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Boney was a warrior, John Francois! Boney whipped the Rooshians, Weigh! heigh! oh! Boney whipped the Prooshians, John Francois! Boney went to Elba, Weigh! heigh! oh!" etc. Bob's oars kept time with the song, and his portentous voice thundered out the refrain with an energy which shook the little skiff from stem to stern.
The crowd watching them, cheered and jeered: "Goin' it some, Antoine! Don't get left!" "Keep on your pins, you Dagos!" "Steady, Polacks there's the strap!" "Gee up, Johnny!" This to the motorman. "Gosh, it's like a soda bottle fizzin' to hear them Rooshians talkin'." "Hooray for you!"
He cried, with a great, roaring oath. "I'd have done it years ago if the Rooshians had been game to take it up. Skobeloff was the best of the bunch, but he's been snuffed out. However, that's neither here nor there. What I want to ask you is whether you've ever heard anything in this quarter of a man called Heatherstone, the same who used to be colonel of the 41st Bengalis?
Why, it stands to reason that the Rooshians, who've got their guns all stored close at hand, their soldiers and their sailors handy, and no trouble as to provisions and stores, can run up works and arm them just about three times as fast as we can; and where shall we be at the end of three months?
"The Rooshians were good fighters fought 'and to 'and with the butt of their muskets and if they 'ad 'ad good commanders the Japs would never have won," said an Englishman who had seen service in India. A railway man also told me of the debauchery and profligacy of the Russian officers, disreputable women travelling regularly with them to and fro, drunkenness being also common.
Wot are we fightin' for? Wot'd th' Belgiums hever do fer us? Wot? Wot'd th' Rooshians hever do fer us? Wot's th' good of th' Frenchies? Wot's th' good of hanybody but th' Henglish? Gawd lumme! I'm fed up." And yet this man had gone out at the beginning and would fight like the very devil, and I verily believe will be homesick for the trenches if he is alive when it is all over.
Well, when the news was brought us, this poor old worm lifts his fist up to the sun an' says, 'God do so to me an' more also, he says, 'if ever I falls across a Rooshian! An' 'God send me a Rooshian just one! he says, meanin' that Rooshians don't grow on brambles hereabouts. Now the boy was our only flesh.
That's why he's sexton to the church. 'Tis the only way he can get even with the chapel folk. He used to be in the Navy, and he lost his leg and got that hole in his head in a war with the Rooshians. You'll hear him talking big about the Rooshians sometimes. My father says anybody listening to old Steve Timbury would think he'd fought with the Devil, instead of a lot of poor leary Rooshians."
"My dear creature, my poor Emmy, don't be frightened. There's no danger. The allies will be in Paris in two months, I tell you; when I'll take you to dine in the Palais Royal, by Jove! There are three hundred thousand Rooshians, I tell you, now entering France by Mayence and the Rhine three hundred thousand under Wittgenstein and Barclay de Tolly, my poor love.
He wuz some kind o' a furriner, an' ef what you tell us 'bout him is true, Paul, as I reckon it is, it wuz his mind that led his men on to victory over the Rooshians an' the Prooshians an' the French an' the Dutch." "Over the Romans, Sol." "Ez I told you once, Paul, it makes no diff'unce. They're all furriners, an' all furriners are jest the same. Hannybul wuz the kind that wouldn't give up.