Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (1028 page)

  “I froze him stiff and I fogged him blind,
  And kicked him home with his road to find
  By what he could see in a three-day snow-storm.
     
(All round the Sands!)

  “I learned him his trade o’ winter nights,
  ‘Twixt Mardyk Fort and Dunkirk lights,
  On a five-knot tide with the forts a-firing.
     
(All round the Sands!)

  “Before his beard began to shoot,
  I showed him the length of the Spaniard’s foot —
  And I reckon he clapped the boot on it later.
     
(All round the Sands!)

  “If there’s a risk which you can make,
  That’s worse than he was used to take
  Nigh every week in the way of his business;
     
(All round the Sands!)

  “If there’s a trick that you can try,
  Which he hasn’t met in time gone by,
  Not once or twice, but ten times over;
     
(All round the Sands!)

  “If you can teach him aught that’s new,
     
(A-hay O! To me O!)
  I’ll give you Bruges and Niewport too,
  And the ten tall churches that stand between
     
Storm along, my gallant Captains!
      (All round the Horn!)

The French Wars

Napoleonic
The boats of Newhaven and Folkestone and Dover
To Dieppe and Boulogne and to Calais cross over;
And in each of those runs there is not a square yard
Where the English and French haven’t fought and fought hard!

If the ships that were sunk could be floated once more,
They’d stretch like a raft from the shore to the shore,
And we’d see, as we crossed, every pattern and plan
Of ship that was built since sea-fighting began.

There’d be biremes and brigantines, cutters and sloops,
Cogs, carracks and galleons with gay gilded poops —
Hoys, caravels, ketches, corvettes and the rest,
As thick as regattas, from Ramsgate to Brest.

But the galleys of Caesar, the squadrons of Sluys,
And Nelson’s crack frigates are hid from our eyes,
Where the high Seventy-fours of Napoleon’s days
Lie down with Deal luggers and French
chasse-marees.

They’ll answer no signal — they rest on the ooze,
With their honey-combed guns and their skeleton crews —
And racing above them, through sunshine or gale,
The Cross-Channel packets come in with the Mail.

Then the poor sea-sick passengers, English and French,
Must open their trunks on the Custom-house bench,
While the officers rummage for smuggled cigars
And nobody thinks of our blood-thirsty wars!

The Friends

(From the “Brazilian Verses”)
1927
I HAD some friends-but I dreamed that they were dead-
Who used to dance with lanterns round a little boy in bed;
Green and white lanterns that waved to and fro:
But I haven’t seen a Firefly since ever so long ago!

I had some friends-their crowns were in the sky-
Who used to nod and whisper when a little boy went by,
As the nuts began to tumble and the breeze began to blow:
And I haven’t seen a Cocoa-palm since ever so long ago!

I had a friend-he came up from Cape Horn,
With a Coal-sack on his shoulder when a little boy was born.
He heard me learn to talk, and he helped me thrive and grow:
But I haven’t seen the Southern Cross since ever so long ago!

I had a boat-I out and let her drive,
Till I found my dream was foolish, for my friends were all alive.
The Cocoa-palms were real, and the Southern Cross was true:
And the Fireflies were dancing-so I danced too!

Fuzzy-Wuzzy

(Soudan Expeditionary Force)
We’ve fought with many men acrost the seas,
  An’ some of ‘em was brave an’ some was not:
The Paythan an’ the Zulu an’ Burmese;
  But the Fuzzy was the finest o’ the lot.
We never got a ha’porth’s change of ‘im:
  ‘E squatted in the scrub an’ ‘ocked our ‘orses,
‘E cut our sentries up at Sua
kim
,
  An’ ‘e played the cat an’ banjo with our forces.
    So ‘ere’s
to
you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your ‘ome in the Soudan;
    You’re a pore benighted ‘eathen but a first-class fightin’ man;
    We gives you your certificate, an’ if you want it signed
    We’ll come an’ ‘ave a romp with you whenever you’re inclined.

We took our chanst among the Khyber ‘ills,
  The Boers knocked us silly at a mile,
The Burman give us Irriwaddy chills,
  An’ a Zulu
impi
dished us up in style:
But all we ever got from such as they
  Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller;
We ‘eld our bloomin’ own, the papers say,
  But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us ‘oller.
    Then ‘ere’s
to
you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an’ the missis and the kid;
    Our orders was to break you, an’ of course we went an’ did.
    We sloshed you with Martinis, an’ it wasn’t ‘ardly fair;
    But for all the odds agin’ you, Fuzzy-Wuz, you broke the square.

‘E ‘asn’t got no papers of ‘is own,
  ‘E ‘asn’t got no medals nor rewards,
So
we
must certify the skill ‘e’s shown
  In usin’ of ‘is long two-’anded swords:
When ‘e’s ‘oppin’ in an’ out among the bush
  With ‘is coffin-’eaded shield an’ shovel-spear,
An ‘appy day with Fuzzy on the rush
  Will last an ‘ealthy Tommy for a year.
    So ‘ere’s
to
you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an’ your friends which are no more,
    If we ‘adn’t lost some messmates we would ‘elp you to deplore.
    But give an’ take’s the gospel, an’ we’ll call the bargain fair,
    For if you ‘ave lost more than us, you crumpled up the square!

‘E rushes at the smoke when we let drive,
  An’, before we know, ‘e’s ‘ackin’ at our ‘ead;
‘E’s all ‘ot sand an’ ginger when alive,
  An’ ‘e’s generally shammin’ when ‘e’s dead.
‘E’s a daisy, ‘e’s a ducky, ‘e’s a lamb!
  ‘E’s a injia-rubber idiot on the spree,
‘E’s the on’y thing that doesn’t give a damn
  For a Regiment o’ British Infantree!
    So ‘ere’s
to
you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your ‘ome in the Soudan;
    You’re a pore benighted ‘eathen but a first-class fightin’ man;
    An’ ‘ere’s
to
you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your ‘ayrick ‘ead of ‘air —
    You big black boundin’ beggar — for you broke a British square!

The Galley-Slave

Oh, gallant was our galley from her carven steering-wheel
To her figurehead of silver and her beak of hammered steel.
The leg-bar chafed the ankle and we gasped for cooler air,
But no galley on the waters with our galley could compare!

Our bulkheads bulged with cotton and our masts were stepped in gold —
We ran a mighty merchandise of niggers in the hold;
The white foam spun behind us, and the black shark swam below,
As we gripped the kicking sweep-head and we made the galley go.

It was merry in the galley, for we revelled now and then —
If they wore us down like cattle, faith, we fought and loved like men!
As we snatched her through the water, so we snatched a minute’s bliss,
And the mutter of the dying never spoiled the lover’s kiss.

Our women and our children toiled beside us in the dark —
They died, we filed their fetters, and we heaved them to the shark —
We heaved them to the fishes, but so fast the galley sped
We had only time to envy, for we could not mourn our dead.

Bear witness, once my comrades, what a hard-bit gang were we —
The servants of the sweep-head, but the masters of the sea!
By the hands that drove her forward as she plunged and yawed and sheered,
Woman, Man, or God or Devil, was there anything we feared?

Was it storm? Our fathers faced it and a wilder never blew.
Earth that waited for the wreckage watched the galley struggle through.
Burning noon or choking midnight, Sickness, Sorrow, Parting, Death?
Nay, our very babes would mock you had they time for idle breath.

But to-day I leave the galley and another takes my place;
There’s my name upon the deck-beam — let it stand a little space.
I am free — to watch my messmates beating out to open main,
Free of all that Life can offer — save to handle sweep again.

By the brand upon my shoulder, by the gall of clinging steel,
By the welts the whips have left me, by the scars that never heal;
By eyes grown old with staring through the sunwash on the brine,
I am paid in full for service. Would that service still were mine!

Yet they talk of times and seasons and of woe the years bring forth,
Of our galley swamped and shattered in the rollers of the North;
When the niggers break the hatches and the decks are gay with gore,
And a craven-hearted pilot crams her crashing on the shore,

She will need no half-mast signal, minute-gun, or rocket-flare.
When the cry for help goes seaward, she will find her servants there.
Battered chain-gangs of the orlop, grizzled drafts of years gone by,
To the bench that broke their manhood, they shall lash themselves and die.

Hale and crippled, young and aged, paid, deserted, shipped away —
Palace, cot, and lazaretto shall make up the tale that day,
When the skies are black above them, and the decks ablaze beneath,
And the top-men clear the raffle with their clasp-knives in their teeth.

It may be that Fate will give me life and leave to row once more —
Set some strong man free for fighting as I take awhile his oar.
But to-day I leave the galley. Shall I curse her service then?
God be thanked! Whate’er comes after, I have lived and toiled with Men!

Gallio’s Song

“And Gallio cared for none of these things.” — Acts xviii. 17
       “Little Foxes” — Actions and Reactions.

All day long to the judgment-seat
The crazed Provincials drew —
All day long at their ruler’s feet
Howled for the blood of the Jew.
Insurrection with one accord
Banded itself and woke,
And Paul was about to open his mouth
When Achaia’s Deputy spoke —

“Whether the God descend from above
Or the Man ascend upon high,
Whether this maker of tents be Jove
Or a younger deity —
I will be no judge between your gods
And your godless bickerings.
Lictor, drive them hence with rods —
I care for none of these things!

Were it a question of lawful due
Or Caesar’s rule denied,
Reason would I should bear with you
And order it well to be tried;
But this is a question of words and names,
I know the strife it brings.
I will not pass upon any your claims.
I care for none of these things.

One thing only I see most clear,
As I pray you also see.
Claudius Caesar hath set me here
Rome’s Deputy to be.
It is Her peace that ye go to break —
Not mine, nor any king’s.
But, touching your clamour of ‘Conscience sake,’
I care for none of these things.

Whether ye rise for the sake of a creed,
Or riot in hope of spoil,
Equally will I punish the deed,
Equally check the broil;
Nowise permitting injustice at all
From whatever doctrine it springs —
But — whether ye follow Priapus or Paul,
I care for none of these things!”

Gehazi

1915

Whence comest thou, Gehazi,
So reverend to behold, In scarlet and in ermines
And chain of England’s gold?”
“From following after Naaman
To tell him all is well,
Whereby my zeal hath made me
A Judge in Israel.”
 Well done, well done, Gehazi!
Stretch forth thy ready hand,
Thou barely ‘scaped from judgment,
Take oath to judge the land
Unswayed by gift of money
 Or privy bribe, more base,
Of knowledge which is profit
In any market-place.
 Search out and probe, Gehazi,
As thou of all canst try,
The truthful, well-weighed answer
That tells the blacker lie –
The loud, uneasy virtue,
The anger feigned at will,
To overbear a witness
And make the Court keep still.
Take order now, Gehazi,
That no man talk aside In secret with his judges
The while his case is tried.
Lest he should show them — reason
To keep a matter hid,
And subtly lead the questions
Away from what he did.
Thou mirror of uprightness,
What ails thee at thy vows?
What means the risen whiteness
Of the skin between thy brows?
The boils that shine and burrow,
The sores that slough and bleed –
The leprosy of Naaman
On thee and all thy seed?
Stand up, stand up, Gehazi,
Draw close thy robe and go,
Gehazi, Judge in Israel,
A leper white as snow!

General Joubert

1900
(Died, South African War, March 27, 1900)

With those that bred, with those that loosed the strife,
  He had no part whose hands were clear of gain;
But subtle, strong, and stubborn, gave his life
  To a lost cause, and knew the gift was vain.