2.—THE DAG
Yes; ’Enessy was a dag if ever there was one! I remember the day ’e came into camp at Liverpool ’e was wearin’ ’is best Sunday grin, and when some bloke wot was in the mob yelled out “Marmalade,” ’e turns round and says to ’im: “Wot’s your complaint, mate?” The bloke ’e repeats “Marmalade.” And ’Enessy says: “Ah! That’s wot I thought it was. You’d better see a doctor, and ’ave it operated on right away, me man!”
’E could eat like a ’orse. Blime! The way ’e used ter stoke up on ther bread and jam was a treat for sore eyes. ’E always used ter ask to be put on the job of picket round the quartermaster’s store, and they never tumbled to ’is game for a long while. ’E used ter watch ’is chance, and every night would slip in and pinch a loaf of bread and a tin of jam, and as ’is job consisted of keeping the cook’s fire a-going all night, ’e always ’ad a cup of coffee ready when ’e wanted it. One night ’e nips into the store to git ’is usual bit of supper, and ’e bangs right into the bloke wot was just put in new at the Q.M. that day.
“Wot are you doin’ ’ere?” asks the bloke.
“Blime! I thought I ’ad a fair cop,” says ’Enessy, quick as lightning. “I ’eard someone moving about in ’ere, and thought it was a chap pinchin’ stuff.”
“And who are you?” says the bloke.
“Me! I’m the bloomin’ picket,” says ’Enessy.
“Oh! Alright, picket,” replies the bloke. “I sleep in here, so you needn’t worry about the store while I’m here.”
“Alright, mate!” says ’Enessy. “Can yer give us a bit of grub? Fair dinkum, I’m ’ungry!”
So ’e gets ’is grub after all, but ’e couldn’t come the double no more after that.
When ’e came over the water and first sees the Turkish trenches, ’e says: “Strike me pink! But where’s them Turks they talk about?”
Says I: “They’re right there behind them sandbags, old cock! And don’t you forget it, neither!”
“And don’t they come out and show themselves?” ’e asks.
“Wot for?” says I.
“Why, for us blokes to shoot at, of course!” ’e says.
One mornin’ early while we was standin’ to arms ’e lights up a bumper, so I tells ’im not to let the officer cop ’im or there’d be trouble. Just then along comes the bloomin’ officer, so ’Enessy sticks ’is lighted bumper down south into ’is overcoat pocket, and ’olds it there out of sight. The officer sniffs about a bit, then ’e asks ’Enessy: “Are you smoking?”
“No, sir!” says ’Enessy.
“Well, I can smell smoke!” says the officer. Then ’e looks pretty ’ard at ’Enessy and says: “What’s your name?”
“’Enessy, sir.”
“Well, Henessy, your pocket’s on fire!”
’Enessy looks, and hang me if that bloomin’ cigarette ’adn’t set fire to ’is coat pocket. But the officer only says: “Don’t do it again!” and whips off.
It was when we came out of the firin’-line for a week’s spell that ’Enessy met ’is Waterloo. ’E was detailed for guard down at the drinkin’ water, and ’e was to take all his nap and camp down there. The first night, when ’e was doin’ ’is shift ’e sees a dark shape movin’ along and challenged it three times, but never gets no answer. So ’e ups with ’is gun and lets fly. When the corporal rushes along to know what the blazes was the matter, ’Enessy ups and tells ’im, so they goes forward together pretty careful, and soon they sees a black heap lyin’ on the sand ahead of them. Gor blime! If ’Enessy ’adn’t gone and shot one of them poor little Indian donkeys which ’ad strayed along the beach. Well, ’e was chaffed pretty considerable by ’is cobbers,[9] and got fairly sick of hearin’ about it.
Next night when ’e was doin’ ’is shift again, ’e sees another black shape movin’ along the beach, so thinkin’ ’is cobbers were ’avin’ a joke with ’im, ’e picks up a big stick and goes forward with it. ’E ’ad gone about twenty yards, when suddenly there was a flash and a report, and ’Enessy drops down with a bullet through ’is chest. Strike me pink! A real Abdul ’ad come up this time, and it wasn’t no bloomin’ donkey, neither! ’Enessy was ’it pretty bad, but ’e grabs ’is rifle and lets fly, and one more bloomin’ Abdul ’ad gone to join ’is Prophet. Next day ’Enessy was taken away on a ’ospital ship, but that was near three months ago. I ’ear that the blighter is back on the beach now, and you will be able to see him yourself when ’e comes back to the squadron. But strike me! ’E’s a bloomin’ dag!
E. A. M. W.
“Remember that little grey mare of
Gumtree Flat....”