Classic Kipling short stories, including THE CAPTIVE, THE BONDS OF DISCIPLINE, A SAHIBS' WAR, 'THEIR LAWFUL OCCASIONS'--PARTs I and II, THE COMPREHENSION OF PRIVATE COOPER, STEAM TACTICS, 'WIRELESS', THE ARMY OF A DREAM--PARTs I and II, 'THEY', MRS. BATHURST, and BELOW THE MILL DAM. According to Wikipedia: 'Joseph Rudyard Kipling (1865 - 1936) was an English author and poet. Born in Bombay, British India (now Mumbai), he is best known for his works The Jungle Book (1894) and Rikki-Tikki-Tavi (1902), his novel, Kim (1901); his poems, including Mandalay (1890), Gunga Din (1890), If- (1910); and his many short stories, including The Man Who Would Be King (1888). He is regarded as a major 'innovator in the art of the short story'; his children's books are enduring classics of children's literature; and his best works speak to a versatile and luminous narrative gift. Kipling was one of the most popular writers in English, in both prose and verse, in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.[2] The author Henry James said of him: 'Kipling strikes me personally as the most complete man of genius (as distinct from fine intelligence) that I have ever known.' In 1907, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, making him the first English language writer to receive the prize, and to date he remains its youngest recipient. Among other honours, he was sounded out for the British Poet Laureateship and on several occasions for a knighthood, all of which he declined.'
The wind went down with the sunset-- The fog came up with the tide, When the Witch of the North took an Egg-shell (bis) With a little Blue Devil inside. "Sink," she said,"or swim," she said, "It's all you will get from me. And that is the finish of him!" she said, And the Egg-shell went to sea.
The wind got up with the morning, And the fog blew off with the rain, When the Witch of the North saw the Egg-shell And the little Blue Devil again. "Did you swim?" she said."Did you sink?" she said, And the little Blue Devil replied: "For myself I swam, but I think," he said, "There's somebody sinking outside."
But for the small detail that I was a passenger and a civilian, and might not alter her course, torpedo-boat No. 267 was mine to me all that priceless day. Moorshed, after breakfast--frizzled ham and a devil that Pyecroft made out of sardines, anchovies, and French mustard smashed together with a spanner--showed me his few and simple navigating tools, and took an observation. Morgan, the signaller, let me hold the chamois leathers while he cleaned the searchlight (we seemed to be better equipped with electricity than most of our class), that lived under a bulbous umbrella-cover amidship. Then Pyecroft and Morgan, standing easy, talked together of the King's Service as reformers and revolutionists, so notably, that were I not engaged on this tale I would, for its conclusion, substitute theirs.
I would speak of Hinchcliffe--Henry Salt Hinchcliffe, first-class engine- room artificer, and genius in his line, who was prouder of having taken part in the Hat Crusade in his youth than of all his daring, his skill, and his nickel-steel nerve. I consorted with him for an hour in the packed and dancing engine-room, when Moorshed suggested"whacking her up" to eighteen knots, to see if she would stand it. The floor was ankle-deep in a creamy batter of oil and water; each moving part flicking more oil in zoetrope-circles, and the gauges invisible for their dizzy chattering on the chattering steel bulkhead. Leading stoker Grant, said to be a bigamist, an ox-eyed man smothered in hair, took me to the stokehold and planted me between a searing white furnace and some hell-hot iron plate for fifteen minutes, while I listened to the drone of fans and the worry of the
