November 28, 2005

Empire Night

Via Martini Boy, here is a great military analysis of the Battle of Rorke's Drift.

It just so happens that I am currently re-reading Victor Hanson's Carnage and Culture and have started in on his chapter analyzing this particular battle. In the book is a photograph of some of the members of B Company of the 24th Regiment, Her Majesty's forces that took part in the battle. For those of you, like me, who are fans of the movie Zulu, I have to report that, although the movie actually is very good in portraying the general facts of this battle, the truth is that the real Lieutenant Bromhead looked absolutely nothing like Michael Caine. For one thing, the man had a full, dark beard.

And speaking of movies, TCM ran off Gunga Din tonight. I have to admit that, even though it is a Cary Grant flick, I just have never been able to get into it. For one thing, there are hi-larious continuity problems, like the fact that the rescuing sergeants ride off to the Golden Temple with very obviously empty bandoliers. For another, I simply cannot disassociate Victor McLaglen with John Wayne cavalry movies. I keep expecting the Duke to ride up and point out where the Comanche are hiding in the hills.

Nonetheless, the film put me in mind of the famous poem. Do you like Kipling? What's that? You've never Kipled? Then drop below the fold:

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 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was "Din! Din! Din!
You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippery hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din."

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a piece o' twisty rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it
Or I'll marrow 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' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire",
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-files shout,
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I shan't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' he plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green:
It was crawlin' and it stunk,
But 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;
'E's chawin' up the ground,
An' 'e's kickin' 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 before 'e died,
"I 'ope you liked your drink", sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
At the place where 'e is gone --
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll 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, Gunga Din!

Posted by Robert at November 28, 2005 10:53 PM | TrackBack

But not so much a better man that he escapes Hell, mind you. The savage. :-)

Posted by: The Colossus at November 29, 2005 09:02 AM

Whenever I happen to surf onto Zulu on TV the surfing stops.

Another book you might want to check is The Washing of the Spears; The Rise and Fall of the Zulu Nation by Donald R. Morris. It, too, has a detailed account of Rorke's Drift.

Posted by: Paul Phillips at November 29, 2005 04:52 PM