Snooker Clarke, who keeps the snakes

Civil & Military Gazette (Lahore), Wednesday 14 March 1888

BREAD UPON THE WATERS.

(By R. K.)

There has been a good deal of discussion in the Helanthammi barracks lately. Chewser began it by flourishing round the canteen with a copy of the C. and M. in his hand and fire in his eye. Chewser is the best boxer in garrison, now that poor Mullane is doing his hundred and sixty-eight days for larking. The men weren’t anxious to cross him because he was in the habit of hitting out on slight provocation. Spightly was there too, and so was Snooker Clarke, who keeps the snakes. Chewser puffed about the canteen, breathing angrily through his nose, for at least five minutes. Then Spightly said: “Wot’s on!” Chewser waved the newspaper like a flag of battle, and answered: “Bobs is on.” “Then there’s something goin’ to come off,” said Snooker Clarke. “Which is it? Sik-kim or the bloomin’ “Paythans. Chuck us over that paper.” “Garn Ome,” said Chewser. “Tain’t neither one nor ‘t’other. Bobs sez I must keep sober.” “Faith, then, you’ve been movin’ in the best o’ society, that Bobs takes you walkin’ an’ tells you what to do.” Said the Canteen Sergeant, “You’ll be above mixin’ in ord’nary p’rades after this.” “Look at that,” retorted Chewser, sending the paper flying into the bar. Half a dozen heads bent over the journal, deeply scored by the thumb nail of the indignant Private Chewser. “Taen’t a row after all. Fancy Bob awastin’ of hisself on Te-emperance!” squeaked Snooker Clarke with deep scorn. “Spit it out, Spightly.” Spightly sat down on one of the tables and proceeded to read, slowly and deliberately, with immense importance. “S’elp me! Does he mean to do away with Canteen,” shouted Chewser. “Tea an’ eggs is it? Wad-shop! Garreen!” “Don’t int’rup the Honourable gentleman who ’as the ear of the ’Ouse,” said Spightly. “It’s too long to read, but Bobs sez Chewser is goin’ to be eddicated on tea—with plenty o’ sugar an’ milk; an’ Chewser isn’t to go hout on pass nerer no more because Chewser can’t be trusted not to make a beast o’ hisself.’’ “ Climb down out o’ that, Spi, or I’ll knock the face o’ you silly,” said Chewser “ I’ve read it myself a sight better than you could read it. Bobs don’t say that.” “Well he means it anyhow.” “He don’t,” retorted the contradictious Chewser filling his pipe. No dirty little snipe like you’s goin’ to tell me what Bobs is drivin’ at. It’s as clear as mud. We’s goin’ to have the Blue Lights in Canteen to teach us—our drill.” “Then I’m more than a little sorry for the Blue Lights” said Snooker Clarke. “Twas only the day before yesterday Cassidy told me I was layin’ up for myself treasures in the wrong place. Cassidy’s a Pet Bull Bison, or somethin’ fine in the Blue Light Lodge now. That’s what Cassidy is, an’ I remember him only last month whepped on the peg all but whistlin’ for being drunk as a hog trough.”

“Cassidy’s in D comp’ny,” said Chewser with dark significance, “an’ so t’wasn’t a comp’ny thing at all. What did you do? ” “Cussed him back.” “Bobs sez we mustn’t swear never no more,” murmured Spightly, who was still deep in the Meerut speech. “Was that all?” said Chewser.” ’Twasn’t enough—an’ him a Blue Light. I take shame for you, Snooker Clarke. Come outside with me, en’ well look into the matter as the Adjutant sez.”

Spightly followed the unwilling Snooker Clarke, and outside the Canteen was struck with a brilliant idea. “See here, Chewser! Don’t you tuck in. You’ll more than ar’f kill ’im. Get hold ar Cassidy an’ turn the two together. Bobs sez a Blue Light can lick our heads off. Let’s see.” Spightly had translated the Meerut speech with a freedom which His Excellency the Commander-in-Chief had never intended. “Are you willin’?” said Chewser grimly to Snooker Clarke. “Ye-es. It’s better nor bein’ belted by you any waeys. Wher’ll we have it out.” “Back o’ the cavalry rukh. Spi you go an’ get Cassidy and tell ‘im wot for.” Whatever the principles of the Blue Lights may be, fighting apparently is not prohibited, for Cassidy accepted the challenge with an avidity which Snooker Clarke considered absolutely un-Christian. The little procession wonded its w ay to the back of the cavalry rukh. “Strip,” said Chewser, “an’ mind you, only body-blows. Neither of you two is worth knockin’ the face of. O ne’s Canteen, and t’other’s Wad Office, and now go in all you know.”

Long and furious was the battle behind the Cavalry rukh, and deep the delight of Spightly, who, acting as referee and time-keeper, cheered the combatants by reading fragments from the Meerut speech. “Bob’s sez swearin’s a filthy habit. Cassidy’s knocked off swearin’ in reason. Smash his chest in, Snooker! Bobs sez a man who drinks ain’t fit to be a bloomin’ sweep. Cassidy an’t lushed for ten days. Smash him on the gullet plate, Snooker! ‘Struth! Wad Office ‘as won! Bote acchy wad-shop!

And, in truth, the unhappy Snooker was knocked clean out of tune— was hopelessly defeated.

“Wad-shop’s won,” echoed the burly (Chewser, and hauled up the defeated. “Now you remember, Snooker, from this day on, henceforward for ever a man, you’re a temperance advokit, an’ into the Blue Lights you goes if they’ll ave you. Will you ’ave ’im?” he ask Cassidy. “‘Ask the Master,” returned Cassidy putting on his coat, “His eye’s out with lush, ‘r else he’d a had me as near as winky more than once.” “Very good,” returned Chewser judicially. « N ow you’re a bloomin Blue Light, an’ you go an’ be a Pet Bull Bison or Fringed Aprin as soon as you can. An’ look here! If I ever catches any bloomin’ bad words, cornin’ out of your bloomin’ sacrifunged lips, I ’ll— I’ll— try— I’ll attend to you myself.” “It’s bl —it’s ruyther ’ard on a — on a man bein’ cut ‘is liquor ’cause o f a bl——blessed fight,” said Snooker Clarke mournfully. He had no thought of appeal­ in g from the decision of the bully of the company. “You’ll do it— that’s all I” said Chewser and the big man walked away— to the Canteen.

“Now you look ‘ere,” said Cassidy to his newly found convert—“I’ll tell you something.”

Snooker Clarke looked inexpressibly doleful. “Your body guard’s all right, but you ain’t got no eye, and you ain’t made up your mind before you let’s out, w here your fistes are goin’ to land. I’ll learn you that on the quiet, an’ if he”— he jerked his head towards the retreating form of C hew ser— “ sticks to canteen beer, as he’s stickin’ now ” in another month I’ll learn you h ow to hang him up an’ paste him agin a w all in little bits.” D ’you mean that?” Said Snooker, jubilantly. “I do.”

“Then I’ll be a Blue Light straight off, an’ I’ll put a head on Chewser wot his own towney wouldn’t know from a squashed tomata.”

A bout thirty days hence there will, in a ll probability, be another conversion in the ranks of the Tail-Twisters; and, when Chewser falls, Spightly is sure to come in.