Chapter 3
“Well sir, 'tis a gr-reat thing f'r a counthry to have th' likes iv thim ar-round to direct manoovers that'd be gatherin' dust on th' shelf if th' gin'rals had their say, an' to prove to th' wurruld that th' English ar-re not frivolous, excitable people like us an' th' Frinch, but can take a batin' without losin' their heads.”
“Sure,” said Mr. Hennessy, “tis not thim that does th' fightin'. Th' la-ads with th' guns has that job.”
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “they'se two kinds iv fightin'. Th' experts wants th' ar-rmy to get into Pretoria dead or alive, an' th' sojers wants to get in alive. I'm no military expert, Hinnissy. I'm too well known. But I have me own opinyon on th' war. All this talk about th' rapid fire gun an' modhren methods iv warfare makes me wondher. They'se not so much diff'rence between war now an' war whin I was a kid, as they let on. Th' gun that shoots ye best fr'm a distance don't shoot ye so well close to. A pile iv mud is a pile iv mud now just th' same as it was whin Gin'ral Grant was pokin' ar-round. If th' British can get over th' mud pile they win th' fight. If they can't they're done. That's all they'se to it. Mos' men, sthrongest backs, best eyes an' th' ownership iv th' mud piles. That's war, Hinnissy. Th' British have th' men. They're shy iv backs, eyes an' mud piles, an' they will be until they larn that sheep-herdin' an' gin'ralship ar-re diff'rent things, an' fill up their ar-rmy with men that ar-re not fightin' f'r money or glory, but because they want to get home to their wives alive.”
“Ye talk like an' ol book,” said Mr. Hennessy, in disgust. “Ye with ye-re maundhrin' ar-re no betther thin thim expert la-ads.”
“Well annyhow,” said Mr. Dooley thoughtfully, “th' expert is sarvin' a useful purpose. Th' papers says th' rapid fire gun'll make war in th' future impossible. I don't think that, but I know th' expert will.”
MODERN EXPLOSIVES
“If iver I wanted to go to war,” said Mr. Dooley, “an' I niver did, th' desire has passed fr'm me iv late. Ivry time I read iv th' desthructive power iv modhern explosives col' chills chase each other up an' down me spine.”
“What's this here stuff they calls lyddite?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“Well, 'tis th' divvle's own med'cine,” said Mr. Dooley. “Compared with lyddite joynt powdher is Mrs. Winslow's soothin' surup, an' ye cud lave th' childher play base-ball with a can iv dinnymite. 'Tis as sthrong as Gin'ral Crownjoy's camp th' day iv th' surrinder an' almost as sthrong as th' pollytics iv Montana. Th' men that handles it is cased in six inch armor an' played on be a hose iv ice wather. Th' gun that shoots it is always blown up be th' discharge. Whin this deadly missile flies through th' air, th' threes ar-re withered an' th' little bur-rds falls dead fr'm th' sky, fishes is kilt in th' rivers, an' th' tillyphone wires won't wurruk. Th' keen eyed British gunners an' corryspondints watches it in its hellish course an' tur-rn their faces as it falls into th' Boer trench. An' oh! th' sickly green fumes it gives off, jus' like pizen f'r potato bugs! There is a thremenjous explosion. Th' earth is thrown up f'r miles. Horses, men an' gun carredges ar-re landed in th' British camp whole. Th' sun is obscured be Boer whiskers turned green. Th' heart iv th' corryspondint is made sick be th' sight, an' be th' thought iv th' fearful carnage wrought be this dhread desthroyer in th' ranks iv th' brave but misguided Dutchmen. Th' nex' day deserters fr'm th' Boer ranks reports that they have fled fr'm th' camp, needin' a dhrink an' onable to stand th' scenes iv horror. They announce that th' whole Boer ar-rmy is as green as wall paper, an' th' Irish brigade has sthruck because ye can't tell their flag fr'm th' flag iv th' r-rest iv th' Dutch. Th' Fr-rinch gin'ral in command iv th' Swedish corps lost his complexion an' has been sint to th' hospital, an' Mrs. Gin'ral Crownjoy's washin' that was hangin' on th' line whin th' bombardmint comminced is a total wreck which no amount iv bluin' will save. Th' deserters also report that manny iv th' Boers ar-re outspannin', trekkin', loogerin', kopjein' an' veldtin' home to be dyed, f'r'tis not known whether lyddite is a fast color or will come out in th' wash.”
“In spite iv their heavy losses th' Boers kept up a fierce fire. They had no lyddite, but with their other divvlish modhern explosives they wrought thremenjous damage. F'r some hours shells burst with turr'ble precision in th' British camp. Wan man who was good at figures counted as manny as forty-two thousan' eight hundhred an' sivin burstin' within a radyus iv wan fut. Ye can imagine th' hor-rible carnage. Colonel C. G. F. K. L. M. N. O. P. Hetherington-Casey-Higgins lost his eye-glass tin times, th' las' time almost swallowin' it, while ye'er faithful corryspondint was rindered deaf be th' explosions. Another Irish rig'mint has disappearded, th' Twelve Thousandth an' Eighth, Dublin Fusiliers. Brave fellows, 'tis suspicted they mistook th' explosion of lyddite f'r a Pathrick's Day procession an' wint acrost to take a look at it.”
“Murdher, but 'tis dhreadful to r-read about. We have to change all our conciptions iv warfare. Wanst th' field was r-red, now 'tis a br-right lyddite green. Wanst a man wint out an' died f'r his counthry, now they sind him out an' lyddite dyes him. What do I mane? 'Tis a joke I made. I'll not explane it to ye. Ye wudden't undherstand it. 'Tis f'r th' eddycated classes.”
“How they're iver goin' to get men to fight afther this I cudden't tell ye. 'Twas bad enough in th' ol' days whin all that happened to a sojer was bein' pinithrated be a large r-round gob iv solder or stuck up on th' end iv a baynit be a careless inimy. But now-a-days, they have th' bullet that whin it enthers ye tur-rns ar-round like th' screw iv a propeller, an' another wan that ye might say goes in be a key-hole an' comes out through a window, an' another that has a time fuse in it an' it doesn't come out at all but stays in ye, an' mebbe twinty years afther, whin ye've f'rgot all about it an' ar-re settin' at home with ye'er fam'ly, bang! away it goes an' ye with it, carryin' off half iv th' roof. Thin they have guns as long as fr'm here to th' rollin' mills that fires shells as big as a thrunk. Th' shells are loaded like a docthor's bag an' have all kinds iv things in thim that won't do a bit iv good to man or beast. If a sojer has a weak back there's something in th' shell that removes a weak back; if his head throubles him, he can lose it; if th' odher iv vilets is distasteful to him th' shell smothers him in vilet powdher. They have guns that anny boy or girl who knows th' typewriter can wurruk, an' they have other guns on th' music box plan, that ye wind up an' go away an' lave, an' they annoy anny wan that comes along. They have guns that bounces up out iv a hole in th' groun', fires a millyon shells a minyit an' dhrops back f'r another load. They have guns that fire dinnymite an' guns that fire th' hateful, sickly green lyddite that makes th' inimy look like fiat money, an' guns that fire canned beef f'r th' inimy an' distimper powdher for th' inimy's horses. An' they have some guns that shoot straight.”
“Well, thin,” Mr. Hennessy grumbled, “it's a wondher to me that with all thim things they ain't more people kilt. Sure, Gin'ral Grant lost more men in wan day thin th' British have lost in four months, an' all he had to keep tab on was ol' fashioned bullets an' big, bouncin' iron balls.”
“Thrue,” said Mr. Dooley. “I don't know th' reason, but it mus' be that th' betther gun a man has th' more he thrusts th' gun an' th' less he thrusts himsilf. He stays away an' shoots. He says to himsilf, he says: 'They'se nawthin' f'r me to do,' he says, 'but load up me little lyddite cannon with th' green goods,' he says, 'an' set here at the organ,' he says, 'pull out th' stops an' paint th' town iv Pretoria green,' he says. 'But,' he says, 'on sicond thought, suppose th' inimy shud hand it back to me,' he says. 'Twud be oncomfortable,' he says. 'So,' he says, 'I'll jus' move me music back a mile,' he says, 'an' peg away, an' th' longest gun takes th' persimmons,' he says. 'Tis this way: If ye an' I fall out an' take rifles to each other, 'tis tin to wan nayether iv us gets clost enough to hit. If we take pistols th' odds is rayjooced. If we take swords I may get a hack at ye, but if we take a half-nelson lock 'tis even money I have ye'er back broke befure th' polis comes.”
“I can see in me mind th' day whin explosives'll be so explosive an' guns'll shoot so far that on'y th' folks that stay at home'll be kilt, an' life insurance agents'll be advisin' people to go into th' ar-rmy. I can so. 'Tis thrue what Hogan says about it.”
“What's that?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“Th' nation,” said Mr. Dooley, “that fights with a couplin' pin extinds its bordhers at th' cost iv th' nation that fights with a clothes pole.”
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “tis a fine rayciption th' Boer dillygates is havin' in this counthry.”
“They'll be out here nex' week,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“They will that,” Mr. Dooley replied, “an' we'll show thim that our inthrest in small raypublics fightin' f'r their liberty ain't disappeared since we become an impeeryal nation. No, sir. We have as much inthrest as iver, but we have more inthrests elsewhere.”
“Oom Paul, he says to th' la-ads: 'Go,' he says, 'to me good an' great frind, Mack th' Wanst, an' lay th' case befure him,' he says. 'Tell him,' he says, 'that th' situation is just th' same as it was durin' Wash'nton's time,' he says, 'on'y Wash'nton won, an' we're rapidly losin' kopjes till we soon won't have wan to sthrike a match on,' he says. An' off goes th' good men. Whin they started the Boers was doin' pretty well, Hinnissy. They were fightin' Englishmen, an' that's a lawn tinnis to a rale fightin' man. But afther awhile the murdherin' English gover'mint put in a few recreent but gallant la-ads fr'm th' ol' dart--we ought to be proud iv thim, curse thim--Pat O'Roberts, an' Mike McKitchener, an' Terrence O'Fr-rinch--an' they give th' view--halloo an' wint through th' Dutch like a party comin' home fr'm a fifteenth iv August picnic might go through a singerbund. So be th' time th' dillygates got to Europe it was: 'James, if thim br-rave but misguided Dutch appears, squirt th' garden hose on thim. I'll see th' British embassadure this afthernoon.' Ye see, Hinnissy, 'twas ol' Kruger's play to keep on winnin' battles till th' dillygates had their say. Th' amount iv sympathy that goes out f'r a sthrugglin' people is reg'lated, Hinnissy, be th' amount iv sthrugglin' th' people can do. Th' wurruld, me la-ad, is with th' undher dog on'y as long as he has a good hold an' a chanst to tur-rn over.”
“Well, sir, whin th' dillygates see they cudden't do business in Europe, says they to thimsilves: 'We'll pike acrost th' ragin' sea,' they says, 'an in th' home iv Wash'nton, Lincoln, an' Willum J. Bryan, ye bet we'll have a hearin',' an' they got wan. Ivrybody's listenin' to thim. But no wan replies. If they'd come here three months ago, befure Crownjoy was suffocated out iv his hole in th' groun', they'd be smokin' their pipes in rockin' chairs on th' veranda iv th' white house an' passin' th' bucket between thim an' Mack. But 'tis diff'rent now. 'Tis diff'rent now. Says Willum J. Bryan: 'I can't see thim mesilf, f'r it may not be long befure I'll have to dale with these inthricate problems, I hope an' pray, but Congressman Squirtwather, do ye disguise ye'ersilf as a private citizen an' go down to th' hotel an' tell these la-ads that I'm with thim quietly if public opinyon justifies it an' Mack takes th' other side. Tell thim I frequently say to mesilf that they're all r-right, but I wudden't want it to go further. Perhaps they cud be injooced to speak at a dimmycratic meetin' unbeknown to me,' he says.
“Sicrety Hay meets thim in a coal cellar, wearin' a mask. 'Gintlemen,' says he, 'I can assure ye th' prisidint an' mesilf feels mos' deeply f'r ye. I needn't tell ye about mesilf,' he says. 'Haven't I sint me own son into ye'er accursed but liberty-lovin' counthry,' he says. 'As f'r Mack, I assure ye he's hear-rtbroken over th' tur-rn affairs have taken,' he says. 'Early in th' war he wrote to Lord Salisberry, sayin' he hoped 'twud not be continyued to iliction day, an' Salisberry give him a gruff response. Tur-rned him down, though both ar-re Anglo-Saxons,' he says. 'Las' night his sobs fairly shook th' white house as he thought iv ye an' ye'er sthruggle. He wants to tell ye how much he thinks iv ye, an' he'll meet ye in th' carredge house if ye'll shave off ye'er whiskers an' go as clam-peddlers. Ye'll reco'nize him in a green livery. He'll wear a pink carnation in his buttonhole. Give th' names iv Dorsey an' Flannagan, an' if th' English ambassadure goes by get down on ye'er ban's an' knees an' don't make a sign till he's out iv sight,' he says. 'Th' stout party in blue near by'll be Mark Hanna. He may be able to arrange a raypublican meetin' f'r ye to addhress,' he says. 'The gr-reat hear-rt iv th' raypublican party throbs f'r ye. So does Mack's,' he says. 'So does mine,' he says.”
“Well, th' dillygates met Mack an' they had a pleasant chat. 'Will ye,' says they, 'inthervene an' whistle off th' dogs iv war?' they says. 'Whisper,' says Mack, th' tears flowin' down his cheeks. 'Iver since this war started me eyes have been fixed on th' gallant or otherwise, nation or depindancy, fightin' its brave battle f'r freedom or rebellin' again' th' sov'reign power, as the case may be,' he says. 'Unofficially, my sympathy has gone out to ye, an' bur-rnin' wurruds iv unofficial cheer has been communicated unofficially be me to me official fam'ly, not, mind ye, as an official iv this magnificent an' liberty-lovin' raypublic, but as a private citizen,' he says. 'I feel, as a private citizen, that so long,' he says, 'as the br-right star iv liberty shines resplindent over our common counthries, with th' example iv Washin'ton in ye'er eyes, an' th' iliction comin' on, that ye must go forward an' conker or die,' he says. 'An',' he says, 'Willum McKinley is not th' man to put annything in ye'er way,' he says. 'Go back to me gr-reat an' good frind an' tell him that th' hear-rt iv th' raypublican party throbs f'r him,' he says. 'An' Sicrety Hay's,' he says, 'an' mine,' he says, 'unofficially,' he says. 'Me official hear-rt,' he says, 'is not permitted be th' constitootion to throb durin' wurrukin' hours,' he says.
“An' so it goes. Ivrywhere th' dillygates tur-rns they see th' sign: 'This is me busy day.' An' whin they get back home they can tell th' people they found th' United States exudin' sympathy at ivry pore--'marked private.'”
“Don't ye think th' United States is enthusyastic f'r th' Boers?” asked the innocent Hennessy.
“It was,” said Mr. Dooley. “But in th' las' few weeks it's had so manny things to think iv. Th' enthusyasm iv this counthry, Hinnissy, always makes me think iv a bonfire on an ice-floe. It burns bright so long as ye feed it, an' it looks good, but it don't take hold, somehow, on th' ice.”
THE CHINESE SITUATION
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Hennessy, “to think iv th' audacity iv thim Chinymen! It do bate all.”
“It do that,” said Mr. Dooley. “It bates th' wurruld. An' what's it comin' to? You an' me looks at a Chinyman as though he wasn't good f'r annything but washin' shirts, an' not very good at that. Tis wan iv th' spoorts iv th' youth iv our gr-reat cities to rowl an impty beer keg down th' steps iv a Chinee laundhry, an' if e'er a Chinyman come out to resint it they'd take him be th' pigtail an' do th' joynt swing with him. But th' Chinyman at home's a diff'rent la-ad. He's with his frinds an' they're manny iv thim an' he's rowlin' th' beer kegs himsilf an' Westhren Civilization is down in th' laundhry wondhrin' whin th' police'll come along.”
“Th' Lord f'rgive f'r sayin' it, Hinnissy, but if I was a Chinyman, which I will fight anny man f'r sayin,' an' was livin' at home, I'd tuck me shirt into me pants, put me braid up in a net, an' go out an' take a fall out iv th' in-vader if it cost me me life. Here am I, Hop Lung Dooley, r-runnin' me little liquor store an' p'rhaps raisin' a family in th' town iv Koochoo. I don't like foreigners there anny more thin I do here. Along comes a bald-headed man with chin whiskers from Baraboo, Wisconsin, an' says he: 'Benighted an' haythen Dooley,' says he, 'ye have no God,' he says. 'I have,' says I. 'I have a lot iv thim,' says I. 'Ye ar-re an oncultivated an' foul crather,' he says. 'I have come six thousan' miles f'r to hist ye fr'm th' mire iv ignorance an' irrellijon in which ye live to th' lofty plane iv Baraboo,' he says. An' he sets down on an aisy chair, an' his wife an' her friends come in an' they inthrojooce Mrs. Dooley to th' modhren improvements iv th' corset an' th' hat with th' blue bur-rd onto it, an' put shame into her because she hasn't let her feet grow, while th' head mission'ry reads me a pome out iv th' _Northwesthren Christyan Advocate_. 'Well,' says I, 'look here, me good fellow,' I says. 'Me an' me people has occypied these here primises f'r manny years,' I says, 'an' here we mean to stay,' I says. 'We're doin' th' best we can in th' matther iv gods,' says I. 'We have thim cast at a first-rate foundhry,' I says, 'an' we sandpa-aper thim ivry week,' says I. 'As f'r knowin' things,' I says, 'me people wrote pomes with a markin' brush whin th' likes iv ye was r-runnin' ar-round wearin' a short pelisse iv sheepskins an' batin' each other to death with stone hammers,' says I. An' I'm f'r firin' him out, but bein' a quite man I lave him stay.”
“Th' nex' day in comes a man with a suit iv clothes that looks like a tablecloth in a section house, an' says he: 'Poor ignorant haythen,' he says, 'what manner iv food d'ye ate?' he says. 'Rice,' says I, 'an' rats is me fav'rite dish,' I says. 'Deluded wretch,' says he. 'I riprisint Armour an' Company, an' I'm here to make ye change ye'er dite,' he says. 'Hinceforth ye'll ate th' canned roast beef iv merry ol' stock yards or I'll have a file iv sojers in to fill ye full iv ondygistible lead,' he says. An' afther him comes th' man with Aunt Miranda's Pan Cakes an' Flaked Bran an' Ye'll-perish-if-ye-don't-eat-a-biscuit an' other riprisintatives iv Westhern Civilization, an' I'm to be shot if I don't take thim all.”
“Thin a la-ad runs down with a chain an' a small glass on three sticks an' a gang iv section men that answers to th' name iv Casey, an' pro-ceeds f'r to put down a railroad. 'What's this f'r?' says I. 'We ar-re th' advance guard iv Westhren Civilization,' he says, 'an we're goin' to give ye a railroad so ye can go swiftly to places that ye don't want to see,' he says. 'A counthry that has no railroads is beneath contimpt,' he says. 'Casey,' he says, 'sthretch th' chain acrost yon graveyard,' he says. 'I aim f'r to put th' thrack just befure that large tombstone marked Riquiescat in Pace, James H. Chung-a-lung,' he says. 'But,' says I, 'ye will disturb pah's bones,' says I, 'if ye go to layin' ties,' I says. 'Ye'll be mixin' up me ol' man with th' Cassidy's in th' nex' lot that,' I says, 'he niver spoke to save in anger in his life,' I says. 'Ye're an ancestor worshiper, heathen,' says the la-ad, an' he goes on to tamp th' mounds in th' cimitry an ballast th' thrack with th' remains iv th' deceased. An' afther he's got through along comes a Fr-rinchman, an' an Englishman, an' a Rooshan, an' a Dutchman, an' says wan iv them: 'This is a comfortable lookin' saloon,' he says. 'I'll take th' bar, ye take th' ice-box an' th' r-rest iv th' fixtures.' 'What f'r?' says I. 'I've paid th' rent an' th' license,' says I. 'Niver mind,' says he. 'We're th' riprisintatives iv Westhren Civilization,' he says, 'an' 'tis th' business iv Westhren Civilization to cut up th' belongings iv Easthren Civilization,' he says. 'Be off,' he says, 'or I'll pull ye'er hair,' he says. 'Well,' says I, 'this thing has gone far enough,' I says. 'I've heerd me good ol' cast-iron gods or josses abused,' I says, 'an' I've been packed full iv canned goods, an' th' Peking Lightnin' Express is r-runnin' sthraight through th' lot where th' bones iv me ancesthors lies,' I says. 'I've shtud it all,' I says, 'but whin ye come here to bounce me off iv me own primises,' I says, 'I'll have to take th' leg iv th' chair to ye,' I says. An' we're to th' flure.”
“That's th' way it stands in Chiny, Hinnissy, an' it looks to me as though Westhren Civilization was in f'r a bump. I mind wanst whin a dhrunk prize fighter come up th' r-road and wint to sleep on Slavin's steps. Some iv th' good sthrong la-ads happened along an' they were near bein' at blows over who shud have his watch an' who shud take his hat. While they were debatin' he woke up an' begin cuttin' loose with hands an' feet, an' whin he got through he made a collection iv th' things they dhropped in escapin' an' marched ca'mly down th' sthreet. Mebbe 'twill tur-rn out so in Chiny, Hinnissy. I see be th' pa-apers that they'se four hundherd millyons iv thim boys an' be hivins! 'twuddent surprise me if whin they got through batin' us at home, they might say to thimsilves: 'Well, here goes f'r a jaunt ar-roun' the wurruld.' Th' time may come, Hinnissey, whin ye'll be squirtin' wather over Hop Lee's shirt while a man named Chow Fung kicks down ye'er sign an' heaves rocks through ye'er windy. The time may come, Hinnissy. Who knows?”
“End ye'er blather,” said Mr. Hennessy. “They won't be anny Chinymen left whin Imp'ror Willum gets through.”
“Mebbe not,” says Mr. Dooley. “He's a sthrong man. But th' Chinymen have been on earth a long time, an' I don't see how we can push so manny iv thim off iv it. Annyhow, 'tis a good thing f'r us they ain't Christyans an' haven't larned properly to sight a gun.”
MINISTER WU
“Well, sir, me little Chinee frind Woo must be havin' th' time iv his life in Wash'nton these warm days,” said Mr. Dooley.
“Who's he?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
“He's th' Chinee ministher,” said Mr. Dooley, “an' his business is f'r to supply fresh hand-laundhried misinformation to the sicrety iv state. Th' sicrety iv state is settin' in his office feelin' blue because he's just heerd be a specyal corryspondint iv th' London Daily Pail at Sydney, Austhreelya, who had it fr'm a slatewriter in Duluth that an ar-rmy iv four hundherd an' eight thousan' millyon an' sivinty-five bloodthirsty Chinee, ar-rmed with flatirnes an' cryin', 'Bung Loo!' which means, Hinnissy, 'Kill th' foreign divvles, dhrive out th' missionries, an' set up in Chiny a gover'mint f'r the Chinee,' is marchin' on Vladivostook in Siberyia, not far fr'm Tinsin.”