Part 1

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ABAFT THE FUNNEL By RUDYARD KIPLING

ABAFT THE FUNNEL

by

RUDYARD KIPLING

"Men in pajamas sitting abaft the funnel and swapping lies of the purple seas"

New York B. W. Dodge & Company 1909

Copyright, 1909, by B. W. Dodge & Company

PREFACE

The measure of a man's popularity is not always--or indeed seldom--the measure of his intrinsic worth. So, when the earlier work of any writer is gathered together in more enduring form, catering to the enthusiasm of his readers in his maturer years, there is always a suspicion that the venture is purely a commercial one, without literary justification.

Fortunately these stories of Mr. Kipling's form their own best excuse for this, their first appearance together in book form. Not merely because in them may be traced the origin of that style and subject matter that later made their author famous; but because the stories are in themselves worth while--worth writing, worth reading. "The Likes o' Us" is as true to the type as any of the immortal Mulvaney stories; the beginning of "New Brooms" is as succinctly fine as any prose Mr. Kipling ever wrote; for searching out and presenting such splendid pieces of fiction as "Sleipner, late Thurinda," and "A Little More Beef" to a public larger than their original one in India, no apology is necessary.

A.F.

CONTENTS

PAGE

Erastasius of the Whanghoa 1

Her Little Responsibility 12

A Menagerie Aboard 20

A Smoke of Manila 26

The Red Lamp 33

The Shadow of His Hand 41

A Little More Beef 49

The History of a Fall 58

Griffiths the Safe Man 66

It 77

The Fallen Idol 85

New Brooms 91

Tiglath Pileser 99

The Like o' Us 109

His Brother's Keeper 121

"Sleipner," Late "Thurinda" 141

A Supplementary Chapter 161

Chautauquaed 180

The Bow Flume Cable Car 204

In Partibus 213

Letters on Leave 218

The Adoration of the Mage 251

A Death in the Camp 258

A Really Good Time 265

On Exhibition 273

The Three Young Men 283

My Great and Only 292

The Betrayal of Confidences 305

The New Dispensation--I 313

The New Dispensation--II 322

The Last of the Stories 331

ABAFT THE FUNNEL

ERASTASIUS OF THE _WHANGHOA_[1]

"The old cat's tumbled down the ventilator, sir, and he's swearing away under the furnace-door in the stoke-hole," said the second officer to the Captain of the _Whanghoa_.

"Now what in thunder was Erastasius doing at the mouth of the ventilator? It's four feet from the ground and painted red at that. Any of the children been amusing themselves with him, d'you think? I wouldn't have Erastasius disturbed in his inside for all the gold in the treasury," said the Captain. "Tell some one to bring him up, and handle him delicately, for he's not a quiet beast."

In three minutes a bucket appeared on deck. It was covered with a wooden lid. "Think he have make die this time," said the Chinese sailor who carried the coffin, with a grin. "Catchee him topside coals--no open eye--no spit--no sclatchee my. Have got bucket, allee same, and make tight. See!"

He dived his bare arm under the lid, but withdrew it with a yell, dropping the bucket at the same time. "Hya! Can do. Maskee dlop down--masky spilum coal. Have catchee my light there."

Blood was trickling from his elbow. He moved aft, while the bucket, mysteriously worked by hidden force, trundled to and fro across the decks, swearing aloud.

Emerged finally Erastasius, tom-cat and grandfather-in-chief of the _Whanghoa_--a gaunt brindled beast, lacking one ear, with every hair on his body armed and erect. He was patched with coal-dust, very stiff and sore all over, and very anxious to take the world into his confidence as to his wrongs. For this reason he did not run when he was clear of the bucket, but sitting on his hunkers regarded the Captain, as who would say: "You hold a master's certificate and call yourself a seaman, and yet you allow this sort of thing on your boat."

"Guess I must apologise, old man," said the Captain gravely. "Those ventilators are a little too broad in the beam for a passenger of your build. What made you walk down it? Not a rat, eh? You're too well fed to trouble of rats. Drink was it."

Erastasius turned his back on the Captain. He was a tailless Japanese cat, and the abruptness of his termination gave him a specially brusque appearance.

"Shouldn't wonder if the old man hasn't been stealing something and was getting away from the galley. He's the biggest reprobate that ever shipped--and that's saying something. No, he isn't my property exactly. I've got a notion that he owns the ship. Gathered that from the way he goes round after six bells to see the lights out. The chief engineer says he built the engines. Anyway, the old man sits in the engine-room and sort of keeps an eye on the boilers. He was on the ship before I joined her--that's seven years ago, when we were running up and down and around and about the China Seas."

Erastasius, his back to the company, was busied in cleaning his disarranged fur. He licked and swore alternately. The ventilator incident had hurt his feelings sorely.

"He knows we are talking about him," continued the Captain. "He's a responsible kind o' critter. That's natural when you come to think that he has saved a quarter of a million of dollars. At present his wants are few--guess he would like a netting over those ventilators first thing--but some day he'll begin to live up to his capital."

"Saved a quarter of a million dollars! What securities did he invest 'em in?" said a man from Foochow.

"Here, in this bottom. He saved the _Whanghoa_ with a full cargo of tea, silk and opium, and thirteen thousand dollars in bar silver. Yes; that's about the extent of the old man's savings. I commanded. The old man was the rescuer, and I was more grateful to him 'cause it was my darned folly that nearly brought us into the trouble. I was new to these waters, new to the Chinaman and his fascinating little ways, being a New England man by raising. Erastasius was raised by the Devil. That's who his sire was. Never ran across his dam. Ran across a forsaken sea, though, in the _Whanghoa_, a little to the northeast of this, with eight hundred steerage passengers, all Chinamen, for various and undenominated ports. Had the pleasure of sending eighteen of 'em into the water. Yes, that's so, isn't it, old man?"

Erastasius finished licking himself and mewed affirmatively.

"Yes, we carried four white officers--a Westerner, two Vermont men, and myself. There were ten Americans, a couple of Danes and a half-caste knocking round the ship, and the crew were Chinese, but most of 'em good Chinese. Only good Chinese I ever met. We had our steerage passengers 'tween-decks. Most of 'em lay around and played dominoes or smoked opium. We had bad weather at the start, and the steerage were powerful sick. I judged they would have no insides to them when the weather lifted, so I didn't put any guards on them. Wanted all my men to work the ship. Engines rotten as Congress, and under sail half the time. Next time I carry Chinese steerage trash I'll hire a Gatling and mount it on the 'tween-decks hatch.

"We were fooling about between islands--about a hundred and fifty thousand islands all wrapped up in fog. When the fog laid the wind, the engines broke down. One of the passengers--we carried no ladies that journey--came to me one evening. 'I calculate there's a conspiracy 'tween-decks,' he said. 'Those pigtails are talking together. No good ever came of pigtails talking. I'm from 'Frisco. I authoritate on these matters.' 'Not on this ship,' I said: 'I've no use for duplicate authority.' 'You'll be homesick after nine this time to-morrow,' he said and quit. I guess he told the other passengers his notions.

"Erastasius shared my cabin in general. I didn't care to dispute with a cat that went heeled the way he did. That particular night when I came down he was not inclined for repose. When I shut the door he scrabbled till I let him out. When he was out he scrabbled to come back. When he was back, he jumped all round the shanty yowling. I stroked him, and the sparks irrigated his back as if 'twas the smoke-stack of a river steamer. 'I'll get you a wife, old man,' I said, 'next voyage. It is no good for you to be alone with me.' '_Whoopee, yoopee-yaw-aw-aw_,' said Erastasius. 'Let me get out of this.' I looked him square between the eyes to fix the place where I'd come down with a boot-heel (he was getting monotonous), and as I looked I saw the animal was just possessed with deadly fear--human fear--crawling, shaking fear. It crept out of the green of his eyes and crept over me in billowing waves--each wave colder than the last. 'Unburden your mind, Erastasius,' I said. 'What's going to happen?' '_Wheepee-yeepee-ya-ya-ya-woop!_' said Erastasius, backing to the door and scratching.

"I quit my cabin sweating big drops, and somehow my hand shut on my six-shooter. The grip of the handle soothes a man when he is afraid. I heard the whole ship 'tween-decks rustling under me like all the woods of Maine when the wind's up. The lamp over the 'tween-decks was out. The steerage watchman was lying on the ground, and the whole hive of Celestials were on the tramp--soft-footed hounds. A lantern came down the alley-way. Behind it was the passenger that had spoken to me, and all the rest of the crowd, except the half-caste.

"'Are you homesick any now?' said my passenger. The 'tween-decks woke up with a yell at the light, and some one fired up the hatch-way. Then we began our share of the fun--the ten passengers and I. Eleven six-shooters. That cleared the first rush of the pigtails, but we continued firing on principle, working our way down the steps. No one came down from the spar-deck to assist, though I heard considerable of a trampling. The pigtails below were growling like cats. I heard the lookout man shout, 'Junk on the port bow,' and the bell ring in the engine-room for full speed ahead. Then we struck something, and there was a yell inside and outside the ship that would have lifted your hair out. When the outside yell stopped, our pigtails were on their faces. 'Run down a junk,' said my passenger--'_their_ junk.' He loosed three shots into the steerage on the strength of it. I went up on deck when things were quiet below. Some one had run our Dahlgren signal-gun forward and pointed it to the break of the fo'c'sle. There was the balance of a war junk--three spars and a head or two on the water, and the first mate keeping his watch in regular style.

"'What is your share?' he said. 'We've smashed up a junk that tried to foul us. Seems to have affected the feelings of your friends below. Guess they wanted to make connection.' 'It is made,' said I, 'on the Glassy Sea. Where's the watch?' 'In the fo'c'sle. The half-caste is sitting on the signal-gun smoking his cigar. The watch are speculatin' whether he'll stick the business-end of it in the touch-hole or continue smoking. I gather that gun is not empty.' 'Send 'em down below to wash decks. Tell the quartermaster to go through their boxes while they are away. They may have implements.'

"The watch went below to clean things up. There were eighteen stiff uns and fourteen with holes through their systems. Some died, some survived. I did not keep particular count. The balance I roped up, and it employed most of our spare rigging. When we touched port there was a picnic among the hangmen. Seems that Erastasius had been yowling down the cabins all night before he came to me, and kept the passengers alive. The man that spoke to me said the old man's eyes were awful to look at. He was dying to tell his fear, but couldn't. When the passengers came forward with the light, the half-caste quit for topside and got the quartermaster to load the signal-gun with handspikes and bring it forward in case the fo'c'sle wished to assist in the row. That was the best half-caste I ever met. But the fo'c'sle didn't assist. They were sick. So were the men below--horror-sick. That was the way the old man saved the _Whanghoa_."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: "Turnovers," Vol. VII.]

HER LITTLE RESPONSIBILITY[2]

_And No Man May Answer for the Soul of His Brother_

It was two in the morning, and Epstin's Dive was almost empty, when a Thing staggered down the steps that led to that horrible place and fawned on me disgustingly for the price of a drink. "I'm dying of thirst," he said, but his tone was not that of a street loafer. There is a freemasonry, the freemasonry of the public schools, stronger than any that the Craft knows. The Thing drank whisky raw, which in itself is not calculated to slake thirst, and I waited at its side because I knew, by virtue of the one sentence above recorded, that it once belonged to my caste. Indeed, so small is the world when one begins to travel round it, that, for aught I knew, I might even have met the Thing in that menagerie of carefully-trained wild beasts, Decent Society. And the Thing drank more whisky ere the flood-gates of its speech were loosed and spoke of the wonderful story of its fall.

Never man, he said, had suffered more than he, or for slighter sin. Whereat I winked beerily into the bottom of my empty glass, having heard that tale before. I think the Thing had been long divided from all social and moral restraint--even longer from the wholesome influence of soap and water.

"What I feel most down here," said It, and by "down here" I presume he meant the Inferno of his own wretchedness, "is the difficulty about getting a bath. A man can always catch a free lunch at any of the bars in the city, if he has money enough to buy a drink with, and you can sleep out for six or eight months of the year without harm, but San Francisco doesn't run to free baths. It's not an amusing life any way you look at it. I'm more or less used to things, but it hurts me even now to meet a decent man who knows something of life in the old country. I was raised at Harrow--Harrow, if you please--and I'm not five-and-twenty yet, and I haven't got a penny, and I haven't got a friend, and there is nothing in creation that I can command except a drink, and I have to beg for that. Have you ever begged for a drink? It hurts at first, but you get used to it. My father's a parson. I don't think he knows I beg drink. He lives near Salisbury. Do you know Salisbury at all? And then there's my mother, too. But I have not heard from either of them for a couple of years. They think I'm in a real estate office in Washington Territory, coining money hand over fist. If ever you run across them--I suppose you will some day--there's the address. Tell them that you've seen me, and that I am well and fit. Understand?--well and fit. I guess I'll be dead by the time you see 'em. That's hard. Men oughtn't to die at five-and-twenty--of drink. Say, were you ever mashed on a girl? Not one of these you see, girls out here, but an English one--the sort of girl one meets at the Vicarage tennis-party, don't you know. A girl of our own set. I don't mean mashed exactly, but dead, clean gone, head over ears; and worse than that I was once, and I fancy I took the thing pretty much as I take liquor now. I didn't know when to stop. It didn't seem to me that there was any reason for stopping in affairs of that kind. I'm quite sure there's no reason for stopping half-way with liquor. Go the whole hog and die. It's all right, though--I'm not going to get drunk here. Five in the morning will suit me just as well, and I haven't the chance of talking to one of you fellows often. So you cut about in fine clothes, do you, and take your drinks at the best bars and put up at the Palace? All Englishmen do. Well, here's luck; you may be what I am one of these days. You'll find companions quite as well raised as yourself.

* * * * *

"But about this girl. Don't do what I did. I fell in love with her. She lived near us in Salisbury; that was when I had a clean shirt every day and hired horses to ride. One of the guineas I spent on that amusement would keep me for a week here. But about this girl. I don't think some men ought to be allowed to fall in love any more than they ought to be allowed to taste whisky. She said she cared for me. Used to say that about a thousand times a day, with a kiss in between. I think about those things now, and they make me nearly as drunk as the whisky does. Do you know anything about that love-making business? I stole a copy of Cleopatra off a book-stall in Kearney Street, and that priest-chap says a very true thing about it. You can't stop when it's once started, and when it's all over you can't give it up at the word of command. I forget the precise language. That girl cared for me. I'd give something if she could see me now. She doesn't like men without collars and odd boots and somebody else's hat; but anyhow she made me what I am, and some day she'll know it. I came out here two years ago to a real estate office; my father bought me some sort of a place in the firm. We were all Englishmen, but we were about a match for an average Yankee; but I forgot to tell you I was engaged to the girl before I came out. Never you make a woman swear oaths of eternal constancy. She'll break every one of them as soon as her mind changes, and call you unjust for making her swear them. I worked enough for five men in my first year. I got a little house and lot in Tacoma fit for any woman. I never drank, I hardly ever smoked, I sold real estate all day, and wrote letters at night. She wrote letters, too, about as full of affection as they make 'em. You can tell nothing from a woman's letter, though. If they want to hide anything, they just double the 'dears' and 'darlings,' and then giggle when the man fancies himself deceived.

"I don't suppose I was worse off than hundreds of others, but it seems to me that she might have had the grace to let me down easily. She went and got married. I don't suppose she knew exactly what she was doing, because I got the letters just the same six weeks after she was married! It was an odd copy of an English paper that showed me what had happened. It came in on the same day as one of her letters, telling me she would be true to the gates of death. Sounds like a novel, doesn't it? But it did not amuse me in the least. I wasn't constructed to pitch the letters into the fire and pick up with a Yankee girl. I wrote her a letter; I rather wish I could remember what was in that letter. Then I went to a bar in Tacoma and had some whisky, about a gallon, I suppose. If I had anything approaching to a word of honour about me, I would give it you that I did not know what happened until I was told that my partnership with the firm had been dissolved, and that the house and lot did not belong to me any more. I would have left the firm and sold the house, anyhow, but the crash sobered me for about three days. Then I started another jamboree. I might have got back after the first one, and been a prominent citizen, but the second bust settled matters. Then I began to slide on the downgrade straight off, and here I am now. I could write you a book about what I have come through, if I could remember it. The worst of it is I can see that she wasn't worth losing anything in life for, but I've lost just everything, and I'm like the priest-chap in Cleopatra--I can't get over what I remember. If she had let me down easy, and given me warning, I should have been awfully cut up for a time, but I should have pulled through. She didn't do that, though. She lied to me all along, and married a curate, and I dare say she'll be a virtuous she-vicar later on; but the little affair broke me dead, and if I had more whisky in me I should be blubbering like a calf all round this Dive. That would have disgusted you, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," said I.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: "Turnovers," Vol. VII.]

A MENAGERIE ABOARD[3]

It was pyjama time on the _Madura_ in the Bay of Bengal, and the incense of the very early morning cigar went up to the stainless skies. Every one knows pyjama time--the long hour that follows the removal of the beds from the saloon skylight and the consumption of _chota hazri_. Most men know, too, that the choicest stories of many seas may be picked up then--from the long-winded histories of the Colonial sheep-master to the crisp anecdotes of the Californian; from tales of battle, murder and sudden death told by the Burmah-returned subaltern, to the bland drivel of the globe-trotter. The Captain, tastefully attired in pale pink, sat up on the signal-gun and tossed the husk of a banana overboard.

"It looked in through my cabin-window," said he, "and scared me nearly into a fit." We had just been talking about a monkey who appeared to a man in an omnibus, and haunted him till he cut his own throat. The apparition, amid howls of incredulity, was said to have been the result of excessive tea-drinking. The Captain's apparition promised to be better.

"It was a menagerie--a whole turnout, lock, stock, and barrel, from the big bear to the little hippopotamus; and you can guess the size of it from the fact that they paid us a thousand pounds in freight only. We got them all accommodated somewhere forward among the deck passengers, and they whooped up terribly all along the ship for two or three days. Among other things, such as panthers and leopards, there were sixteen giraffes, and we moored 'em fore and aft as securely as might be; but you can't get a purchase on a giraffe somehow. He slopes back too much from the bows to the stern. We were running up the Red Sea, I think, and the menagerie fairly quiet. One night I went to my cabin not feeling well. About midnight I was waked by something breathing on my face. I was quite calm and collected, for I had got it into my head that it was one of the panthers, or at least the bear; and I reached back to the rack behind me for a revolver. Then the head began to slide against my cabin--all across it--and I said to myself: 'It's the big python.' But I looked into its eyes--they were beautiful eyes--and saw it was one of the giraffes. Tell you, though, a giraffe has the eyes of a sorrowful nun, and this creature was just brimming over with liquid tenderness. The seven-foot neck rather spoilt the effect, but I'll always recollect those eyes."

"Say, did you kiss the critter?" demanded the orchid-hunter en route to Siam.