Part I Chapter 5 Doctor Dolittle and the Green Canary by Hugh Lofting
The Midget Mascot
'And thus I became a soldier—the Mascot of the Fusiliers. There are not many canaries who can boast of that—that they have travelled with the troops, taken part in battles and skirmishes and led a regular military life.'
'Well, I've led a sailor's life.' said Gub–Gub—'sailed all around the world, and without getting seasick, too.'
'Never mind that, now,' said the Doctor, 'Let Pippinella get on with her story.'
'Those soldiers,' the canary continued, 'had no love for the Marquis. They had been ordered to come to the rescue of his home and they had obeyed. But their hearts were more with the workers in this struggle. And I think they must have known that he was already dead when they arrived at the castle, or they would never have dared to take me just the way they did. As a matter of fact, he had been killed outside the next town. The Marchioness, who had always been so kind to the poor, of course was not molested. But the whole thing saddened her dreadfully and she went abroad immediately and remained there the rest of her days.
'My beautiful silver cage was sold by one of the soldiers (they were afraid to keep it, of course, lest it be recognized as the Marquis's property) and I was changed into a plain one of wood. That old sergeant with the funny scarred face took me under his own particular care and protection. He had my new wooden cage enamelled red, white and blue. The crest of the regiment was painted on the side and ribbons were hung on the corners to make it even still gayer.
'Well—it's funny—those men were convinced that I bore a charmed life. The story of how they found me singing in the burning castle was told over and over and over again. And each time it was retold an extra bit was added on to it to make it just a little more wonderful. I came to be regarded with an almost sacred importance. It was believed that nothing could kill me, and that so long as I was with the Fusiliers the regiment must have good luck. I remember once, when I was ill—just an ordinary case of colic, you know, nothing serious—those soldiers stood around my cage in droves for hours on end, with the most woebegone expression in their faces you ever saw. They were terrified, terrified that I was going to die. And when I finally got well and started to sing again they cheered and bellowed songs the whole night through to celebrate my recovery.
'Once in a skirmish two bullets went right through my cage, one smashing my water–pot, the other carrying away the very perch I was standing on. When the fight was over and this was discovered, my cage was handed round the whole regiment, to show everybody the proof (as they thought it) that I did indeed have a charmed life and could not be killed. Those funny, funny men spoke in whispers, almost as though they were in church, as they took my cage in their horny hands and gazed with reverent wonder at the smashed perch, the broken water–pot and me hoping around unharmed.
'That night they went through the ceremony of giving me a medal for distinguished conduct under fire. A whole platoon of them lined up and presented arms while my old sergeant hung the decoration on the corner of my cage. The next day the commanding officer got to hear of it and I was sent for and carried to the officer's mess, where everything was very grand and elegant. The colonel and the major and the adjutant listened while the old sergeant recited the record of my military career. But when they asked him where he had got me from he suddenly blushed and became all embarrassed. Finally he blurted out the truth and told them of my rescue from the fire. The colonel frowned and said something about looting. But finally he agreed to let the man keep me till he had written to the Marchioness and got her consent—which later she willingly gave. Then the adjutant pointed to the medal hanging on my cage and they all laughed. The major said that even if I'd begun by being stolen I was surely the only canary who ever had been decorated for distinguished conduct under fire and that any regiment ought to be proud to claim me as a mascot.
'Well, it was a funny life, the army. I had always thought that if you were a soldier of course you spent most of your time fighting. I was astonished to find that you don't. You spend the greater part of it polishing buttons. Polishing with the military is a perfect passion. If it isn't buttons, it's belt buckles or bayonets or gun barrels or shoes. Even on my cage they found something to polish. A small drummer boy was given the job of shining up the little brass feet on the bottom of it every morning—and a great nuisance he was shaking and joggling me all over the place when I wanted to get my breakfast in peace.
'I used to love the marching and I always had a real thrill when I heard the bugler blowing the fall–in, for it often meant that we were moving off to new scenes and new adventures. I used to travel with the baggage cart that carried the cooking implements and other paraphernalia in the rear. And as they always put my age on the top of everything I was quite high up and in a splendid position to see all there was to be seen.
'The men used to sing songs to cheer themselves upon long, tiresome marches. And I, too, made up a marching song of my own and sang it always when I saw them getting tired and hot and weary.
Oh, I'm the Midget Mascot, I'm a feathered Fusilier, it began. And then I put a lot of twiddly bits, trills, cadenzas and runs, to imitate the piping of the drum and fife band. It was one of the best musical compositions I ever did. There was a real military swing to it and it had four hundred and twenty–five verses, so as to last through a good, long march. The men loved it. And as I watched them trudging down the road ahead of me I again felt that I was taking an active part, even though a small one, in the lives of men.
'War at its best is a silly, stupid business. And this form of soldiering that my companions were engaged in was a particularly disagreeable one. For at this time they were not fighting with a foreign enemy. The machinery riots of which I have already spoken had spread all over that part of the country. And the Fusiliers, and several other regiments, too, were kept busy these days going from town to town to suppress lawlessness and the mob violence of striking workmen.
'Shortly after I joined the Fusiliers our regiment was ordered to proceed at once to an outbreak in a region to the North and we started off. At inns and villages along the road we were told that one of the factory towns at which we would shortly arrive was entirely in the hands of the rioting workers. They had heard of our coming and were preparing to give us a hot reception. But it was lucky for us that the town was not a walled or fortified one. Weak places were found where our soldiers could slip in among the houses. And immediately they had gained the streets, they doubled around and came back upon the gunners unawares from the inside. In less than an hour after the fight began more than half of the guns had been captured in this way, and the rest were still shooting cannon balls harmlessly across the fields at cows and dogs and bushes which they mistook for skirmishing infantry in the distance. The crews of these captured guns usually escaped. For the soldiers, who were doing their work with as little slaughter as possible, let them go without firing at them whenever they did not actually stand and fight.
'When the battle was over it was discovered that nearly all the fighting workmen had retired to a big mine in the western half of the town. In the buildings of this and in a large factory alongside it they were going to make a last stand against the soldiers and die rather than be captured. But it didn't work out that way. When my Fusiliers were ordered to fire on the buildings they deliberately aimed the guns so that the cannon balls whistled harmlessly over the roofs. Again and again this was repeated until the general was livid with rage.
'By this time the workers inside the buildings, watching through loop–holes, had realized that the soldier were inclined to side with them. And while the general broke out into another tirade and confusion reigned, they suddenly opened the doors of the buildings and rushed forward towards the square at top speed.
'Well, in the end my gallant Fusiliers were defeated by a crowd of ragged workmen, half of them without arms of any kind. But of course they wanted to be defeated. Rather than be compelled to fire canons on unfortified buildings full of their fellow countrymen they were quite willing for once in their lives to be taken prisoners. I heard afterwards that they were sent abroad to more regular warlike fighting, where there would be no danger of their sympathizing with the enemy.
'In the meantime the baggage wagon on which my cage was tied was treated as the booty of war. And I suddenly found myself taken over by a couple of very dirty men and trundled out of the square, down some winding streets that seemed to be leading into the workmen's quarters of the town.
'My short but brilliant military career was over.'
As Pippinella came to the end of this part of her story Dab–Dab began to bustle around busily making preparations for bed. Although she enjoyed every word of the canary's account of her life, Dab–Dab was the practical one. She had to keep an eye on the Doctor and his family else they would sit up the whole night.
'Time for bed!' she said firmly. 'Tomorrow's another day—and a busy one.'
Then the Doctor and his family began tucking themselves away for the night. Too–Too perched high on a shelf in a dark corner of the caravan, Whitey curled up in the pocket of an old jacket which belonged to the Doctor, and Jip lay on a mat folded under the Doctor's bed.
Pippinella, of course, returned to her cage which hung on a hook near the window of the wagon; and Dab–Dab, after seeing that everyone was comfortable and that the lights were out, waddled off to a small nest–like bed the Doctor had made out of an empty wooden crate.
'I'm hungry!' wailed Gub–Gub from his place beside the vegetable bin. 'These turnips smell so good it keeps me awake.'
'Sh–sh–sh!' whispered Dab–Dab. 'There'll be no eating here until morning!'