MR. RUDYARD KIPLING'S, BALLADS.

Evening Post, Volume XLIV, Issue 44, 20 August 1892, Page 2 (Supplement)

MR. RUDYARD KIPLING'S, BALLADS.

From the Spectator we,. take the following notice of Mr. Eudyard Kipling's Barrack-room Ballads and Other Verses : — Mr. Eudyard Kipling has a true gift for rhythm, and a still truer gift for dramatic'effect. He gives us the hackneyed slang, the coarse, grinning humour, the devil -may-earish candour, the reckless license, the hardened valour, and the stolid fortitude of the British soldier, with a power that engraves these rather unlovely characteristics, which have won so many victories for the British Crown and extended far and wide the British Empire, on his readers' minds as impressively as literary art could engrave them. His Barrackroom Ballads are not exactly pleasant reading, for they remind us only too powerfully how many more or less degraded instruments of conquest the British Crown must have had before the British flag could float where it does in every quarter of the globe. But Mr. Kipling does not in any way ignore the higher qualities of these more or less brutalised instruments of empire. The British soldier of bis powerful ballads is certainly unlovely, but he is strong and fearless, and, in a coarse way, generous He is brutal, but he can see the good points even of the victims of his horse-play, and can do them justice in a fashion which sometimes brings tears to the eyes. The British soldier can even admire heartily his victim's sense of duty when it surpasses his own, and brings a feeling of shame to his hardened heart. The ballad called "Gunga Din" seems to us as good an example as we could give both of Mr. Eadyard Kipling's dramatic power and of the British soldier's better qualities. It is as pathetic as it is coarse, as generous as it is rough — for we can hardly apply the word "brutal" to so sympathetic a picture of self-for-getful duty — as full of recognition of the fidelity of the native servant of the regiment as it is full of recognition of the imperious exactions of those whom he served : — " GUNGA DIN.. " You may talk o' gin and beer When you're quartered safe out 'ere, An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it ; But when it comes to slaughter You will do your work on water, An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'ira that's got it. Now in Injia'a sunny clime, Where I used to spend my time A-servin 1 of 'Er Majesty the Queen, Of all them black-facederew The finest man I knew Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din. It was ' Din ! Din ! Din ! You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din ! Hi! slippery hi t hereto ! Water, get it ! Panee-lao ! You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.' "The uniform 'c wore Was nothin' much before, An' rather less than 'aft o' that be'ind, For a piece o' twisty rag An' a goatskin water-bag Was ali the field-equipment 'c could fiud. When the sweatin' troop-train luy In a sidin' through the day, Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl, We shouted ' Harry By !' Till our threats were bricky-dry, Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'c couldn't serve us all. It was ' Din ! Din ! Din ! You 'eathen, where the mischief 'aye you been P You put some jtrfdee in it Or I'll marroie you this minute If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!' " 'E would dot an' carry one Till the longest day was done, An' 'c didn't seem to know the use o' fear. If wo charged, or broke, or cut, You could bet your bloomin' nut 'Ed be waitin' fifty paces right flunk rear. With 'is mussick on 'is back 'E would skip with our attack, An' watch us till the bugles made 'Eetire,' An' for all 'is dirty 'ide 'E was white, clear white, inside When 'c wont to tend the wounded under fire! It was ' Din ! Din ! Din !' With the bullets kickiu' dust-spots on the green. When the cartridges ran out, You could hear the front files shout, 'Hi ! ammunition-mules an' Guuga Din !' " I sha'n't forgit the night When I dropped bo'ind the fight With a bullet where my belt-plato should 'a 'been. I wus cholcin' mad with thirst, An' the mini that spied me iir*t Wns our good old grimiin', grnntin' Gunga Din. 'E lifted up my 'cad, An' 'c plugged me wJieie J bled, An' *c guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green: It was orawliu' and it stunk, Bat of all the drinks I've drunk, I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din. It was ' Din ! Din ! Din ! 'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen j 'L's chawin' up the grouud, An' 'c's kiokin' all around— For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din !' " 'E carried me away To where a dooli lay, An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean. 'E put me safe inside, An' just afore he died, 'I 'ope you liked your drink,' sez Gunga Din. So I'll meet 'im later on At the place where 'c is gone — Where it's always double drill nud no canteen ; 'Ell be squattin' on the coals Givin' drink to poor damned souls, An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din ! Yes, Din ! Din ! Din ! You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din ! Though I've belted you and flayed you, By the livin' Gawd that made you, You're a better man than I am, Gungra Din !" 6