set to serve the lands they rule,
(Save he serve no man may rule ),
Serve and love the lands they rule;
  Seeking praise nor guerdon.

This we learned from famous men,
  Knowing not we learned it.
Only, as the years went by —
Lonely, as the years went by —
Far from help as years went by,
  Plainer we discerned it.

Wherefore praise we famous men
  From whose bays we borrow —
They that put aside To-day —
All the joys of their To-day —
And with toil of their To-day
  Bought for us To-morrow!

Bless and praise we famous men —
  Men of little showing —
For their work continueth,
And their work continueth,
Broad and deep continueth,
   Great beyond their knowing!

Screw-Guns

Smokin’ my pipe on the mountings, sniffin’ the mornin’ cool,
I walks in my old brown gaiters along o’ my old brown mule,
With seventy gunners be’ind me, an’ never a beggar forgets
It’s only the pick of the Army that handles the dear little pets — ‘Tss! ‘Tss!
    For you all love the screw-guns — the screw-guns they all love you!
    So when we call round with a few guns, o’ course you will know what to do — hoo! hoo!
    Jest send in your Chief an’ surrender — it’s worse if you fights or you runs:
    You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, but you don’t get away from the guns!

They sends us along where the roads are, but mostly we goes where they ain’t:
We’d climb up the side of a sign-board an’ trust to the stick o’ the paint:
We’ve chivied the Naga an’ Looshai, we’ve give the Afreedeeman fits,
For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, we guns that are built in two bits — ‘Tss! ‘Tss!
    For you all love the screw-guns . . .

If a man doesn’t work, why, we drills ‘im an’ teaches ‘im ‘ow to behave;
If a beggar can’t march, why, we kills ‘im an’ rattles ‘im into ‘is grave.
You’ve got to stand up to our business an’ spring without snatchin’ or fuss.
D’you say that you sweat with the field-guns?  By God, you must lather with us — ‘Tss! ‘Tss!
    For you all love the screw-guns . . .

The eagles is screamin’ around us, the river’s a-moanin’ below,
We’re clear o’ the pine an’ the oak-scrub, we’re out on the rocks an’ the snow,
An’ the wind is as thin as a whip-lash what carries away to the plains
The rattle an’ stamp o’ the lead-mules — the jinglety-jink o’ the chains — ‘Tss! ‘Tss!
    For you all love the screw-guns . . .

There’s a wheel on the Horns o’ the Mornin’, an’ a wheel on the edge o’ the Pit,
An’ a drop into nothin’ beneath you as straight as a beggar can spit:
With the sweat runnin’ out o’ your shirt-sleeves, an’ the sun off the snow in your face,
An’ ‘arf o’ the men on the drag-ropes to hold the old gun in ‘er place — ‘Tss! ‘Tss!
    For you all love the screw-guns . . .

Smokin’ my pipe on the mountings, sniffin’ the mornin’ cool,
I climbs in my old brown gaiters along o’ my old brown mule.
The monkey can say what our road was — the wild-goat ‘e knows where we passed.
Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin’s! Out drag-ropes!  With shrapnel!  Hold fast — ‘Tss! ‘Tss!
    For you all love the screw-guns — the screw-guns they all love you!
    So when we take tea with a few guns, o’ course you will know what to do — hoo! hoo!
    Jest send in your Chief an’ surrender — it’s worse if you fights or you runs:
    You may hide in the caves, they’ll be only your graves, but you can’t get away from the guns!

The Sea And the Hills

1902
Who hath desired the Sea? — the sight of salt wind-hounded —
The heave and the halt and the hurl and the crash of the comber win hounded?
The sleek-barrelled swell before storm, grey, foamless, enormous, and growing —
Stark calm on the lap of the Line or the crazy-eyed hurricane blowing —
His Sea in no showing the same  his Sea and the same ‘neath each showing:
           His Sea as she slackens or thrills?
So and no otherwise — so and no otherwise — hillmen desire their Hills!

Who hath desired the Sea? — the immense and contemptuous surges?
The shudder, the stumble, the swerve, as the star-stabbing bow-sprit emerges?
The orderly clouds of the Trades, the ridged, roaring sapphire thereunder —
Unheralded cliff-haunting flaws and the headsail’s low-volleying thunder —
His Sea in no wonder the same  his Sea and the same through each wonder:
          His Sea as she rages or stills?
So and no otherwise — so and no otherwise — hillmen desire their Hills.

Who hath desired the Sea? Her menaces swift as her mercies?
The in-rolling walls of the fog and the silver-winged breeze that disperses?
The unstable mined berg going South and the calvings and groans that de clare it —
White water half-guessed overside and the moon breaking timely to bare it —
His Sea as his fathers have dared — his Sea as his children shall dare it:
          His Sea as she serves him or kills?
So and no otherwise — so and no otherwisc — hillmen desire their Hills.