“The inhabitants of these regions are utter savages. Tribe wars upon tribe. Khan attacks khan. Bloodfeuds are as common as trollops in Piccadilly. You take the ferocity of the Zulu, add it to the craft of the American redskin and the marksmanship of the Boer, and you have your Pathan, a violent, murderous aborigine. Every man jack of them is a soldier. Each one goes about armed to the teeth. And they dearly love to fight. We have a sizable number of them in our own forces, a mixed blessing at best, for like as not they’ll desert us whenever the mood strikes them and turn the Martinis we issue them back on us. Yet we cannot afford to do without them. We require the manpower; we need their skills and knowledge of the terrain. So long as we feed them regularly and give them something of a better standard of living than they can expect to find with their own tribes, as well as provide them with a license to kill with impunity, chances are they’ll remain with us and fight well for us, even against their own people. Such is the character of those you hope to convert to Christianity. They are a murderous, ignorant, and superstitious people, easily roused and wellnigh impossible to pacify. Yet we must pacify them. That is my duty, Father. I will not attempt to instruct you in yours, but I can at least see to it that your choice is an informed one.”
“Some of your men have told me much the same thing,” said Lucas. “I can well appreciate the situation, General, but it changes nothing. I, too, have my duty, as you pointed out.”
Blood nodded curtly. “Wellspoken, Father. All’s been said, then. See the quartermaster about drawing some supplies. We leave on a forced march first thing in the morning. And on your way out, see the clerk and leave the names of your next of kin.”
“You’re most kind, General,” said Lucas.
Blood grunted. “Oh, and one more thing, before you leave. This is a military expedition, you understand. As such, I’m in no position to spare you any orderlies. I travel without one myself. However, seeing that you are traveling in company with a lady, may I suggest you retain one of the locals as a khawasin. He’ll have to double as a bhisti, carrying water for the troops when needed, but that’s expected. I would suggest you hire a Hindustani, they’re generally less trouble. Now you’ll excuse me, Father, I have a great many things to see to. The quartermaster will see to it that you and Miss Cross have a place to bed down for the night. Enjoy it, it’ll be the last decent night’s sleep you’re likely to get in a long time.”
After having seen to their supplies for the next day’s march, Lucas and Andre went to the barracks in search of Finn. He proved easy enough to find. All they had to do was follow the sound of raucous laughter and drinkfueled song. It was Mulvaney’s voice that carried the verse while the others joined in the chorus of a barrackroom ballad made popular by Kipling.
“I went into a public’ouse to get a pint o’beer,
The publican ‘e up an’ sez, ‘We serve no redcoats here.’
The girls be’ind the bar they laughed an’ giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an’ to myself sez I:.
O it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ Tommy go away’;
But it’s ‘Thank you, Mister Atkins,’ when the band begins to play.
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play.
O it’s ‘Thank you, Mister Atkins,’ when the band begins to play.”
Ortheris took up the next verse, howling like a stray dog.
“I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but ‘adn’t none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music ‘alls,
But when it comes to fightin’, Lord! they’ll shove me in the stalls!
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ Tommy, wait outside’;
But it’s ‘Special train for Atkins’ when the trooper’s on the tide.
O it’s ‘Special train for Atkins’ when the trooper’s on the tide.”
Learoyd’s turn came next and he sounded considerably more melodious than his cohorts.
“Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re starvation cheap;
An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin’ in full kit,
Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ Tommy, ‘ow’s yer soul?’
But it’s ‘Thin red line of ‘eroes’ when the drums begin to roll.
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,