The Big Drunk Draf' by Rudyard
We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome—
Our ship is at the shore,
An' you mus' pack your 'aversack,
For we won't come back no more.
Ho, don't you grieve for me,
My lovely Mary Ann,
For I'll marry you yet on a fourp'ny bit,
As a time-expired ma-a-an!
Barrack Room Ballad.
An awful thing has happened! My friend, Private Mulvaney, who went home
in the Serapis, time-expired, not very long ago, has come back to
India as a civilian! It was all Dinah Shadd's fault. She could not stand
the poky little lodgings, and she missed her servant Abdullah more than
words could tell. The fact was that the Mulvaneys had been out here too
long, and had lost touch of England.
Mulvaney knew a contractor on one of the new Central India lines, and
wrote to him for some sort of work. The contractor said that if Mulvaney
could pay the passage he would give him command of a gang of coolies for
old sake's sake. The pay was eighty-five rupees a month, and Dinah Shadd
said that if Terence did not accept she would make his life a "basted
purgathory." Therefore the Mulvaneys came out as "civilians," which was a
great and terrible fall; though Mulvaney tried to disguise it, by saying
that he was "Ker'nel on the railway line, an' a consequinshal man."
He wrote me an invitation, on a tool-indent form, to visit him; and I
came down to the funny little "construction" bungalow at the side of the
line. Dinah Shadd had planted peas about and about, and nature had spread
all manner of green stuff round the place. There was no change in Mulvaney
except the change of clothing, which was deplorable, but could not be
helped. He was standing upon his trolly, haranguing a gang-man, and his
shoulders were as well drilled, and his big, thick chin was as
clean-shaven as ever.
"I'm a civilian now," said Mulvaney. "Cud you tell that I was iver a
martial man? Don't answer, sorr, av you're strainin' betune a complimint
an' a lie. There's no houldin' Dinah Shadd now she's got a house av her
own. Go inside, an' dhrink tay out av chiny in the drrrrawin'-room, an'
thin we'll dhrink like Christians undher the tree here. Scutt, ye
naygur-folk! There's a Sahib come to call on me, an' that's more than
he'll iver do for you onless you run! Get out, an' go on pilin' up the
earth, quick, till sundown."
When we three were comfortably settled under the big sisham in
front of the bungalow, and the first rush of questions and answers about
Privates Ortheris and Learoyd and old times and places had died away,
Mulvaney said, reflectively—"Glory be there's no p'rade to-morrow,
an' no bun-headed Corp'ril-bhoy to give you his lip. An' yit I don't know.
Tis harrd to be something ye niver were an' niver meant to be, an' all the
ould days shut up along wid your papers. Eyah! I'm growin' rusty, an' 'tis
the will av God that a man mustn't serve his Quane for time an' all."
He helped himself to a fresh peg, and sighed furiously.
"Let your beard grow, Mulvaney," said I, "and then you won't be
troubled with those notions. You'll be a real civilian."
Dinah Shadd had told me in the drawing-room of her desire to coax
Mulvaney into letting his beard grow. "Twas so civilian-like," said poor
Dinah, who hated her husband's hankering for his old life.
"Dinah Shadd, you're a dishgrace to an honust, clane-scraped man!" said
Mulvaney, without replying to me. "Grow a beard on your own chin, darlint,
and lave my razors alone. They're all that stand betune me and
dis-ris-pect-ability. Av I didn't shave, I wud be torminted wid an
outrajis thurrst; for there's nothin' so dhryin' to the throat as a big
billy-goat beard waggin' undher the chin. Ye wudn't have me dhrink
always, Dinah Shadd? By the same token, you're kapin' me crool dhry
now. Let me look at that whiskey."
The whiskey was lent and returned, but Dinah Shadd, who had been just
as eager as her husband in asking after old friends, rent me
"I take shame for you, sorr, coming down here—though the Saints
know you're as welkim as the daylight whin you do come—an'
upsettin' Terence's head wid your nonsense about—about fwhat's much
better forgotten. He bein' a civilian now, an' you niver was aught else.
Can you not let the Arrmy rest? 'Tis not good for Terence."
I took refuge by Mulvaney, for Dinah Shadd has a temper of her own.
"Let be—let be," said Mulvaney, "'Tis only wanst in a way I can
talk about the ould days." Then to me:—"Ye say Dhrumshticks is well,
an' his lady tu? I niver knew how I liked the grey garron till I was shut
av him an' Asia."—"Dhrumshticks" was the nickname of the Colonel
commanding Mulvaney's old regiment.—"Will you be seein' him again?
You will. Thin tell him"—Mulvaney's eyes began to
twinkle—"tell him wid Privit"—"Mister, Terence,"
interrupted Dinah Shadd.
"Now the Divil an' all his angils an' the Firmament av Hiven fly away
wid the 'Mister,' an' the sin av making me swear be on your confession,
Dinah Shadd! Privit, I tell ye. Wid Privit Mulvaney's best
obedience, that but for me the last time-expired wud be still pullin' hair
on their way to the sea."
He threw himself back in the chair, chuckled, and was silent.
"Mrs. Mulvaney," I said, "please take up the whiskey, and don't let him
have it until he has told the story."
Dinah Shadd dexterously whipped the bottle away, saying at the same
time, "'Tis nothing to be proud av," and thus captured by the enemy,
"'Twas on Chuseday week. I was behaderin' round wid the gangs on the
'bankmint—I've taught the hoppers how to kape step an' stop
screechin'—whin a head-gangman comes up to me, wid about two inches
av shirt-tail hanging round his neck an' a disthressful light in his oi.
'Sahib,' sez he, 'there's a reg'mint an' a half av soldiers up at the
junction, knockin' red cinders out av ivrything an' ivrybody! They thried
to hang me in my cloth,' he sez, 'an' there will be murder an' ruin an'
rape in the place before nightfall! They say they're comin' down here to
wake us up. What will we do wid our womenfolk?'
"'Fetch my throlly!' sez I; 'my heart's sick in my ribs for a wink at
anything wid the Quane's uniform on ut, Fetch my throlly, an' six av the
jildiest men, and run me up in shtyle.'"
"He tuk his best coat," said Dinah Shadd, reproachfully.
"'Twas to do honor to the Widdy. I cud ha' done no less, Dinah Shadd.
You and your digresshins interfere wid the coorse av the narrative. Have
you iver considhered fwhat I wud look like wid me head shaved as
well as my chin? You bear that in your mind, Dinah darlin'.
"I was throllied up six miles, all to get a shquint at that draf'. I
knew 'twas a spring draf' goin' home, for there's no rig'mint
hereabouts, more's the pity."
"Praise the Virgin!" murmured Dinah Shadd. But Mulvaney did not
"Whin I was about three-quarters av a mile off the rest-camp,
powtherin' along fit to burrst, I heard the noise av the men an', on my
sowl, sorr, I cud catch the voice av Peg Barney bellowin' like a bison wid
the belly-ache. You remimber Peg Barney that was in D Comp'ny—a red,
hairy scraun, wid a scar on his jaw? Peg Barney that cleared out the Blue
Lights' jubilee meeting wid the cook-room mop last year?
"Thin I knew ut was a draf' of the ould rig'mint, an' I was conshumed
wid sorrow for the bhoy that was in charge. We was harrd scrapin's at any
time. Did I iver tell you how Horker Kelley went into clink nakid as
Phoebus Apollonius, wid the shirts av the Corp'ril an' file undher his
arrum? An' he was a moild man! But I'm digreshin'. 'Tis a shame
both to the rig'mints and the Arrmy sendin' down little orf'cer bhoys wid
a draf' av strong men mad wid liquor an' the chanst av gettin' shut av
India, an' niver a punishment that's fit to be given right down an'
away from cantonmints to the dock! 'Tis this nonsince. Whin I am
servin' my time, I'm undher the Articles av War, an' can be whipped on the
peg for thim. But whin I've served my time, I'm a Reserve
man, an' the Articles av War haven't any hould on me. An orf'cer
can't do anythin' to a time-expired savin' confinin' him to
barricks. 'Tis a wise rig'lation bekaze a time-expired does not have any
barricks; bein' on the move all the time. 'Tis a Solomon av a rig'lation,
is that. I wud like to be inthroduced to the man that made ut. 'Tis easier
to get colts from a Kibbereen horse-fair into Galway than to take a bad
draf' over ten miles av country. Consiquintly that rig'lation—for
fear that the men wud be hurt by the little orf'cer bhoy. No matther. The
nearer my throlly came to the rest-camp, the woilder was the shine, an'
the louder was the voice av Peg Barney. ''Tis good I am here,' thinks I to
myself, 'for Peg alone is employment for two or three.' He bein', I well
knew, as copped as a dhrover.
"Faith, that rest-camp was a sight! The tent-ropes was all skew-nosed,
an' the pegs looked as dhrunk as the men—fifty av thim—the
scourin's, an' rinsin's, an' Divil's lavin's av the Ould Rig'mint. I tell
you, sorr, they were dhrunker than any men you've ever seen in your
mortial life. How does a draf' get dhrunk? How does a frog get fat?
They suk ut in through their shkins.
"There was Peg Barney sittin' on the groun' in his shirt—wan shoe
off an' wan shoe on—whackin' a tent-peg over the head wid his boot,
an' singin' fit to wake the dead. 'Twas no clane song that he sung,
though. 'Twas the Divil's Mass."
"What's that?" I asked.
"Whin a bad egg is shut av the Army, he sings the Divil's Mass for a
good riddance; an' that manes swearin' at ivrything from the
Commandher-in-Chief down to the Room-Corp'ril, such as you niver in your
days heard. Some men can swear so as to make green turf crack! Have you
iver heard the Curse in an Orange Lodge? The Divil's Mass is ten times
worse, an' Peg Barney was singin' ut, whackin' the tent-peg on the head
wid his boot for each man that he cursed. A powerful big voice had Peg
Barney, an' a hard swearer he was whin sober. I stood forninst him, an'
'twas not me oi alone that cud tell Peg was dhrunk as a coot.
"'Good mornin', Peg,' I sez, whin he dhrew breath afther cursin' the
Adj'tint Gen'ral; 'I've put on my best coat to see you, Peg Barney,' sez
"'Thin take ut off again,' sez Peg Barney, latherin' away wid the boot;
'take ut off an' dance, ye lousy civilian!'
"Wid that he begins cursin' ould Dhrumshticks, being so full he clean
disremimbers the Brigade-Major an' the Judge Advokit Gen'ral.
"'Do you not know me, Peg?' sez I, though me blood was hot in me wid
being called a civilian."
"An' him a decent married man!" wailed Dinah Shadd.
"'I do not,' sez Peg, 'but dhrunk or sober I'll tear the hide off your
back wid a shovel whin I've stopped singin'.'
"'Say you so, Peg Barney?' sez I. 'Tis clear as mud you've forgotten
me. I'll assist your autobiography.' Wid that I stretched Peg Barney, boot
an' all, an' wint into the camp. An awful sight ut was!
"'Where's the orf'cer in charge av the detachment?' sez I to Scrub
Greene—the manest little worm that ever walked.
"'There's no orf'cer, ye ould cook,' sez Scrub; 'we're a bloomin'
"'Are you that?' sez I; 'thin I'm O'Connell the Dictator, an' by this
you will larn to kape a civil tongue in your rag-box.'
"Wid that I stretched Scrub Greene an' wint to the orf'cer's tent.
'Twas a new little bhoy—not wan I'd iver seen before. He was sittin'
in his tent, purtendin' not to 'ave ear av the racket.
"I saluted—but for the life av me! mint to shake hands whin I
went in. Twas the sword hangin' on the tent-pole changed my will.
"'Can't I help, sorr?' sez I; ''tis a strong man's job they've given
you, an' you'll be wantin' help by sundown.' He was a bhoy wid bowils,
that child, an' a rale gintleman.
"'Sit down,' sez he.
"'Not before my orf'cer,' sez I; an' I tould him fwhat my service
"'I've heard av you,' sez he. 'You tuk the town av Lungtungpen
"'Faith,' thinks I, 'that's Honor an' Glory, for 'twas Lift'nint
Brazenose did that job. 'I'm wid ye, sorr,' sez I, 'if I'm av use. They
shud niver ha' sent you down wid the draf'. Savin' your presince, sorr,' I
sez, 'tis only Lift'nint Hackerston in the Ould Rig'mint can manage a Home
"'I've niver had charge of men like this before,' sez he, playin' wid
the pens on the table; 'an' I see by the Rig'lations'—
"'Shut your oi to the Rig'lations, sorr,' I sez, 'till the throoper's
into blue wather. By the Rig'lations you've got to tuck thim up for the
night, or they'll be runnin' foul av my coolies an' makin' a shiverarium
half through the country. Can you trust your noncoms, sorr?'
"'Yes,' sez he.
"'Good,' sez I; 'there'll be throuble before the night. Are you
"'To the next station,' sez he.
"'Better still,' sez I; 'there'll be big throuble.'
"'Can't be too hard on a Home draf',' sez he; 'the great thing is to
get thim in-ship.'
"'Faith you've larnt the half av your lesson, sorr,' sez I, 'but av you
shtick to the Rig'lations you'll niver get thim in-ship at all, at all. Or
there won't be a rag av kit betune thim whin you do.'
"'Twas a dear little orf'cer bhoy, an' by way av kapin' his heart up, I
tould him fwhat I saw wanst in a draf' in Egypt."
"What was that, Mulvaney?" said I.
"Sivin an' fifty men sittin' on the bank av a canal, laughin' at a poor
little squidgereen av an orf'cer that they'd made wade into the slush an'
pitch the things out av the boats for their Lord High Mightinesses. That
made me orf'cer bhoy woild wid indignation.
"'Soft an' aisy, sorr,' sez I; 'you've niver had your draf' in hand
since you left cantonmints. Wait till the night, an' your work will be
ready to you. Wid your permission, sorr, I will investigate the camp, an'
talk to my ould friends. Tis no manner av use thryin' to shtop the
"Wid that I wint out into the camp an' inthrojuced mysilf to ivry man
sober enough to remimber me. I was some wan in the ould days, an' the
bhoys was glad to see me—all excipt Peg Barney wid a eye like a
tomata five days in the bazar, an' a nose to match. They come round me an'
shuk me, an' I tould thim I was in privit employ wid an income av me own,
an' a drrrawin'-room fit to bate the Quane's; an' wid me lies an' me
shtories an' nonsinse gin'rally, I kept 'em quiet in wan way an' another,
knockin' roun' the camp. Twas bad even thin whin I was the Angil av
"I talked to me ould non-coms—they was sober—an'
betune me an' thim we wore the draf' over into their tents at the proper
time. The little orf'cer bhoy he comes round, decint an' civil-spoken as
"'Rough quarters, men,' sez he, 'but you can't look to be as
comfortable as in barricks. We must make the best av things. I've shut my
eyes to a dale av dog's tricks to-day, an' now there must be no more av
"'No more we will. Come an' have a dhrink, me son,' sez Peg Barney,
staggerin' where he stud. Me little orf'cer bhoy kep' his timper.
"'You're a sulky swine, you are,' sez Peg Barney, an' at that the men
in the tent began to laugh.
"I tould you me orf'cer bhoy had bowils. He cut Peg Barney as near as
might be on the oi that I'd squshed whin we first met. Peg wint spinnin'
acrost the tent.
"'Peg him out, sorr,' sez I, in a whishper.
"'Peg him out!' sez me orf'cer bhoy, up loud, just as if 'twas
battalion-p'rade an' he pickin' his wurrds from the Sargint.
"The non-coms tuk Peg Barney—a howlin' handful he was—an'
in three minuts he was pegged out—chin down, tight-dhrawn—on
his stummick, a tent-peg to each arm an' leg, swearin' fit to turn a
"I tuk a peg an' jammed ut into his ugly jaw.—'Bite on that, Peg
Barney,' I sez; 'the night is settin' frosty, an' you'll be wantin'
divarsion before the mornin'. But for the Rig'lations you'd be bitin' on a
bullet now at the thriangles, Peg Barney,' sez I.
"All the draf' was out av their tents watchin' Barney bein' pegged.
"''Tis agin the Rig'lations! He strook him!' screeches out Scrub
Greene, who was always a lawyer; an' some of the men tuk up the
"'Peg out that man!' sez my orf'cer bhoy, niver losin' his timper; an'
the non-coms wint in and pegged out Scrub Greene by the side av Peg
"I cud see that the draf' was comin' roun'. The men stud not knowin'
fwhat to do.
"'Get to your tents!' sez me orf'cer bhoy. 'Sargint, put a sintry over
these two men.'
"The men wint back into the tents like jackals, an' the rest av the
night there was no noise at all excipt the stip av the sintry over the
two, an' Scrub Greene blubberin' like a child. 'Twas a chilly night, an'
faith, ut sobered Peg Barney.
"Just before Revelly, my orf'cer bhoy comes out an' sez: 'Loose those
men an' send thim to their tents!' Scrub Greene wint away widout a word,
but Peg Barney, stiff wid the cowld, stud like a sheep, thryin' to make
his orf'cer understhand he was sorry for playin' the goat.
"There was no tucker in the draf' whin ut fell in for the march, an'
divil a wurrd about 'illegality' cud I hear.
"I wint to the ould Color Sargint and I sez:—'Let me die in
glory,' sez I. 'I've seen a man this day!'
"'A man he is,' sez ould Hother; 'the draf's as sick as a herrin'.
They'll all go down to the sea like lambs. That bhoy has the bowils av a
cantonmint av Gin'rals.'
"'Amin,' sez I, 'an' good luck go wid him, wheriver he be, by land or
by sea. Let me know how the draf' gets clear.'
"An' do you know how they did? That bhoy, so I was tould by
letter from Bombay, bullydamned 'em down to the dock, till they cudn't
call their sowls their own. From the time they left me oi till they was
'tween decks, not wan av thim was more than dacintly dhrunk. An', by the
Holy Articles av War, whin they wint aboard they cheered him till they
cudn't spake, an' that, mark you, has not come about wid a draf' in
the mim'ry av livin' man! You look to that little orf'cer bhoy. He has
bowils. 'Tis not ivry child that wud chuck the Rig'lations to Flanders an'
stretch Peg Barney on a wink from a brokin an' dilapidated ould carkiss
like mesilf. I'd be proud to serve"—
"Terrence, you're a civilian," said Dinah Shadd, warningly.
"So I am—so I am. Is ut likely I wud forget ut? But he was a
gran' bhoy all the same, an' I'm only a mudtipper wid a hod on my
shoulthers. The whiskey's in the heel av your hand, sorr. Wid your good
lave we'll dhrink to the Ould Rig'mint—three fingers—standin'
And we drank.