Plain Tales From the Hills 1886 1887 Soldiers Three - Forgotten Books

THE WITTIEST WOMAN IN INDIA

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK

CONTENTS

Three and an Extra

Miss Youghal’

s SaisYoked with an UnbelieverFalse DawnThe Rescue of PlumesCupid

’

s ArrowsThe Three MusketeersH is Chance in LifeWatchers of the NightThe Other ManConsequencesThe Conversion of AurelianMcGogginThe Taking of LungtungpenA Germ DestroyerKidnappedThe Arrest of Lieutenant Golightly .

In the House of SuddhooH is Wedded WifeThe Broken-link HandicapBeyond the PaleIn ErrorA Bank FraudTods’

AmendmentThe Daughter of the Regiment

PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS

In the Pride of his YouthPigThe Rout of the White HussarsThe B ronckhorst Divorce-CaseVenus AnnodominiThe Bisara of PooreeA Friend’s Friend .

The Gate of the HundredSorrowsThe Madness of Private OrtherisThe Story of Muhammad DinOn the Strength of a LikenessWressley of the Foreign OfficeByWord of MouthTo be Filed for Reference


LISPETH

Look, you have cast out Love ! What Gods are theseYou bid me please?

The Three in One, the One in Three? Not so !To my own gods I go.

It may be they shall give me greater easeThan your cold Christ and tangled Tri nities .

‘The Convert . ’

HE was the daughter of Sonoo, a Hill-man of theHimalayas, and Jadeh his wife . One year, theirmaize failed, and two bears spent the night in their

only opium poppy-field just above the Sutlej Valley onthe Kotgarh side ; so, next season, they turned Christian,and brought their baby to the Mission to be baptized .

The Kotgarh Chaplain chr istened her Elizabeth, andLispeth is the Hill or pahari pronunciation .

Later, cholera came into the Kotgarh Valley andcarried ofi

’Sonoo and Jadeh, and LiSpeth became half

servant, half companion, to the wife of the then Chaplain of Kotgarh . This was after the reign of the Moravian missionaries in that place, but before Kotgarh hadquite forgotten hertitleof ‘Mistress of theNorthernHills . ’

Whether Christianity improved Lispeth, or whetherthe gods of her own people would have done asmuch forher under any circumstances, I do not know ; but she

grew very lovely. When a Hill-girl grows lovely, she is3


worth travelling fifty miles over bad ground to look upon .

Lispeth had a Greek face one of those faces peoplepaint so often, and see so seldom . She was of a pale,ivory colour, and, for her race, extremely tall . Also,she possessed eyes that were wonderful ; and, had she

not been dressed in the abominable print-cloths affectedby Missions, you would, meeting her on the hillside unexpectedly, have thought her the original Diana of theRomans going out to slay .

Lispeth took to Christianity readily, and did not abandon it when she reached womanhood, as do some Hillgirls . Her own people hated her because she had,they said, become a white woman and washed herselfdaily ; and the Chaplain

’s wife did not know what to dowith her. One cannot ask a stately goddess, five feetten in her shoes, to clean plates and dishes . She playedwith the Chaplain ’s children and took classes in theSunday School, and read all the books in the house, andgrew more and more beautiful, like the Princesses infairy tales . The Chaplain

’s wife said that the girlought to take service in Simla as a nurse or something‘genteel . ’ But Lispeth did not want to take service .

She was very happy where shewas.

When travellers there were not many in thoseyear s cam e in to Kotgarh, LiSpeth used to lock herself into her own room for fear they might take her awayto Simla, or out into the unknown world .

One day,a few months after she was seventeen years

old, Lispeth went out for a walk . She did not walk inthe manner of English ladies a mile and a half out,with a carriage-ride back again . She covered betweentwenty and thirty miles in her little constitutionals, allabout and about, between Kotgarh and Narkanda .

4

L ISPE TH

This time she came back at full dusk, stepping down thebreak-neck descent into Kotgarh with something heavyin her arms . The Chaplain ’s wife was dozing in thedrawing-room when Lispeth came in breathing heavilyand very exhausted with her burden . Lispeth put itdown on the sofa, and said simply,

‘This is my husband .

I found him on the Bagi Road . He has hur t himself.We will nurse him, and when he is well your husbandshall marry him to me .

’

This was the first mention Lispeth had ever made ofher matrim onial views, and the Chaplain

’

s wife shriekedwith horror. However, the man on the sofa neededattention first. He was a young Englishman, and hishead had been cut to the bone by something jagged .

Lispeth said she had found him down the hillside, andhad brought him in . Hewas breathing queerly and wasunconscious .He was put to bed and tended by the Chaplain, who

knew something of medicine, and Lispeth waited outside the door in case she could be useful . She explainedto the Chaplain that this was the man she meant tomany , and the Chaplain and his wife lectured herseverely on the impropriety of her conduct . Lispeth

listened quietly, and repeated her first proposition . Ittakes a great deal of Christianity to wipe out uncivilisedEastern instincts, such as falling in love at first sight .Lispeth, having found the man she worshipped, did notseewhy she should keep silent as to her choice . She hadno intention of being sent away, either. She was goingto nurse that Englishman until he was well enough tomarry her . This was her programme .

After a fortnight of slight fever and inflammation, theEnglishman recovered coherence and thanked the Chap

5


lain and his wife, and Lispeth especially Lispethfor their kindness . He was a traveller in the East, hesaid they never talked about ‘globe-trotters in thosedays, when the P . O . fleet was young and smalland had come from Dehra Dun to hunt for plants andbutterflies am ong the Simla hills . No one at Simla,therefore, knew anything about him . He fancied thathe must have fallen over the cliff while reaching out fora fern on a rotten tree-trunk, and that his coolies musthave stolen his baggage and fled . He thought hewould go back to Simla, when he was a little stronger.He desired no more mountaineering.

He made small haste to go away, and recovered hisstrength slowly . Lispeth objected to being advisedeither by the Chaplain or his wife ; therefore the latterspoke to the Englishman, and told him how mattersstood in Lispeth

’

s heart . He laughed a good deal, andsaid it was very pretty and romantic, but, as he wasengaged to a girl at Home, he fancied that nothingwould happen . Certainly he would behave with discretion . He did that . Still, he found it very pleasantto talk to Lispeth, and walk with LiSpeth, and say nicethings to her, and call her pet names while he was getting strong enough to go away. It meant nothing at allto him , and everything in the world to Lispeth. Shewas very happy while the fortnight lasted, because shehad found a man to love .

Being a savage by birth she took no trouble to hideher feelings, and the E nghshman was am used . Whenhe went away, Lispeth walked with him up the Hill asfar as Narkanda, very troubled and very miserable .The Chaplain’s wife, being a good Christian and disliking anything in the shape of fuss or scandal Lis

6

p eth was beyond her management entirely had toldthe Englishman to tell Lispeth that hewas coming backto marry her. ‘She is but a child, you know,

and,I

f ear, at heart a heathen,’ said the Chaplain’s wif e . So

all the twelve miles up the Hill the Englishman, withhis arm round Lispeth

’

s waist, was assuring the girl thathe would come back and marry her ; and Lispeth madehim promise over and over again . She wept on theN arkanda Ridge till he had passed out of sight alongthe Muttiani path .

Then she dried her tears and went in to Kotgarhagain, and said to the Chaplain

’

s wife,‘He will come

back and marry me . He has gone to his own people totell them so.

’ And the Chaplain’s wife soothed Lispethand said,

‘

He will come back.

’ At the end of twomonths Lispeth grew impatient, and was told that theEnglishman had gone over the seas to England . Sheknew where England was, because she had read littlegeography primers ; but, of course, she had no conception of the nature of the sea, being a Hill-girl . Therewas an old puzzle-map of the World in the house .Lispeth had played with it when she was a child . Sheunearthed it again, and put it together of evenings, andcried to herself, and tried to imagine where her Englishman was. As she had no ideas of distance or steamboats her notions were somewhat wild . It would nothave made the least difference had she been perfectlycorrect, for the Englishman had no intention of comingback to marry a Hill-girl . He forgot all about her bythe time he was butterfly-hunting in Assam . He wrotea book on the East afterwards. Lispeth

’

s name did notappear there .At the end of three months Lispeth made daily pil

7


grimage to Narkanda to see if her Englishman was coming along the road . It gave her comfort, and the

Chaplain ’

s wife finding her happier thought that shewas getting over her barbarous and most indelicatefolly .

’

A little later the walks ceased to help Lispeth,

and her temper grew very bad . The Chaplain’s wifethought this a profitable time to let her know the realstate of affairs that the Englishman had only promised his love to keep her quiet that he had nevermeant anything, and that it was wrong and improper ofLispeth to think of marriage with an Englishman, whowas of a superior clay, besides being promised in marriage to a girl of his own people . Lispeth said that

all this was clearly impossible because he had said heloved her, and the Chaplain

’

s wife had, with her ownlips

,asserted that the Englishman was com ing back.

‘How can what he and you said he untrue? ’ asked

Lispeth.

‘We said it as an excuse to keep you quiet, child,’

saidthe Chaplain’s wife .

‘Then you have lied to me, said Lispeth,

‘

you and

he?’

The Chaplain’s wife bowed her head, and said noth

ing. Lispeth was silent too for a little time ; then

she went out down the valley, and returned in the dress

of a H ill-girl infamously dirty, but without the nosestud and ear-rings . She had her hair braided into thelong pigtail

,helped out with black thread, that Hill

women wear.‘ I am going back to my own people,

’

said she.

‘

Youhave killed Lispeth. There is only left old Jadeh

’

s

daughter the daughter of a pahari and the servant ofTarka Devi . You are all liars, you English .

’

8

LISPE TH

By the time that the Chaplain’s wife had recoveredfrom the shock of the announcement that Lispeth had’verted to her mother

’s gods the girl had gone ; and shenever came back.

She took to her own unclean people savagely, as if tom ake up the arrears of the life she had stepped out of ;and, in a little time, she married a woodcutterwho beather after the manner of pahar is, and her beauty fadedsoon .

‘There is no law whereby you can account for thevagaries of the heathen,

’ said the Chaplain’s wife,‘

and

I believe that Lispeth was always at heart an infidel .’

Seeing she had been taken into the Church of Englandat the mature age of five weeks, this statement does notdo credit to the Chaplain

’

s wife .

Lispeth was a very old woman when she died . Shehad always a perfect command of English, and whenshe was sufficiently drunk could sometimes be inducedto tell the story of her first love-affair.Itwas hard then to realise that the bleared, wrinkled

creature, exactly like a wisp of charred rag, could everhave been Lispeth of the Kotgarh Mission .

’

THREE AND AN E! TRA

When halter and heel-ropes are slipped, do not givechase with sticks but with gram . Punjabi Proverb .

FTER marriage arrives a reaction, sometimes abig, sometimes a little one ; but, it comes sooneror later, and must be tided over by both parties

if they desire the rest of their lives to go with the current .In the case of the Cusack—B remmils this reaction did

not set in till the third year after the wedding . Bremm il was hard to hold at the best of times ; but he was abeautiful husband until the baby died and Mr s.

B remm il Wore black, and grew thin, and mourned as

though the bottom of the Universe had fallen out.Perhaps B remmil ought to have comforted her. Hetried to do so, but the more he comforted the more Mrs.

B remmil grieved, and, consequently, the more uncomfortable grew B remm il . The fact was that they bothneeded a tonic . And they got it. Mrs. B remm il canafford to laugh now, but it was no laughing matter toher at the time.Mr s. Hauksbee appeared on the horizon ; and where

she existed was fair chance of trouble . At Simla her byname was the Stormy Petrel . ’ She had won that titlefive times to myown certain knowledge. Shewas a little,brown , thin, almost skinny, woman, with big, rollingviolet-blue eyes, and the sweetest manners in theworld.

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PLAIN TALE S FROM THE HILLS‘ I can’t go,

’ saidMrs. B remm il,‘ it is too soon after poor

little Florrie but it need not stop you, Tom .

’

She meant what she said then, and B remm il said thathe would go just to put in an appearance . Here hespoke the thing whichwas not ; and Mrs. B remmil knewit . She guessed a woman ’s guess is much more accurate than a man’s certainty that he had meant to gofrom the first, and with Mrs . Hauksbee. She sat downto think, and the outcome of her thoughts was that thememory of a dead child was worth considerably lessthan the affections of a living husband . She made herplan and staked her all upon it . In that hour she discovered that she knew Tom B remmil thoroughly, andthis knowledge she acted on .

‘Tom,

’ said she,‘ I shall be dining out at the Long

mores’ on the evening of the 26th. You’d better dineat the Club .

’

This saved B remmil from making an excuse to getaway and dine with Mrs . H auksbee, so he was grateful,and felt small and mean at the sam e time which waswholesome . B remm il left the house at five for a ride .About half-past five in the evening a large leathercovered basket cam e in from Phelps’

8 for Mrs . B remmil.

She was a woman who knew how to dress , and she hadnot spent a week on designing that dress and having itgored, and hemmed, and herring-boned, and tucked andrucked (or whatever the terms are) , for nothing . Itwas a gorgeous dress slight mourning . I can’tdescribe it , but it was what

‘The Queen ’ calls ‘ a creation a thing that hit you straight between the eyesand made you gasp . She had not much heart forwhatshe was going to do ; but as she glanced at the longmirror she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had

1 2

THREE AND—AN E! TRA

never looked sowell in her life. Shewas a large blondeand, when she chose , carried herself superbly.

After the dinner at the Longmores’ she went on to the

dance a little late and encountered B remmil withMrs. Hauksbee on his arm . That made her flush, andas the men crowded round her for dances she lookedmagnificent . She filled up all her dances except three,and those she left blank . Mrs. Hauksbee caught hereye once ; and she knew it was war real war be

tween them . She started handicapped in the struggle,for she had ordered B remm il about just theleast littlebit in the world too much, and he was beginning toresent it. Moreover, he had never seen his wife look solovely . He stared at her from doorways, and glared ather from passages as she went about with her partners ;and the more he stared, the more taken was be. Hecould scarcely believe that this was the woman with thered eyes and the black stuff gown who used to weep overthe eggs at breakfast .Mrs. H auksbee did her best to hold him in play, but,

after two dances, he crossed over to his wife and askedfor a dance .

‘

I’

m afraid you’ve come too late, Mister B remm il,’

she said, with her eyes twinkling .

Then he begged her to give him a dance, and, as agreat favour, she allowed him the fifth waltz. LuckilyFive stood vacant on his programme . They danced ittogether, and there was a little flutter round the room .

B remmil had a sort of a notion that hiswife could dance,but he never knew she danced so divinely . At the endof that waltz he asked for another as a favour, not asa right ; and Mrs . B remmil said,

‘ Show me your programm e, dear I He showed it as a naughty little

1 3


schoolboy hands up contraband sweets to a master.There was a fair sprinkling of ‘

H’

s’ on it, besides

‘H ’ atsupper. Mrs . B remmil said nothing, but she smiledcontemptuously, ran her pencil through Seven and Ninetwo ‘

H’

s’ and returned the card with her own

nam e written above a pet name that only she andher husband used . Then she shook her finger at him ,

and said laughing,‘Oh, you silly, silly boy l

’

Mrs. H auksbee heard that, and she owned as muchfelt she had the worst of it. B remmil accepted Seven

and Nine gratefully . They danced Seven, and sat outNine in one of the little tents . What B remm il said andwhat Mrs . B remm il did is no concern of any one .When the band struck up ‘

The Roast Beef of OldEngland,

’ the two went out into the verandah, andB remmil began looking for his wife

’s dandy (this wasbefore ’rickshaw days) while she went into the cloakroom . Mrs. H auksbee came up and said,

‘You take mein to supper, I think, Mr. B remmil?

’

B remmil turnedred and looked foolish : ‘Ah-h’

m l I ’m going home withmy wife,Mrs. H auksbee. I think there has been a littlem istake . ’ Being a man, he spoke as thoughMrs . Hauks

bee were entirely responsible .Mrs . B remm il cam e out of the cloak-room in a

Swan’s-down cloak with a white‘ cloud round her head .

She looked radiant ; and she had a right to .

The couple went off into the darkness together, Bremmil riding very close to the dandy .

Then said Mrs. H auksbee to me she looked a triflefaded and jaded in the lamplight ‘Take my word forit, the silliest woman can manage a clever man ; but itneeds a very clever woman to manage a fool . ’

Then we went in to supper.1 4

THROWN AWAY

And some are sulky, while some will plunge.

[So ho l Steady ! Stand still, you I!Some you must gentle, and some you must lunge .

[There ! There ! Who wants to kill you?!Some there are losses in every tradeWill break their hearts ere bitted and made,Will fight like fiends as the rope cuts hard,And die dumb-mad in the breaking-yard .

‘

Toolungala Stockyard Chorus .’

0 rear a boy under what parents call the sheltered life system’ is, if the boy must go into theworld and fend for himself, not wise . Unless he

be one in a thousand he has certainly to pass throughmany unnecessary troubles ; and may, possibly, cometo extreme grief sirnply from ignorance of the properproportions of things .Let a puppy eat the soap in the bath-room or chew a

newly-blacked boot. He chews and chuckles until, byand by, he finds out that blacking and Old BrownWindsor make him very sick ; so he argues that soap andboots are not wholesome . Any old dog about the housewill soon show him the unwisdom of biting big dogs’

ears . Being young, he remembers and goes abroad, atsix months, a well-mannered little beast with a chastened appetite. If he had been kept away from boots,

1 5


and soap, and big dogs till he came to the trinity fullgrown and with developed teeth, consider how fearfullysick and thrashed he would be ! Apply that notion tothe ‘ sheltered life,

’ and see how it works . It does notsound pretty, but it is the better of two evils .There was a Boy once who had been brought upunder the sheltered life theory ; and the theory killedhim dead . He stayed with his people all his days, fromthe hour he was born till the hour he went into Sandhurst near ly at the top of the list . He was beautifullytaught in all that wins marks by a private tutor, andcarried the extra weight of never having given hisparents an hour ’s anxiety in his life . ’ What he learntat Sandhurst beyond the regular routine is of no greatconsequence . He looked about him, and he found soapand blacking, so to speak, very good . He ate a little,and came out of Sandhurst not so high as he went in .

Then there was an interval and a scene with his people,who expected much from him . Next a year of livingunspotted from the world in a third-rate depot battalionwhere all the juniors were children and all the seniorsold women ; and lastly, he cam e out to India, where hewas cut off from the support of his parents, and had noone to fall back on in tim e of trouble except himself.Now India is a place beyond all others where onemust not take things too seri ously the mid-day sun

always excepted . Too much work and too muchenergy kill a man just as effectively as too much assorted vice or too much drink . Flirtation does notmatter, because every one is being transferred, andeither you or she leave the Station and never return .

Good work does not matter, because a man is judged byhis worst output, and another man takes all the credit

1 6

THROWN AWAY

of his best as a rule . Bad work does not matter, because other men do worse, and incompetents hang onlonger in India than anywhere else . Amusements donot matter, because you must repeat them as soon asyou have accomplished them once, and most am usements only mean trying to win another person’s money .

Sickness does not matter, because it’s all in the day’s

work, and if you die, another man takes over your placeand your office in the eight hours between death andburial . Nothing matters except Home-furlough and

acting allowances, and these only because they arescarce . It is a slack country, where all men work withimperfect instruments ; and the wisest thing is to escapeas soon as ever you can to some place where am usementis amusement and a reputation worth the having.

But this Boy the tale is as old as the Hills cam eout, and took all things seriously . He was pretty andwas petted . He took the pettings seriously, andfretted over women not worth saddling a pony to callupon . He found his new free life in India very good .

It does look attractive in the beginning, from a subaltem ’s point of view all ponies, partners, dancing,and so on . He tasted it as the puppy tastes the soap .

Only he came late to the eating . with a grown set ofteeth. He had no sense of balance just like thepuppy and could not understand why he was nottreated with the consideration he received under hisfather’s roof. This hurt his feelings.He quarrelled with other boys and, being sensitive

to the marrow, remembered these quarrels, and theyexcited him . He found whist, and gymkhanas, andthings of that kind (meant to amuse one after office)good ; but he took them seriously, too, just as seriously

1 7


as he took the ‘head that followed after drink . He

lost his money over whist and gymkhanas because theywere new to him .

He took his losses seriously, and wasted as muchenergy and interest over a two-goldmohur race formaiden ekka-ponies with their manes bogged, as if ithad been the Derby . One-half of this came from in

experience much as the puppy squabbles with thecom er of the hearthrug and the other half from thedizziness bred by stumbling out of his quiet life intothe glare and excitement of a livelier one. No one toldhim about the soap and the blacking, because an average man takes it for granted that an average man isordinarily careful in regard to them . It was pitiful towatch The Boy knocking himself to pieces, as an overhandled colt falls down and cuts himself when he getsaway from the groom .

Thi s unbridled license in am usements not worth thetrouble of breaking line for, much less rioting over,endured for six months all through one cold weatherand then we thought that the heat and the knowl

edge of having lost his money and health and lamed hishorses would sober The Boy down, and he would standsteady . In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred thiswould have happened . You can see the principle working in any Indian Station . But this particular casefell through because The Boy was sensitive and tookthings seriously as I may have said some seven timesbefore . Of course, we could not tell how his excessesstruck him personally. They were nothing very heartbreaking or above the average . He might be crippledfor life financially, and want a little nursing. Still thememory of his performances would wither away in one

1 8



I said,‘Nonsense, Major !

’

for I sawwhat was in his

He said,‘Nonsense or no nonsense, I

’m going to theCanal now at once . I don’t feel easy .

’

Then he thought for a m inute, and said, Can youlie? ’

‘

You know best,’ I answered .

‘

I t’

s my profession .

’

‘Very well,’ said the Major,

‘

you must come outwithme now at once in an ekka to the Canal to shootblack-buck . Go and put on shikar-kit quick and

drive here with a gun.

’

The Major was a masterful man , and I knew that hewould not give orders for nothing . So I obeyed, andon return found the Major packed up in an ekka guncases and food slung below all ready for a shootingtrip .

He dismissed the driver and drove himself. Wejogged along quietly while in the station ; but, as soon aswe got to the dusty road across the plains, he made thatpony fly . A country-bred can do nearly anything at apinch . We covered the thirty miles in under threehours, but the poor brute was nearly dead .

Once I said,‘What’s the blazing hurry, Major?

’

He said quietly,‘The Boy has been alone, by himself

for one, two, five, fourteen hours now ! I tell youI don’t feel easy.

’

This uneasiness spread itself to me, and I helped tobeat the pony .

When we came to the Canal Engineer’s Rest House

the Major called for The Boy’s servant ; but there was

no answer. Then we went up to the house, calling forThe Boy by name ; but there was no answer.Oh, he

’

s out shooting,’ said I .20

THROWN AWAY

Just then I saw through one of the windows a littlehurricane-lamp burning. This was at four in the afternoon . We both stopped dead in the verandah, holdingour breath to catch every sound ; and we heard, insidethe room, the

‘ brr brr brr ’ of a multitude of flies .The Major said nothing, but he took off his helmet andwe entered very softly .

The Boywas dead on the bed in the centre of the barelime-washed room . He had shot his head nearly topieces with his revolver. The gun-cases were stillstrapped, sowas the bedding, and on the table lay TheB oy’s writing-case with photographs . He had goneaway to die like a poisoned rat !The Major said to himself softly, Poor Boy ! Poor,

poor devil !’ Then he turned away from the bed and

said ,‘ I want your help in this business . ’

Knowing The Boy was dead by his own hand, I sawexactly what that help would be, so I passed over to thetable, took a chair, lit a cheroot, and began to gothrough the writing-case ; the Major looking over myshoulder and repeating to himself, We came too late !Like a rat in a hole ! Poor, poor devil !

’

The Boy must have spent half the night in writingto his people, to his Colonel, and to a girl at Home ; andas soon as he had finished, must have shot himself, forhe had been dead a long time when we came in .

I read all that he had written, and passed over eachsheet to the Major as I finished it .We saw from his accounts how very seriously he had

taken everything. He wrote about disgrace which hewas unable to bear indelible sham e criminalfolly ’ ‘wasted life,

’ and so on ; besides a lot of privatethings to his father and mother much too sacred to put

21


into print. The letter to the girl at Homewas the mostpitiful of all, and I choked as I read it . The Majormade no attempt to keep dry-eyed . I respected himfor that. He read and rocked himself to and fro, andsimply cried like a woman without caring to hide it.The letters were so dreary and hopeless and touching.

We forgot all about The Boy’s follies, and only thoughtof the poor Thing on the bed and the scrawled sheets inour hands . It was utterly ilnpossible to let the letters

go Home. They would have broken his father’s heartand killed his mother after killing her belief in her son .

At last the Maj or dried his eyes Openly, and said,‘Nice sort of thing to spring on an English fam ily !What shall we do? ’

I said, knowing what the Major had brought me outfor,

‘The Boy died of cholera . We were with him atthe time . We can’t comm it ourselves to half-measures .Come along .

’

Then began one of the most grimly comic scenes Ihave ever taken part in the concoction of a big,written lie, bolstered with evidence, to soothe The Boy

’

speople at Home . I began the rough draft of the letter,the Major throwing in hints here and ! there while hegathered up all the stuff that The B oy had written andburnt it in the fireplace . It was a hot, still eveningwhen we began, and the lamp burned very badly. Indue course I made the draft to my satisfaction, settingforth how The Boy was the pattern of all virtues, beloved by his regiment, with every promise of a greatcareer before him, and so on ; howwe had helped himthrough the sickness itwas no time for little lies, youwill understand and how he had died without pain .

I choked while I was putting down these things and22

THROWN AWAY

thinking of the poor people who would read them .

Then I laughed at the grotesqueness of the affair, andthe laughter mixed itself up with the choke and theMajor said that we both wanted dri nks.

I am afraid to say how much whisky we drank beforethe letter was finished . It had not the least effect onus. Then we took off The Boy

’s watch, locket, andrings .Lastly, the Major said,

‘We must send a lock of hairtoo . A woman values that .

’

But there were reasons why we could not find a lock fitto send . The Boywas black-haired, and sowas the Major, luckily. I cut off a piece of the Major’s hair above thetemple with a knife, and put it into the packet we weremaking . The laughing-fit and the chokes got hold of meagain, and I had to stop . The Majorwas nearly as badand we both knew that the worst part of the work was tocome .

We sealed up the packet, photographs, locket, seals,r ing, letter, and lock of hair with The Boy

’s sealing-waxand The Boy

’s seal.Then the Major said,

‘For God’s sake let’s get outside away from the room and think ! ’

We went outside, and walked on the banks of theCanal for an hour, eating and drinking what we hadwith us, until the moon rose. I know now exactly howa murderer feels . Finally, we forced ourselves back tothe room with the lamp and the Other Thing in it, andbegan to take up the next piece of work. I am not

going to write about this. It was too horrible . Weburned the bedstead and dropped the ashes into theCanal ; we took up the matting of the room and treatedthat in the same way . I went off to a village and bor

23


rowed two big hoes, I did not want the villagers tohelp, while the Major arranged the other matters .It took us four hours’ hard work to make the grave .As we worked, we argued out whether itwas right to sayas much as we remembered of the Burial of the Dead .

We compromised things by saying the Lord ’s Prayerwith a private unofficial prayer for the peace of the soulof The Boy . Then we filled in the grave and went intothe verandah not the house to lie down to sleep .

We were dead-tired .

When we woke the Major said wearily,‘We can’t go

back till to-morrow . We must give him a decent time todie in . He died early this morning, remember. Thatseems more natural . ’ So theMajor must have been lying awake all the time, thinking.

I said,‘Then why didn’t we bring the body back to

cantonments?The Major thought for a minute . ‘Because the people bolted when they heard of the cholera. And theekka has gone !

’

That was strictly true . We had forgotten all aboutthe ekka-pony, and he had gone home .

So we were left there alone, all that stifling day, in theCanal Rest House, testing and re-testing our story ofThe Boy’s death to see if it was weak in any point . Anative appeared in the afternoon, but we said that aSahib was dead of cholera, and he ran away . As thedusk gathered

, the Major told me all his fears aboutThe B oy,

and awful stories of suicide or nearly-carriedout suicide tales that made one

’

s hair crisp . He saidthat he himself had once gone into the same Valley of

the Shadow as The B oy, when hewas young and new tothe country ; so he understood how things fought to

24

THROWN AWAY

gether in The Boy’s poor jumbled head . He also said

that youngsters, in their repentant moments, considertheir sins much more serious and ineffaceable than theyreally are . We talked together all through the eveningand rehearsed the story of the death of The Boy . As

soon as the moon was up, and The Boy, theoretically,j ust buried, we struck across country for the Station .

We walked from eight till six o’clock in the morning

but though we were dead-tired , we did not forget to goto The Boy’s rooms and put away his revolverwith theproper amount of cartridges in the pouch . Also to sethis writing-case on the table. We found the Coloneland reported the death, feeling more like murderersthan ever. Then we went to bed and slept the clockround, for therewas no more in us.

The tale had credence as long as was necessary ; forevery one forgot about The Boy before a fortnight wasover. Many people, however, found time to say thatthe Major had behaved scandalously in not bringingin the body for a regimental funeral . The saddestthing of all was the letter from The Boy’s mother to theMajor and me with big inky blisters all over thesheet. She wrote the sweetest possible things aboutour great kindness, and the obligations shewould be under to us as long as she lived .

All things considered , shewas under an obligation, butnot exactly as shemeant.

25

MISS YOUGHAL’

S SAIS

When Man and Woman are agreed, what can theKazi do?

OME people say that there is no romance in India .

Those people are wrong. Our lives hold quite asmuch romance as is good for us . Sometimes more .

Strickland was in the Police, and people did notunderstand him ; so they said he was a doubtful sort ofman and passed by on the other side . Strickland hadhim self to thank for this . He held the extraordinarytheory that a Policeman in India should try to know asmuch about the natives as the natives themselves . Now,

in the whole of Upper India there is only one man whocan pass for Hindu or Mahommedan, hide-dresser orpriest, as he pleases . He is feared and respected by thenatives from the Ghor Kathri to the JammaMusjid ; andhe is supposed to have the gift of invisibility and executive control over many Devils . But this has done himno good in the eyes of the Indian Government .Strickland was foolish enough to take that man for

hismodel ; and, following out his absurd theory, dabbledin unsavoury places no respectable man would think ofexploring all among the native riff-raff . He educated himself in this peculiar way for seven years, andpeople could not appreciate it . He was perpetually‘going Fantee

’ among natives, which, of course, no man26



interesting companion . Strickland on Native Progress as he had seen it was worth hearing. Nativeshated Strickland ; but they were afraid of him . He knewtoo much .

When the Youghals came into the station, Stricklandvery gravely, as he did everything fell in love with

Miss Youghal ; and she, after a while, fell in love withhim because she could not understand him . Then Strickland told the parents ; but Mrs . Youghal said she wasnot going to throw her daughter into the worst paidDepartment in the Empire, and old Youghal said, in somany words, that he mistrusted Strickland

’s ways andworks, and would thank him not to speak or write tohis daughter any more .

‘Very well,’ said Strickland,

for he did not wish to make his lady-love’s life a burden .

After one long talk with Miss Youghal he dropped thebusiness entirely .

The Y oughalswent up to Simla in April .In July Strickland secured three months

’

leave on‘ urgent private affairs .

’ He locked up his housethough not a native in the Province would wittinglyhave touched ‘

E streekin Sahib’

s’

gear for the worldand went down to see a friend of his, an old dyer, at

Tarn Taran .

Here all trace of him was lost, until a sais or groommet me on the Simla Mall with this extraordinary

note

Dear old Man,Please give bearer a box of cheroots

Supers, No . 1 , for preference . They are freshest atthe Club . I

’ll repay when I reappear ; but at presentI ’m out of society Yours, E . Strickland .

I ordered two boxes, and handed them over to the28

MISS YOUGHAL ’

S SAIS

sai s with my love . That sais was Strickland, and hewas in old Youghal

’

s employ, attached to Miss You

ghal’

s Arab . The poor fellowwas suffering for an English smoke, and knew that, whatever happened, I shouldhold my tongue till the businesswas over .

Later on, Mrs. Youghal , who was wrapped up in herservants, began talking at houses where she called of her

paragon among saises the man who was never toobusy to get up in the morning and pick flowers for thebreakfast-table, and who blacked actually blackedthe hoofs of his horse like a London coachman ! The

turn-out of Miss Youghal’

s Arab was a wonder and adelight . Strickland Dulloo, I mean found his re

ward in the pretty things that MissYoughal said to himwhen she went out riding . Her parents were pleasedto find she had forgotten all her foolishness for youngStrickland and said shewas a good girl .Strickland vows that the two months of his service

were the most rigid mental discipline he has ever gonethrough . Quite apart from the little fact that the wifeof one of his fellow-saises fell in love with him and thentried to poison him with arsenic because he would havenothing to do with her, he had to school him self intokeeping quiet when Miss Youghal went out riding withsome man who tried to flirt with her, and he was forcedto trot behind carrying the blanket and hearing everyword ! Also, he had to keep his temper when he wasslanged in the theatre porch by a policeman especiallyonce when he was abused by a Naik he had himself re

cruited from Isser Jang village or, worse still, when ayoung subaltem called him a pig for not making way

quickly enough .

But the life had its compensations . He obtained29


great insight into the ways and thefts of saises

enough, he says, to have summarily convicted half thepopulation of the Punjab if he had been on business .He became one of the leading players at knuckle-bones,which all jhampanis and many saises play while theyarewaiting outside the Government House or the GaietyTheatre of nights ; he learned to smoke tobacco that wasthree-fourths cow dung ; and he heard the wisdom of the

grizzled Jemadar of the Government House grooms .Whose words are valuable . H e sawmany things whichamused him ; and he states, on honour, that no man canappreciate Simla properly till he has seen it from thesais’s point of view. He also says that, if he chose towrite all he saw,hisheadwould be broken in several places .Strickland ’s account of the agony he endured on wet

nights, hearing the music and seeing the lights in‘Benmore,

’ with his toes tingling for a waltz and hishead in a horse-blanket, is rather amusing. One ofthese days Strickland is going to write a little book onhis experiences . That book will be worth buying, andeven more worth suppressing .

Thus he served faithfuny as Jacob served for Rachel ;and his leave was nearly at an end when the explosioncame . He had really done his best to keep his temperin the hearing of the flirtatious I have mentioned ; buthe broke down at last . An old and very distinguishedGeneral took Miss Youghal for a ride, and beganthat specially offensive ‘you’re-only-a-little-gir l ’ sort offlirtation most difficult for a woman to turn asidedeftly, and most maddening to listen to. Miss Youghal was shaking with fear at the things he said in thehearing of her sais. Dulloo Strickland stood itas long as he could . Then he caught hold of the Gen

30

MISS YOUGHAL’

S SAIS

eral’

s bridle, and, in most fluent English, invited himto step off and be flung over the cliff . Next minuteMiss Youghal began to cry, and Strickland saw thathe had hopelessly given himself away, and everythingwas over.The General nearly had a fit, while Miss Youghal was

sobbing out the story of the disguise and the engagement that was not recognised by the parents . Strickland was furiously angry with himself, and more angrywith the General for forcing his hand ; so he said nothing,but held the horse’s head and prepared to thrash theGeneral as some sort of satisfaction . But when theGeneral had thoroughly grasped the story, and knewwho Strickland was, he began to puff and blow in thesaddle, and nearly rolled off with laughing. He saidStrickland deserved a V. C . if it were only for puttingon a sais’s blanket . Then he called himself names, andvowed that he deserved a thrashing, but he was too oldto take it from Strickland . Then he complimentedMiss Youghal on her lover. The scandal of the business never struck him ; for he was a nice old man, with aweakness for flirtatious . Then he laughed again, andsaid that old Youghal was a fool . Strickland let go ofthe cob’s head, and suggested that the General hadbetter help them if that was his opinion . Stricklandknew Youghal

’

s weakness for men with titles and letters after their names and high official position .

‘

I t’

s

rather like a forty-minute farce,’ said the General, but,

begad, I will help , if it’

s only to escape that tremendousthrashing I deserve. Go along to your home, my saisPoliceman, and change into decent kit, and I

’ll attackMr . Youghal . Miss Youghal, may I ask you to canterhome and wait?

31


About seven m inutes later there was a wild hurrooshat the Club . A sais, with blanket and head-rope, wasasking all the men he knew : For Heaven’s sake lendme decent clothes ! ’

As the men did not recognise him ,

there were some peculiar scenes before Strickland couldget a hot bath, with soda in it, in one room, a shirt here,a collar there, a pair of trousers elsewhere, and so on .

He galloped off, with half the Club wardrobe on his backand an utter stranger

’

s pony under him, to the house ofold Youghal . The General , arrayed in purple and finelinen, was before him . What the General had saidStrickland never knew, but Youghal received Stricklandwith moderate civility ; and Mrs. Youghal, touched bythe devotion of the transformed Dulloo, was almost kind .

The General beamed and chuckled , and Miss Youghalcame in, and almost before old Youghal knew where hewas, the parental consent had been wrenched out, andStrickland had depar ted with Miss Youghal to the Telegraph Office to wire for his European kit . The finalembarrassment was when a stranger attacked him on theMall and asked for the stolen pony .

In the end, Strickland and Miss Youghal were married , on the strict understanding that Strickland shoulddrop his old ways, and stick to Departmental routine,which pays best and leads to Simla . Strickland wasfar too fond of his wife, just then, to break his word , butitwas a sore trial to him ; for the streets and the bazars,and the sounds in them, were full of meaning to Strickland, and these called to him to come back and takeup his wanderings and his discoveries . Some day I willtell you how he broke his promise to help a friend .

That was long since, and he has, by this time, been nearlyspoilt forwhat he would call shikar . He is forgetting the

32

MISS YOUGHAL ’

S SAIS

slang, and the beggar’s cant, and the marks, and the

signs, and the dr ift of the under-currents which, if a manwould master, he must always continue to learn .

But he fills in his Departmental returns beautifully.

‘YOKED WITH AN UNBELIEVER ’

I am dying for you, and you are dying for another.Punjabi Proverb .

HEN the Gravesend tender left the P. O .

steamer for Bombay and went back to catchthe train to Town, there were many people in it

crying. But the one who wept most, and most openly,was Miss Agnes Laiter. She had reason to cry, becausethe only man she ever loved or ever could love, so shesaid was going out to India ; and India, as every oneknows, is divided equally between jungle, tigers, cobras,cholera, and sepoys.Phil Garron , leaning over the side of the steamer in

the rain, felt very unhappy too ; but he did not cry. Hewas sent out to

‘ tea .

’ What ‘ tea ’ meant he had notthe vaguest idea, but fancied that he would have to rideon a prancing horse over hills covered with tea-vines,and draw a sumptuous salary for doing so ; and he wasvery grateful to his uncle for getting him the berth .

He was really going to reform all his slack, shiftlessways, save a large proportion of his magnificent salaryyearly, and in a very short time return to marry AgnesLaiter. Phil Garron had been lying loose on his friends

’

hands for three years, and, as he had nothing to do , benaturally fell in love . He was very nice ; but he wasnot strong in his views and opinions and principles,

34



at leisure, which was not often . He would forget allabout her for a fortnight, and remember her with astart, like a schoolboy who has forgotten to learn hislesson . She did not forget Phil, because she was of thekind that never forgets . Only, another man a reallydesirable young man presented himself before Mrs .Laiter ; and the chance of a marriage with Phil was as

far off as ever ; and his letters were so unsatisfactory ;and there was a cer tain amount of domestic pressurebrought to bear on the girl ; and the young man reallywas an eligible person as incomes go ; and the end of allthings was that Agnes married him, and wrote a tem

pestuous whir lwind of a letter to Phil in the wilds ofDarj i ling, and said she should never know a happy moment all the rest of her life . Whichwas a true prophecy.

Phil received that letter, and held himself ill-treated .

Thi s was two years after he had come out ; but by dintof thinking fixedly of Agnes Laiter, and looking at herphotograph, and patting himself on the back for beingone of the most constant lovers in history, and warmingto

,

the work as he went on, he really fancied that he hadbeen very hardly used . He sat down and wrote onefinal letter a really pathetic ‘world without end ,amen,

’ epistle ; explaining how he would be true toEternity, and that all women were very much alike,and he would hide his broken heart, etc . , etc but if, atany future tim e, etc . , etc . , he could afford to wait, etc . ,

etc . , unchanged affections, etc etc . , return to her oldlove, etc . , etc for eight closely-written pages . Froman artistic point of view it was very neat work, but anordinary Phi listine, who knew the state of Phil

’

s realfeelings not the ones he rose to as he went on writingwould have called it the thoroughly mean and selfish

36


work of a thoroughly mean and selfish weak man . Butthis verdict would have been incorrect . Phil paid forthe postage, and felt every word he had written for atleast two days and a half. It was the last flicker beforethe light went out.That letter made Agnes Laiter very unhappy, and she

cried and put it away in her desk, and became Mrs .

Somebody Else for the good of her fam ily. Which isthe first duty of every Christian maid .

Phil went his ways, and thought no more of his letter,except as an ar tist thinks of a neatly-touched-in sketch .

H is ways were not bad, but they were not altogethergood until they brought him across Dunmaya, thedaughter of a Rajput ex-Subadar-Major of our NativeArmy. The girl had a strain of Hill blood in her, andlike the Hill-women, was not a purdah-nashin or womanwho lives behind the veil . Where Phil met her, or howhe heard of her, does not matter. She was a good girland handsome, and, in her way, very clever and shrewdthough, of course, a little hard . It is to be rememberedthat Phil was living very comfortably, denying himselfno small luxury, never putting by a penny, very satisfiedwith himself and his good intentions, was dropping allhis English correspondents one by one, and beginningmore and more to look upon India as his home . Somemen fall thi s way, and they are of no use afterwards .The climate where he was stationed was good, and itreally did not seem to him that there was any reasonto return to England .

He did what many planters have done before himthat is to say, he made up his mind to marry a Hill-girland settle down . He was seven-and-twenty then, witha long life before him, but no spirit to go through with

37


it . So he married Dunmaya by the forms of the English Church, and some fellow-planters said hewas a fool,and some said he was a wise man . Dunmaya was athoroughly honest gir l, and in spite of her reverencefor an Englishman, had a reasonable estimate of herhusband’s weaknesses . She managed him tenderly, andbecame, in less than a year , a very passable imitationof an English lady in dress and carriage . It is curiousto think that a Hill-man after a lifetime’s education isa Hill-man still ; but a Hil l-woman can in six monthsmaster most of the ways of her English sisters . Therewas a coolie-woman once . But that is another story.

Dunmaya dressed by preference in black and yellow,and

looked well .Meantime Phil

’

s letter lay in Agnes Laiter’

s desk, andnow and again she would think of poor, resolute, hardworking Phil among the cobras and tigers of Darjiling,toiling in the vain hope that she might come back tohim . H er husband was worth ten Phils, except that hehad rheumatism of the heart. Three year s after hewas married , and after he had tried N i ce and Algeriafor his complaint, he went to Bombay, where he died,and set Agnes free . Being a devout woman, she lookedon his death and the place of it as a direct interpositionof Providence, and when she had recovered from the

shock, she took out and re-read Phil’s letter with the‘etc . , and the big dashes, and the little dashes, andkissed it several tim es . No one knew her in Bombay ;she had her husband’

s income, which was a large one,and Phil was close at hand . It was wrong and improper

,

of course, but she decided, as heroines do in novels, tofind her old lover, to offer him her hand and her gold,and with him spend the rest of her life in some spot far

38


from unsympathetic souls . She sat for two months,alone in Watson’s Hotel, elaborating this decision, andthe picture was a pretty one . Then she set out insearch of Phil Garron, assistant on a tea plantation witha more than usually unpronounceable name .

She found him . She spent a month over it, for hisplantation was not in the Darj iling district at all, butnearer Kangra . Phil was very little altered, and Dunmayawas very nice to her.Now the particular sin and shame of the whole busi

ness is that Phil, who really is not worth thinking oftwice, was and is loved by Dunmaya, and more thanloved by Agnes, the whole of whose life he seems to havespoilt.Worst of all, . Dunmaya is making a decent man of

him ; and he will ultimately be saved from perditionthrough her training.

Which ismanifestly unfair.

39

FALSE DAWN

To-night, God knows what thing shall tide,The Earth is racked and fainExpectant, sleepless, open-eyed ;And we, who from the Ear th were made,Thrill with our Mother’s pain .

‘ In Durance .

’

0 man wil l ever know the exact truth of thisstory ; though women may sometimes whisperit to one another after a dance, when they are

putting up their hair for the night and comparing listsof victims . A man, of course, cannot assist at thesefunctions . So the tale must be told from the outsidein the dark all wrong .

Never praise a sister to a sister, in the hope of yourcompliments reaching the proper ears, and so preparingthe way for you later on . Sisters are women first, andsisters afterwards ; and you will find that you do yourself harm .

Saumarez knew this when he made up his mind topropose to the elder Miss Copleigh. Saumarez was astrange man, with few merits so far as men couldsee, though he was popular with women, and carriedenough conceit to stock a Viceroy’s Council and leavea little over for the Commander-in-Chief

’

s Staff . Hewas a Civilian . Very many women took an interest in

40

FALSE DAWN

Saumarez, perhaps because his manner to them wasoffensive . If you hit a pony over the nose at the outsetof your acquaintance, he may not love you, but he willtake a deep interest in your movements ever afterwards .The elder Miss Copleighwas nice, plump , winning, andpretty . The younger was not so pretty, and, from men

disregarding the hint set forth above, her style was re

pellent and unattractive . Both girls had, practically,the same figure, and there was a strong likeness betweenthem in look and voice ; though no one could doubt foran instant whichwas the nicer of the two .

Saumarez made up his mind, as soon as they cameinto the Station from Behar, to marry the elder one .

At least, we all made sure that he would, which comesto the same thing . She was two-and-twenty, and hewas thirty-three, with pay and allowances of nearlyfourteen hundred rupees a month . So the match, as wearranged it, was in every way a good one . Saumar ezwas his name, and summary was his nature, as a manonce said . Having drafted his Resolution, he formed aSelect Committee of One to sit upon it, and resolved totake his time . In our unpleasant slang, the Copleigh

girls‘hunted in couples . ’ That is to say, you could do

nothing with one without the other. They were veryloving sisters ; but their mutual affection was sometimesinconvenient . Saumarez held the balance-hair true between them, and none but himself could have said towhich side his heart inclined, though every one guessed .

He rode with them a good deal and danced with them,

but he never succeeded in detaching them from each

other for any length of time .

Women said that the two girls kept together throughdeep mistrust, each fearing that the other would steal a

41


march on her. B ut that has nothing to do with a man.

Saumarez was silent for good or bad, and as businesslikely attentive as he could be, having due regard to hiswork and his polo . Beyond doubt both girls were fond

As the hot weather drew nearer and Saumarez madeno sign, women said that you could see their trouble inthe eyes of the girls that they were looking strained,anxious, and irritable . Men are quite blind in thesematters unless they have more of the woman than theman in their composition, in which case it does notmatter what they say or think . I maintain it was thehot April days that took the colour out of the Copleigh

girls’ cheeks . They should have been sent to the Hills

ear ly. No one man or woman feels an angel whenthe hot weather is approaching. The younger sistergrew more cynical , not to say acid, in her ways ; and thewinningness of the elder wore thin . Therewas effort in it .The Station wherein all these things happened was,

though not a little one, off the line of rail, and sufferedthrough want of attention . There were no gardens, orbands or amusements worth speaking of, and it wasnearly a day’s journey to come into Lahore for a dance .People were grateful for small things to interest them .

About the beginning of May, and just before the finalexodus of Hill-goers, when the weather was very hotand there were not more than twenty people in theStation, Saumarez gave a moonlight riding-picnic at anold tomb, sixmiles away, near the bed of the river. Itwas a ‘Noah’s Ark ’ picnic ; and there was to be theusual arrangement of quarter-mile intervals betweeneach couple on account of the dust . Six couples camealtogether, including chaperones . Moonlight picnics

42



very few indeed . Then we talked in groups or together,lying under the trees, with the sun-baked roses droppingtheir petals on our feet, until supperwas ready. It wasa beautiful supper, as cold and as iced as you could wishand we stayed long over it .I had felt that the air was growing hotter and hotter

but nobody seemed to notice it until the moon went outand a burning hot wind began lashing the orange-treeswith a sound like the noise of the sea . Before we knewwhere we were the dust-storm was on us, and everythingwas roaring, whirling darkness . The supper-tablewas blown bodily into the tank. We were afraid ofstaying anywhere near the old tomb for fear it might beblown down . So we felt our way to the orange-treeswhere the horses were picketed and waited for the stormto blow over . Then the little light that was left vanished, and you could not see your hand before your face .The air was heavy with dust and sand from the bed ofthe river, that filled boots and pockets, and drifted downnecks, and coated eyebrows and moustaches . It wasone of the worst dust-storm s of the year. We were allhuddled together close to the trembling horses, with thethunder chattering overhead, and the lightning spurtinglike water from a sluice, all ways at once . There wasno danger, of course, unless the horses broke loose.I was standing with my head downwind and my handsover my mouth, hearing the trees thrashing each other.I could not see who was next me till the flashes came.Then I found that I was packed near Saumarez and theeldest Miss C0pleigh, with my own horse just in frontof me . I recognised the eldest Miss Copleigh, becauseshe had a puggree round her helmet, and the youngerhad not . All the electricity in the air had gone intomy

44

FALSE DAWN

body, and I was quivering and tingling from head tofoot exactly as a corn shoots and tingles before rain .

It was a grand storm. The wind seemed to be pickingup the earth and pitching it to leeward in great heaps,and the heat beat up from the ground like the heat ofthe Day of Judgment .The storm lulled slightly after the firs t half-hour, andI heard a despairi ng little voice close to my ear , sayingto itself, quietly and softly, as if some lost soul wereflying about with the wind, O my God !

’ Then theyounger Miss Copleigh stumbled into my arms, saying,‘Where ismy horse? Get my horse . I want to go home .I want to go home . Take me home. ’

I thought that the lightning and the black darknesshad frightened her ; so I said there was no danger, butshe must wait till the storm blew over. She answered,‘ It is not that ! I want to go home ! Oh, take me awayfrom here !

’

I said that she could not go till the light came ; but Ifelt her brush past me and go away . It was too dark tosee where . Then the whole sky was split open with onetremendous flash, as if the end of the world were coming,and all the women shrieked .

Almost directly after this I felt a man ’s hand on myshoulder, and heard Saumarez bellowing in my ear.Through the rattling of the trees and howling of thewind I did not catch his words at once, but at last Iheard him say, I

’ve proposed to the wrong one ! Whatshall I do? ’ Saumarez had no occasion to make thisconfidence to me . I was never a friend of his, nor am Inow ; but I fancy neither of us were ourselves just then .

He was shaking as he stood with excitement, and I wasfeeling queer all over with the electricity. I could not

45


think of anything to say except, More fool you forproposing in a dust-storm .

’ But I did not see how thatwould improve the mistake .Then he shouted, Where

’s Edith Edith Copleigh?Edith was the younger sister. I answered out of myastonishment,

‘What do you want with her?’ For the

next two minutes he and I were shouting at each otherlike maniacs, he vowing that it was the younger sister he had meant to propose to all along, and I tellinghim, till my throat was hoar se, that he must have madea mistake ! I cannot account for this except, again, bythe fact that we were neither of us ourselves . Everything seemed to me like a bad dream from the stamping of the horses in the darkness to Saumarez telling methe story of his loving Edith C0pleigh from the first .He was still clawing my shoulder and begging me to tellhim where Edith Copleighwas, when another lull cameand brought light with it, and we saw the dust-cloudforming on the plain in front of us. So we knew theworst was over. The moon was low down, and therewas just the glimmer of the false dawn that comes aboutan hour before the real one . But the light was veryfaint, and the dun cloud roared like a bull. I wonderedwhere Edith Copleigh had gone ; and as I was wonderingI saw three things together : First , Maud Copleigh

’

s

face come smiling out of the darkness and move towardsSaumarez , who was standing by me . I heard the girlwhisper,

‘George,’ and slide her arm through the arm

that was not clawing my shoulder, and I saw that lookon her face which only comes once or twice in a lifetirnewhen a woman is perfectly happy and the air is full

of trumpets and gorgeously-coloured fire, and the Earthturns into cloud because she loves and is loved . At the

46

FALSE DAWN

same time, I saw Saumarez’

s face as he heard MaudCopleigh

’

s voice, and fifty yards away from the clumpof orange-trees, I saw a brown holland habit gettingupon a horse .It must have been my state of over-excitement that

made me so ready to meddle with what did not concernme . Saumarez was moving off to the habit ; but Ipushed him back and said, Stop here and explain . I ’llfetch her back ! ’ And I ran out to get at my own horse.I had a perfectly unnecessary notion that everythingmust be done decently and in order, and that Saumarez

’

s

fir st care was to wipe the happy look out of MaudCopleigh

’

s face . All the tim e Iwas linking up the curbchain I wondered how he would do it .I cantered after Edith Copleigh, thinking to bring her

back slowly on some pretence or another. But shegalloped away as soon as she saw me, and I was forcedto ride after her in earnest . She called back over hershoulder Go away ! I ’m going home . Oh, goaway ! ’ two or three tim es ; but my business was tocatch her first, and argue later. The ride fitted in withthe rest of the evil dream . The groundwas very rough,and now and again we rushed through the whirling,choking ‘ dust-devils ’ in the skirts of the flying storm .

There was a burning hot wind blowing that brought upa stench of stale brick-kilns with it ; and through thehalf light and through the dust-devils, across thatdesolate plain , flickered the brown holland habit on thegray horse . She headed for the Station at first. Thenshe wheeled round and set off for the river through bedsof burnt-down jungle-grass, had even to ride pig over.I n cold blood I should never have dreamed of going oversuch a country at night, but it seemed quite right and

47


natural with the lightning crackling overhead, and areek like the smell of the Pit in my nostrils . I rode andshouted, and she bent forward and lashed her horse, andthe aftermath of the dust-storm came up, and caught usboth, and drove us downwind like pieces of paper.I don ’t know how far we rode ; but the drumming of

the horse-hoofs and the roar of the wind and the race ofthe faint blood-red moon through the yellow mistseemed to have gone on for years and year s, and I wasliterally drenched with sweat from my helmet to mygaiters when the gray stumbled, recovered himself, andpulled up dead lame . My brute was used up altogether.Edith Copleigh was bare headed, plastered with dustand crying bitterly.

‘Why can’t you let me alone?

she said .

‘ I only wanted to get away and go home .Oh, please let me go !

’

‘You have got to come back with me, Miss Copleigh.

Saumarez has something to say to you .

’

It was a foolish way of putting it ; but I hardly knewMiss Copleigh, and, though I was playing Providenceat the cost of my horse, I could not tell her in as manywords what Saumarez had told me . I thought he coulddo that better himself. All her pretence about beingtired and wanting to go home broke down, and she

rocked herself to and fro in the saddle as she sobbed, andthe hot wind blew her black hair to leeward . I am notgoing to repeat what she said, because she was utterlyunstrung .

This was the cynical Miss Copleigh, and I, almost anutter stranger to her, was trying to tell her that Saumarez loved her, and shewas to come back to hear him sayso. I believe I made myself understood, for she gathered the gray together and made him hobble somehow,

48

FALSE DAWN

and we set off for the tomb, while the storm went thundering down to Umballa and a few big drops of warmrain fell . I found out that she had been standingclose to Saumarez when he proposed to her sister, andhad wanted to go home to cry in peace, as an Englishgirl should . She dabbed her eyes with her pockethandkerchief as we went along, and babbled to me outof sheer lightness of heart and hysteri a . That wasperfectly unnatural ; and yet, it seemed al l right at thetime and in the place . All the world was only the twoCopleigh girls, Saumarez and I , ringed in with thel ightning and the dark ; and the guidance of this misguidedworld seemed to lie in my hands .When we returned to the tomb in the deep, dead still

ness that followed the storm, the dawn was just breakingand nobody had gone away . They were waiting for ourreturn . Saumarez most of all . His face was white anddrawn . AsMiss Copleigh and I limmd up , he came forward to meet us, and , when he helped her down from thesaddle, he kissed her before all the picnic . It was likea scene in a theatre, and the likeness was heightened byall the dust-white, ghostly-looking men and womenunder the orange-trees clapping their hands as if theywere watching a play at Saumarez

’

s choice . I neverknew anything so un-English in my life .

Lastly, Saumarez said we must all go home or theStation would come out to look for us, and would I begood enough to ride home with Maud C0pleigh? Nothingwould give me greater pleasure, I said .

So we formed up, six couples in all, and went backtwo by two ; Saumarez walking at the side of EdithCopleigh, who was riding his horse. Maud Copleighdid not talk tome at any length .

49


The air was cleared ; and, little by little, as the sun

rose, I felt we were all dropping back again into ordinarymen and women, and that the Great Pop Picnic

’ was athing altogether apart and out of the world never tohappen again . It had gone with the dust-storm and

the tingle in the hot air .

I felt tired and M p, and a good deal ashamed of myself as I went in for a bath and some sleep .

There is a woman’s version of this story, but it willnever be written unless Maud Copleigh caresto try.


PLAIN TALES FR OM THE HILLS

He began by trusting to his own judgment as usual ,and the resultwas that, after a time, he was bound handand foot toMrs . Reiver

’s ’rickshaw wheels .There was nothing good about Mrs. Reiver, unless it

was her dress . She was had from her hair whichstarted life on a Brittany girl

’s head to her boot-heels,which were two and three-eighth inches high . She wasnot honestly mischievous like Mrs . Hauksbee ; she waswicked in a business-like way .

There was never any scandal she had not generousimpulses enough for that . Shewas the exception whichproved the rule that Anglo-Indian ladies are in everyway as nice as their sisters at Home . She spent her lifein proving that rule .

Mrs. Hauksbee and she hated each other fervently.

They hated far too much to clash ; but the things theysaid of each other were startling not to say original .Mrs . Hauksbee was honest honest as her own frontteeth and, but for her love of mischief, would havebeen a woman’s woman . There was no honesty aboutMrs . Reiver ; nothing but selfishness . And at the beginning of the season poor little P luffles fell a prey to her .She laid herself out to that end, andwhowas P luffies toresist? He trusted to his j udgment, and he got judged .

I have seen Captain Hayes argue with a tough horseI have seen a tonga-driver coerce a stubborn pony

I have seen a riotous setter broken to gun by a hardkeeper but the breaking-in of Pluffles of the ‘

Un

mentionables’ was beyond all these . He learned to

fetch and carry like a dog, and to wait like one, too, fora word from Mrs . Reiver. He learned to keep appointments which Mrs . Reiver had no intention of keeping .

He learned to take thankfully dances which Mrs. Reiver52

THE RESCUE OF PLUFFLE S

had no intention of giving him . He learned to shiverfor an hour and a quarter on the windward side of

Elysium while Mrs . Reiver was making up her mindto come for a ri de . He learned to hunt for a ’rickshaw,

in a light dress-suit under pelting rain, and to walk bythe side of that

’

rickshaw when he had found it. Helearned what it was to be spoken to like a coolie andordered about like a cook . He learned all this and manyother things besides . And he paid for his schooling.

Perhaps, in some hazy way, he fancied that it wasfine and immessive, that it gave him a status amongmen, and was altogether the thing to do. It was nobody

’

s business to warn Pluffles that he was unwise .The pace that season was too good to inquire ; andmeddling with another man ’s folly is always thanklesswork . Pluffies

’ Colonel should have ordered him backto his regiment when he heard how things were going.

But Pluffies had got himself engaged to a girl in Englandthe last time he went Home ; and, if there was one thingmore than another that the Colonel detested, it was amarried subaltem . He chuckled when he heard of theeducation of P luffies, and said it was good training forthe boy . But itwas not good training in the least . Itled him into spending money beyond his means, whichwere good ; above that, the education spoilt an averageboy and made it a tenth-rate man of an obj ectionablekind . He wandered into a had set, and his little bill atthe jeweller’swas a thing to wonder at .Then Mrs . H auksbee rose to the occasion . She played

her game alone, knowing what people would say of her ;and she played it for the sake of a girl she had neverseen . P luffies

’ fianceewas to come out, under chaperonage of an aunt, in October, to be married to Pluffles.

53


At the beginning of August Mrs. Hauksbee discov

ered that it was time to interfere. A man who ridesmuch knows exactly what a horse is going to do nextbefore he does it . In the same way, a woman of Mrs .Hauksbee

’

s experience knows accurately how a boywill behave under certain circumstances notablywhenhe is infatuated with one of Mrs. Reiver’s stamp . Shesaid that, sooner or later, little Pluffles would break offthat engagement for nothing at all simmy to gratifyMrs . Reiver,who, in return, would keep him at her feetand in her service just so long as she found it worth herwhile . She said she knew the signs of these things . Ifshe did not no one else could .

Then she went forth to capture Pluffles under the gunsof the enemy ; just asMrs . Cusack-B remm il carried awayB remm il under Mrs. H auksbee

’

s eyes .This particular engagement lasted seven weeks we

called it the Seven Weeks’ War and was fought outinch by inch on both sides . A detailed account wouldfill a book, and would be incomplete then . Any onewho knows about these things can fit in the details forhimself. It was a superb fight there will never beanother like it as long as Jakko Hill stands andP luffles was the prize of victory. People said shameful things about Mrs. Hauksbee . They did not knowwhat she was playing for. Mrs. Reiver fought partlybecause P luffles was useful to her, but mainly becauseshe hated Mrs . H auksbee, and the matter was a trial ofstrength between them . No one knows what Pluffiesthought . He had not many ideas at the best of times,and the few he possessed made him conceited . Mrs.

Hauksbee said,‘The boy must be caught ; and the only

way of catching him is by treating him well. ’

54


So she treated him as a man of the world and of ex

perience so long as the issue was doubtful . Little bylittle Pluffles fell away from his old allegiance and cameover to the enemy, bywhom hewasmade much of. Hewas never sent on out-post duty after ’

ri ckshaws anymore, nor was he given dances which never came off ,nor were the drains on his purse continued . Mrs. B auksbee held him on the snaffle ; and, after his treatment atMrs . Reiver’s hands, be appreciated the change .Mrs . Reiver had broken him of talking about himself,

and made him talk about her own merits . Mrs . Hanksbee acted otherwise, and won his confidence, till hementioned his engagement to the girl at Home, speakingof it in a high and mighty way as a piece of boyish folly .

Thiswas when hewas taking teawith her one afternoonand discoursing inwhat he considered a gay and fascinating style . Mrs. Hauksbee had seen an earlier generation of his stamp bud and blossom, and decay into fatCaptains and tubby Majors .At a moderate estimate there were about three-and

twenty sides to that lady’s character. Some men say

more . She began to talk to P luffies after the manner ofa mother, and as if there had been three hundred years,instead of fifteen, between them . She spoke with a sortof throaty quaver in her voice which had a soothingeffect, though what she said was anything but soothing .

She pointed out the exceeding folly, not to say meanness, of Pluffles

’ conduct, and the smallness of his views .Then he stammered something about trusting to hisown judgment as a man of the world

’

; and this pavedthe way for what she wanted to say next. It wouldhave withered up Pluffies had it come from any other

woman ; but, in the soft cooing.

style in which Mrs.

5 5


H auksbee put it, it only made him feel limp and repentant as if he had been in some superior kind of church .

Little by little, very softly and pleasantly, she begantaking the conceit out of P luffies, as they take the ribsout of an umbrella before re-covering it . She told himwhat she thought of him and his judgment and hisknowledge of the world ; and how his performances hadmade him ridiculous to other people ; and how it washis intention to make love to herself if she gave him thechance . Then she said that marriage would be themaking of him ; and drew a pretty little picture all

rose and opal of the Mrs . P luffies of the future goingthrough life relying on the judgment and knowledge ofthe world of a husbandwho had nothing to reproach himself with . How she reconciled these two statements shealone knew . But they did not strike P luffies as conflict

mg.

Hers was a perfect little homily much better thanany clergyman could have given and it ended withtouching allusions to Pluffies

’ Mamma and Papa, and thewisdom of taking his bride Home .Then she sent Pluffies out for a walk, to think over

what she had said . P luffies left, blowing his nose veryhard and holding himself very straight . Mrs . Hanks

bee laughed .

What Pluffies had intended to do in the matter of theengagement onlyMrs . Reiver knew, and she kept herowncounsel to her death . She would have liked it spoiled as

a compliment, I fancy.

Pluffies enjoyed many talks with Mrs . H auksbee during the next few days . They were all to the same end,and they helped Pluffles in the path of Virtue .

Mrs. Hauksbee wanted to keep him under her wing56


to the last . Therefore she discountenanced his goingdown to Bombay to get married . Goodness only knowswhat might happen by the way she said . Pluffles iscursed with the curse of Reuben, and India is no fit placefor himIn the end the fiancee arrived with her aunt ; and

P luffles, having reduced his affairs to some sort of order—here againMrs. Hauksbee helped him -was married .

Mrs . H auksbee gave a sigh of relief when both the ‘ Iwills had been said, andwent her way.

Pluffles took her advice about going Home . He leftthe Service and is now raising speckled cattle inside

green painted fences somewhere in England . I believehe does this very judiciously. He would have come toextreme grief in India .

For these reasons, if any one says anything more thanusually nasty about Mrs . Hauksbee, tell him the storyof the Rescue of Pluffles .

5 7

CUPID ’S ARROWS

Pit where the buffalo cooled his hide,By the hot sun emptied, and blistered and driedLog in the plume-grass, hidden and lone ;Dam where the earth-rat’s mounds are strown ;Cave in the bank where the sly stream steals ;Aloe that stabs at the belly and heels,Jump if you dare on a steed untriedSafer it is to go wide go wide !Hark, from in front where the best men ridePull to the off , boys ! Wide ! Go wide !

’

‘The Peora Hunt. ’

NCE upon a time there lived at Simla a verypretty girl, the daughter of a poor but honestDistrict and Sessions Judge . She was a good

girl, but could not help knowing her power and using it.

Her Mamma was very anxious about her daughter’s

future, as all good Mammas should be .

When a man is a Commissioner and a bachelor, andhas the right of wearing open-work jam-tart j ewels ingold and enamel on his clothes, and of going through adoor before every one except a Member of Council, aLieutenant-Governor, or a Viceroy, he is worth marrying. At least that is what ladies say. There was aCommissioner in Simla, in those days, who was, and

5 8



60 yards that is and was acknowledged the best ladyarcher in Simla . Men called her Diana of Tara-Devi .

’

Barr-Saggott paid her great attention ; and as I havesaid, the heart of her mother was uplifted in conse

quence. Kitty Beighton tookmatters more calmly . Itwas pleasant to be singled out by a Commissioner withletters after his name, and to fill the hearts of other gir lswith bad feelings . But there was no denying the factthat Barr-Saggott was phenomenally ugly ; and all his

attempts to adorn himself only made him more grotesque. He was not christened ‘The Langur

’ whichmeans gray ape for nothing. It was pleasant, Kittythought, to have him at her feet, but it was better toescape from him and ride with the graceless Cubbonthe man in a Dragoon Regiment at Umballa the boywith a handsome face and no prospects. Kitty likedCubbon more than a little. He never pretended for amoment that hewas anything less than head over heelsin love with her, for he was an honest boy. So Kittyfled, now and again , from the stately wooings of BarrSaggott to the company of young Cubbon, and wasscolded by her Mamma in consequence . But,Mother,she said,

‘Mr. Saggott is such such a is so fearfully ugly, you know

‘My dear,’ said Mrs . Beighton piously,

‘

we cannot beother than an all-ruling Providence has made us . B e

sides, you will take precedence of your own Mother, youknow? Think of that and be reasonable .

’

Then Kitty put up her little chin and said irreverentthings about precedence, and Commissioners, and matrimony. Mr. Beighton rubbed the t0p of his head ; forhe was an easy-going man .

Late in the season, when he judged that the time was

60

CUPID ’S ARROWS

ri pe, Barr-Saggott developed a plan which did greatcredit to his administrative powers . He arranged anarchery-tournament for ladies, with a most sumptuousd iamond-studded bracelet as prize . He drew up histerm s skilfully, and every one saw that the bracelet wasa gift to Miss Beighton ; the acceptance carrying withit the hand and the heart of Commissioner Barr-Saggott.

The terms were a St . Leonard ’s Round thirty-six shotsat sixty yards under the rules of the Simla ToxophiliteSociety.

All Simla was invited . There were beautift arranged tea-tables under the deodars at Annandale, wherethe Grand Stand is now ; and, alone in its glory, winking in the sun , sat the diamond bracelet in a blue velvetcase . Miss Beighton was anxious almost too anx

ious—to compete . On the appointed afternoon all Simlarode down to Annandale to witness the Judgment ofParis turned upside down . Kitty rode with young Cubbon , and it was easy to see that the boy was troubled

in his mind . He must be held innocent of everythingthat followed . Kitty was pale and nervous, and lookedlong at the bracelet . Barr-Saggott was gorgeouslydressed, even more nervous than Kitty, and more hidcous than ever.Mrs . Beighton smiled condescendingly, as befittcd the

mother of a potential Commissioneress, and the shootingbegan ; all the world standing a semicircle as the ladiescame out one after the other .

Nothing is so tedious as an archery competition . Theyshot, and they shot, and they kept on shooting, till thesun left the valley, and little breezes got up in the deodars, and people waited for Miss Beighton to shoot andWin. Cubbon was at one horn of the semicircle round

6 1


the shooters, and Barr-Saggott at the other. Miss B eighton was last on the list . The scoring had been weak

,

and the bracelet, with Comm issioner Barr-Saggott, washers to a certainty .

The Comm issioner strung her howwith his own sacredhands . She stepped forward , looked at the bracelet, andher first arrow went true to a hair full into the heartof the ‘gold counting nine points .Young Cubbon on the left turned white, and his Devilprompted Barr-Saggott to smile . Now horses used to shywhen Barr-Saggott smiled . Kitty saw that smile . Shelooked to her left-front, gave an almost imperceptiblenod to Cubbon , and went on shooting .

I wish I could describe the scene that followed . Itwas out of the ordinary and most improper . MissKitty fitted her arrows with immense deliberation, sothat every one might see what shewas doing . She wasa perfect shot ; and her 46-pound bow suited her to a

nicety . She pinned the wooden legs of the target with

great care four successive times . She pinned the woodentop of the target once, and all the ladies looked at eachother . Then she began some fancy shooting at thewhite, which if you hit it, counts exactly one point .She put five arrows into the white . It was wonderfularchery ; but, seeing that her business was to make‘golds ’ and win the bracelet, Barr-Saggott turned adelicate green like young water-grass . Next, she shotover the target twice, then wide to the left twicealways with the same deliberation while a chilly hushfell over the company, and Mrs . Beighton took out herhandkerchief . Then Kitty shot at the ground in frontof the target, and split several arrows . Then she madea red or seven points just to show what she could

62

CUPID ’S ARROWS

do if she liked, and she finished up her amazing performan ce with some more fancy shooting at the target suppo rts . Here is her score as itwas pricked off

Gold . Red . Blue . Black. White .

M iss Beighton 5

Total hits, 7 . Total score, 21 .

B arr-Saggott looked as if the last few arrow-headshad been driven into his legs instead of the target’s, andthe deep stillness was broken by a little snubby,mottled,half-grown girl saying in a shrill voice of triumph,

‘ThenI

’

v e won !M rs . Beighton did her best to bear up ; but she wept

in the presence of the people . No training could helpher through such a disappointment . Kitty unstrungher bow with a vicious jerk, and went back to her place,while Barr-Saggott was trying to pretend that be en

j oyed snapping the bracelet on the snubby girl’s raw,

red wrist . It was an awkward scene most awkward .

Every one tried to depart in a body and leave Kitty tothe mercy of her Mamma .

But Cubbon took her away instead, and the restisn ’tworth printing .

63

THE THREE MUSKETEERS

when the war began, we chased the bold Afghan,we made the bloom in ’ Ghazi for to flee, boys 0 !we marched into Kabul, an

’ we tuk the Balar ’ Issar,we taught ’em to respec

’ the British Soldier .‘Barrack Room Ballad .

’

ULVAN E Y , Ortheris, and Learoyd are Privatesin B Company of a Line Regiment, and personalfriends of mine . Collectively, I think, but am

not certain, they are the worst men in the regirnent sofar as genial blackguardism goes .They told me this story in the Umballa RefreshmentRoom while we were waiting for an up-train . I suppliedthe beer. The talewas cheap at a gallon and a half.All men know Lord B enira Trig. He is a Duke, or anEarl, or something unofficial ; also a Peer ; also a Globetrotter. On all three counts, as Ortheris says,

’

e didn’t

deserve no consideration .

’ He was out in India forthree months collecting materials for a book on OurEastern Impedimenta,

’ and quartering himself uponeverybody, like a Cossack in evening dress .H is particular vice because he was a Radical, men

said was having garrisons turned out for his inspection . He would then dine with the Officer Commanding, and insult him, across the Mess table, about theappearance of the tr0 0ps . Thatwas B enira

’

s way.

64


He turned out troops once too often . He came toHelantham i Cantonment on a Tuesday . He wished togo shopping in the bazars on Wednesday, and be

‘ desired the tr0 0ps to be turned out on a Thursday. Ona Thursday ! The Officer Commanding could notwell refuse ; for B enira was a Lord . There was an indignation meeting of subaltem s in the Mess Room, tocal l the Colonel pet names .

‘But the rale dirnonstrashin,

’ said Mulvaney,‘

was inB Comp

’

ny barrick ; we three headin’ it . ’

Mulvaney climbed on to the refreshment-bar, settledhim self comfortably by the beer, and went on,

‘Whinthe rowwas at ut’

s foinest an’ B Comp

’

ny was fur goin’

out to murther this man Thrigg on the p’rade-groun’

,

Learoyd here takes up his helmut an’ sez fwhat was

ut ye said?‘Ah said ,

’ said Learoyd,‘gie us t’ brass . Tak oop a

subscripshun, lads, for to put off t’ p ’rade, an’ if t’

p ’rade’s not put off , ah’

ll gie t’ brass back agean .

Thot’

s wot ah said .

'

All B Coomp’

ny knawed me . Ahtook oop a big subscripshun fower rupees eight annas’twere an’ ah went oot to turn t’ job over. Mulvaney an

’

Orth’

ris coom with me .

’

‘We three raises the D ivil in couples gin’

rally,

’ explained Mulvaney .

Here Ortheris interrupted . Ave you read the papers? said he .

‘ Sometimes,’ I said .

‘We ’

ad read the papers, an’ we put up a faked de

coity, a a sedukshun .

’

‘

Abdukshin , ye cockney,’ said Mulvaney .

‘

Abdukshun or sedukshun no great odds . Any’

ow, we arranged to taik an’ put Mister B enhira out o

’

65


the way till Thursday was hover, or’

e too busy to rux’isself about p

’

raids. Hi was the man wot said, We’

llmake a few rupees off 0 ’ the business . ”

We hild a Council av War,’ continued Mulvaney,

‘walkin ’ roun ’ by the Artill ’

ry Lines . I was Prisidint,Learoyd was Minister av Finance, an

’ little Orth’

ris

here was‘A bloom in

pay .

’

‘This interferin ’ bit av a B eniraman,’ said Mulvaney,

‘did the thrick for us himself ; for, on me sowl, we hadn’t

a notion av what was to come afther the next minut.He was shoppin ’ in the bazar on fut . ’Twas dhrawin ’

dusk thin, an’ we stud watchin ’ the little man hoppin’

in

an’ out av the shops, thryin

’ to injuce the naygurs tomallum his bat . Prisintly, he sthrols up

,his arrums

full av thruck, an’ he sez in a consiquinshal way, shtick

ing out his little belly,“Me good men,

”sez he,

“haveye seen the Kernel ’s b’

roosh?” says Lea

royd .

“There’s no b’

roosh here nobbut a bekka .

”

“t at ’s that? ” sez Thrigg. Learoyd shows him

wan down the sthreet, an’ he sez , How thruly Orientil !

I will ride on a bekka .

” I saw thin that our R igimintalSaint was for givin ’

Thrigg over to us neck an’ brisket .

I purshued a hekka, an’ I sez to the dhriver-divil , I sez,

Ye black limb, there’s a Sahib comin ’ for this bekka .

He wants to go jildi to the Padsahi Jhil” ’twas about

tu moiles away “ to shoot snipe chirria . Youdhrive Jehannum ke marfik, mallum like Hell? ’

T is

no manner av use bukkin’ to the Sahib , bekaze he

doesn ’t samjao your talk . Av he bolos anything, justyou choop and chel . Dekker? Go arsty for the firstarder mile from cantonm ints . Thin chel, Shaitan ke

66

Bismarck ! Hi made the ’ole show



little divil was B huldoo,’

e sez bote achee an’ cutswid a wink in his oi but Hi sez there’s money to bemade an

’ I wanted to see the ind av the campaignso Hi says we

’ll double bout to the Padsahi Jhil an’

save the little man from bein’ dacoited by the murtherin ’

B huldoo an’ turn up like reskooers in a Vic’oria Melodrama so we doubled for the jhil, an

’

prisintly there was the divil av a hurroosh behind us an’

three bhoys on grasscuts’ ponies come by, poundin

’

along for the dear life —s’elp me Bob, hif B uldoo’

adn’

t

raised a rig’

lar barrny of decoits’

to do the j ob inshtile. An

’ we ran, an’ they ran, shplittin

’ with laughin’

,

till we gets near the jhil and ’ears sounds of distressfloatin

’

molloncolly on the hevenin’

air .

’

[Ortheris wasgrowing poetical under the influence of the beer. Theduet recommenced : Mulvaney leading again . !

‘Thin we heard B huldoo, the dacoit, shoutin’ to the

bekka-man, an’ wan of the young divils brought his

stick down on the top av the hekka-cover, an’

B enira

Thrigg inside howled“Murther an’ Death .

”B uldoo

takes the reins and dhrives like mad for the jhil, havin’

dishpersed the bekka-dhriver’

oo cum up to us an’ ’

e

sez,sez ’

e, That Sahib’s nigh mad with funk ! Wotdevil’s work ’ave you led me into?

”Hall right,

”

sez we,“you catch that there pony an

’ come along.

This Sahib’s been decoited, an’ we

’

re going to rosky’

im ! Says the driver,“Decoits ! Wot decoits? That

’sB uldoo the budmas -

“Bhuldoo be shot ! ” sez we .

’

Tis awoild dissolute Pathan frum the hills . There’s

about eight av thim coercin’ the Sahib . You remirnber

that an you’ll get another rupee ! ” Thin we heard thewhop-whop-whop av the hekka turnin

’ over, an’

a splashav water an ’ the voice av Benita Thrigg callin

’

upon God68


to forgive his sins an ’

B uldoo an is friends squatterin’

in the water like boys in the Serpentine .

’

Here the Three Musketeers retired simultaneouslyinto the beer.

‘Well? What came next? ’ said I .t at answered Mulvaney, wiping his mouth .

Wud ye let three bould sodger-bhoys lave the ornam intav the House av Lords to be dhrowned an’ dacoited in ajhil? We formed line av quarther-column an

’ we discinded upon the inimy .

‘ For the better part av tinm inutes you could not hear yerself spake . The tattoowas screamin’ in chune wid B enira Thrigg an

’

B huldoo’

s

a rmy, an’ the shticks was whistlin ’ roun ’ the bekka, an

’

Orth’

ris was beatin’ the bekka-cover wid his fistes, an

’

L earoyd yellin’

,

“Look out for their knives ! an ’ mecuttin

’ into the dark, right an’ lef dishpersin

’

arrmycorps av Pathans . Holy Mother av Moses ! ’twas moredisp

’

rit than Ahmid Kheyl wid Maiwand thrown in .

Afther a while B huldoo an’ his bhoys flees . Have yeiver seen a rale live Lord thryin

’

to hide his nobilityundher a fut an’ a half av brown swamp-wather? ’

Tis

the livin ’ image av a water-carrier’s goatskin wid theshivers . It tuk toime to pershuade me frind B enira hewas not disimbowil led : an’ more toime to get out thebekka . The dhriver come up afther the battle, sweari n

’

he tuk a hand in repulsin’ the inimy. B enira was sick

wid the fear . We escorted him back, very slow, tocantonm ints, for that an

’ the chill to soak into him . Itsuk ! Glory be to the R igim intil Saint, but it suk to themarrow av Lord B enira ThriggHere Ortheris, slowly, with immense pri de E

sez,“You har my noble preservers,

”sez

’

e .

“You bar

a honour to the British H arrny,

”sez

’

e . With that ’e

69


describes the hawful band of dacoits wot set on’

im .

There was about forty of ’em an’ ’

e was hoverpoweredby numbers, so

’

e was ; but’

e never lorst ’

is presence ofmind, so

’

e didn’t . ’

E guv the bekka-driver five rupeesfor

’

is noble assistance, an’ ’

e said ’

e would see to usafter ’

e’

ad spoken to the K ernul . For wewas a honourto the Regiment, we was .

’

‘An’ we three,

’ said Mulvaney, with a seraphic smile,‘have dhrawn the par-ti-cu-lar attinshin av Bobs Bahadur more than wanst. But he

’

s a rale good little man isBobs . Go on, Orth

’

ris, my son .

’

‘Then we leaves ’

im at the K ernul’

s’ouse, werry sick,

an’ we cuts hover to B Comp’

ny barrick an’ we sez we

’ave saved B enira from a bloody doom, an’ the chances

was agin there‘

bein’ p ’raid on Thursday . About tenminutes later come three envelicks, one for each of us .S ’elp me Bob, if the old bloke

’

adn’

t guv us a fiverapiece sixty-four rupees in the bazar ! On Thursday ’

e was in ’

orspital recoverin’ from ’is sanguinary

encounter with a gang of Pathans, an’ B Comp

’

ny was

drinkin’ ’

em selves into Clink by squads . So’

thereneverwas no Thursday p ’raid . But the K ernul, when’

e’eard of our galliant conduct,

’

e sez, Hi know there’

s

been some devilry somewheres,”sez

’

e,“but I can’t

bring it ’

ome to you three .

”

‘An’ my privit imprisshin is,’ said Mulvaney, getting

off the bar and turn ing his glass upside down,‘ that, av

they had known they wudn ’

t have brought ut home .’Tis flyin

’ in the face, firstly av Nature, secon’ av the

R ig’

lations, an’ third the will av Terence Mulvaney, to

hold p’rades av Thursdays . ’

‘Good, ma son !’ said Learoyd ;

‘ but, young mon,what’s t’ notebook for? ’

70

TH E THREE MUSKETEERS

Let be,’

said Mulvaney ;‘ this time next month we’

re

in the Sherapis.

’Tis immortial fame the gentleman’s

goin’ to give us . But kape it dhark till we

’re out av therange avme little frind Bobs Bahadur.

’

And I have obeyed Mulvaney’

s order.

HIS CHAN GE IN LIFE

Then a pile of heads he laidThirty thousands heaped on high

All to please the K afir maid,Where the Oxus ripples by.

Grimly spake Afulla Khan :Love hath made this thing a Man .

’

Oatta’

s Story.

’

F you go straight away from Levees and GovernmentHouse Lists, past Trades

’ Balls far beyond everything and everybody you ever knew in your respect

able life you cross, in time, the Borderline where thelast drop of White blood ends and the full tide of Blacksets in . It would be easier to talk to a new-made Duchess on the spur of the moment than to the Borderlinefolk without violating some of their conventions or hurting their feelings. The Black and the White mix veryquaintly in their ways. Sometimes the White showsin spurts of fierce, childish pride which is Pride ofRace run crooked and sometimes the Black in stillfiercer abasement and humility, half heathenish customsand strange, unaccountable impulses to crime . One ofthese days, this people understand they are far lowerthan the class whence D erozio, the man who im itatedByron, sprung will turn out a writer or a poet ; andthen we shall know how they live and what they feel . In

72

HIS CHAN GE IN LIFE

the meantime, any stories about them cannot be absolutely correct in fact or inference .Miss Vezzis came from across the Borderline to look

af ter some children who belonged to a lady until a regularly ordained nurse could come out. The lady saidM iss Vezzis was a bad, dirty nurse and inattentive . Itnever struck her that Miss Vezzis had her own life tolead and her own affairs to worry over, and that theseaffairs were the most important things in the world toM iss Vezzis. Very few mistresses admit this sort ofreasoning. Miss Vezzis was as black as a boot, and,to our standard of taste, hideously ugly . She worecotton-print gowns and bulged shoes ; and when she losther temper with the children, she abused them in thelanguage of the Borderline which is part English

,

part Portuguese, and part Native . She was not attractive ; but she had her pride, and she preferred beingcalled Miss Vezzis.

’

Every Sunday she dressed herself wonderft and

went to see her Mamma, who lived, for the most part,on an old cane chair in a greasy tussur-silk dressinggown and abig rabbit-warren of a house full of Vezzises,Pereiras, Ribieres, Lisboas, and Gonsalveses, and afloating population of loafers ; besides fragments of theday’s market, garlic, stale incense, clothes thrown onthe floor, petticoats hung on stri ngs for screens, old

bottles, pewter crucifixes, dried immortelles, pariahpuppies, plaster images of the Virgin, and hats withoutcrowns . Miss Vezzis drew twenty rupees a month foracting as nurse, and she squabbled weekly with herMamma as to the percentage to be given towards housekeeping. When the quarrel was over, Michele D

’

Cruze

used to shamble across the low mud wall of the com73


pound and make love to Miss Vezzis after the fashion ofthe Borderline, which is hedged about with much ceremony. Michele was a poor, sickly weed and very black ;but he had his pride . He would not be seen smoking abuqa for anything ; and he looked down on natives asonly a man with seven-eighths native blood in his veinscan . The Vezzis Family had their pride too. Theytraced their descent from a mythical platelayer who hadworked on the Sone Bridge when railways were new inIndia, and they valued their English origin. Michelewas a Telegraph Signaller on Rs . 35 a month . The factthat he was in Government employ made Mrs . Vezzis

lenient to the shortcomings of his ancestors .There was a compromising legend Dom Anna thetailor brought it from Poonani that a black Jew ofCochin had once married into the D

’

Cruze familywhile it was an open secret that an uncle of Mrs .D

’

Cruze was, at that very time, doing menial work connected with cooking, for a Club in Southern India ! He

sent Mrs. D’

Cruze seven rupees eight annas a month ;but she felt the disgrace to the family very keenly all thesame .However, in the course of a few Sundays, Mrs. Vezzis

brought herself to overlook these blem ishes, and gaveher consent to the marriage of her daughter withMichele, on condition that Michele should have at leastfifty rupees a month to start married life upon . Thiswonderful prudence must have been a lingering touch ofthe mythical platelayer’s Yorkshire blood, for across theBorderline people take a pride in marrying when theyplease not when they can .

Having regard to his departmental prospects, MissVezzis might as well have asked Michele to go away and

74



Sahib for some time, and heartily despising the HinduSub-Judge, arranged to start a little Mohurrum riot oftheir own . But the Hindus turned out and broke theirheads ; when, finding lawlessness pleasant, Hindus andMahommedans together raised an aimless sort of Donnybrook just to see how far they could go . They lootedeach other’s shops, and paid off private grudges in theregular way . It was a nasty little riot, but not worthputting in the newspapers .Michele was working in his office when he heard the

sound that a man never forgets all his life the ‘ ahyah ’

of an angry crowd . [When that sound drops aboutthree tones, and changes to a thick droning ut, the manwho hears it had better go away i f he is alone ! TheNative Police Inspector ran in and told Michele thatthe town was in an uproar and coming to wreck theTelegraph Office . The Babu put on his cap and quietlydropped out of the window ; while the Police Inspector,afraid, but obeying the old race-instinct which recognises a drop of White blood as far as it can be diluted,said,

‘What orders does the Sahib give? ’

The Sahib decided Michele . Though horribly frightened , he felt that, for the hour, he, the man with theCochin Jew and the menial uncle in his pedigree , was theonly representative of English authority in the place .Then he thought of Miss Vezzis and the fifty rupees,and took the situation on himself. There were sevennative policemen in T ibasu, and four crazy smooth-boremuskets among them . All the men were gray with fear,but not beyond leading. Michele dropped the key of thetelegraph instrument, and went out, at the head of hisarmy, to meet the mob . As the shouting crew cameround a com er of the road, he dropped and fired ; the

76

HIS CHANCE IN LIFE

men behind him loosing off instinctively at the sametime.The whole crowd curs to the back-bone yelledand ran, leaving one man dead, and another dying inthe road . Michele was sweating with fear ; but he kepthis weakness under, and went down into the town, pastthe house where the Sub-Judge had barricaded himself.The streets were empty . T ibasu was more frightenedthan Michele, for the mob had been taken at the righttime .Michele returned to the Telegraph Office, and sent a

message to Chicacola asking for help . Before an an

swer came, he received a deputation of the elders ofT ibasu , telling him that the Sub-Judge said his actionsgenerally were ‘

unconstitutional,’

and trying to bullyhim . But the heart of Michele D

’

Cruze was big andwhite in his breast, because of his love for Miss Vezzis,the nurse-girl, and because he had tasted for the firsttime Responsibility and Success . Those two make anintoxicating drink, and have ruined more men than everhas Whisky . Michele answered that the Sub-Judgemight say what be pleased , but, until the Assistant Collector came, the Telegraph Signaller was the Government of India in T ibasu , and the elders of the townwould be held accountable for further rioting. Thenthey bowed their heads and said, Show mercy !

’ orwords to that effect, and went back in great fear ; eachaccusing the other of having begun the rioting.

Early in the dawn, after a night’s patrol with his

seven policemen, Michele went down the road, musketin hand, to meet the Assistant Collector who had riddenin to quell Tibasu . But, in the presence of this youngEnglishman, Michele felt himself slipping back more

7 7


and more into the native ; and the tale of the T ibasuRiots ended, with the strain on the teller, in an hysterical outburst of tears, bred by sorrow that he had killeda man, shame that he could not feel as uplifted as he hadfelt through the night, and childish anger that his tonguecould not do justice to his great deeds . It was theWhitedrop in Michele ’s veins dying out, though he did not

know it .But the Englishman understood ; and, after he hadschooled those men of T ibasu , and had conferred withthe Sub-Judge till that excellent official turned green, hefound time to draft an official letter describing the conduct

’

of Michele . Which letter filtered through theProper Channels, and ended in the transfer of Micheleup

-country once more, on the Imperial salary of sixtysix rupees a month .

So he and Miss Vezzis were married with great stateand ancientry ; and now there are several little D

’

Cruzes

sprawling about the verandahs of the Central TelegraphOffice.But, if the whole revenue of the Department he serveswere to be his reward , Michele could never, never repeatwhat he did at Tibasu for the sake of Miss Vezzis thenurse-girl . 1

Which proves that, when a man does good work outof all proportion to his pay, in seven cases out of ninethere is a woman at the back of the virtue .The two exceptionsmust have suffered from sunstroke .

78

WATCHES OF THE NIGHT

What is in the Brahman’

s books that is in the Brahman ’s heart. Neither you nor I knew there was somuchevil in the world . Hindu Proverb

HIS began in a practical joke ; but it has gone farenough now, and is getting serious .Platte, the Subal tern, being poor, had a Water

bury watch and a plain leather guard .

The Colonel had aWaterburywatch also, and, forguard,the lip-strap of a curb-chain . Lip-straps make the bestwatch-guards . They are strong and short . Between alip-strap and an ordinary leather guard there is no greatdifference ; between one Waterbury watch and anothernone at all . Every one in the Station knew the Colonel

’slip-strap . He was not a horsey man, but he liked peopleto believe he had been one once ; and he wove fantasticstories of the hunting-bridle to which this particular lipstrap had belonged . Otherwise hewas painfully religious .Platte and the Colonel were dressing at the Club

both late for their engagements, and both in a hurry.

That was K ismet. The two watches were on a shelf below the looking-glass guards hanging down . Thatwas carelessness. Platte changed first, snatched a watch,looked in the glass, settled his tie, and ran . Forty secondslater the Colonel did exactly the same thing, each mantaking the other

’

s watch .

79


You may have noticed that many religious people aredeeply suspicious . They seem for purely religiouspurposes, of course to know more about iniquity thanthe Unregenerate . Perhaps they were specially bad before they became converted . At any rate, in the imputation of things evil, and in putting theworst constructionon things innocent, a certain type of good people maybe trusted to surpass all others. The Colonel and hisWife were of that type . But the Colonel’s Wife was theworst . She manufactured the Station scandal, andtalked to her ayah ! Nothing more need be said . TheColonel’s Wife broke up the Laplaces’ home . The Colonel

’

s Wife stopped the Ferris-H aughtrey engagement .The Colonel’s Wife induced young Buxton to keep hiswife down in the Plains through the first year of the marriege . Wherefore littleMrs . Buxton died, and the babywith her. These things will be remembered against theColonel’s Wife so long as there is a regiment in thecountry.

But to come back to the Colonel and Platte . Theywent their several ways from the dressing-room . TheColonel dined with two Chaplains while Platte went to abachelor-party, and whist to follow.

Mark how things happen ! If Platte’s groom had putthe new saddle-pad on the mare, the butts of the territswould not have worked through the worn leather andthe old pad into the mare’

s withers when she was coming home at two o’clock in the morning. She would nothave reared, bolted, fallen into a ditch, upset the cart,and sent Platte flying over an aloe-hedge on to Mrs.

Larkyn’

s well-kept lawn ; and this tale would never havebeen written . But the mare did all these things, andwhile Platte was rolling over and over on the turf, like a

80


shot rabbit, the watch and guard flew from his waistcoatas an Infantry Major

’

s sword hops out of the scabbard when they are firing a feu dc j oie and rolled androlled in the moonlight, till it stopped under a window.

Platte stuffed his handkerchief under the pad, put thecart straight, and went home .Mark again how Kismet works ! This would not ar

rive once in a hundred years . Towards the end of hisdinner with the two Chaplains, the Colonel let out hiswaistcoat and leaned over the table to look at someMission Reports . The bar of the watch-guard workedthrough the button-hole, and the watch Platte’swatch

slid quietly on to the carpet ; where the bearer foundit next morning and kept it .Then the Colonel went home to the wife of his bosom ;but the driver of the carri age was drunk and lost hisway. So the Colonel returned at an unseemly hour andhis excuses were not accepted . If the Colonel’s Wifehad been an ordinary vessel of wrath appointed for destruction, she would have known that when a man staysaway on purpose his excuse is always sound and original .The very baldness of the Colonel’s explanation provedits truth .

See once more the workings of Kismet ! The Colonel’s watch which came with Platte hurriedly on to

Mrs . Larkyn’

s lawn, chose to st0p just under Mrs . Larkyn

’

s window, where she saw it early in the morning,recognised it, and picked it up . She had heard thecrash of Platte’s cart at two o

’

clock that morning, andhis voice calling the mare names. She knew Platte andliked him . That day she showed him the watch andheard his story. He put his head on one side, winkedand said,

‘

Howdisgusting ! Shocking old man ! With8 1


his religious training, too ! I should send the watch tothe Colonel’s Wife and ask for explanations . ’

Mrs . Larkyn thought for a minute of the Laplaceswhom she had known when Laplace and his wife believed in each other and answered,

‘ I wil l send it . Ithink it will do her good . But, remember, we mustnever tell her the truth .

’

Platte guessed that his own watch was in the Colonel’spossession, and thought that the return of the lipstrapped Waterbury with a soothing note from Mrs .

Larkyn would merely create a small trouble for a fewminutes . Mrs . Larkyn knew better. She knew thatany poison dropped would find good holding-ground inthe heart of the Colonel ’s Wife .The packet, and a note containing a few remarks onthe Colonel ’s calling hours, were sent over to the Colonel ’s Wife, who wept in her own room and took counselwith herself.If there was one woman under Heaven whom theColonel’s Wife hated with holy fervour, it was Mrs.

Larkyn . Mrs . Larkyn was a frivolous lady, and calledthe Colonel ’s Wife ‘

old cat . ’ The Colonel’

s Wife saidthat somebody in Revelation was remarkably like Mrs .

Larkyn . She mentioned other Scri pture people as wellfrom the Old Testament . But the Colonel

’s Wife wasthe only person who cared or dared to say anythingagainst Mrs. Larkyn . Every one else accepted her asan amusing, honest little body. Wherefore, to believethat her husband had been shedding watches under that‘Thing’s ’ window at ungodly hours, coupled with thefact of his late arrival on the previous night,wasAt this point she rose up and sought her husband . Hedenied everything except the ownership of the watch.

82



merciful Providence, at the hands of so unworthy aninstrument as Mrs . Larkyn, had established his guilt .He was a bad, wicked, gray-haired profligate. Thismay sound too sudden a revulsion for a long-weddedwife ; but it is a venerable fact that, if a man or womanmakes a practice of, and takes a delight in, believing andspreading evil of people indifferent to him or her, he orshe will end in believing evil of folk very near and dear.You may think, also, that the mere incident of thewatch was too small and trivial to raise this m isunderstanding. I t is another aged fact that, in life as well asracing, all the worst accidents happen at little ditchesand cut-down fences . In the same way, you sometimessee a woman who would have made a Joan of Arc inanother century and climate, threshing herself to piecesover all the mean worry of housekeeping. But that isanother story.

Her belief only made the Colonel’s Wife morewretched, because it insisted so strongly on the villainyof men . Remembering what she had done, it was pleasant to watch her unhappiness, and the penny-farthingattempts she made to hide it from the Station . Butthe Station knew and laughed heartlessly ; for they hadheard the story of the watch, with much dramatic gesture, from Mrs . Larkyn

’

s lips .Once or twice Platte said to Mrs . Larkyn, seeing that

the Colonel had not cleared himself,‘This thing has

gone far enough . I move we tell the Colonel’

s Wifehow it happened .

’ Mrs . Larkyn shut her lips andshook her head, and vowed that the Colonel

’

s Wife musthear her punishment as best she could . Now Mrs .Larkyn was a frivolous woman, in whom none wouldhave suspected deep hate . So Platte took no action, and

84


came to believe gradually, from the Colonel’s silence ,

that the Colonel must have run off the line somewherethat night, and, therefore, preferred to stand sentenceon the lesser count of rambling into other people’s compounds out of calling-hours . Platte forgot about thewatch business after a while, and moved down countrywith his regiment . Mrs . Larkyn went home when herhusband’s tour of Indian service expired . She neverforgot .But Platte was quite right when he said that the jokehad gone too far. The mistrust and the tragedy of itwhich we outsiders cannot see and do not believe inare killing the Colonel

’s Wife, and are making theColonel wretched . If either of them read this story,they can depend upon its being a fairly true account ofthe case, and can kiss and make friends .Shakespeare alludes to the pleasure of watching anEngineer being shelled by his own Battery. Now thisshows that poets should not wri te about what they donot understand . Any one could have told him thatSappers and Gunners are perfectly different branches ofthe Service . But, if you correct the sentence, and substitute Gunner for Sapper, the moral comes just the

85

THE OTHER MAN

When the Earthwas sick and the Skies were grayAnd the woods were rotted with rain,

The Dead Man rode through the autumn dayTo visit his love again .

Old Ballad .

AR back in the Seventies, before they had builtany Public-Offices at Simla , and the broad roadround Jakko lived in a pigeon-hole in the P. W.

D . hovels, her parents made Miss Gaureymarry ColonelSchreiderling. He could not have been much more thanthirty-five years her senior ; and, as he lived on two hundred rupees a month and had money of his own, hewas well off . He belonged to good people, and sufferedin the cold weather from lung-complaints . In the hotweather he dangled on the brink of heat-apoplexy ; butit never quite killed him .

Understand, I do not blame Schreiderling. He was agood husband according to his lights, and his temperonly failed him when he was being nursed : which wassome seventeen days in each month . He was almostgenerous to his wife about money-matters, and that, forhim, was a concession . Still Mrs . Schreiderling was nothappy. They married her when she was this side oftwenty and had given all her poor little heart to anotherman . I have forgotten his name, but we will call him

86

THE OTHER MAN

the Other Man . He had no money and no prospects .Hewas not even good-looking ; and I think he was in theCommissariat or Transport . But, in spite of all thesethings, she loved him very badly ; and there was somesort of an engagement between the two when Schreiderling appeared and told Mrs. Gaurey that he wished tomarry her daughter. Then the other engagement wasbroken off washed away by Mrs. Gaurey

’

s tears, forthat lady governed her house by weeping over disobedience to her authori ty and the lack of reverence she re

ceived in her old age . The daughter did not take afterher mother. She never cried ; not even at the wedding.

The Other Man bore his loss quietly, and was transferred to as bad a station as he could find . Perhapsthe climate consoled him . He suffered from intermittent fever, and that may have distracted him from hisother trouble . He was weak about the heart also . Bothways . One of the valves was affected, and the fevermade it worse . This showed itself later on .

Then many months passed, and Mrs. Schreiderlingtook to being ill . She did not pine away like people instory-books, but she seemed to pick up every form ofillness that went about a Station, from simple fever upwards . She was never more than ordinarily pretty atthe best of times ; and the illnesses made her ugly .

Schreiderling said so . He prided himself on speakinghismind .

When she ceased being pretty, he left her to her owndevices, and went back to the lairs of his bachelordom .

She used to trot up and down Simla Mall in a forlorn

s ort of way, with a gray Terai hat well on the back of

her head, and a shocking bad saddle under her. Schreiderling

’

s generosity stopped at the horse . He said that87


any saddle would do for a woman as nervous as Mrs.

Schreiderling. She never was asked to dance, becauseshe did not dance well ; and she was so dull and uninteresting that her box very seldom had any cards in it .Schreiderling said that if he had known shewas going tobe such a scarecrow after her marri age he would neverhave married her. He always prided himself on speaking hismind, did Schreiderling.

He left her at Simla one August, and went down to hisregiment. Then she revived a little, but she never recovered her looks. I found out at the Club that theOther Man was coming up sick very sick on an offchance of recovery. The fever and the heart-valveshad nearly killed him . She knew that too, and sheknew what I had no interest in knowing when hewas coming up . I suppose he wrote to tell her. Theyhad not seen each other since a month before the wedding. And here comes the unpleasant part of the storyA late call kept me down at the Dovedell Hotel tilldusk one evening. Mrs. Schreiderling had been flittingup and down the Mall all the afternoon in the rain .

Coming up along the Cart-road a tonga passed me, andmy pony, tired with standing so long, set off at a canter.Just by the road down to the Tonga Office Mrs . Schreiderling, dripping from head to foot, was waiting for thetonga . I turned uphill, as the tonga was no affair ofmine, and just then she began to shriek . I went backat once and saw, under the Tonga Office lamps, Mrs .

Schreiderling kneeling in the wet road by the back seatof the newly-arrived tonga, screaming hideously. Thenshe fell face down in the dirt as I came up .

Sitting in the back seat, very square and firm, withone hand on the awning-stanchion and the wet pouring

88

THE OTHER MAN

off his hat and moustache, was the Other Man dead .

The sixty-mile uphill jolt had been too much for hisvalve, I suppose . The tonga-driver said,

‘This Sahibdied two stages out of Solon . Therefore, I tied himwith a rope, lest he should fall out by the way, and socame to Simla . Will the Sahib give me bukshish? It,

’

pointing to the OtherMan,‘should have given one rupee .

’

The Other Man sat with a grin on his face, as if be enjoyed the joke of his arri val ; and Mrs . Schreiderling, inthe mud, began to groan . There was no one except usfour in the office, and it was raining heavily. The firstthing was to take Mrs . Schreiderling home, and thesecond was to prevent her name from being mixed upwith the affair. The tonga-driver received five rupees tofind a bazar ’rickshaw forMrs . Schreiderling. Hewas totell the Tonga Babu afterwards of the Other Man, andthe Babu was to make such arrangements as seemed best.Mrs . Schreiderlingwas carri ed into the shed out of the

rain, and for three-quarters of an hour we two waitedfor the ’

ri ckshaw. The Other Man was left exactlyas he had arrived . Mrs . Schreiderling would do everything but cry, which might have helped her. She tri edto scream as soon as her senses came back, and then shebegan praying for the Other Man’s soul . Had she notbeen as honest as the day, she would have prayed forher own soul too . I waited to hear her do this, but shedid not . Then I tried to get some of the mud off herhabit . Lastly, the

’rickshaw came, and I got her awaypartly by force . It was a terri ble business from be

ginning to end ; but most of all when the’rickshaw had

to squeeze between the wall and the tonga, and she sawby the lamplight that thin, yellow hand grasping theawning-stanchion .

89


She was taken home just as every one was going to adance at Viceregal Lodge ‘

Peterhoff’ it was then

and the doctor found out that she had fallen from herhorse, that I had picked her up at the back of Jakko,and really deserved great credit for the prompt mannerin which I had secured medical aid . She did not diemen of Schreiderling

’

s stamp marry women who don ’tdie easily . They live and grow ugly .

She never told of her one meeting, since her marriage ,with the Other Man ; and, when the chill and cough following the exposure of that evening allowed her abroad,she never by word or sign alluded to having met me bythe Tonga Office . Perhaps she never knew.

She used to trot up and down the Mall, on that shocking bad saddle, looking as if she expected to meet someone round the corner every minute . Two years afterwards she went Home, and died at Bournemouth, Ithink .

Schreiderling, when he grew maudlin at Mess, used totalk about ‘my poor dear wife .

’ He always set greatstore on speaking hismind, did Schreiderling.



thing well ; which is a beautiful belief when you hold itwith all your heart . He was clever in many ways, andgood to look at, and always made people round himcomfortable even in Central India .

So he went up to Simla, and, because he was cleverand amusing, he gravitated naturally to Mrs . H auksbee,who could forgive everything but stupidity. Once hedid her great service by changing the date on an invitation-card for a big dance which Mrs. H auksbee wishedto attend, but couldn

’t, because she had quarrelled withthe A .

-D .-C. , who took care, being a mean man, to ia

vite her to a small dance on the 6th instead of the bigBall of the 26th. It was a very clever piece of forgery ;and when Mrs . Hauksbee showed the A .

-D .-C. her in

vitation-card, and chaffed him mildly for not bettermanaging his vendettas, he really thought that he hadmade a mistake ; and which was wise realised thatit was no use to fight with Mrs. H auksbee. She wasgrateful to Tarrion , and asked what she could do forhim . He said simply, I

’m a Freelance up here on leaveon the look-out for what I can loot. I haven’t a squareinch of interest in all Sim la . My name isn

’t known toany man with an appointment in his gift, and I want anappointment a good, sound one. I believe you cando anything you turn yourself to . Will you help me?

’

Mrs. Hauksbee thought for a minute, and passed thelash of her riding-whip through her lips, as was her custom when thinking. Then her eyes sparkled and she

said,‘ I will ’

; and she shook hands on it. Tarrion, having perfect confidence in this great woman, took nofurther thought of the business at all, except to wonderwhat sort of an appointment he would win .

Mrs . Hauksbee began calculating the prices of all the92

CONSEQUENCES

Heads of Departments and Members of Council sheknew, and the more she thought the more she laughed,because her heart was in the game and it amused her.Then she took a Civil List and ran over a few of the appointments. There are some beautiful appointmentsin the Civil List. Eventually, she decided that, thoughTarri on was too good for the Political Department, shehad better begin by trying to place him there . Her ownplans to this end do not matter in the least, for Luckor Fate played into her hands, and she had nothingto do but to watch the course of events and take thecredit of them .

All Viceroys, when they first come out, pass throughthe Diplomatic Secrecy craze . It wears off in time ; butthey all catch it in the beginning, because they are newto the country. The particular Viceroy whowas suffering from the complaint just then this was a long timeago, before Lord Dufferi n ever came from Canada, orLord Ripon from the bosom of the English Churchhad it very badly ; and the resultwas that menwhowerenew to keeping official secrets went about looking un

happy ; and the Viceroy plumed himself on the way inwhich he had instilled notions of reticence into his Staff .Now, the Supreme Government have a careless custom of committing what they do to printed papers .These papers deal with all sorts of things from thepayment of Rs . 200 to a ‘ secret service native, up torebukes administered to Vakils andMotam ids of NativeStates, and rather brusque letters to Native Princes,telling them to put their houses in order, to refrain fromkidnapping women, or filling offenders with poundedred pepper, and eccentricities of that kind . Of course,these things could never be made public, because Na

93


tive Pri nces never err officially, and their States are officially as well administered as Our territories. Also

,

the private allowances to various queer people are notexactly matters to put into newspapers, though theygive quaint reading sometimes . When the Supreme Govemment is at Simla these papers are prepared there

,

and go round to the people who ought to see them in

office-boxes or by post . The principle of secrecywas tothat Viceroy quite as important as the practice, and heheld that a benevolent despotism like Ours should neverallow even little things, such as appointments of subordinate clerks, to leak out till the proper time . H e

was always remarkable for his principles .There was a very important batch of papers in preparation at that time . It had to travel from one end ofSimla to the other by hand . It was not put into an official envelope, but a large, square, pale pink one ; thematter being in MS . on soft crinkley paper. It wasaddressed to ‘The Head Clerk, etc etc .

’ Now, between‘The Head Clerk, etc . , etc .

’ and ‘Mrs . H auksbee’ and a

flourish, is no very great difference, if the address bewritten in a very bad hand, as this was . The orderlywho took the envelope was not more of an idiot thanmost orderlies . He merely forgot where this most nuofficial cover was to be delivered, and so asked the firstEnglishman he met

,who happened to be a man riding

down to Annandale in a great hurry. The Englishmanhardly looked at it, said, Mrs . H auksbee,

’

and went on .

So did the orderly,because that letter was the last in

stock and he wanted to get his work over. There wasno book to sign ; he thrust the letter into Mrs. H auks

bee’s bearer’s hands and went off to smoke with a friend .

Mrs. Hauksbee was expecting some cut-out pattern94



weak Head of a strong Department, but he called on thebiggest and strongest man that the Government owned,and explained that he wanted an appointment at Simlaon a good salary. The compound insolence of thisamused the Strong Man, and, as he had nothing to dofor the moment, he listened to the proposals of the eudacious Tarrion .

‘You have, I presume, some specialqualifications, besides the gift of self-assertion, for theclaims you put forward? ’ said the Strong Man .

‘That,Sir,

’ said Tarrion,

‘

is for you to judge .

’ Then he began,for he had a good memory, quoting a few of the moreimportant notes in the papers slowly and one by oneas a man drops chlorodyne into a glass . When he hadreached the peremptory order and it was a very peremptory order the Strong Man was troubled . Tarrion wound up ‘And I fancy that special knowledgeof this kind is at least as valuable for, let us say, a berthin the Foreign Office, as the fact of being the nephew ofa distinguished officer’s wife . ’ That hit the Strong Manhard, for the last appointment to the Foreign Office hadbeen by black favour, and he knew it.

‘ I ’ll see what I can do for you,’ said the Strong Man .

‘Many thanks,’ said Tarri on . Then he left, and the

Strong Man departed to see how the appointment wasto be blocked.

Followed a pause of eleven days ; with thunders andlightnings and much telegraphing . The appointmentwas not a very important one, carrying only between R s.

500 and R s. 700 a month ; but, as the Viceroy said, itwas the principle of diplomatic secrecy that had to bemaintained, and it was more than likely that a boy sowell supplied with special information would be worth

96

CONSEQUENCES

translating. So they translated Tarri on . They musthave suspected him, though he protested that his information was due to singular talents of his own . Now,

much of this story, including the after-history of themissing envelope, you must fill in for yourself

,because

there are reasons why it cannot be written . If you donot know about things Up Above, you won

’t understand howto fill in, and youwill say it is impossible .What the Viceroy said when Tarrion was introduced

to him was ‘This is the boy who rushed ” the Governm ent of India, is it? Recollect, Sir, that is not donetwice .

’ So he must have known something.

What Tarrion said when he saw his appointmentgazetted was

‘ If Mrs . Hauksbee were twenty years

younger, and I her husband , I should be Viceroy of

I ndia in fifteen years . ’

What Mrs . H auksbee said, when Tarrion thankedher , almost with tears in his eyes, was first ‘ I told

you so !’ and next, to herself What fools men are ! ’

97

THE CONVERSION OF AURELIANMcGOGGIN

Ride with an idle whip, ridewith an unused heel,But, once in a way, there will come a dayWhen the colt must be taught to feellash that falls, and the curb that galls, and the stingof the rowelled steel .

Life ’s Handicap .

’

HIS is not a tale exactly . It is a Tract ; and Iam immensely proud of it . Making a Tract is aFeat .

Every man is entitled to his own religious opinionsbut no man least of all a junior has a right tothrust these down other men’s throats . The Govemment sends out weird Civilians now and again ; butMcGoggin was the queerest exported for a long time .He was clever brilliantly clever but his clevernessworked the wrong way. Instead of keeping to the studyof the vernaculars, he had read some books written bya man called Comte, I think, and a man called Spencer. [You will find these books in the Library . ! Theydeal with people

’

s insides from the point of view of menwho have no stomachs . Therewas no order against hisreading them ; but his Mamma should have smackedhim . They fermented in his head , and he came out toIndia with a rarefied religion over and above his work .

98



The climate and the work are against playing brickswithwords .If McGoggin had kept his creed, with the capital let

ters and the endings in ‘ isms,’

to himself, no one wouldhave cared ; but his grandfathers on both sides had beenWesleyan preachers, and the preaching strain came outin his mind . He wanted every one at the Club to seethat they had no souls too, and to help him to eliminatehis Creator. As a good many men told him, he un

doubtedly had no soul, because he was so young, but itdid not follow that his seniors were equally undevelopedand , whether there was another world or not, a manstill wanted to read his papers in this . ‘But that is notthe point that is not the point ! Aurelian used to say.

Then men threw sofa-cushions at him and told him to

go to any particular place he might believe in. Theychristened him the ‘Blastoderm,

’ he said he camefrom a family of that name somewhere, in the prehistori c ages, and by insult and laughter strove to chokehim dumb, for he was an unmitigated nuisance at theClub, besides being an offence to the older men . H is

Deputy Commissioner, who was working on the Frontier when Aurelian was rolling on a bed-quilt, told himthat, for a clever boy, Aurelian was a very big idiot .And, if he had gone on with his work, he would havebeen caught up to the Secretariat in a few years . Hewas of the type that goes there all head, no physiqueand a hundred theories. Not a soul was interested inMcGoggin

’

s soul . He might have had two, or none, orsomebody else ’s . His business was to obey orders andkeep abreast of his files, instead of devastating the Clubwith ‘ isms . ’

He worked brilliantly ; but he could not accept any1 00

THE CONVERSION OF AURELIAN MCGOGGIN

order without trying to better it . That was the fault ofhis creed . It made men too responsible and left toomuch to their honour. You can sometimes ride an oldhorse in a halter, but never a colt . McGoggin took moretrouble over his cases than any of the men of his year.Hemayhave fancied that thirty-page judgments on fiftyrupee cases both sides perjured to the gullet ad

vanced the cause of Humanity . At any rate, he workedtoo much, and worried and fretted over the rebukes hereceived, and lectured away on his ridiculous creed outof office, till the Doctor had to warn him that hewas overdoing it . No man can toil eighteen annas in the rupee inJune without suffering. But McGoggin was still intellectually beany

’ and proud of himself and his powers,

and he would take no hint . He worked nine hours a daysteadily.

‘Very well,’ said the Doctor,

‘you ’ll break down, be

cause you are over-engined for your beam .

’ McGoggin

was a little man .

One day the collapse came as dramatically as if ithad been meant to embellish a Tract .It was just before the Rains . We were sitting in the

verandah in the dead, hot, close air, gasping and praying that the black-blue clouds would let down and bringthe cool . Very, very far away there was a faint whisper, which was the roar of the Rains breaking over theriver. One of the men heard it, got out of his chair,listened and said, naturally enough,

‘Thank GodThen the Blastoderm turned in his place and said,Why? I assure you it

’

s only the result of perfectly natural causes— atmospheric phenomena of the simplest kind .

Why you should, therefore, return thanks to a Beingwhonever did exist—who is only a figm ent

1 01

PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS‘Blastoderm,

’ grunted the man in the next chair,dry

up and throw me over the Pioneer. ” We know allabout your figments.

’ The Blastoderm reached out tothe table, took up one paper, and jumped as if something had stung him . Then he handed the paper.

‘

As I was saying,’ he went on slowly and with an

effort ‘ due to perfectly natural causes perfectlynatural causes . I mean

‘Hi ! Blastoderm, you’ve given me the Calcutta

Mercantile Advertiser. ”

The dust got up in little whorls, while the tree-topsrocked and the kites whistled . But no one was lookingat the coming of the Rains . We were all staring at theBlastoderm, who had risen from his chair and was fight

ing with his speech . Then he said, still more slowlyPerfectly conceivable— dictionary— red oak— amen

able cause retaining shuttle-cock—alone . ’

‘Blastoderm’s drunk,’ said one man . But the Blas

toderm was not drunk . He looked at us in a dazed sortof way, and began motioning with his hands in the halflight as the clouds closed overhead . Then with ascream

‘What is it? Can ’t reserve attainable market obscureBut his speech seemed to freeze in him, and— just

as the lightning shot two tongues that cut the whole skyinto three pieces and the rain fell in quivering sheetsthe Blastoderm was struck dumb. He stood pawingand champing like a hard-held horse, and his eyes werefull of terror.The Doctor came over in three minutes, and heard

the story. It’s aphasia,

’ he said . Take him to his room .

I knew the smash would come . ’ We carried the Blas1 02



This gave him a wholesome feeling of mistrust. The

legitimate explanation, that he had been overworkinghimself, failed to satisfy him . Something had wiped hislips of speech, as a mother wipes the milky lips of herchild, and he was af raid horribly afraid .

So the Club had rest when he returned ; and if ever youcome across Aurelian McGoggin laying down the law onthings Human he doesn’t seem to know as much as

he used to about things Divine put your forefinger toyour lip for a moment, and see what happens .Don

’

t blam e me if he throws a glass at your head .

1 04

THE TAKING OF LUNGTUNGPE N

So we loosed a bloomin ’ volley,An’ we made the beggars cut,

An’ when our pouch was emptied out,We used the bloomin ’ butt,

Ho ! My !Don’t yer come anigh,

When Tommy is a playin’ with the baynit

an ’ the butt.‘Barrack Room Ballad .

’

Y friend Pri vate Mulvaney told me this, sittingon the parapet of the road to Dagshai, whenwe were hunting butterflies together. He had

theories about the Army, and coloured clay pipes perfectly. He said that the young soldier is the best towork with,

‘ on account av the surpassing innocinse avthe child .

’

‘Now, listen !’ said Mulvaney, throwing himself full

length on the wall in the sun .

‘

I’

m a born scutt av thebarrick-room ! The Army’s mate an’

dhrink to me,bekaze I ’m wan av the few that can ’t quit ut. I ’ve putin sivinteen years, an

’ the pipeclay’s in the marrow avme . Av I cud have kept out av wan big dhrink amonth, I wud have been a H on

’

ry Lift’

nint by this timea nuisince to my betthers, a laughin

’-shtock to my

equils, an’ a curse to meself . Bein’

fwhat I am , I’m

1 05


PrivitMulvaney, wid no good-conduc’ pay an ’ a devour

in’ thirst. Always barrin’ me little frind Bobs Bahadur,I know asmuch about the Army as most men .

’

I said something here .‘Wolseley be shot ! B etune you an ’ me an’ that but

terfly net, he’s a ramblin

’

, incoherint sort av a divil, widwan oi on the Quan

’

e an’ the Coort, an’ the other on his

blessed silf everlastin’

ly playing Saysar and Alexandrier rowled into a lump . Now Bobs is a sinsible littleman . Wid Bobs an’ a few three-year-olds, I

’d swapeany army av the earth into a towel, an

’ throw it awayaftherwards. Faith, I

’m not jokin’

!’Tis the bhoys

the raw bhoys that don ’t know fwhat a bullutmanes, an

’ wudn’

t care av they did that dhu the work .

They’re crammed wid bull-mate till they fairly rampswid good livin’

; and thin, av they don’t fight, they blow

each other’s bids off .

’

T is the trut’ I ’m tellin’ you .

They shud be kept on water an ’ rice in the hot weather ;but ther ’

d be a mut’ny av ’twas done .

Did ye iver hear how Privit Mulvaney tuk the townav Lungtungpen? I thought not ! ’Twas the Lift

’

nint

got the credit ; but’twas me planned the schame. A

little before I was inviladed from Burma, me an’ four

an’-twenty young wans, undher a Lift

’

nint B razenosc,

was ruinin’ our dijeshins thryin

’ to catch dacoits . An’

such double-ended divils I niver knew !’

Tis only a daban’ a Snider that makes a dacoit . Widout thim, he

’s a

paceful cultivator, an’ felony for to shoot. We hunted,

an ’ we hunted , an’ tuk fever an ’

elephints now an’ again ;

but no dacoits . E venshually, we puckarowedwan man .

Trate him tinderly,

”sez the Lift’

nint . So l tukhim awayinto the jungle,wid the Burmese I nterprut

’

r an’ my clanin

’-rod . Sez I to the man, My paceful squireen, sez I ,

1 06



kits an ’ the rifles on it . The night was chokin ’

dhark,

an’ just as we was fairly embarked, I heard the Lift’

nint

behind av me callin’

out.

“There’s a bit av a nullahhere, Sorr,

”sez I , but I can feel the bottom already .

So I cud, for I was not a yard from the bank.

“Bit av a nullah ! Bit av an eshtury !”sez the Lift’

uint . “Go on, ye mad Irishman ! Shtri p bhoys !

I heard him laugh ; an’ the bhoys begun shtri ppin

’ an’

rollin’ a log into the wather to put their kits on . Some an’ Conolly shtruck out through the warm watherwid our log, an

’ the rest come on behind .

‘That shtrame was miles woide !’

Orth’

ri s, on therear-rank log, whispers we had got into the Thames below Sheerness by mistake . Kape on shwimmin’

, yelittle blayguard,

” sez I, an’ don’t go pokin’ your dirty

jokes at the I rriwaddy.

“Silince, men ! sings out

the Lift’

nint. So we shwum on into the black dhark,

wid our chests on the logs, trustin’ in the Saints an’ the

luck av the British Army .

E venshually we hit ground a bit av sand an’ aman . I put my heel on the back av him . He skreechcdan’

ran .

“Now we’ve done it ! sez Lift’

nint B razenose .

Where the D ivil is Lungtungpen?” There was about

a minute and a half to wait . The bhoys laid a bould avtheir ri fles an’ some thried to put their belts on ; we wasmarchin’ wid fixed baynits av coorse. Thin we knewwhere Lungtungpen was ; for we had hit the river-wallav it in the dhark, an

’ the whole town blazed wid thimmessin’ j ingles an’ Sniders like a cat’s back on a frostynight . They was firin

’ all ways at wanst ; but over ourbids into the shtrame .

“Have you got your rifles? sez B razenose.

1 08

THE TAKING OF LUNGTUNGPE N’

em ! sez Orth’

ris.

“ I ’ve got that thief Mulvaney’

s

for all my back-pay, an’

she’ll kick my heart sick widthat blunderin ’ long shtock av hers.

” Go on ! ” yellsB razenose, whippin

’

his sword out. Go on an ’ take thetown ! An’ the Lord have mercy on our sowls !

‘Thin the bhoys gave wan dcvastatin’ howl, an

’

pranced into the dhark, feelin’ for the town, an

’

blindin’

and stiffin’

like Cavalry Ridin ’ Masters whin the grasspricked their bare legs. I hammered wid the butt atsome bamboo-thing that felt wake, an

’ the rest come an’

hammered contagious, while the jingles was j ingling, an’

feroshus yells from inside was shplittin’ our cars. We

was too close under the wall for thim to hurt us.

E venshually, the thing, whatever ut was, bruk ; an’

the six-and-twinty av us tumbled, wan afther the other,naked as we was borrun , into the town of Lungtungpen.

There was a melly av a sumpshus kind for awhoile ; butwhether they tuk us, all white an

’ wet, for a new breedav divil, or a new kind av dacoit, I don

’t know. Theyran as though we was both, an

’ we wint into thim, baynit an

’ butt, shriekin’

wid laughin’

. There was torchesin the shtreets, an

’ I saw little Orth’

ris rubbin’

his

showlther ivry time he loosed my long-shtock Martini ;an ’

B razenose walkin’

into the gang wid his sword, likeDiarrnid av the Gowlden Collar barring he hadn’t astitch av clothin ’

on him . We diskivered elephints widdacoits under their bellies, an

’

, what wid wan thing an’

another, we was busy till mornin’ takin ’ possession av

the town of Lungtungpen .

‘Thin we halted an’ formed up, the M men howlin’

in the houses an’

Lift’

nint B razenose blushin’ pink in

the light av the mornin ’

sun .

’Twas the most ondasintp’rade I iver tuk a hand in . Foive-and-twenty privits

1 09


an’ an orficer av the Line in review ordher , an’

not as

much as wud dust a fife betune ’em all in the way ofclothin

’

! Eight av us had their belts an’ pouches onbut the rest had gone in wid a handful of cartridges anthe skin God gave thim . They was as naked as Vanus .

“Number off from the right ! ” sez the Lift’

nint.

Odd numbers fall out to dress ; even numbers pathrolthe town till relieved by the dressing party . Let metell you, pathrollin

’ a town wid nothing on is an expayli enee . I pathrolled for tin minutes, an

’ begad, before’twas over, I blushed . The women laughed so . I niverblushed before or since ; but I blushed all over my carkissthin . Orth

’

ris didn’t pathrol . He sez only, Fortsmith

B arricks an ’ the ’Ard av a Sunday ! ” Thin he lay downan ’

rowled any ways wid laughin‘Whin we was all dhressed we counted the dead

sivinty-foive dacoits besides wounded . We tuk fiveelephints, a hunder

’ an’

sivinty Sniders, two hunder’

dahs, and a lot av other burglarious thruck . N ot a manav us was hurt—excep

’ maybe the Lift’

nint, an’ he from

the shock to his dasincy .

‘The Headman av Lungtungpen, who surrinder’

d

him self, asked the Interprut’

r“Av the English fight

like that wid their clo’es off what in the wurruld do

they do wid their clo’es on? Orth’

ris began rowlin ’

his eyes an’

crackin’ his fingers an’ dancin ’ a step-dance

for to impress the Headman . He ran to his house ; an’

we spint the rest av the day carryin’ the Lift’

nint on ourshowlthers round the town, an

’

playin’ wid the Burmese

babies fat, little, brown little divils, as pretty as

picturs.

‘Whin I was inviladed for the dysent’

ry to India, Isez to the Lift’

nint,“ Sorr,

”sez I ,

“you’ve the makin ’s1 1 0


A GERM-DESTROYER

Pleasant it is for the Little Tin GodsWhen great Jove nods ;

But Little Tin Gods make their little mistakesIn missing the hour when great Jove wakes .

S a general rule, it is inexpedient to meddle withquestions of State in a land where men are highlypaid to work them out for you . This tale is a

justifiable exception.

Once in every five years, as you know, we indent for anew Viceroy ; and each Viceroy imports, with the rest ofhis baggage, a Private Secretary,whomay or may not bethe real Viceroy, just as Fate ordains . Fate looks afterthe Indian Empire because it is so big and so helpless.There was a Viceroy once who brought out with him aturbulent Private Secretary a hard man with a softmanner and a morbid passion for work . This Secretarywas called Wonder John Fennil Wonder. The Viceroy possessed no name nothing but a string of counties and two-thirds of the alphabet after

,them . He

said, in confidence, that he was the electro-plated figure-head of a golden administration, and he watchedin a dreamy, amused way Wonder

’s attempts to drawmatters which were entirely outside his province intohis own hands . ‘When we are all cherubims together,

’

said His Excellency once,‘my dear, good fri end Wonder1 1 2

A GERM-B ESTHOYER

will head the conspiracy for plucking out Gabriel’s tailfeathers or stealing Peter’

s Keys . Then I shall reporthirn.

’

But, though the Viceroy did nothing to check Wonder’s officiousness, other people said unpleasant things .May be the Members of Council began it ; but, finally,all Simla agreed that there was

‘

too much Wonder andtoo little Viceroy in that rule . Wonder was alwaysquoting ‘

H is Excellency .

’ Itwas ‘His Excellency this,’

‘

H is Excellency that,’ In the Opinion ofHis Excellency’

and so on . The Viceroy smiled ; but he did not heed .

He said that, so long as his old men squabbled with hisdear, good Wonder,

’

they might be induced to leavethe Immemorial East in peace .

‘No wise man has a Policy,’

said the Viceroy.

‘APolicy is the blackmail levied on the Foo! by the Unforeseen . I am not the former, and I do not believe inthe latter. ’

I do not quite see what this means, unless it refers toan Insurance Policy. Perhaps it was the Viceroy’s wayof saying, Lie low.

’

That season came up to Sim la one of these crazypeople with only a single idea . These are the men whomake things move ; but they are not nice to talk to.

This man’s name was Mellish, and he had lived for fif

teen years ou land of his own, in Lower Bengal , studyingcholera . He held that cholera was a germ that propagated itself as it flew through a muggy atmosphere ; andstuck in the branches of trees like a wool-flake . The

germ could be rendered steri le, he said , by‘Mellish

’

s

Own Invincible Fumigatory a heavy violet-blackpowder the result of fifteen years’ scientific investi

gation, Sir !’

1 1 3

I


Inventors seem verymuch alike as a caste . They talkloudly, especially about

‘ conspiracies of monopolists ’

;

they beat upon the table with their fists ; and they secretefragments of their inventions about their persons .Mellish said that there was a Medical ‘Ring ’ at Simla

headed by the Surgeon-General, who was in league,apparently, with all the Hospital Assistants in the Empire . I forget exactly howhe proved it, but it had something to do with ‘ skulking up to the Hills ’

; and whatMellish wanted was the independent evidence of theViceroy Steward of our Most Gracious Majesty theQueen, Sir.

’

SoMellish went up to Simla, with eightyfour pounds of Fumigatory in his trunk, to Speak to theViceroy and to show him the merits of the invention .

But it is easier to see a Viceroy than to talk to him , nu

less you chance to be as important asMellishe ofMadras .He was a six-thousand-rupee man, so great that hisdaughters never inarried .

’ They contracted alliances . ’

He himselfwas not paid . He received emoluments,’ and

hisjoum eysabout the countrywere toursof observation .

’

His business was to stir up the people in Madras with along pole— as you stir up tench in a pond and thepeople had to come up out of their comfortable old waysand gasp ‘This is Enlightenment and Progress. Isn ’tit fine ! ’ Then they gave Mellishe statues and jasminegarlands, in the hope of getting rid of him .

Mellishe came up to Simla to confer with the Viceroy.

’ That was one of his perquisites . The Viceroyknew nothing of Mellishe except that he was ‘

one ofthose middle-class deities who seem necessary to theSpiri tual comfort of this Paradise of the Middle-classes,

’

and that, in all probability, he had‘ suggested, designed,

founded, and endowed all the public institutions in Mad1 1 4



and thought Evidently this is the wrong tiger ; but itis an original animal . ’ Mellish

’

s hair was standing onend with excitement, and he stammered . He begangroping in his coat-tails and, before the Viceroy knewwhat was about to happen, he had tipped a bagful of hispowder into the big silver ash-tray.

‘

J-j-judge for yourself, Sir,’ said Mellish .

‘Y’ Excellency, shall judge for yourself ! Absolutely infallible, on my honour.

’

He plunged the lighted end of his cigar into the powder, which began to smoke like a volcano, and send upfat, greasy wreaths of copper-coloured smoke . In fiveseconds the room was filled with a most pungent andsickening stench a reek that took fierce hold of thetrap of your windpipe and shut it . The powder hissedand fizzed,

and sent out blue and green sparks, and thesmoke rose till you could neither see, nor breathe, norgasp . Mellish, however, was used to it .

‘Nitrate of strontia,’ he shouted ;

‘ baryta, bone-meal,et cetera ! Thousand cubic feet smoke per cubic inch .

Not a germ could live not a germ, Y’ Excellency !

’

But His Excellency had fled, and was coughing at thefoot of the stairs, while all Peterhoff bummed like a hive .

Red Lancers came in, and the head Chaprassi, whospeaks English

,came in, and mace-bearers came in, and

ladies ran downstairs screaming Fire ; for the smoke wasdrifting through the house and oozing out of thewindows,and bellying along the verandahs, and wreathing andwrithing across the gardens . N o one could enter theroom where Mellish was lecturing on his Fumigatory tillthat unspeakable powder had burned itself out.

Then an Aide-de-Camp, who desired the V . C rushedthrough the rolling clouds and hauled Mellish into the

1 1 6

A GERM-DESTROYER

hall . The Viceroy was prostrate with laughter, andcould only waggle his hands feebly at Mellish, who wasshaking a fresh bagful of powder at him .

‘Glori ous ! Glori ous ! ’ sobbed His Excellency .

‘Nota germ, as you justly observe, could exist ! I can swearit . A magnificent success !

’

Then he laughed till the tears came, and Wonder, whohad caught the real Mellishe snorting on the Mall, entered and was deeply shocked at the scene . But theViceroy was delighted, because he saw that Wonderwould presently depart . Mellish with the Fumigatorywas also pleased, for he felt that he had smashed theSim la Medical Ring.

’

Few men could tell a story like H is Excellency whenhe took the trouble, and his account of

‘my dear, goodWonder’s fri end with the powder ’ went the round ofSimla, and flippant folk made Wonder unhappy by theirremarks .But H is Excellency told the tale once too often for

Wonder. As he meant to do . It was at a Seepee Picnic . Wonder was sitting j ust behind the Viceroy.

‘And I really thought for a moment,’ wound up His

Excellency, that my dear, good Wonder had hired an

assassin to clear his way to the throneEvery one laughed ; but there was a delicate sub

tinkle in the Viceroy’s tone which Wonder understood .

He found that his health was giving way ; and the Viceroy allowed him to go, and presented him with a flaming‘ character ’

for use at Home among big people .

‘My fault entirely,’ said His Excellency, in after sea

sons, with a twinkle in his eye .

‘My inconsistency mustalways have been distasteful to such a masterlyman .

’

1 1 7

KIDNAPPE D

There is a tide in the affairs of men,Which, taken any way you please, is bad,And strands them in forsaken guts and creeksNo decent soul would think of visiting.

You cannot stop the tide ; but, now and then,You may arrest some rash adventurerWho h ’

m will hardly thank you for your pains.‘

Vibart’

s Moralities . ’

E are a high-caste and enlightened race, andinfant-marriage is very shocking, and the consequences are sometimes peculiar ; but, never

theless, the Hindu notion which is the Continentalnotion, which is the aboriginal notion of arrangingmarriages irrespective of the personal inclinations of themarried, is sound . Think for a minute, and you will seethat it must be so ; unless, of course, you believe in‘

affinities.

’ In which case you had better not read thistale . Howcan a man who has never married, who cannot be trusted to pick up at sight a moderately soundhorse, whose head is hot and upset with visions of domestic felicity, go about the choosing of a wife? Hecannot see straight or think straight if he tries ; and thesame disadvantages exist in the case of a girl

’s fancies .But when mature, married, and discreet people arrangea match between a boy and a girl, they do it sensibly,

1 1 8



Miss Castries d’

Castri es it was originally, but thefamily dropped the d ’ for administrative reasons andhe fell in love with her even more energetically thanhe worked . Understand clearly that there was not abreath of a word to be said against Miss Castries nota shadow of a breath . She was good and very lovelypossessed what innocent people at Home call a Spanish’

complexion, with thick blue-black hair growing lowdown on the forehead, into a

‘widow’s peak,’ and big

violet eyes under eyebrows as black and as straight asthe borders of a ‘Gazette Extraordinary ’

when a bigman dies . But but but Well, she was a verysweet girl and very pious, but for many reasons she was‘ impossible . ’ Quite so . All good Mammas know what‘ impossible means . Itwas obviously absurd that Peythroppe should marry her. The little opal-tinted onyxat the base of her finger-nails said this as plainly as print .Further, marriage with Miss Castri es meant marriagewith several other Castri es Honorary Lieutenant Castries her Papa, Mrs. Eulalie Castries her Mamma, andall the ramifications of the Castries family, on incomesranging from R s. 1 7 5 to Rs . 470 a month, and theirwives and connections again .

It would have been cheaper for Peythroppe to haveassaulted a Commissioner with a dog-whip, or to have.

burned the records of a Deputy-Commissioner’s Office,than to have contracted an alliance with the Castries .It would have weighted his after-career less even nuder a Government which never forgets and never forgives . Everybody saw this but PeythrOppe . He wasgoing to marry Miss Castri es, hewas being of age anddrawing a good income and woe betide the housethat would not afterwards receive Mrs. Virginie Saulez

1 20

KIDNAPPED

Peythroppe with the deference due to her husband’s

rank . That was Peythroppe’

s ultimatum, and any re

monstrance drove him frantic.These sudden madnesses most afflict the sanest men .

There was a case once but I will tell you of that lateron . You cannot account for the mania except under atheory directly contradicting the one about the Placewherein marri ages are made . Peythroppe was burningly anxious to put a millstone round his neck at theoutset of his career, and argument had not the leasteffect on him . He was going to marry Miss Castries,and the business was his own business . He wouldthank you to keep your advice to yourself. With a manin this condition mere words only fix him in his purpose.Of course he cannot see that marriage in India does notconcern the individual but the Government he serves.Do you remember Mrs. H auksbee the most won

derful woman in India? She saved Pluffles from Mrs.

Reiver, won Tarrion his appointment in the ForeignOffice, and was defeated in open field by Mrs . CusackB remm il . She heard of the lamentable condition ofPeythroppe, and her brain struck out the plan thatsaved him . She had the wisdom of the Serpent, thelogical coherence of the Man, the fearlessness of theChild, and the triple intuition of the Woman . Neverno, never as long as a tonga buckets down the So

lon dip, or the couples go a-riding at the back of SummerHill, will there be such a genius as Mrs. H auksbee ! She

attended the consultation of Three Men on Peythroppe’

s

case ; and she stood up with the lash of her riding-whipbetween her lips and spake.

Three weeks later Peythroppe dined with the Three1 21


Men, and the‘Gazette of India

’ came in . Peythroppe

found to his surprise that he had been gazetted a month ’

s

leave . Don’t ask me how this was managed . I believe firmly that, if Mrs . Hauksbee gave the order, thewhole Great Indian Administration would stand on itshead . The Three Men had also a month ’s leave each .

Peythroppe put the Gazette down and said bad words .Then there came from the compound the soft ‘pad-padof camels ‘ thieves’ camels,

’ the B ikaneer breed thatdon

’t bubble and how! when they sit down and get up .

After that, I don’t know what happened . This much

is certain : Peythroppe disappeared vanished likesmoke and the long foot-rest chair in the house of theThree Men was broken to splinters . Also a bedsteaddeparted from one of the bedrooms .Mrs . H auksbee said that Mr. Peythroppe was shooting in Rajputana with the ThreeMen ; so we were com

pelled to believe her.At the end of the month Peythroppe was gazettedtwenty days’ extension of leave ; but there was wrathand lamentation in the house of Castries . The m ar

riage-day had been fixed, but the bridegroom never

came ; and the D’

Silvas, Pereiras, and D ucketts liftedtheir voices and mocked Honorary Lieutenant Castriesas one who had been basely imposed on . Mrs . B auksbee went to the wedding, andwasmuch astonished whenPeythroppe did not appear. Af ter seven weeks Peythroppe and the Three Men returned from Rajputana .

PeythrOppe was in hard, tough condition, rather white,and more self-contained than ever.One of the Three Men had a cut on his nose, caused

by the kick of a gun . Twelve-bores kick rather curiously.

Then came Honorary Lieutenant Castries, seeking1 2


THE ARREST OF LIEUTENANT GOLIGHTLY

I ’ve forgotten the countersign,’

sez’

e.

‘Oh ! You ’ave,’ave you? ’ sez I .

‘But I ’m the Colonel,’

sez’

e.

‘Oh ! You are, are you?’ sez I . ‘Colonel

Colonel, you waits’ere till I ’m relieved, an

’ thereports on your ugly oldmug. Choop sez I .

An’ s’elp me soul,’twas the Colonel after all ! But I

was a recruity then .

‘The Unedited Autobiography of Private Ortheri s . ’

F there was one thing on which Golightly prided himself more than another, it was looking like

‘ an Officerand a Gentleman .

’ He said it was for the honour ofthe Service that he attired himself so elaborately ; butthose who knew him best said that it was just personalvanity. There was no harm about Golightly not anounce . He recognised a horse when he saw one, andcould domore than fill a cantle . He played a very fairgame at bill iards, and was a sound man at the whisttable . Every one liked him ; and nobody ever dreamedof seeing him handcuff ed on a station platform as a deserter . But this sad thing happened .

He was going down from Dalhousie, at the end of hisleave ri ding down . He had run his leave as fine ashe dared, and wanted to come down in a hurry.

1 24

T H E ARREST OF LIEUTENANT GOLIGHTLY

It was fairly warm at Dalhousie, and, knowing whatto expect below, he descended in a new khaki suittight fitting of a delicate olive-green ; a peacock-bluetie , white collar, and a snowy white solah helmet. He

p rided himself on looking neat even when he was ri ding

p ost . He did look neat, and he was so deeply concernedabout his appearance before he started that he quiteforgot to take anything but some small change withhim . He left all his notes at the hotel . His servantshad gone down the road before him , to be ready in waiting at Pathankote with a change of gear. That waswhat he called travelling in ‘ light marching-order. ’

H e

was proud of his faculty of organisation what we callbundobust .Twenty-two miles out of Dalhousie it began to rain

,

not a mere hill-shower, but a good, tepid, monsoonishdownpour . Golightly hustled on, wishing that he hadbrought an umbrella . The dust on the roads turned intomud, and the pony mired a good deal . So did Golightly

’

s khaki gaiters . But he kept on steadily and tri edto think how pleasant the coolth was.

H is next pony was rather a brute at starting, and, Golightly

’

s hands being slippery with the rain, contrived toget rid of Golightly at a corner. He chased the animal,caught it, and went ahead briskly . The spill had notimproved his clothes or his temper, and he had lost onespur. He kept the other one employed . By the timethat stage was ended the pony had had as much exer

cise as he wanted, and, in spite of the rain, Golightlywas sweating freely . At the end of another miserablehalf hour Golightly found the world disappear beforehis eyes in clammy pulp . The rain had turned the pithof his huge and snowy solah-topee into an evil-smelling

1 25


dough, and it had closed on his head like a half-openedmushroom . Also the green liningwas beginning to run .

Golightly did not say anything worth recording here .

He tore off and squeezed up as much of the brim as wa sin his eyes and ploughed on . The back of the helmetwas flapping on his neck, and the sides stuck to his ear s,but the leather band and green lining kept things roughlytogether, so that the hat did not actually melt awaywhere it flapped.

Presently, the pulp and the green stuff made a sort ofslimy mildew which ran over Golightly in several directions down his back and bosom for choice . Thekhaki colour ran too it was really shockingly bad dyeand sections of Golightly were brown, and patches

were violet, and contours were ochre, and streaks wereruddy-red, and blotches were nearly white, according tothe nature and peculiarities of the dye . When he tookout his handkerchief to wipe his face, and the green of thehat-lining and the purple stuff that had soaked throughon to his neck from the tie became thoroughly mixed,the effect was amazing.

Near Dhar the rain stopped and the evening sun cameout and dried him up slightly . It fixed the colours, too.

Three miles from Pathankote the last pony fell deadlame

,and Golightly was forced to walk. He pushed on

into Pathankote to find his servants. He did not knowthen that his khitmatgar had stopped by the roadside toget drunk, and would come on the next day saying thathe had sprained his ankle . When he got into Pathankote he couldn’t find his servants, his boots were stiffand ropy with mud, and there were large quantities ofdust about his body. The blue tie had run as much asthe khaki . So he took it off with the collar and threw

1 26



pated appearance, no marks on the body,’ who had de

serted a fortnight ago . Golightly began explaining at

great length ; and the more he explained the less theStation-Master believed him. He said that no Lieutenant could look such a ruffian as did Golightly, and thathis instructions were to send his capture under properescort to Umritsar . Golightly was feeling very dampand uncomfortable, and the language he used was notfit for publication, even in an expurgated form. Thefour constables saw him safe to Umritsar in an ‘ intermediate compartment, and he spent the four-hour journey in abusing them as fluently as his knowledge of thevem aculars allowed .

At Umritsar he was bundled out on the platform intothe arms of a Corporal and twomen of the Regim ent.Golightly drew him self up and tri ed to carry off mattersjauntily. He did not feel too j aunty in handcuffs, withfour constables behind him , and the blood from the cuton his forehead stiffening on his left cheek. The Corporal was not j ocular either. Golightly got as far as‘This is a very absurd mistake, my men,

’ when theCorporal told him to ‘ stow his lip

’

and come along.

Golightly did not want to come along. He desired tostop and explain . He explained very well indeed, untilthe Corporal cut in with ‘You a orficer ! I t

’

s thelike 0 ’ you as brings disgrace on the likes of us. Bloomin’ fine orficer you are ! I know your regiment . TheRogue

’s March is the quick-step where you come from.

You ’

re a black shame to the Service . ’

Golightly kept his temper, and began explaining allover again from the beginning. Then he was marchedout of the rain into the refreshment-room, and told notto make a qualified fool of himself. The men were go

1 28

THE ARREST OF LIEUTENANT GOLIGHTLY

ing to run him up to Fort Govindghar . And ‘

runningup’

is a performance almost as undignified as the FrogMarch .

Golightlywas nearly hysterical with rage and the chilland the mistake and the handcuff s and the headache thatthe cut on his forehead had given him . He really laidhimself out to express what was in his mind . When hehad quite fini shed and his throat was feeling dry, one ofthe men said, I

’ve’

eard a few beggars in the clink blind,stiff and crack on a bit ; but I

’

ve never ’eard any one totouch this ere “

orficer .

” They were not angry withhim . They rather admired him . They had some beerat the refreshment-room, and off ered Golightly sometoo, because he had

‘ swore won ’

erful.’ They asked

him to tell them all about the adventures of PrivateJohn B inkle while he was loose on the country-side ; andthat made Golightly wilder than ever . If he had kepthis wits about him he would have been quiet until anofficer came ; but he attempted to run .

Now the butt of a Martini in the small of your backhurts a great deal, and rotten, rain-soaked khaki tearseasily when two men are yerking at your collar.Golightly rose from the floor feeling very sick and

giddy, with his shirt ripped open all down his breast andnearly all down his back . He yielded to his luck, and atthat point the down-train from Lahore came in, carrying one of Golightly’s Majors .This is the Major

’s evidence in full‘There was the sound of a scuffle in the second-class

refreshment-room, so I went in and saw the most villainous loafer that I ever set eyes on . His boots andbreeches were plastered with mud and beer-stains . He

wore a muddy-white dunghill sort of thing on his head,1 29


and it hung down in slips on his shoulders, which were agood deal scratched . He was half in and half out of ashirt as nearly in two pieces as it could be, and he wasbegging the guard to look at the name on the tail of it .As he had rucked the shirt all over his head I couldn ’

t

at first see who he was, but I fancied that hewas a man

in the first stage of D . T . from the way he swore while hewrestled with his rags . When he turned round, and Ihad made allowances for a lump as big as a pork-pieover one eye, and some green war-paint on the face, andsome violet stri pes round the neck, I sawthat it was Golightly. He was very glad to see me,

’ said the Major‘ and he hoped I would not tell the Mess about it . I

didn’t, but you can, if you like, now that Golightly hasgone Home . ’

Golightly spent the greater part of that summer intrying to get the Corporal and the two soldiers tried byCourt-Martial for arresting an ‘ officer and a gentleman .

’

They were, of course, very sorry for their error . B ut

the tale leaked into the regimental canteen, and thenceran about the Province .



cousin had a son who secured, thanks to my recommendation, the post of head-messenger to a big firm in theStation . Suddhoo says that God will make me a Lientenant-Govem or one of these days. I daresay his prophecy will come true . He is very, very old, with white hairand no teeth worth showing, and he has outlived hiswits outlived nearly everything except his fondnessfor his son at Peshawar. Janco and Azizun are Kashmiri s, Ladies of the City, and theirs was an ancient andmore or less honourable profession ; but Azizun has sincemarried a medical student from the North-West and hassettled down to a most respectable life somewhere nearBareilly. Bhagwan Dass is an extortionate and an adulterator . He is very rich . The man who is supposed toget his living by seal-cutting pretends to be very poor.This lets you know as much as is necessary of the fourpri ncipal tenants in the house of Suddhoo. Then thereis Me of course ; but I am only the chorus that comes inat the end to explain things . So I do not count .Suddhoo was not clever. The man who pretended to

cut seals was the cleverest of them all Bhagwan Dassonly knew how to lie except Janoo. She was alsobeautiful, but that was her own aff air.Suddhoo

’

s son at Peshawar was attacked by pleurisy,and old Suddhoo was troubled . The seal-cutter manheard of Suddhoo

’

s anxiety and made capital out of it .He was abreast of the times . He got a friend in Peshawar to telegraph daily accounts of the son’s health .

And here the story begins .Suddhoo

’

s cousin ’s son told me, one evening, thatSuddhoo wanted to see me ; that he was too old and feeble to come personally, and that I should be conferri ngan everlasting honour on the House of Suddhoo if I went

1 32

IN THE HOUSE OF SUDDHOO

to him . I went ; but I think, seeing how well off Suddhoowas then, that he might have sent something better

than an ekka , which jolted fearfully, to haul out a futureL ieutenant-Govem or to the Cityon a muggyApril evening. The ekka did not run quickly. It was full darkwhen we pulled up opposite the door of R anj rt Singh

’sT omb near the main gate of the Fort . Here was Suddhoo, and he said that by reason of my condescension, itwas absolutely certain that I should become a Lieutenant-Governor while my hair was yet black. Then wetalked about the weather and the state of my health ,and the wheat crops, for fifteen minutes, in the HuzuriB agh, under the stars .Suddhoo came to the point at last. He said that

Janoo had told him that therewas an order of the Sirkaragainst magic, because it was feared that magic mightone day kill the Empress of India . I didn

’

t know anything about the state of the law ; but I fancied that something interesting was going to happen. I said that sofar from magic being discouraged by the Government itwas highly commended . The greatest officials of theState practised it themselves . (If the Financial Statement isn’t magic, I don

’t know what is. ) Then, to encourage hirn further, I said that, if there was any jadooafoot, I had not the least objection to giving it my countenance and sanction, and to seeing that it was cleanjadoo white magic, as distinguished from the uncleanjadoo which kills folk . It took a long time before Suddhoo adm itted that this was just what he had asked meto come for. Then he told me, in jerks and quavers,that the man who said he cut seals was a sorcerer of thecleanest kind ; that every day he gave Suddhoo news ofthe sick son in Peshawar more quickly than the light

1 33


ning could fly, and that this news was always corroborated by the letters . Further, that he had told Suddhoohowagreat dangerwas threateninghis son,which could beremoved by clean jadoo ; and, of course, heavy paym ent .I began to see exactly how the land lay, and told Suddhoothat I also understood a little jadoo in the Western line,and would go to his house to see that everything was donedecently and in order. We set off together ; and on theway Suddhoo told me that he had paid the seal-cutter between one hundred and two hundred rupees already ; andthe jadoo of that night would cost two hundred more .Which was cheap, he said, considering the greatness of hisson’s danger ; but I do not think he meant it .The lights were all cloaked in the front of the housewhen we arrived . I could hear awful noises from behindthe seal-cutter’s shop-front, as if some one were groaninghis soul out. Suddhoo shook all over, and while wegroped our way upstairs told me that the jadoo had he

gun . Janoo andAzizunmetus at the stair-head, and toldus that the jadoo-work was coming off in their rooms, because there was more space there . Janoo is a lady of afree-thinkingturn ofmind . Shewhispered that thejadoowas an invention to get money out of Suddhoo, and thatthe seal-cutter would go to a hot place when he died .

Suddhoo was nearly crying with fear and old age . Hekept walking up and down the room in the half-light, re

peating his son’s name over and over again, and asking

Azizun if the seal-cutter ought not to make a reduction in

the case of his own landlord . Janoopulled me over to theshadow in the recess of the carved bow-windows . Theboards were up

,and the rooms were only lit by one tiny

oil-lamp . There was no chance of my being seen if Istayed still .

1 34



the bare earth floor, stood a big, deep, brass basin, witha pale blue-green light floating in the centre like a nightlight . Round that basin the man ou the floor wriggledhim self three times . Howhe did it I do not know. Icould see the muscles ripple along his spine and fallsmooth again ; but I could not see any other motion .

The head seemed the only thing alive about him,except

that slow curl and uncurl of the labouring back-muscles .Janoo from the bed was breathing seventy to the minute ; Azizun held her hands before her eyes ; and old

Suddhoo, fingering at the dirt that had got into hiswhite beard, was crying to himself. The horror of itwas that the creeping, crawly thing made no soundonly crawled ! And, remember, this lasted for ten minutes, while the terri er whined, and Azizun shuddered,and Janoo gasped, and Suddhoo cried .

I felt the hair lift at the back of my head, and myheart thump like a thermantidote paddle. Luckily, theseal-cutter betrayed him self by his most impressive trickand made me calm again . After he had finished thatunspeakable triple crawl, he stretched his head awayfrom the floor as high as he could, and sent out a jet offire from his nostrils . Now I knew how fire-spoutingis done I can do it myself so I felt at ease . Thebusiness was a fraud . If he had only kept to that crawlwithout trying to raise the effect, goodness knows whatI might not have thought . Both the girls shri eked at

the jet of fire and the head dropped, chin-down on thefloor, with a thud ; the whole body lying then like a corpsewith its arms trussed . There was a pause of five fullminutes after this, and the blue-green flame died down .

Janoo stooped to Settle one of her anklets, while Azizunturned her face to the wall and took the terrier in her

1 36

IN THE HOUSE OF SUDDHOO

arms . Suddhoo put out an arm mechanically to Janoo’

s

buqa, and she slid it across the floorwith her foot . Directly above the body and on the wall were a couple offlaming portraits, in stammd-paper frames, of the Queenand the Pri nce ofWales. They looked down on the performance, and to my thinking, seemed to heighten the

grotesqueness of it all.Just when the silence was getting unendurable, the

body turned over and rolled away from the basin to theside of the room where it lay stomach-up . There was afaint ‘plop ’ from the basin exactly like the noise afish makes when it takes a fly and the green light inthe centre revived .

I looked at the basin, and saw, bobbing in the water,the dried, shrivelled, black head of a native baby—openeyes, open mouth, and shaved scalp . Itwasworse, beingso very sudden, than the crawling exhibition . We hadno time to say anything before it began to speak.

Read Poe ’s account of the voice that came from themesmerised dying man, and you will realise less thanone-half of the horror of that head’s voice .There was an interval of a second or two betweeneach word, and a sort of

‘

ring, ring, ring,’ in the note of

the voice, like the timbre of a bell . It pealed slowly, asif talking to itself, for several m inutes before I got rid ofmy cold sweat . Then the blessed solution struck me .I looked at the body lying near the doorway, and saw,

just where the hollow of the throat joins on the shoulders, a muscle that had nothing to do with any man

’sregular breathing twitching away steadily. The wholething was a careful reproduction of the Egyptian teraphin that one reads about sometimes ; and the voice wasas clever and as appall ing a piece of ventriloquism as

1 37


one could wishto hear. All this time the head was‘ lip

lip-lapping ’ against the side of the basin, and speaking .

It told Suddhoo, on his face again whining, of his son’s

illness and of the state of the illness up to the evening ofthat very night . I always shall respect the seal-cutterfor keeping so faithfully to the time of the Peshawartelegrams . It went on to say that skilled doctors werenight and day watching over the man’s life ; and that hewould eventually recover if the fee to the potent sorcerer,whose servant was the head in the basin, were doubled .

Here the mistake from the artistic point of view camein . To ask for twice your stipulated fee in a voice thatLazarus might have used when he rose from the dead, isabsurd . Janoo, who is really a woman of masculine intellect, saw this as quickly as I did . I heard her say‘Asli nahin ! Fareib !

’ scornfully under her breath ; andjust as she said so the light in the basin died out, thehead stopped talking, and we heard the room door creakon its hinges . Then Janoo struck a match, lit the lamp,and we saw that head, basin, and seal-cutter were gone .Suddhoowas wringing his hands, and explaining to anyone who cared to listen, that, if his chances of eternalsalvation depended on it, he could not raise another twohundred rupees . Azizun was nearly in hysterics in thecom er ; while Janoo sat down composedly on one of thebeds to discuss the probabilities of the whole thing beinga bunao, or

‘make-up .

’

I explained asmuch as I knew of the seal-cutter’s way

of jadoo ; but her argument was much more simple‘The magic that is always demanding gifts is no truemagic,

’ said she .

‘My mother told me that the onlypotent love-spells are those which are told you for love.

This seal-cutter man is a liar and a devil . I dare not1 38



myself open to the charge of aiding and abetting theseal-cutter in obtaining money under false pretences ,which is forbidden by Section 420 of the Indian PenalCode . I am helpless in the matter for these reasons : I

cannot inform the Police . What witnesses would sup

port my statements? Janoo refuses flatly, and Az izunis a veiled woman somewhere near Bareilly lost inthis big India of ours . I dare not again take the lawinto my own hands, and speak to the seal-cutter ; forcertain am I that not only would Suddhoo di sbelieveme ,but this step would end in the poisoning of Janoo, whois bound hand and foot by her debt to the bunnia .

Suddhoo is an old dotard ; and whenever we meet mumbles my idiotic j oke that the Sirkar rather patronises theBlack Ar t than otherwise . His son is well now ; butSuddhoo is completely under the influence of the sealcutter, by whose advice he regulates the affairs of hislife . Janoo watches daily the money that she hoped towheedle out of Suddhoo taken by the seal-cutter, andbecomes daily more furious and sullen .

She will never tell, because she dare not ; but, unlesssomething happens to prevent her, I am af raid that theseal-cutter will die of cholera the white arsenic kindabout the middle of May. And thus I shall be privy

to a murder in the House of Suddhoo !

HIS WEDDED WIFE

Cry‘Murder !

’

in the market-place, and eachWill turn upon his neighbour anxious eyesThat ask

‘

Art thou the man? We huntedSome centuries ago, across the world .

That bred the fear our own misdeeds maintainTo-day.

‘

Vibart’

s Moralities .

’

HAKE SPEARE says something about worms, orit may be giants or beetles, turning if you treadon them too severely. The saf est plan is never

to tread on a worm not even on the last new sub

altem from Home, with his buttons hardly out oftheir tissue-paper, and the red of sappy English beef inhis cheeks . This is a story of the worm that turned .

For the sake of brevity, we will cal l Henry AugustusRamsay Faizanne

‘The Worm,

’ though he really wasan exceedingly pretty boy, without a hair on his face,and with a waist like a girl

’

s, when he came out to theSecond ‘

Shikarris’ and was made unhappy in several

ways . The Shikarris are a high-caste regiment, andyou must be able to do things well play a banj o, orride more than little, or sing, or act, to get on withthem.

The Worm did nothing except fall off his pony, andknock chips out of gate-posts with his trap . Even that

1 41


became monotonous after a time . He objected towhist,cut the cloth at billiards, sang out of tune, kept verymuch to himself, and wrote to his Mamma and sis

ters at Home . Four of these five things were viceswhich the ‘

Shikarris’

objected to and set themselves toeradicate . Every one knows how subaltem s are, bybrother subaltem s, softened and not permitted to beferocious . It is good and wholesome, and does no oneany harm, unless tempers are lost ; and then there istrouble . Therewas a man onceThe Shikarris ’ shikarred The Worm very much, andhe bore everything without winking . He was so goodand so anxious to learn, and flushed so pink, that hiseducation was cut short, and he was left to his own devices by every one except the Senior Subaltem , who continned to make life a burden to The Worm . The SeniorSubaltern meant no harm ; but his chaff was coarse andhe didn’t quite understand where to stop . He hadbeen waiting too long for his Company ; and that alwayssours a man . Also hewas in love, which made him worse .One day, after he had borrowed The Worm

’s trap fora lady who never existed, had used it himself all theafternoon, had sent a note, to The .Worrn , purporting tocome from the lady, and was telling the Mess all aboutit, The Worm rose in his place and said, in his quiet,lady-like voice ‘That was a very pretty sell ; but I

’lllay you a month’s pay to a month ’s pay when you getyour step, that I work a sell on you that you

’

ll remember for the rest of your days, and the Regiment af teryou when you ’re dead or broke .

’ The Worm wasn ’tangry in the least, and the rest of the Mess shouted .

Then the Senior Subaltern looked at The Worm fromthe boots upwards, and down again , and said Done,

1 42



that he had acted on the impulse of the moment. He

explained this afterwards .Then the voice cried, O Lionel !

’ Lionelwas the Senior Subaltem

’

s name . A woman came into the littlecircle of light by the candles on the peg-tables, stretching out her hands to the dark where the Senior Subaltern was, and sobbing. We rose to our feet, feeling thatthings were going to happen and ready to believe theworst . In this bad, small world of ours, one knows solittle of the life of the next man which, af ter all, isentirely his own

,

concern that one is not surpri sedwhen a crash comes . Anything might turn up any dayfor any one . Perhaps the Senior Subaltern had beentrapped in his youth. Men are cri ppled that way occasionally. We didn

’t know ; we wanted to hear ; and thCaptains’ wives were as anxious as we . If he had beentrapped he was to be excused ; for the woman from nowhere, in the dusty shoes and gray travelling-dress, wasvery lovely, with black hair and great eyes full of tears .She was tall, with a fine figure, and her voice had a running sob in it pitiful to hear. As soon as the SeniorSubaltern stood up, she threw her arms round his neck,and called him ‘my darling,

’ and said she could not bearwaiting alone in England, and his letters were so shortand cold, and she was his to the end of the world, andwould he forgive her? This did not sound quite like alady’s way of speaking. It was too demonstrative .Things seemed black indeed, and the Captains

’ wivespeered under their eyebrows at the Senior Subaltern,and the Colonel’s face set like the Day of Judgmentframed in gray bristles, and no one spoke for a while .Next the Colonel said, very shortly,

‘Well, Sir?’ and

the woman sobbed af resh . The Senior Subaltern was1 44

HIS WEDDED WIFE

half choked with the arms round his neck, but hegasped out ‘

I t’

s a damned lie ! I never had a wife inmy life ! ’ ‘Don’t swear,

’ said the Colonel . ‘ Comeinto the Mess . We must sift this clear somehow,

’

and

he sighed to himself, for he believed in his Shikarris,’

did the Colonel .We trooped into the ante-room, under the full lights,

and there we saw how beautiful the woman was. She

stood up in the middle of us all, sometimes choking withcrying, then hard and proud, and then holding out herarms to the Senior Subaltern . It was like the fourthact of a tragedy. She told us how the Senior Subalternhad married her when he was Home on leave eighteenmonths before ; and she seemed to know all that weknew, and more too, of his people and his past life . He

was white and ashy-gray, trying now and again to breakinto the torrent of her words ; and we, noting how lovelyshe was and what a criminal he looked, esteemed him a

beast of the worst kind . We felt sorry for him, though.

I shall never forget the indictment of the Senior Subaltern by his wife. Nor will he . It was so sudden,rushing out of the dark, unannounced, into our dulllives . The Captains’ wives stood back ; but their eyeswere alight, and you could see that they had alreadyconvicted and sentenced the Senior Subaltern . The Colonel seemed five years older. One Major was shadinghis eyes with his hand and watching the woman from un

derneath it . Another was chewing his moustache andsmiling quietly as if he were witnessing a play. Fullin the open space in the centre, by the whist-tables,the Senior Subaltern’

s terrier was hunting for fleas. I

remember all this as clearly as though a photographwere in my hand . I remember the look of horror on

1 45


the Senior Subaltern’

s face . It was rather like seeing aman hanged, but much more interesting . Finally, thewoman wound up by saying that the Senior Subalterncarried a double F. M . in tattoo on his left shoulder.We all knew that, and to our innocent minds it seemedto clinch the matter. But one of the bachelor Majorssaid very politely,

‘ I presume that your marriage-certificate would be more to the purpose?That roused the woman . She stood up and sneered

at the Senior Subaltern for a cur, and abused the Maj orand the Colonel and all the rest . Then she wept, andthen she pulled a paper from her breast, saying imperially,

‘Take that ! And let my husband my lawfullywedded husband read it aloud if he dare ! ’

There was a hush, and the men looked into eachother’s eyes as the Senior Subaltern came forward in adazed and dizzy way, and took the paper. We werewondering, as we stared, whether there was anythingagainst any one of us that might turn up later on . TheSenior Subaltern’s throatwas dry ; but, as he ran his eyeover the paper, he broke out into a hoarse cackle of relief,and said to the woman,

‘You young blackguard !’ But

the woman had fled through a door, and on the paperwaswritten,

‘This is to certify that I , The Worm, have paidin full my debts to the Senior Subaltern, and, further,that the Senior Subaltern ismy debtor, by agreement onthe 23rd of February, as by the Mess attested, to the extent of one month’s Captain’s pay, in the lawful currencyof the Indian Empire .

’

Then a deputation set off for The Worm’s quarters,and found him , betwixt and between, unlacing his stays,with the hat, wig, and serge dress, on the bed . He cameover as he was, and the

‘

Shikarris’ shouted till the Gun

1 46


THE BROKEN-LINK HANDICAP

While the snaffle holds, or the long-neck stings,While the big beam tilts, or the last bell rings,While horses are horses to train and to race,Then women andwine take a second place

For me for meWhile a short ‘ ten-three

’

Has a field to squander or fence to face !‘ Song of the G. R.

’

HERE are more ways of running a horse to suityour book than pulling his head off in the straight.Some men forget this . Understand clearly that

all racing is rotten as everything connected with losingmoney must be . In India, in addition to its inherentrottenness, it has themerit of beingtwo-thirds sham ; looking pretty on paper only. Every one knows every oneelse far too well for business purposes . How on earth canyou rack and harry and post a man forhis losings, whenyou are fond of his wife, and live in the same Station withhim? He says,

‘On the Monday following, I can’t set

tle just yet . ’ You say,‘All right, old man,

’

and thinkyourself lucky if you pull off nine hundred out of a twothousand-rupee debt . Anywayyou look at it, Indian racing is immoral, and expensively immoral ; which ismuchworse . If a man wants your money he ought to ask forit, or send round a subscri ption-list, instead of juggling

1 48


aboutthe countrywith anAustralian larrikin, a brumby,’

with as much breed as the boy, a brace of chumars ingold-laced caps, three or four ekka-ponies with boggedmanes, and a switch-tailed demirep of a mare called Arabbecause she has a kink in her flag. Racing leads to theshroff quicker than anything else . But if you have noconscience and no sentiments, and good hands, and someknowledge of pace, and ten years

’ experi ence of horses,and several thousand rupees a month, I believe that youcan occasionally contrive to pay your shoeing-bills .Did you ever know Shackles b . w. g. , 1 5 . 1 §

coarse, loose, mule-like ears barrel as long as a gate

post tough as a telegraph-wire and the queerestbrute that ever looked through a bridle? He was of nobrand, being one of an ear-nicked mob taken into the‘Bucephalus ’ at £4 :1 0s. a head to make up freight, andsold raw and out of condition at Calcutta for R s. 27 5 .

People who lost money on him cal led him a brumby’

but if ever any horse had Harpoon’s shoulders and The

Gin’s temper, Shackles was that horse . Two miles washis own particular distance . He trained himself, ranhimself, and rode himself ; and, if his j ockey insulted himby giving him hints, he shut up at once and buckedthe boy off . He objected to dictation . Two or threeof his owners did not understand this, and lost money inconsequence . At last he was bought by a man who discovered that, if a race was to be won, Shackles, andShackles only, would win it in his own way, so long ashis j ockey sat still . This man had a! riding-boy calledBrunt a lad from Perth, West Australia and hetaught Brunt, with a trainer

’s whip, the hardest thinga jock can learn to sit still, to sit still, and to keepon sitting still . When Brunt fairly grasped this truth,

1 49


Shackles devastated the country . No weight couldstop him at his own distance ; and the fame of Shacklesspread from Ajm ir in the South, to Chedputter in theNorth . There was no horse like Shackles, so long as hewas allowed to do his work in his own way . But he wasbeaten in the end ; and the story of his fall is enough tomake angels weep .

At the lower end of the Chedputter race-course, justbefore the turn into the straight, the track passes closeto a couple of old brick-moundsenclosing a funnel-shapedhollow. The big end of the funnel is not six feet fromthe railings on the off-side . The astounding peculiarity of the course is that, if you stand at one particularplace, about half a mile away, inside the course, andspeak at ordinary pitch, your voice just hits the funnelof the brick-mounds and makes a curious whining echothere . A man discovered this one morning by accidentwhile out training with a fri end . He marked the placeto stand and speak from with a couple of bricks, and hekept his knowledge to himself. Every peculiarity of acourse is worth remembering in a country where rats

play the mischief with the elephant-litter, and Stewardsbuild jumps to suit their own stables . This man ran avery fairish country-bred, a long, racking high mare withthe temper of a fiend , and the paces of an airy wandering seraph a drifty, glidy stretch . The mare was,as a delicate tribute to Mrs . Reiver, called

‘The LadyRegula B addun or for short, Regula B addun .

Shackles’ jockey, Brunt,was a quite well-behaved boy,

but his nerve had been shaken . He began his career byriding jump-races in Melbourne, where a few Stewardswant lynching, and was one of the jockeys who camethrough the awful butchery perhaps you will recollect

1 50



piled on the weights, and the Fund gave eight hundredrupees, and the distance was

‘ round the course for allhorses . ’ Shackles’ owner said,

‘You can arrange therace with regard to Shackles only . So long as you don ’tbury him under weight-cloths, I don

’t mind .

’ RegulaB addun

’

s owner said,‘ I throw in mymare to fret Ousel .

Six furlongs is Regula’

s distance, and she will then liedown and die . So also will Ousel, for his j ockey doesn

’tunderstand a waiting race . ’ Now, thiswas a lie, for Regula had been in work for two months at Dehra, and herchances were good, always supposing that Shackles brokea blood-vessel or Brunt moved on him .

The plunging in the lotteri es was fine . They filledeight thousand-rupee lotteries on the Broken-link Handicap, and the account in the

‘

Pioneer ’ said that ‘

fa

vouritism was divided .

’ In plain English, the variouscontingents were wild on their respective horses ; forthe Handicappers had done their work well . The Honorary Secretary shouted himself hoarse through the dinand the smoke of the cheroots was like the smoke, andthe rattling of the dice-boxes like the rattle, of small-armfire.

Ten horses started very level and Regula Baddun ’s owner cantered out on his hack to a place insidethe circle of the course, where two bri cks had beenthrown . He faced towards the brick-mounds at thelower end of the course and waited .

The story of the running is in the ‘Pioneer. ’ At theend of the first mile, Shackles crept out of the ruck, wellon the outside ready to get round the turn, lay hold ofthe bit and spin up the straight before the others knewhe had got away . Brunt was sitting still , perfectlyhappy, listening to the

‘drum—drum-drum of the hoofs1 52


behind, and knowing that, in about twenty strides,Shackles would draw one deep breath and go up the lasthalf-mile like the ‘

Flying Dutchman .

’

As Shackleswent short to take the turn and came abreast of thebrick-mound, Brunt heard, above the noise of the windin his cars, a whining, wailing voice on the offside, saying ‘God ha’ mercy, I

’

m done for ! ’ In one strideBrunt sawthe whole seething smash of theMaribym ongPlate before him, started in his saddle, and gave a yell ofterror. The start brought the heels into Shacklcs’ side,and the scream hurt Shackles’ feelings . He couldn ’tstop dead ; but he put out his feet and slid along forfifty yards, and then, very gravely and judicially, buckedoff Brunt a shaking, terror-stricken lump, whileRegulaB addun made a neck-and-neck race with Bobolink upthe straight, and won by a short head Petard a badthird. Shackles’ owner, in the Stand, tri ed to thinkthat his field-glasses had gonewrong . Regula B addun ’

s

owner, waiting by the two bricks, gave one deep sigh ofrelief, and cantered back to the Stand . He had won, inlotteries and bets, about fifteen thousand .

It was a Broken-link Handicap with a vengeance. Itbroke nearly all the men concerned, and nearly brokethe heart of Shackles’ owner. He went down to interview Brunt . The boy lay, livid and gasping with fright,where he had tumbled off . The sin of losing the racenever seem ed to strike him . All he knew was thatWhalley had called him, that the call

’ was a warning ;and, were he cut in two for it, he would never get upagain . His nerve had gone altogether, and he onlyasked his master to give him a good thrashing, and lethim go . He was fit for nothing, he said . He got hisdismissal, and crept up to the paddock, white as chalk,

1 53


with blue lips, his knees giving way under him . Peoplesaid nasty things in the paddock ; butBruntneverheeded .

He changed into tweeds, took his stick and went downthe road, still shaking with fright, and muttering overand over again

‘God ha ’ mercy, I’m done for ! ’

To

the best ofmy knowledge and belief he spoke the truth .

So now you know how the Broken-link Handicap wasrun and won . Of course you don

’t believe it . Youwould credit anything about Russia’s designs on India,or the recommendations of the Currency Commissionbut a little bit of sober fact is more than you can stand .

1 54


PLAIN TALES FROM TH E HILLS

Shewas a widow, about fifteen years old, and she prayedthe Gods, day and night, to send her a lover ; for she didnot approve of living alone .One day, the man Trejago his name was came

into Amir Nath’s Gully on an aimless wandering ; and,after be had passed the buffaloes, stumbled over a bigheap of cattle-food .

Then he saw that the Gully ended in a trap, andheard a little laugh from behind the grated window. I t

was a pretty little laugh, and Treiago knowing that, forall practical purposes, the old

‘Arabian Nights ’

are goodguides, went forward to the window, and whispered thatverse of ‘The Love Song of Har Dyal ’ which begins .

‘

Can a man stand upright in the face of the nakedSun ; or a Lover in the Presence of his Beloved?

‘ If my feet fail me, 0 Heart of my Heart, am I toblame, being blinded by the glimpse of your beauty?

’

There came the faint tchink of a woman ’s braceletsfrom behind the grating, and a little voice went on withthe song at the fifth verse

‘Alas ! alas ! Can the Moon tell the Lotus of her lovewhen the Gate of Heaven is shut and the clouds gatherfor the rains?

‘Tbey have taken my Beloved, and driven her with

the pack-horses to the North .

‘There are iron chains on the feet that were set on myheart .Call to the bowmen tomake ready

The voice stopped suddenly, and Treiago walked outof Amir Nath’s Gully, wonderingwho in the world couldhave capped ‘The Love Song of Har Dyal ’

so neatly.1 5 6

BEYOND THE PALE

N ext morning, as he was driving to office, an oldwoman threw a packet into his dog-cart . In the packetwas the half of a broken glass-bangle, one flower -

'

of the

blood-red dhak, a pinch ofbhusa orcattle-food, and elevencardamoms. That packetwas a letter not a clumpsycompromising letter, butan innocent unintelligible lover

’

s

epistle .

Trejago knew far too much about these things, as Ihave said . No Englishman should be able to translateobject-letters . But Trejago spread all the trifles on thelid of his office-box and began to puzzle them out .A broken glass-bangle stands for a Hindu widow all

India over ; because, when her husband dies, a woman’s

bracelets are broken on her wrists . T rejago saw themeaning of the little bit of the glass . The flower ofthe dhak means diversely ‘ desire,

’ ‘ come,’ ‘write,

’

or

‘danger,’ accordingto the otherthingswith it . One carda

mom means‘ jealousy

’

; but when any article is duplicated in an object-letter, it loses its symbolic meaningand stands merely for one of a number indicating time,or, if incense, curds, or saffron be sent also, place . The

message ran then Awidow dhak flower and bhusa,

at eleven o’

clock .

’ The pinch of bhusa enlightenedTrejago. He saw this kind of letter leaves much toinstinctive knowledge that the bhusa referred to thebig heap of cattle-food over which he had fallen in AmirNath’s Gully, and that the message must come from theperson behind the grating ; she being a widow. So themessage ran then

‘

A widow, in the Gully in which isthe heap of bhusa, desires you to come at eleven o

’clock .

’

Trejago threw all the rubbish into the fireplace andlaughed . He knew that men in the East do not makelove under windows at eleven in the forenoon

, nor do1 5 7

women fix appointments a week in advance . So he

went, that very night at eleven, into Amir Nath’s Gully,

clad in a boorka, which cloaks a man aswell as a woman .

Directly the gongs of the City made the hour, the littlevoice behind the grating took up ‘

The Love Song of

Har Dyal at the verse where the Panthan girl callsupon Har Dyal to return . The song is really pretty inthe Vernacular. In English you miss the wail of it. Itruns something like this

‘Alone upon the housetops, to the NorthI turn and watch the lightning in the sky,

The glamour of thy footsteps in the North .

Come back to me, Beloved, or I die !‘Below my feet the still bazar is laidFar, far below the weary camels lie,

The camels and the captives of thy raid .

Come back to me, Beloved, or I die !

My father’swife is old and harshwith years,And drudge of all my father’s house am IMy bread is sorrow and my drink is tears .Come back tome, Beloved, or I die !

’

As the song stopped, Trejago stepped up under thegrating and whispered ‘ I am here . ’

Bisesa was good to look upon .

That nightwas the beginning of many strange things,and of a double life so wild that Trejago to-day sometimes wonders if it were not all a dream . Bisesa , or herold handmaiden who had thrown the object-letter, haddetached the heavy grating from the bri ck-work of thewall ; so that the window slid inside, leaving only a

1 58



cussed by a man’

s own race, but by some hundred and

fifty natives as well . T rejago had to walk with thi slady and talk to her at the Band-stand, and once or

twice to drive with her ; never for an instant dreamingthat this would affect his dearer, out-of-the-way life .

But the news flew, in the usual mysterious fashion, frommouth to mouth, till B isesa

’

s duenna heard of it andtold Bisesa . The child was so troubled that she did thehousehold workevilly, andwas beaten by DurgaCharan

’

s

wife in consequence .A week later Bisesa taxed Trejago with the flirtation .

She understood no gradations and spoke openly. Trejago laughed, and Bisesa stamped her little feet littlefeet, light as marigold flowers, that could lie in the palmof a man

’s one hand .

Much that is written about Oriental passion and im

pulsiveness is exaggerated and compiled at second-hand,but a little of it is true ; and when an Englishm an findsthat little, it is quite as startling as any passion in hisown proper life . Bisesa raged and stormed , and finallythreatened to kill herself if Treiago did not at once dropthe alien Memsahib who had come between them. Tre

j ago tried to explain, and to Show her that she did notunderstand these things from a Western standpoint.Bisesa drew herself up, and said simply

‘ I do not . I know only this it is not good that Ishould have made you dearer than my own heart to me,Sahib . You are an Englishman . I am only a black

girl’ —she was fairer than bar-gold in the Mint,

‘ andthe widow of a black man .

’

Then she sobbed and said ‘But on my soul and myMother’s soul, I love you . There shall no harm cometo you, whatever happens tome.

’

1 60

BEYOND THE PALE

T rejago argued with the child, and tried to soothe her,but she seemed quite unreasonably disturbed . Nothingwould satisfy her save that all relations between themshould end . Hewas to go away at once . And he went .As he dropped out of the window she kissed his foreheadtwice, and he walked home wondering.

A week, and then three weeks, passed without a signfrom Bisesa . Trejago, thinking that the rupture hadlasted quite long enough, went down to Am ir Nath

’

s

Gully for the fifth time in the three weeks, hoping thathis rap at the sill of the shifting grating would be answered. Hewas not disappointed .

There was a young moon, and one stream of light felldown into Amir Nath’s Gully, and struck the gratingwhich was drawn away as he knocked . From the blackdark Bisesa held out her arms into the moonlight. Bothhands had been cut off at the wrists, and the stumps werenearly healed .

Then, as Bisesa bowed her head between her arms andsobbed , some one in the room grunted like a wild beast,and something sharp knife, sword, or spear, thrustat Trejago in his boorka. The stroke missed his body,but cut into one of the muscles of the groin, and helimped slightly from the wound for the rest of his days .The grating went into its place . There was no sign

whatever from inside the house,— nothing but the moonlight strip on the high wall, and the blackness of AmirNath’

s Gully behind .

The next thing T rejago remembers, after raging and

shouting like a madman between those pitiless walls, isthat he found himself near the river as the dawn wasbreaking, threw away his boorka and went home bareheaded .

1 6 1


What was the tragedy whether Bisesa had, in a fitof causeless despair, told everything, or the intrigue hadbeen discovered and she tortured to tell ; whether DurgaCharan knew his name and what became of BisesaTreiago does not know to this day. Something horri blehad happened, and the thought of what it must havebeen comes upon Trejago in the night now and again,and keeps him company till the morning. One specialfeature of the case is that he does not know where liesthe front of Durga Charan

’

s house . It may open on toa courtyard common to two or more houses, or it maylie behind any one of the gates of Jitha Megji

’

s bustee.Trejago cannot tell . He cannot get Bisesa poor littleBisesa back again . He has lost her in the Citywhereeach man’

s house is asguarded and as unknowable as thegrave ; and the grating that opens into AmirNath

’s Gullyhas been walled up .

But Trejago pays his calls regularly, and is reckoned avery decent sort of man .

There is nothing peculiar about him, except a slightstiffness, caused by a ri ding-strain, in the right leg.

1 62



is never quite sane all his life after. People creditedMoriarty’s queerness of manner and moody ways to thesolitude, and said that it showed how Government spoiltthe futures of its best men . Moriarty had built himselfthe plinth of a very good reputation in the bridge-damgirder line . But he knew, every night of the week, thathe was taking steps to undermine that reputation withL. L . L.

’ and Christopher and little nips of liqueurs,and filth of that kind . He had a sound constitution anda great brain, or else he would have broken down anddied like a sick camel in the district ; as better men havedone before him .

Government ordered him to Simla after he had comeout of the desert ; and he went up meaning to try for apost then vacant . That season, Mrs . Reiver perhapsyou will remember her was in the height of her power,and manymen lay under heryoke . Everything bad thatcould be said has already been said aboutMrs. Reiver, inanother tale . Moriartywas heavily-built and handsome,veryquiet and nervously anxious to please his neighbourswhen he wasn ’t sunk in a brown study. He started agood deal at sudden noises or if spoken towithout warning ; and, when you watched him drinking his glass ofwater at dinner, you could see the hand shake a little .But all this was put down to nervousness, and the quiet,steady, sip-sip-sip, fill and sip-sip-sip again that went oninhisown room when hewasbyhimself,was never known .

Which was miraculous, seeing how everything in a man’

s

private life is public property in India .

Moriarty was drawn, not into Mrs. Reiver’

s set, because they were not his sort, but into the power of Mrs.

Reiver, and he fell down in front of her and made a goddess of her. This was due to his coming fresh out of

1 64

IN ERROR

the jungle to a big town . He could not scale thingsproperly or see who was what .Because Mrs . Reiver was cold and hard he said she

was stately and dignified . Because she had no brains,

and could not talk cleverly, he said she was reserved andshy. Mrs . Reiver shy ! Because she was unworthy ofhonour or reverence from any one, he reverenced herfrom a distance and dowered her with all the virtues inthe Bible and most of those in Shakespeare .

This big, dark, abstracted man who was so nervouswhen a pony cantered behind him, used to moon in thetrain of Mrs. Reiver, blushing with pleasure when shethrew a word or two his way . His admiration wasstrictly platonic ; even other women saw and admittedthis . He did not move out in Simla, so he heard nothing against his idol : which was satisfactory. Mrs. Reiver took no special notice of him, beyond seeing thathewas added to her list of admirers, and going for a walkwith him now and then, just to show that he was herproperty, clairnable as such . Moriarty must have donemost of the talking, for Mrs. Reiver couldn’t talk muchto a man of his stamp ; and the little she said could nothave been profitable . What Moriarty behaved in, ashe had good reason to , was Mrs . Reiver

’s influence overhim, and, in that belief, set himself seriously to try to doaway with the vice that only he himself knew ofH is experiences while he was fighting with it must have

been peculiar, but he never descri bed them . Sometimeshewould hold off fromeverything exceptwater foraweek .

Then, on a rainy night, when no one had asked him out todinner, and therewas a bigfire inhis room, and everythingcomfortable, he would sit down andmake a big night of itby adding little nip to little nip, planning big schemes of

1 65


reformation meanwhile, until he threw himself on his bedhopelessly drunk . He suffered next morning.

One night the big crash came . He was troubled inhis own mind over his attempts to make himself ‘worthyof the friendship of Mrs. Reiver. The past ten dayshad been very bad ones, and the end of it all was that hereceived the arrears of two and three-quarter years ofsipping in one attack of delirium tremens of the subduedkind ; beginning with suicidal depression, going on to fits

and starts and hysteria, and ending with downright raving. As he sat in a chair in front of the fire, or walkedup and down the room picking a handkerchief to pieces,you heard what poor Moriarty really thought of Mrs.

Reiver,for he raved about her and his own fall for the

most part ; though he ravelled some P. W. D . accountsinto the same skein of thought . He talked and talked,and talked in a low dry whisper to himself, and therewas no stopping him . He seemed to know that therewas something wrong, and twice tried to pull himself to

gether and confer rationally with the Doctor ; but hismind ran out of control at once, and he fell back to awhisper and the story of his troubles . It is terrible tohear a big man babbling like a child of all that a manusually locks up, and puts away in the deep of his heart .Moriarty read out his very soul for the benefit of anyone who was in the room between ten-thirty that nightand two-forty-five next morning.

From what he said, one gathered how immense an influence Mrs. Reiver held over him, and how thoroughlyhe felt for his own lapse . H is whisperings cannot, ofcourse, be put down here ; but they were very instructiveas showing the errors of his estimates.

1 66



in that belief saved himself ; which was just as good asthough she had been everything that he had imagined .

But the question is,What claim will Mrs . Reiver haveto the credit of Moriarty’s salvation, when her day ofreckoning comes?

1 68

A BAN K FRAUD

H e drank strong waters and his speech was coarse ;He purchased raiment and forbore to pay ;

H e stuck a trusting junior with a horse,And won Gymkhanas in a doubtful way .

Then ,

’twixt a vice and folly, turned asideTo do good deeds and straight to cloak them, lied .

‘The Mess Room .

’

F Reggie Burke were in India now he would resentthis tale being told ; but as he is in Hong-kong andwon ’t see it, the telling is safe . Hewas the man who

worked the big fraud on the Sind and Sialkote Bank .

He was manager of an up-country Branch, and a sound,practical man with a large experi ence of native loan andinsurance work . He could combine the frivolities of

ordinary life with his work, and yet do well . ReggieBurke rode anything that would let him get up, dancedas neatly as he rode, and was wanted for every sort ofamusement in the Station .

As he said himself, and as many men found out ratherto their surprise, there were two Burkes, both very muchat your service .

‘Reggie Burke,’ between four and ten ,

ready for anything from a hot-weather gymkhana to ariding-picnic, and, between ten and four,

‘Mr. ReginaldB urke, Manager of the Sind and Sialkote Branch Bank .

’

You might play polo with him one afternoon and hear1 69


him express his Opinions when a man crossed ; and youmight call on him next morning to raise a two-thousandrupee loan on a five hundred pound insurance policy,eighty pounds paid in premiums . He would recognise

you, but you would have some trouble in recognisinghim .

The Directors of the Bank— it had its headquarters inCalcutta, and its General Manager

’s word carried weightwith the Government - picked their men well . They hadtested Reggie up to a fairly severe breaking-strain . Theytrusted him just as much as Directors ever trust Managers. You must see for yourself whether their trustwasmisplaced .

Reggie’

s Branch was in a big Station, and workedwith the usual staff one Manager, one Accountant,both English, a Cashier , and a horde of native clerks ;besides the Police patrol at nights outside . The bulkof its work, for it was in a thriving distri ct, was hoondiand accommodation of all kinds . A fool has no grip ofthis sort of business ; and a clever man who does not goabout among his clients, and know more than a little oftheir affairs, is worse than a fool . Reggie was younglooking, clean-shaved, with a twinkle in his eye, and ahead that nothing short of a gallon of the Gunners’

Madeira could make any impression on .

One day, at a big dinner, he announced casually thatthe Directors had shifted on to him a Natural Curiosity,from England, in theAccountant line . Hewas perfectlycorrect. Mr. Silas Riley, Accountant,was a most curious animal a long, gawky, rawboned Yorkshireman,full of the savage self-conceit that blossoms only inthe best county in England . Arrogance was a mildword for the mental attitude of Mr. S . Riley. He had

1 70


PLAIN TALE S FROM THE HILLS

to remind him that seven years’ limited experi ence between Huddersfield and Beverley did not qualify a manto steer a big up—country business . Then Riley sulkedand referred to himself as a pillar of the Bank and acherished friend of the Directors, and Reggie tore hishair. If a man

’

s English subordinates fail him in India,he comes to a hard time indeed, for native help has strictlimitations . In the winter Riley went sick for weeks ata time with his lung complaint, and this threw morework on Reggie . But he preferred it to the everlastingfri ction when Riley was well .One of the Travelling Inspectors of the Bank discov

ered these collapses and reported them to the Directors .Now Riley had been foisted on the Bank by an M. Pwho wanted the support of Riley’s father, who, again,wasanxious to get his son out to a warmer climate becauseof those lungs . The M . P. had interest in the Bank ;but one of the Directors wanted to advance a nomineeof his own ; and, after Riley

’s father had died, he madethe rest of the Board see that an Accountant who wassick for half the year had better give place to a healthyman . If Riley had known the real story of his appointment he might have behaved better ; but, knowingnothing, his stretches of sickness alternated with restless, persistent, meddling irri tation of Reggie, and allthe hundred ways in which conceit in a subordinate situation can find play. Reggie used to call him strikingand hair-curling names behind his back as a relief to hisown feelings ; but he never abused him to his face, because he said,

‘Riley is such a frail beast that half of hisloathsome conceit is due to pains in the chest . ’

Late one April , Riley went very sick indeed . TheDoctor punched him and thumped him, and told him be

1 72

A BANK FRAUD

would be better before long. Then the Doctor went toReggie and said ‘Do you know how sick your Accountant is?

‘No ! ’ said Reggie ;‘ the worse the bet

ter, confound him ! He’

s a clacking nuisance when he’

s

well. I ’ll let you take away the Bank Safe if you can

drug him silent for this hot weather.’

But the Doctor did not laugh ‘Man, I’m not jok

ing,’

he said . I ’ll give him another three months in hisbed and a week or somore to die in . On my honour andreputation that’s all the grace he has in this world.

Consumption has hold of him to the marrow.

’

Reggie’s face changed at once into the face of Mr.Reginald Burke,

’ and he answered,‘What can I do? ’

‘

N othing,’ said the Doctor ;

‘

for all practical purposesthe man is dead already . Keep him quiet and cheerful,and tell him he’

s going to recover. That’s all . I ’ll lookafter him to the end, of course .

’

The Doctor went away, and Reggie sat down to openthe evening mail . H is first letter was one from the Directors, intimating for his information that Mr. Ri leywas to resign, under a month

’s notice, by the terms ofhis agre ement, telling Reggie that their letter to Rileywould follow, and advising Reggie of the coming of anew Accountant, a man whom Reggie knew and liked .

Reggie lit a cheroot, and, before he had finished smok

ing, he had sketched the outline of a fraud . He putaway burked the Directors’ letter, and went in totalk to Riley, who was as ungracious as usual, and fretting himself over the way the Bank would run duri ng hisillness . He never thought of the extra work on Reggie

’

sshoulders, but solely of the damage to his own prospectsof advancement . Then Reggie assured him that everything would be well, and that he, Reggie, would con

1 73


fer with Riley daily on the management of the Bank.

R iley was a little soothed, but he hinted in as manywords that he did not think much of Reggie’s businesscapacity. Reggie was humble . And he had letters inhis desk from the Directors that a Gilbarte or a Hardiemight have been proud ofThe days passed in the big darkened house, and the

D irectors’

letter of dismissal to Riley came and was putaway by Reggie, who, every evening, brought the booksto Riley

’

s room, and showed him what had been goingforward, while Riley snarled . Reggie did his best tomake statements pleasing to Riley, but the Accountantwas sure that the Bank was going to rack and ruin without hirn . In June, as the lying in bed told on his spirit,he asked whether his absence had been noted by the Directors, and Reggie said that they had written mostsympathetic letters, hoping that he would be able to resume his valuable services before long. He showed Rileythe letters ; and Riley said that the Directors oughtto have written to him direct . A few days later, Reggie opened Riley’s mail in the half-light of the room,

and gave him the sheet not the envelope of a letter to Riley from the Directors . Riley said he wouldthank Reggie not to interfere with his private papers,Specially as Reggie knew he was too weak to open hisown letters . Reggie apologised .

Then Riley’s mood changed, and he lectured Reggieon his evil ways : his horses and his had fri ends.

‘ Ofcourse lying here, on my back, Mr. Burke, I can

’t keepyou straight ; but when I

’m well, I do hope you’

ll paysome heed tomy words.

’ Reggie, who had dropped polo ,and dinners, and tennis and all, to attend to Ri ley, saidthat he was penitent, and settled Riley

’s head on the1 74



Reggie down a good deal, and shook his nerves, and lowered his billiard play by forty points . But the businessof the Bank, and the business of the sickroom, had to goon, though the glass was 1 1 6

° in the shade.At the end of the third month Riley was sinking fast,and had begun to realise that he was very sick . Butthe conceit that made him worry Reggie kept him frombelieving the worst . ‘He wants some sort of mentalstimulant if he is to drag on,

’ said the Doctor. ‘Keephim interested in life if you care about his living.

’ SoRiley, contrary to all the laws of business and thefinance, received a 25 -per-cent rise of salary from theDirectors . The ‘mental stimulant ’ succeeded beautifully. Riley was happy and cheerful, and, as is oftenthe case in consumption, healthiest in mind when thebody was weakest . He lingered for a full month, snarling and fretting about the Bank, talking of the future,hearing the Bible read, lecturing Reggie on sin, andwondering when he would be able to move abroad .

But at the end of September, one mercilessly hotevening, he rose up in his bed with a little gasp, and saidquickly to Reggie ‘Mr. Burke, I am going to die . Iknow it in myself. My chest is all hollow inside, andthere’s nothing to breathe with . To the best of mykn owledge I have done nowt he was returning to thetalk of his boyhood ‘ to lie heavy on my conscience .

God be thanked, I have been preserved from the grosserforms of sin ; and I counsel you, Mr. BurkeHerchis voice died down, and Reggie stooped overhim .

Send my salary for September to my Motherdone great things with the Bank if I had beenspared mistaken policy no fault of

1 76

A BANK FRAUD

Then he turned his face to the wall and died .

Reggie drew the sheet over I ts face, and went out intothe verandah, with his last

‘mental stimulant’

aletter of condolence and sympathy from the Directorsunused in his pocket .

‘ If I ’d been only ten minutes earlier,’ thought Reggie,

‘ I might have heartened him up to pull through anotherday.

’

TODS’ AMENDMENT

The World hath set its heavy yokeUpon the old white-bearded folkWho strive to please the King.

God ’s mercy is upon the young,God ’s wisdom in the baby tongueThat fears not anything.

‘The Parable of Chajju Bhagat .’

OW Tods’ Mammawas a singularly charmingwoman, and every one in Simla knew Tods. Mostmen had saved him from death on occasions. He

was beyond his ayah ’s control altogether, and peri lledhis life daily to find out what would happen if youpulled a Mountain Battery mule’s tail . He was anutterly fearless young Pagan

,about six years old, and

the only baby who ever broke the holy calm of the Supreme Legislative Council .It happened this way : Tods’ pet kid got loose, and

fled up the hill, off the B oileaugunge Road, Tods afterit, until it burst in to the Viceregal Lodge lawn, thenattached to ‘

Peterhoff .’ The Council were sitting at

the time, and the windows were open because it was

warm . The Red Lancer in the porch told Tods togo away ; but Tods knew the Red Lancer and most ofthe Members of Council personally . Moreover, he hadfirm hold of the kid ’s collar, and was being dragged all

1 7 8



Hill-coolies alike . He was precocious for his age, andhis mixing with natives had taught him some of themore bitter truths of lif e : the meanness and the sordidness of it . He used, over his bread and milk, to deliversolemn and serious aphorisms, translated from the vernacular into the English, that made his Mamma jumpand vowthat Tods must go Home next hot weather.Just when Todswas in the bloom of his power, the Supreme Legislature were hacking out a Bill for the SubMontane Tracts, a revision of the then Act, smaller thanthe Punjab Land Bill , but affecting a few hundred thousand people none the less. The Legal Member hadbuilt, and bolstered, and embroidered, and amendedthat Bill till it looked beautiful on paper. Then theCouncil began to settle what they called the ‘minordetails . ’

As if any Englishman legislating for nativesknows enough to know which are the minor and whichare the major points, from the native point of view, ofany measure ! That Bill was a triumph of ‘ safe-guarding the interests of the tenant . ’ One clause providedthat land should not be leased on longer terms than fiveyears at a stretch ; because if the landlord had a tenantbound down for, say, twenty years, he would squeezethe very life out of him . The notion was to keep up astream of independent cultivators in the Sub-MontaneTracts ; and ethnologically and politically the notion wascorrect. The only drawback was that it was altogetherwrong. A native’s life in India irnplies the life of hisson . Wherefore, you cannot legislate for one generation at a time . You must consider the next from thenative point of view. Curiously enough, the nativenow and then , and in Northern India more particularly,hates being over-protected against himself . There was

1 80

TODS’ AMENDMENT

a Naga village once, where they lived on dead and buried Commissariat mules . But that is anotherstory.

For many reasons, to be explained later, the peopleconcerned objected to the Bill . The Native Member inCouncil knew as much about Punjabis as he knew aboutChari ng Cross . He had said in Calcutta that ‘ the Billwas entirely in accord with the desires of that large andimportant class, the cultivators and so on, and so on .

The Legal Member’s knowledge of natives was limited

to English-speaking Durbari s, and his own red chaprassis, the Sub-Montane Tracts concerned no one in partieular, the Deputy Comm issioners were a good deal toodriven to make representations, and the measure wasone which dealt with small land-holders only. Nevertheless, the Legal Member prayed that it might be correct, for he was a nervously conscientious man . Hedid not know that no man can tell what natives thinkunless he mixes with them with the varnish off . And

not always then . But he did the best he knew. And

the measure came up to the Supreme Council for thefinal touches,while Tods patrolled the Burra Simla Bazarin hismorning ri des, and played with the monkey belonging to Ditta Mull, the bunnia, and

'

listened, as a childlistens, to all the stray talk about this new freak of theLat Sahib’s.One day there was a dinner-party at the house of

Tods’ Mamma, and the Legal Member came . Todswas in bed, but he kept awake till he heard the bursts oflaughter from the men over the coffee . Then he paddled out in his little red flannel dressing-gown and hisnight-suit, and took refuge by the side of his father,knowing that he would not be sent back . See the m is

1 8 1


cries of having a family ! ’ said Tods’ father, giving Todsthree prunes, some water in a glass that had been usedfor claret, and telling him to sit still . Tods sucked theprunes slowly, knowing that he would have to go whenthey were finished, and sipped the pink water like a manof the world, as he listened to the conversation . Presently, the Legal Member, talking

‘ shop ’ to the Head ofa Department, mentioned his Bill by its full name‘The Sub-Montane Tracts Ryotwary Revised Enactment . ’ Tods caught the one native word, and lifting uphis small voice said

‘Oh, I know all about that ! Has it been murramutted yet, Councillor Sahib?

‘Howmuch? said the Legal Member.Murramutted mended . Put theek, you knowmade nice to please Ditta MullThe Legal Member left his place and moved up nextto Tods .

‘What do you know about ryotwari, little man?’ he

said .

‘

I’

m not a little man, I’m Tods, and I know all about

it. Ditta Mull , and Choga Lall, and Amir Nath, andoh, lakhs of my friends tell me about it in the bazars

when I talk to them .

’

Oh, they do do they? What do they say, Tods?’

Tods tucked his feet under his red flannel dressinggown and said ‘ I must fink .

’

The Legal Member waited patiently. Then Tods,with infinite compassion

‘You don’t speak my talk, do you, Councillor Sahib?‘No ; I am sorry to say I do not,

’

said the Legal Member.

‘

Vcrywell,’ said Tods,

‘ I must fink in English .

’

1 82



five years and fresh papers? Nothing but dikh, trouble,dikh. We are not young men who take these lands,but old ones not farmers, but tradesmen with a littlemoney and for fifteen years we shall have peace.

Nor are we children that the Sirkar should treat us so.

”

Here Tods stopped short, for the whole table werelistening. The Legal Member said to Tods,

‘

I s thatall?

‘All I can remember,’ said Tods . ‘But you should

see Ditta Mull’s big monkey. I t’

s just like a CouncillorSahib .

’

‘Tods ! Go to bed,’ said his father.

Tods gathered up his dressing-gown tail and departed.The Legal Member brought his hand down on the table with a crash ‘By Jove !

’ said the Legal Member,‘ I believe the boy is right . The short tenure is theweak point . ’

He left early, thinking overwhat Tods had said . Now,

it was obviously impossible for the Legal Member toplay with a bunnia’s monkey, by way of getting un

derstanding ; but he did better. He made inquiries,always hearing in mind the fact that the real nativenot the hybrid, University-trained mule is as timidas a colt, and, little by little, he coaxed some of the menwhom the measure concerned most intimately to givein their viev

'

vs, which squared very closely with Tods’

evidence .

So the Billwas amended in that clause ; and the LegalMemberwas filled with an uneasy suspicion that NativeMembers represent very little except the Orders theycarry on their bosoms . But he put the thought fromhim as illiberal . Hewas a most Liberal man .

After a time the news spread through the bazars that1 84

TODS’ AMENDMENT

Tods had got the Bill recast in the tenure-clause, and ifTods’ Mamma had not interfered, Tods would havemade himself sick on the baskets of fruit and pistachionuts and Cahuli grapes and almonds that crowded theverandah . Till he went Home, Tods ranked some fewdegrees before the Viceroy in popular estimation . Butfor the little life of him Tods could not understand why.

In the Legal Member’s private-paper-box still lies therough draft of the Sub-Montane Tracts Ryotwary Revised Enactment ; and opposite the twenty-second clausepencilled in blue chalk, and signed by the Legal Member, are the words

‘Tods’

Amendment . ’

1 85

THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT

Jain ’Ardin’ was a Sarj rnt

’

swife,A Sarjint

’

s wife wus she .

She married of ’

im in OrldershortAn

’ corned acrost the sea .

(Chorus)’Ave you never

’eard tell o’ Jain ’Ardin’

?

Jain ’Ardin’

?

Jain ’Ardin ’

?’Ave you never

’eard tell o’ Jain ’Ardin’

?

The pride 0 ’ the Companee?Old Barrack-Room Ballad .

’

GENTLEMAN who doesn’t know the Circasian Circle ought not to stand up for it puttin’ everybody out.

’ That was what MissMcKenna said, and the Sergeant who was my vis-a-vislooked the same thing. I was afraid of Miss McKenna .

She was six feet high, all yellow freckles and red hair,and was simply clad in white satin shoes, a pink muslindress, and apple-green stuff sash, and black silk gloves,with yellow roses in her hair. Wherefore I fled fromMissMcKenna and sought my friend Private Mulvaney

,

whowas at the cant refreshment-table .

‘

So you’ve been dancin’ with little Jhansi McKenna ,

Sorr she that’s goin’

tomarry Corp’

ril Slane? Whin

you next conversh wid your lorruds an’ your ladies, tell

thim you’ve danced wid little Jhansi . -’Tis a thing to

be proud av.

’

1 86



Comp’

ny we called her Ould Pummeloe, by reason avher figure, which was entirely cir-cum-fe-renshill . Likethe big dhrum ! Now that woman God rock her sowlto rest in glory ! was for everlastin

’

bavin ’

childher ;

an’ McKenna, whin the fifth or sixth come squallin’ on

to the musther-roll, swore he wud number thim off

in future . But Ould Pummeloe she prayed av him tochristen them after the names av the stations they wasborrun in . So there was Colaba McK enna, an

’ MuttraMcKenna, an

’ a whole P residincy av other McK ennas,

an’

little Jhansi, dancin’ over yonder. Whin the child

her wasn ’t bornin’

, they was dying ; for, av our childherdie like sheep in these days, they died like flies thin . Ilost me own little Shadd but no matther .

’Tis longago, and Mrs . Mulvaney niver had another.I ’m digresshin

’

. Wan divil’s hot summer there comean order from some mad ijjit, whose name I misremember, for the rigim int to go up

-country. Maybe theywanted to know how the new rail carried throops . Theyknew ! On me sowl, they knew before they was done !Ould Pummeloe had just buried Muttra McK enna

an’

, the season bein’

onwholesim , only little Jhansi McKenna, who was four year ould thin, was left on hand .

Five childher gone in fourteen months . ’Twas barrd ,

wasn’t ut?‘ So we wint up to our new station in that blazin

’ heatmay the curse av Saint Lawrence conshume the man

who gave the ordher ! Will I iver forget that move?They gave us two wake thrains to the rigim int ; an

’ wewas eight hundher

’ and sivinty strong. There was A,

B , C , an’ D Companies in the secon’ thrain, wid twelve

women, no orficers’ ladies, an

’ thirteen childher . Wewas to go six hundher

’ miles, an’ railways was new in

1 88

THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT

thim days . Whin we had been a night in the belly avthe thrain the men ragin ’ in their shirts an’

dhrinkin’

anything they cud find, an’

catin ’ bad fruit-stuff whinthey cud, for we cudn

’

t stop ’em I was a Corp’

ril thinthe cholera bruk out wid the dawnin ’ av the day.

‘Pray to the Saints you may niver see cholera in athroop-thrain ! ’

Tis like the judgm int av God hittin’

down from the nakid sky ! We run into a mst p

as ut might have been Ludianny, but not by any meansso comfortable . The Orficer Commandin ’

sent a tele

grapt up the line, three hundher’mile up, askin

’ for help .

Faith, we wanted ut, for ivry sowl av the followers ranfor the dear life as soon as the thrain stopped ; an

’ by thetime that telegrapt was writ, there wasn

’t a naygur inthe station exceptin

’ the telegrapt-clerk an ’ he onlybekaze he was held down to his chair by the scruff av hissneakin

’ black neck . Thin the day began wid the noisein the carr

’

ges, an’

the rattle av the men on the platform fallin ’ over, arms an

’

all, as they stud for to answerthe Comp

’

ny muster-roll before goin’ over to the camp .

’

Tisn’

t for me to say what like the cholera was like .

May be the Doctor cud ha’ tould, av he hadn

’t droppedon to the platform from the door av a carriage where wewas takin

’ out the dead . He died wid the rest . Somebhoys had died in the night . We tuk out siven, andtwentymorewas sickenin

’ as we tuk thim . The womenwas huddled up anyways, screamin

’ wid fear.Sez the Commandin

’

Orficer whose name Im isremember , Take the womenover to that tope av trees yonder.Get thim out av the camp .

’

T is no place for thim .

Ould Pummeloewas sittin’ on her beddin’

-rowl, thryin

’ to kape little Jhansi quiet . “G0 Off to that tope ! ”

sez the Orficer . Go out av the men’s way !1 89

.


“Be damned av I do ! ” sez Ould Pumm eloe, an’ little

Jhansi, squattin’ by her mother’s side, squeaks out, Be

damned av I do, tu . Thin Ould Pummeloe turns tothe women an ’

she sez, Are ye goin’ to let the bhoys die

while you ’re picnickin’

, ye sluts? sez she . ’

T is watherthey want . Come on an ’ help .

‘Wid that, she turns up her sleeves an’ steps out for a

well behind the rest-camp little Jhansi trottin ’

be

hindwid a lotah an ’ string, an’ the other women

'

followin’

like lambs, wid horse-buckets and cookin’ pots . Whin

all the things was full, Ould Pummeloe marches backinto camp ’twas like a battlefield wid all the glorymissim’ at the bid av the rigiment av women .

“McK enna, me man !” she sez, wid a voice on her

like grand-ronn ’s challenge,“ tell the bhoys to be quiet .

Ould Pummeloe’

s comin ’ to look afther thim wid freedhri nks.

”

‘Thin we cheered, an’ the cheerin

’ in the lines waslouder than the noise av the poor divils wid the sicknesson thim . But not much .

‘You see, wewas a new an’ raw rigim ent in those days,

an’ we cud make neither head nor tail av the sickness ;

an’

so we was useless . The men was goin’ roun ’

an’

about like dumb sheep , waitin’ for the nex’ man to fall

over, an’ sayin ’ undher their spache,

“t at is ut? I n

the name av God, fwhat is ut?” ’Twas horrible . B ut

through ut all, up an’ down, an

’

down an’ up, wint OuldPummeloe an’ little Jhansi all we cud see av the babyundher a dead man ’s helmutwrd the chin-strap swingin

’

about her little stumm ick up an ’ down wid the wather an’

fwhat brandy there was .

‘Now an ’ thin Ould Pummeloe, the tears runnin’

down her fat, red face, sez,“Me bhoys, me poor, dead,

1 90



McKenna I ’ve belted into ivry recruity av the Com

p’

uy as hewas drafted .

’Faith,’twas me belted Corp

’

ril

Slane into askin ’ the girl ! ’

Not really?‘Man, I did ! She

’

s no beauty to look at, but she’

s

Ould Pummeloe’

s daughter, an’ tis my juty to provide

for her. Just before Slane got his promotion I sez tohim,

“ Slane, sez I ,“to-morrow ’twill be insubordina

shin av me to chastise you ; but, by the sow! av OuldPummeloe, who is now in glory, av you don

’t give meyour wurrud to ask Jhansi McKenna at wanst, I

’ll peelthe flesh off yer bones wid a brass huk to-night . ’Tis adishgrace to B Comp

’

ny she’s been single so long ! sez I .

Was I goin ’

to let a three-year-ould preshume to discoorse wid me my will bein ’ set? No ! Slanewint an ’

asked her. He’s a good bhoy is Slane . Wan av thesedays he ’ll get into the Com ’

ssari at an ’

dhrive a buggywid his savin ’s . So I provided for Ould Pummeloe

’

s

daughter ; an’ now you go along an

’ dance agin wid her. ’

And I did .

I felt a respect for Miss Jhansi McKenna ; and I wentto her wedding later on .

Perhaps I will tell you about that one of these days .

1 92

IN THE PRIDE OF HIS YOUTH

‘ Stopped in the straight when the racewas his own !Look at him cutting it cur to the bone‘

Ask, ere the youngster be rated and chidden,What did he carry and howwas he ridden?Maybe they used him toomuch at the start ;Maybe Fate’s weight-cloths are breaking his heart .

’

Life’s Handicap .

’

HEN I was telling you of the joke that TheWorm played off on the Senior Subaltern, Ipromised a somewhat similar tale, but with all

the jest left out. This is that tale .Dicky Hatt was kidnapped in his early, early youthneither by landlady’s daughter, housemaid, barmaid,

nor cook, but by a girl so nearly of his own caste thatonly a woman could have said shewas j ust the least littlebit in the world below it . This happened a month before he came out to India, and five days after his oneand-twentieth birthday. The girl was nineteen sixyears older than Dicky in the things of this world, thatis to say and, for the time, twice as foolish as he .Excepting, always, falling off a horse there is nothing

more fatally easy than marriage before the Registrar.The ceremony costs less than fifty shillings and is rem arkably like walking into a pawn-shop . After thedeclarations of residence have been put in, four minutes

1 93


will cover the rest of the proceedings fees, attestationand all . Then the Registrar slides the blotting-padover the names, and says grimly with his pen betweenhis teeth ,

‘Now you ’re man and wife ’

; and the couplewalk out into the street feeling as if something were horribly illegal somewhere .

But that ceremony holds and can drag a man to hisundoing just as thoroughly as the ‘ long as ye both shalllive ’ curse from the altar-rails, with the bridesmaidsgiggling behind, and

‘The Voice that breathed o’erEden ’ lifting the roof off . In this manner was DickyHatt kidnapped, and he considered it vastly fine, for hehad received an appointment in India which carried amagnificent salary from the Home point of view. Themarriage was to be kept secret for a year. Then Mrs.

Dicky Hatt was to come out, and the rest of life was tobe a glorious golden mist . That was how they sketchedit under the Addison Road Station lamps ; and, after oneshort month, came Gravesend and Dicky steaming out

to his new life, and the girl crying in a thirty-shillings aweek bed-and-living-room, in a back-street off Montpelier Square near the Knightsbridge Barracks .But the country that Dicky came to was a hard land

where men of twenty-one were reckoned very small boysindeed, and life was expensive . The salary that loomedso large six thousand miles away did not go far. Par

ticularly when Dicky divided it by two, and remittedmore than the fair half, at 1 to Montpelier Square .

One hundred and thirty-five rupees out of three hundredand thirty is not much to live on ; but it was absurd tosuppose that Mrs. Hatt could exist for ever on the £20held back by Dicky from his outfit allowance . Dickysawthis and remitted at once ; always remembering that

1 94



could not subscribe to any amusement, so he found no

amusement except the pleasure of turning over his Bankbook and reading what it said about ‘ loans on approvedsecurity.

’ That cost nothing. He rem itted through aBombay Bank

,by the way, and the Station knew noth

ing of his private affairs .Every month he sent Home all he could possibly spare

for his wife and for another reason which was expectedto explain itself shortly, and would require more money .

About this time Dicky was overtaken with the nervous, haunting fear that besets married men when theyare out of sorts . He had no pension to look to. Whatif he should die suddenly, and leave his wife unprovidedfor? The thought used to lay hold of him in the still,hot nights on the roof, till the shaking of his heart madehim think that he was going to die then and there of

heart-disease . Now this is a frame of mind which noboy has a right to know. It is a strong man

’s trouble ;but, coming when it did, it nearly drove poor punkahless,perspiring Dicky Hatt mad . He could tell no one aboutit .A certain amount of ‘ screw ’

is as necessary for a manas for a billiard-ball . It makes them both do wonderfulthings. Dicky needed money badly, and he worked forit like a horse . But, naturally, the men who owned himknew that a boy can live very comfortably on a certainincome pay in India is a matter of age, notmerit, yousee, and, if their particular boy wished to work like twoboys, Business forbid that they should stop him . ButBusiness forbid that they should give him an increase ofpay at his present ridiculously immature age . So Dickywon certain rises of salary ample for a boy notenough for a wife and a child certainly too little for

1 96

IN THE PRIDE OF HIS YOUTH

the seven-hundred-rupee passage that he and Mrs . Hatthad discussed so lightly once upon a time . And withthis hewas forced to be content .Somehow, all his money seemed to fade away in Home

drafts and the crushing Exchange, and the tone of

the Home letters changed and grew querulous.‘Why

wouldn’t Dicky have his wife and the baby out? Surelyhe had a salary a fine salary and it was too bad ofhim to enjoy himself in India . But would he couldhe make the next draft a little more elastic? ’ Herefollowed a list of baby’s kit, as long as a Parsee

’s bill .Then Dicky, whose heart yearned to his wife and thelittle son he had never seen which, again, is a feelingno boy is entitled to enlarged the draft, and wrotequeer half-boy, half-man letters, saying that lifewas notso enjoyable after all, and would the little wife wait yeta little longer? But the little wife, however much sheapproved of money, objected to waiting, and there wasa strange, hard sort of ring in her letters that Dickydidn’t understand . Howcould be, poor boy?Later on still just as Dicky had been told apro

pos of another youngster who had‘made a fool of him

self ’

as the saying is that matrimony would not onlyruin his further chances of advancement, but would losehim his present appointment came the news that thebaby, his own little, little son, had died and, behind this,forty lines of an angry woman ’s scrawl, saying the deathmight have been averted if certain things, all costingmoney, had been done, or if the mother and the babyhad been withDicky . The letter struck atDicky’s nakedheart; but, not being officially entitled to a baby, hecould show no sign of trouble .

How Dicky won through the next four months, and1 97


what hope he kept alight to force him into his work,no one dare say . He pounded on, the seven-hundredrupee passage as far away as ever, and his style of livingunchanged, except when he launched into a new filter .There was the strain of his office-work, and the strain ofhis remittances, and the knowledge of his boy

’s death,which touched the boymore, perhaps, than it would havetouched a man ; and, beyond all, the enduring strainof his daily life . Gray-headed seniors who approvedof his thrift and his fashion of denying himself everythingpleasant reminded him of the old sawthat says‘ If a youth would be distinguished in his art, art, art,He must keep the girls away from his heart, heart,heart . ’

And Dicky, who fancied he had been through everytrouble that a man is permitted to know, had to laughand agree ; with the last line of his balanced Bank-book

j rngling in his head day and night .But he had one more sorrow to digest before the end .

There arrived a letter from the little wife the naturalsequence of the others if Dicky had only known it and

the burden of that letter was ‘ gone with a handsomerman than you .

’ It was a rather curious production,without stops, something like this

‘ She was not going to wait for ever and the baby was dead and Dickywas only a boy and he would never set eyes on her againand why hadn ’t he waved his handkerchief to her whenhe left Gravesend and God was her judge she was awicked woman but Dicky was worse enjoying himself inIndia and this other man loved the ground she trod onand would Dicky ever forgive her for she would neverforgive Dicky ; and therewas no address to write to .

’

1 98


PLAIN TALES FFOM THE HILLS

sage, and enough to have saved the wife, and the littleson, and to have allowed of assured and open marriage .came then . Dicky burst into a roar of laughterlaughter he could not check nasty, j angling merriment that seemed as if it would go on for ever. Whenhe had recovered himself he said, quite seriously,

‘

I’

m

tired of work. I ’m an old man now. I t’

s about time Iretired . And I will . ’

‘The boy’s mad ! ’ said the Head .

I think he was right ; but Dicky Hatt never reappeared to settle the question .

Go, stalk the red deer o’er the heather,

Ride, follow the fox if you can !B ut, for pleasure and profit together,Allow me the hunting of Man,The chase of the Human , the search for the SoulTo its ruin, the hunting of Man .

‘The Old Shikarri . ’

BELIEVE the difference began in the matter of ahorse, with a twist in his temper, whom P inecoffin

sold to Nafferton, and by whomNaffertonwas nearlyslain . There may have been other causes of offence ;the horsewas the official stalking-horse. Naffertonwasvery angry ; but Pinecoffin laughed, and said that hehad never guaranteed the beast’s manners . Naffertonlaughed too, though he vowed that he would write offhis fall against Pinecoffin if he waited five years. Now,

a Dalesman from beyond Skipton will forgive an injurywhen the Strid lets a man live ; but a South Devon manis as soft as a Dartmoor bog. You can see from theirnames that Nafferton had the race-advantage of Pinecoffin . He was a peculiar man, and his notions of humour were cruel . He taught me a new and fascinatingform of shikar. He hounded Pinecoffin from Mithankot to Jagadri, and from Gurgaon to Abbottabad upand across the Punjab, a large Province, and in places

20 1


remarkably dry. He said that he had no intention ofallowing Assistant Commissioners to ‘ sell him pups

,

’ inthe shape of ramping, screaming countrybreds, withoutmaking their lives a burden to them .

Most Assistant Commissioners develop a bent forsome special work after their first hot weather in thecountry: The boys with digestions hope to write theirnames large on the Frontier, and struggle for drearyplaces like Bannu and Kohat . The bilious ones climbinto the Secretariat ; which is very bad for the liver.Others are bitten with a mania for District work

,Ghuz

nivide coins or Persian poetry ; while some, who come offarmers’ stock, find that the smell of the Earth after theRains gets into their blood, and calls them to

‘ developthe resources of the Province .

’ These men are enthusiasts . Pinecoffin belonged to their class . He knew agreat many facts bearing on the cost of bullocks andtemporary wells, and opium-scrapers, and what happensif you burn too much rubbish on a field in the hOpe ofenriching used-up soil . All the Pinecoffins come of alandholding breed , and so the land only took back herown again . Unfortunately most unfortunately forPinecoffin he was a Civilian as well as a farmer. Nafferton watched him, and thought about the horse . Nafferton said, See me chase that boy till he drops !

’

I said,‘You can’t get your knife into an Assistant Commissioner. ’ Nafferton told me that I did not understandthe administration of the Province .

Our Government is rather peculiar. It gushes on theagricultural and general information side, and will supply a moderately respectable man with all sorts of

‘ economic statistics,

’ if he speaks to it prettily. For instance

,you are interested in gold-washing in the sands

202



very prone towriting things on the backs of letters which,later, lead to trouble and confusion .

Nafferton had not the faintest interest in Pig, but heknew that P inecoffin would flounce into the trap . Pinecoffin was delighted at being consulted about Pig. TheIndian Pig is not exactly an important factor in agricultural life ; but Nafferton explained to Pinecoffin that therewas room for improvement, and corresponded directwith that young man .

You may think that there is not much to be evolvedfrom Pig. It all depends how you set to work. Pinecoffin being a Civilian and wishing to do things thoroughly, began with an essay on the Primitive Pig, theMythology of the Pig, and the Dravidian Pig. Nafferton filed that information twenty-seven foolscap sheetsand wanted to know about the distribution of the

Pig in the Punjab, and how it stood the Plains in thehot weather. From this point onwards remember thatI am giving you only the barest outlines of the affairthe guy-ropes, as it were, of the web that Nafferton spunround Pinecoffin .

P inecoffin made a coloured Pig-population map, andcollected observations on the comparative longevity of

Pig (a) in the sub-montane tracts of the Himalayas, and

(b) in the Rechna Doab . Nafferton filed that,and

asked what sort of people looked after Pig. This startedan ethnological excursus on swineherds, and drew fromP inecoffin long tables showing the proportion per thousand of the caste in the Derajat. Nafferton filed thatbundle, and explained that the figures which he wantedreferred to the Cis-Sutlej states, where he understoodthat Pigs were very fine and large, and where be proposed to start a Piggery. By this time Government

204

had quite forgotten their instructions toMr. P inecoffin .

They were like the gentlemen in Keats’ poem whoturned well-oiled wheels to skin other people . ButP inecoffin was just entering into the spirit of the Pighunt, as Nafferton well knew he would do . He had afair amount of work of his own to clear away ; but he satup of nights reducing Pig to five places of decimals forthe honour of his Service . He was not going to appearignorant of so easy a subject as Pig.

Then Government sent him on special duty to Kohat,to

‘ inquire into the big, seven-foot, iron-shod spades ofthat District . People had been killing each other withthose peaceful tools ; and Government wished to knowwhether a modified form of agricultural implement couldnot, tentatively and as a temporary measure, be introduced among the agri cultural population without needlessly or unduly exacerbating the existing religious sentiments of the peasantry.

’

Between those spades and N afferton’

s Pig, Pinecoffin

was rather heavily burdened .

Nafferton nowbegan to take up (a) The food-supplyof the indigenous Pig, with a view to the improvementof its capacities as a flesh-former. (b) The acclimatisation of the exotic Pig, maintaining its distinctive peculiarities.

’

Pinecoffin replied exhaustively that the exoticPig would become merged in the indigenous type ; andquoted horse-breeding statistics to prove this . Theside-issue was debated at great length on Pinecoffin

’

s

side, till Nafferton owned that he had been in the wrong,and moved the previous question . When P inecoffinhad quite written himself out about flesh-formers, andfibrins, and glucose, and the nitrogenous constituents ofmaize and lucerne, Nafferton raised the question of ex

205


pense . By this time P inecoffin , who had been transferred from Kohat, had developed a Pig theory of hisown, which he stated in thirty-three folio pages all

carefully filed by Nafferton ; who asked for more .

These things took ten months, and Pinecoffin’

s interest in the potential Piggery seemed to die down after hehad stated his own views . But Nafferton bombardedhim with letters on ‘ the Imperial aspect of the scheme,as tending to officialise the sale of pork, and thereby calculated to give offence to the Mahommedan populationof Upper India .

’ He guessed that P inecoffin would wantsome broad

,free-hand work after his niggling, stippling,

decimal details . Pinecoffin handled the latest development of the case in masterly style, and proved that nopopular ebullition of excitement was to be apprehended .

’

Nafferton said that there was nothing like Civilian insight ih matters of this kind, and lured him up a by-paththe possible profits to accrue to the Government from

the sale of hog-bristles . ’ There is an extensive literatureof hog-bristles, and the shoe, brush, and colourman

’strades recognise more varieties of bristles than you wouldthink possible . After P inecoffin had wondered a little atNafferton ’

s rage for information, he sent back a monograph, fifty

-one pages, on‘Products of the Pig .

’ Thisled him, under N afferton

’

s tender handling, straight tothe Cawnpore factories, the trade in hog-skin for saddlesand thence to the tanners . P inecoffin wrote that

pomegranate-seed was the best cure forhog-skin, and suggested for the past fourteen months had wearied himthat Nafferton should ‘ raise his pigs before he tanned

them .

’

Nafferton went back to the second section of his fifthquestion . How could the exotic Pig be brought to give

206



paper,which printed both in full . The essay was rather

high-flown ; but if the Editor had seen the stacks of paper, in Pinecoffin

’

s handwriting, on N afferton’

s table, hewould not have been so sarcastic about the ‘nebulousdiscursiveness and blatant self-sufficiency of the modernCompetition-wallah, and his utter inability to grasp thepractical issues of a practical question .

’ Many friendscut out these remarks and sent them to Pinecoffin.

I have already stated that Pinecoffin came of a softstock. This last stroke frightened and shook him. Hecould not understand it ; but he felt that he had been ,somehow, shamelessly betrayed by Naff erton . He realised that he had wrapped himself up in the Pigskin without need, and that he could not well set himself right withhis Government . All his acquaintances asked after hisnebulous discursiveness ’ or his blatant self-sufficiency,

’

and this made him miserable .

He took a train and went to Nafferton, whom he hadnot seen since the Pig business began . He also took thecutting from the paper and blustered feebly and calledNafferton names, and then died down to a watery, weakprotest of the I -say-it

’

s-too-bad-you-know order.Nafferton was very sympathetic .‘

I’

m afraid I ’ve given you a good deal of trouble ,haven’t I? ’ said he .

‘Trouble ! ’

whirnpered Pinecoffin ; I don’t mind the

trouble somuch, though that was bad enough ; but whatI resent is this showing up in print . It will stick to melike a burr all through my service . And I did do mybest for your interminable swine . It ’s too bad of you

on my soul it is !’

I don ’t know,

’ said Nafferton .

‘Have you ever beenstuck with a horse? It isn ’t the money I mind, though

208

P IG

that is bad enough ; but what I resent is the chaff thatfollows, especially from the boy who stuck me . But Ithink we’ll cry quits now.

’

Pinecoffin found nothing to say save bad words ; andNafferton smiled so sweetly, and asked todinner .

THE ROUT OF TH E WHITE HUSSARS

Itwas not in the open fightWe threw away the sword,

But in the lonely watchingIn the darkness by the ford .

The waters lapped, the night-wind blew,

Full-armed the Fearwas born and grew,

And we were flying ere we knewFrom panic in the night .

‘Beoni Bar. ’

OME people hold that an English Cavalry regiment cannot run . This is a mistake . I haveseen four hundred and thirty-seven sabres fly

ing over the face of the country in abject terror haveseen the best Regiment that ever drew bridle wiped offthe Army List for the space of two hours . If you repeatthis tale to the White Hussars they will, in all probability, treat you severely . They are not proud of the incident .You may know the White Hussars by their ‘ side,

’

which is greater than that of all the Cavalry Regimentson the roster. If this is not a sufficient mark, you mayknow them by their old brandy . It has been sixtyyears in the Mess and is worth going far to taste . Askfor the ‘McGaire

’ old brandy, and see that you get it .If the Mess Sergeant thinks that you are uneducated,

2 1 0



as a mule, with a ewe-neck, rat-tail, and cow-hocks .The Drummer detested that animal, and the best of theBand-horses put back their ears and showed the whitesof their eyes at the very sight of him . They knew himfor an upstart and no gentleman . I fancy that theColonel ’s ideas of smartness extended to the Band

,and

that he wanted to make it take part in the regular parade movements . A Cavalry Band is a sacred thing .

It only turns out for Commanding Officers’ parades, andthe Band Master is one degree more important than theColonel . He is a High Priest and the Keel Row

’

is hisholy song. The ‘Keel Row ’ is the Cavalry Trot ; andthe man who has never heard that tune rising, high andshrill, above the rattle of the Regiment going past thesaluting-base, has something yet to hear and understand .

When the Colonel cast the Drum-Horse of the WhiteHussars there was nearly a mutiny .

The officers were angry, the Regiment were furious,and the Bandsmen swore like troopers . The DrumHorse was going to he put up to auction public auction to be bought, perhaps, by a Parsee and put intoa cart ! It was worse than exposing the inner life of theRegiment to the whole world, or selling the Mess Plateto a Jew a Black Jew.

The Colonel was a mean man and a bully . He knewwhat the Regiment thought about his action ; and, whenthe troopers off ered to buy the Drum-Horse, he saidthat their offerwasmutinous and forbidden by the Regulations.

But one of the Subalterns Hogan-Yale, an Irishman bought the Drum-Horse for R s. 1 60 at the sale ;and the Colonel was wroth . Yale professed repentance

2 1 2

THE ROUT OF THE WH ITE HUSSARS

he was unnaturally submissive and said that, ashe had only made the purchase to save the horse frompossible ill-treatment and starvation, he would nowshoot him and end the business . This appeared tosoothe the Colonel, for he wanted the Drum-Horse disposed of . He felt that he had made a mistake, andcould not of course acknowledge it . Meantime, thepresence of the Drum-Horse was an annoyance to him .

Yale took to himself a glass of the old brandy, threecheroots, and his friend Martyn ; and they all left theMess together. Yale and Martyn conferred for twohours in Yale’s quarters ; but only the hull-terrier whokeeps watch over Yale’s hoot-trees knows what they said .

A horse, hooded and sheeted to his ears, left Yale’s

stables and was taken, very unwillingly, into the CivilLines. Yale’s groom went with him . Two men brokeinto the Regimental Theatre and took several paintpots and some large scenery-brushes . Then night fellover the Cantonments, and there was a noise as of a horsekicking his loose-box to pieces in Yale ’s stables. Yalehad a big, old , white Waler trap-horse .The next day was a Thursday, and the men, hearing

that Yale was going to shoot the Drum-Horse in theevening, determined to give the beast a regular regimental funeral a finer one than they would have giventhe Colonel had he died just then . They got a bullockcart and some sacking, and mounds and mounds of roses,and the body, under sacking, was carried out to theplace where the anthrax cases were cremated ; twothirds of the Regiment following. There was no Band,but they all sang ‘The Place where the old Horse died ’

as something respectful and appropriate to the occasion .

When the corpse was dumped into the grave and the2 1 3


men began throwing down armfuls of roses to cover it,

the Farrier-Sergeant ripped out an oath and said aloud‘Why, it ain

’t the Drum-Horse any more than it’

s me !The Troop-Sergeant-Majors asked him whether he hadleft his head in the Canteen . The Farrier-Sergeantsaid that he knew the Drum-Horse ’s feet as well as heknew his own ; but he was silenced when he saw the

regimental number burnt in on the poor stiff , upturnednear-fore .

Thus was the Drum-Horse of the White Hussarsburied ; the Farrier-Sergeant grumbling . The sackingthat covered the corpse was smeared in places withblack paint ; and the Farrier-Sergeant drew attention tothis fact . But the Troop-Sergeant-Maj or of E Troopkicked him severely on the shin, and told him that hewas undoubtedly drunk .

On the Monday following the burial, the Colonelsought revenge on the White Hussars . Unfortunately,being at that time temporarily in Command of the Station, he ordered a Brigade field-day . He said that hewished to make the Regiment ‘ sweat for their damnedinsolence,

’ and he carried out his notion thoroughly .

That Monday was one of the hardest days in the mem

ory of the White Hussars . They were thrown againsta skeleton-enemy, and pushed forward , and withdrawn ,

and dismounted and‘ scientifically handled

’

in everypossible fashion over dusty country, till they sweatedprofusely . Their only amusement came late in the daywhen they fell upon the battery of Horse Artillery and

chased it for two miles . This was a personal question ,

and most of the troopers had money on the event ; theGunners saying openly that they had the legs of theWhite Hussars . They were wrong. A march-past con

2 1 4



whole Regiment could water in ten minutes if it liked .

But it lingered for seventeen, as a rule, while the Bandplayed .

The Band struck up as the squadrons filed off to thetroughs, and the men slipped their feet out of the stirrups and chaffed each other. The sun was just settingin a big, hot bed of red cloud, and the road to the CivilLines seemed to run straight into the sun ’s eye . Therewas a little dot on the road . It grew and grew till itshowed as a horse, with a sort of gridiron-thing on hisback. The red cloud glared through the bars of the gridiron . Some of the troopers shaded their eyes with theirhands and said What the mischief ’as that there ’orsegot on ’

im?’

In another minute they heard a neigh that every soulhorse and man in the Regiment knew, and saw,

heading straight towards the Band, the dead DrumHorse of theWhite Hussars !On his withers banged and bumped the kettle-drums

draped in crape, and on his back, very stiff and soldierly,sat a bareheaded skeleton .

The Band stopped playing, and, for a moment, therewas a bush.

Then some one in E Troop men said it was theTroop-Sergeant-Major swung his horse round andyelled . No one can account exactly for what happenedafterwards ; but it seems that, at least, one man in eachtroop set an example of panic, and the rest followed likesheep . The horses that had barely put their muzzlesinto the troughs reared and capered ; but as soon as theBand broke, which it did when the ghost of the DrumHorse was about a furlong distant, all hooves followedsuit, and the clatter of the stampede quite. different

2 1 6

THE ROUT OF THE WHITE HUSSARS

from the orderly throb and roar of a movement on parade, or the rough horse-play of watering in campmade them only more terrified . They felt that the menon their backs were afraid of something . When horsesonce know that, all is over except the butchery.

Troop after troop turned from the troughs and rananywhere and everywhere like spilt quicksilver. Itwas a most extraordinary spectacle, for men and horseswere in all stages of easiness, and the accoutrementsflopping against their sides urged the horses on . Menwere shouting and cursing, and trying to pull clear ofthe Band, which was being chased by the Drum-Horse,whose rider had fallen forward and seemed to be spurring for a wager.The Colonel had gone over to the Mess for a drink.

Most of the officers were with him, and the Subaltern ofthe Day was preparing to go down to the Lines, and receive the watering reports from the Troop-SergeantMajors . When ‘Take me to London again ’ stopped,after twenty bars, every one in the Mess said,

‘What onearth has happened? ’ A minute later they heard un

military noises, and saw, far across the plain, the WhiteHussars scattered and broken and flying.

The Colonel was speechless with rage, for he thoughtthat the Regiment had risen against him or was unanimously drunk . The Band, a disorganised mob, torepast, and at its heels laboured the Drum-Horse thedead and buried Drum-Horse with the jolting, clattering skeleton . Hogan-Yale whispered softly to Martyn ‘No wire will stand that treatment,

’ and theBand, which had doubled like a bare, came back again .

But the rest of the Regiment was gone, was rioting allover the Province, for the dusk had shut in, and each

2 1 7


man was howling to his neighbour that the Drum-Horsewas on his flank. Troop-horses are far too tenderlytreated as a rule . They can, on emergencies, do a greatdeal, even with seventeen stone on their backs ; as thetroopers found out .How long this panic lasted I cannot say. I believe

that when the moon rose the men saw they had nothingto fear, and, by twos and threes and half-troops, creptback into Cantonments very much ashamed of themselves . Meantime, the Drum-Horse, disgusted at histreatment by old friends, pulled up , wheeled round , andtrotted up to the Mess verandah-steps for bread . Noone liked to run ; but no one cared to go forward till theColonel made a movement and laid hold of the skeleton’sfoot . The Band had halted some distance away, andnow came back slowly . The Colonel called it, individually and collectively, every evil name that occurred tohim at the time ; for he had set his hand on the bosom of

the Drum-Horse and found flesh and blood . Then hebeat the kettle-drums with his clenched fist, and discovered that they were but made of silvered paper andbamboo . Next, still swearing, he tried to drag theskeleton out of the saddle, but found that it had beenwired into the cantle . The sight of the Colonel, with hisarms round the Skeleton ’s pelvis and his knee in the oldDrum-Horse ’s stomach,was striking ;not to say amusing .

tH e worried the thing off in a minute or two, and threw itdown on theground, saying to theBand Here,you curs,that’s what you ’re afraid of. ’ The skeleton did not lookpretty in the twilight . The Band-Sergeant seemed torecognise it, for he began to chuckle and choke . Shall Itake it away, sir? said theBand-Sergeant . Y es,

’ said theColonel, take it to Hell , and ride there yourselves !

’

2 1 8



work of some trooper whom it would be hopeless to detect ; and I know that he dwelt upon the sin and theshame of making a public laughing-stock of the scare .

‘They will call us,’ said the Second-in-Command, who

had really a fine imagination ‘ they will call us theFly-by-Nights they will call us the Ghost Hunters”

they will nickname us from one end of the Army List tothe other. Al l the explanation in the world won ’t makeoutsiders understand that the officers were away whenthe panic began . For the honour of the Regim ent andfor your own sake keep this thing quiet . ’

The Colonel was so exhausted with anger that soothing him down was not so difficult as might be imagined .

He was made to see, gently and by degrees, that it wasobviously impossible to court-martial the whole Regiment, and equally impossible to proceed against anysubaltern,who, in his belief, had any concern in the hoax .

‘But the beast’s alive ! H e’

s never been shot at all ! ’

shouted the Colonel . ‘

I t’

sflatflagrant disobedience ! I’

ve

known a man broke for less - dam sight less . They’remockingme, I tell you, Mutman ! They’re mocking me !Once more the Second-ia-Command set himself to

soothe the Colonel, and wrestled with him for half anhour. At the end of that time the Regimental SergeantMajor reported himself. The situationwas rather novelto him ; but he was not a man to be put out by circumstances . He saluted and said,

‘Regiment all come back ,Sir. ’

Then to propitiate the Colonel ‘An’ none of the’

orses any the worse, Sir.’

The Colonel only snorted and answered You’d bettertuck the men into their cots, then, and see that theydon

’

t wake up and cry in the night. ’ The Sergeant withdrew.

220

THE ROUT OF THE WHITE HUSSARS

H is little stroke of humour pleased the Colonel, and,further, be felt slightly ashamed of the language he hadbeen using . The Second-in-Commandworried him again,and the two sat talking far into the night .Next day but one there was a Commanding Officer’

sparade, and the Colonel harangued the White Hussarsvigorously . The pith of his speech was that, since theDrum-Horse in his old age had proved himself capableof cutting up the whole Regiment, he should return tohis post of pride at the head of the Band but the Regiment were a set of ruffians with bad conscrences.

The White Hussars shouted, and threw everythingmovable about them into the air, and when the paradewas over they cheered the Colonel till they couldn

’tspeak . No cheers were put up for Lieutenant HoganYale, who smiled very sweetly in the background .

Said the Second-in-Command to the Colonel, un

officially‘These little things ensure popularity, and do not the

least affect discipline .

’

‘But I went back on my word,’ said the Colonel .

‘Never mind,’ said the Second-in-Command .

‘TheWhite Hussars will follow you anywhere from to-day.

Regiments are just like women . They will do anythingfor trinketry.

’

A week later Hogan-Yale received an extraordinaryletter from some onewho signed himself Secretary, Charity and Zeal, 3709, E . C and asked for ‘ the return ofour skeleton which we have reason to believe is in yourpossession .

’

‘Who the deuce is this lunatic who trades in bones? ’

said Hogan-Yale .Beg your pardon, Sir,

’ said the Band-Sergeant,‘but

221


the skeleton is with me, an’ I ’ll return it if you ’ll pay the

carriage into the Civil Lines . There’s a coffin with it,

Sir .

’

Hogan-Yale smiled and handed two rupees to theBand-Sergeant, saying, Write the date on the skull, willyou? ’

If you doubt this story, and know where to go, youcan see the date on the skeleton . But don ’t mentionthe matter to the White Hussars .I happen to know something about it, because I pre

pared the Drum-Horse for his resurrection . He did nottake kindly to the skeleton at all .



she knows that she is not what she has been, andworst of all the love that she spends on her children .

That particular sort of heavy-handed jest was specially dear to B ronckhorst. I suppose that he had firstslipped into it, meaning no harm, in the honeymoon ,when folk find their ordinary stock of endearments run

short, and so go to the other extreme to express theirfeelings . A similar impulse makes a man say,

‘Hutt ,you old beast ! when a favourite horse nuzzles his coatfront . Unluckily, when the reaction of marriage sets inthe form of speech remains, and, the tenderness havingdied out, hurts the wife more than she cares to say .

But Mrs. B ronckhorst was devoted to her‘Teddy,

’ asshe called him . Perhaps that was why he objected toher. Perhaps this is only a theory to account for hisinfamous behaviour later on he gave way to the queersavage feeling that sometimes takes by the throat a busband twenty years married, when he sees, across thetable, the same, same face of his weddedwif e, and knowsthat, as he has sat facing it, so must he continue to situntil the day of its death or his own . Most men and allwomen know the spasm . It only lasts for three breathsas a rule, must be a

‘ throw-back ’ to times when menand women were rather worse than they are now, and istoo unpleasant to be discussed .

Dinner at the B ronckhorsts’ was an infliction fewmencared to undergo . B ronckhorst took a pleasure in saying things that made his wife wince . When their littleboy came in at dessert, B ronckhorst used to give himhalf a glass of wine, and, naturally enough, the poorlittle mite got first riotous, next miserable, and was removed screaming . B ronckhorst asked if that was theway Teddy usually behaved, and whether Mrs. Bronck

224

THE B RON CKHOR ST DIVORCE-CASE

horst could not spare some of her time ‘ to teach the littlebeggar decency.

’ Mrs. B ronckhorst, who loved the boymore than her own life, tried not to cry her Spiritseemed to have been broken by her marriage . Lastly,B ronckhorst used to say,

‘There ! That’

ll do, that’ll do.

For God ’s sake try to behave like a rational woman.

Go into the drawing-room .

’ Mrs. B ronckhorst wouldgo, trying to carry it all off with a smile ; and the guest ofthe evening would feel angry and uncomfortable .Af ter three years of this cheerful life for Mrs .

B ronckhorst had no women-friends to talk to theStation was startled by the news that B ronckhorst hadinstituted proceedings on the criminal count, against aman called Biel, who certainly had been rather attentiveto Mrs . B ronckhorst whenever she had appeared in public . The utter want of reserve with which B ronckhorsttreated his own dishonour helped us to know that theevidence against Biel would be entirely circumstantialand native . There were no letters ; but B ronckhorstsaid openly that he would rack Heaven and Earth untilhe saw Biel superintending the manufacture of carpetsin the Central Jail . Mrs . B ronckhorst kept entirely toher house, and let charitable folks say what they pleased .

Opinions were divided . Some two-thirds of the Stationjumped at once to the conclusion that Biel was guilty ;but a dozen men who knew and liked him held by him .

Biel was furious and surprised . He denied the wholething, and vowed that he would thrash B ronckhorstwithin an inch of his life . No jury, we knew, wouldconvict a man on the criminal count on native evidencein a land where you can buy a murder-charge, includingthe corpse, all complete for fifty-four rupees ; but Bieldid not care to scrape through by the benefit of a doubt .

225


He wanted the whole thing cleared ; but, as he said onenight ‘He can prove anything with servants’ evidence

, and I’ve only my bare word .

’ Thiswas almost amonth before the case came on ; and beyond agreeingwith Biel, we could do little . All that we could be sureof was that the native evidence would be bad enough toblast B iel’s character for the rest of his service ; for whena native begins perjury he perjures himself thoroughly.

He does not boggle over details .Some genius at the end of the table Whereat the aff air

was being talked over, said, Look here ! I don’t believe

lawyers are any good . Get a man to wire to Strickland,and beg him to come down and pull us through .

’

Strickland was about a hundred and eighty miles upthe line . He had not long been married to Miss Youghal, but he scented in the telegram a chance of return tothe old detective work that his soul lusted after, andnext night he came in and heard our story. He finishedhis pipe and said oracularly,

‘We must get at the evidence . Qorya bearer, Mussulman khit and sweeperayah, I suppose, are the pillars of the charge . I am onin this piece ; but I

’m afraid I ’m getting rusty in mytalk .

’

He rose and went into B iel’

s bedroom, where his trunkhad been put, and shut the door. An hour later, weheard him say,

‘ I hadn ’t the heart to part with myold make-ups when I married . Will this do? ’ Therewas a lothely faquir salaaming in the doorway .

‘Now lend me fifty rupees,’ said Strickland,

‘ and giveme yourWords of Honour that you won’t tell my wife . ’

He got all that he asked for, and left the house whilethe table drank his health . What he did only be himself knows . A faquir hung about B ronckhorst’

s com226



The man moistened his lips with his tongue and, in hisabject fear of ‘

E streeken Sahib,’ the faquir, went back

on every detail of his evidence said he was a poorman

,and God was his witness that he had forgotten

everything that B ronckhorst Sahib had told him to say .

Between his terror of Strickland, the Judge, and Bronckhorst he collapsed weeping.

Then began the panic among the witnesses. Janki,the ayah, leering chastely behind her veil, turned gray,and the bearer left the Court . He said that hisMammawas dying, and that it was not wholesome for any man

to lie unthriftily in the presence of E streeken Sahib .

’

Biel said politely to B ronckhorst,‘Your witnesses

don ’t seem to work . Haven’t you any forged letters toproduce?

’ But B ronckhorst was swaying to and fro inhis chair, and therewas a dead pause after Biel had beencalled to order.B ronckhorst

’

s Counsel sawthe look on his client’s face,and without more ado, pitched his papers on the littlegreen baize table, and mumbled something about havingbeen misinformed . The whole Court applaudedwildly,like soldiers at a theatre, and the Judge began to saywhat he thought .

Biel came out of the Court, and Strickland dropped agut trainer’s-whip in the verandah . Ten minutes later,Biel was cutting B ronckhorst into ribbons behind theold Court cells, quietly and without scandal . Whatwas left of B ronckhorstwas sent home in a carriage ; andhis wife wept over it and nursed it into a man again .

Later on, after Biel had managed to hush up the countercharge against B ronckhorst of fabricating false evidence, Mrs. B ronckhorst, with her faint, watery smile,

228

THE B RONCKHOR ST DIVORCE-CASE

said that there had been a mistake, but it wasn’t her

Teddy’s fault altogether. She would wait till her Teddycame back to her. Perhaps he had grown tired of her,or she had tried his patience, and perhaps we wouldn

’tcut her any more, and perhaps the mothers would lettheir children play with ‘ little Teddy ’ again . He wasso lonely . Then the Station invited Mrs . B ronckhorsteverywhere, until B ronckhorst was fit to appear in public, when he went Home and took his wife with him .

According to latest advices, her Teddy did come backto her, and they are moderately happy . Though, ofcourse, he can never forgive her the thrashing that shewas the indirect means of getting for him .

What Biel wants to know is,‘Why didn

’

t I presshome the charge against the B ronckhorst-brute, and havehim run in?What Mrs . Strickland wants to know is, How did my

husband bring such a lovely, lovely Waler from yourStation? I know all his money-affairs ; and I

’

m certainhe didn ’t buy it . ’

What I want to know is,‘

How do women like Mrs.

B ronckhorst come to marry men like B ronckhorst?’

And my conundrum is the most unanswerable of thethree.

229

VENUS ANNODOMIN I

And the years went on, as the years must do ;But our great Diana was always newFresh, and blooming, and blonde, and fair,With azure eyes, and with aureate hair ;And all the folk, as they came or went,Offered her praise to her heart’s content .

‘Diana of Ephesus . ’

HE had nothing to do with Number Eighteen inthe Braccio Nuovo of the Vatican, between Visconti’s Ceres and the God of the Nile . She was

purely an Indian deity an Anglo-Indian deity,that is

to say and we called her the Venus Annodom ini, todistinguish her from other Annodom inis of the sameeverlasting order. There was a legend among the Hillsthat she had once been young ; but no living man wasprepared to come forward and say boldly that the le

gend was true . Men rode up to Simla , and stayed, andwent away and made their name and did their life’

s

work, and returned again to find the Venus Annodom iniexactly as they had left her. She was as immutable asthe Hills . But not quite so green . All that a girl ofeighteen could do in the way of ri ding, walking, dancing,picnicking, and over-exertion generally the Venus Annodom ini did , and showed no sign of fatigue or trace ofweariness . Besides perpetual youth, she had discov

230



week’s“

weakness . But that lad had fallen away and

married another woman less than a year after he hadworshipped her ; and the Venus Annodom ini had almostnot quite forgotten his name . ‘VeryYoung ’ Gay

erson had the same big blue eyes and the same wayof pouting his underlip when he was excited or troubled .

But the Venus Annodom ini checked him stem ly nonethe less . Too much zeal was a thing that she did not

approve of preferring instead, a tempered and sobertenderness .

‘Very Young’

Gayerson was m iserable, and took notrouble to conceal his wretchedness . He was in the

Army a Line regiment I think, but am not certainand, since his face was a looking-glass and his foreheadan open book, by reason of his innocence, his brothersin-arms made his life a burden to him and embitteredhis naturally sweet disposition . No one except ‘VeryYoung ’

Gayerson, and he never told his views, knewhow old ‘Very Young ’

Gayerson believed the VenusAnnodom ini to be . Perhaps he thought her five-andtwenty, or perhaps she told him that she was this age .‘

Very Young ’

Gayerson would have forded the Indus inflood to carry her lightest word, and had implicit faith inher. Every one liked him, and every one was sorrywhen they sawhim so bound a slave of the Venus Annodomini . Every one, too, admitted that it was not herfault ; for the Venus Annodom ini differed from Mrs.

Hauksbee and Mrs . Reiver in this particular shenever moved a finger to attract any one ; but, like Ninonde L ’

E nclos, all men were attracted to her. One couldadmire and respect Mrs . H auksbee, despise and avoidMrs. Reiver, but one was forced to adore the VenusAnnodom ini .

232

VENUS ANN ODOMIN I

‘Very Young ’

Gayerson’

s papa held a Division, or aCollectorate, or something administrative, in a particularly unpleasant part of Bengal— full of Babuswho editednewspapers proving that ‘Young ’

Gayerson was a Nero’

and a Scylla ’ and a Charybdis ’

; and, in addition to theBabus, there was a good deal of dysentery and choleraabroad for nine months of the year. ‘Young ’

Gayerson

he was about five-and-forty rather liked Babus,they amused him , but he objected to dysentery, andwhenhe could get away, went to Darj iling for the most part .This particular season he fancied that he would come upto Simla and see his boy. The boy was not altogetherpleased . He told the Venus Annodom ini that his fatherwas coming up, and she flushed a little and said that sheshould be delighted to make his acquaintance . Then shelooked long and thoughtfully at VeryYoung Gayerson ,

because she was very, very sorry for him , and he was avery, very big idiot.

‘My daughter is coming out in a fortnight, Mr. Gayerson,

’

she said .

‘Your what? ’ said he .

‘Daughter,’ said the Venus Annodom ini . She’s been

out for a year at Home already, and I want her to see alittle of India . She is nineteen and a very sensible,nice girl, I believe .

’

‘Very Young Gayerson , who was a short twenty-twoyears old, nearly fell out of his chair with astonishment ;for he had persisted in believing, against all belief, in theyouth of the Venus Annodom ini . She, with her back tothe curtained window, watched the effect of her senf ences and smiled .

‘Very Young ’

Gayerson’

s papa came up twelve dayslater, and had not been in Simla four-and-twenty hours

233


before twomen, old acquaintances ofhis, had told himhowVeryYoung Gayerson had been conducting himself.

‘Young ’

Gayerson laughed a good deal, and inquiredwho the Venus Annodom ini might be . Which provesthat he had been living in Bengal where nobody knowsanything except the rate of Exchange . Then he saidboys will be boys, and spoke to his son about the matter.‘

Very Young’

Gayerson said that he felt wretched andunhappy ; and

‘Young ’

Gayerson said that he repentedof having helped to bring a fool into the world . He suggested that his son had better out his leave short and godown to his duties . This led to an unfilial answer, andrelations were strained, until ‘Young ’

Gayerson demended that they should call on the Venus Annodom ini .‘Very Young

’

Gayerson went with his papa, feeling,somehow, uncomfortable and small .The Venus Annodom ini received them graciously, and

‘Young ’

Gayerson said,‘By Jove ! I t

’

s Kitty ! ’ ‘VeryYoung ’

Gayerson would have listened for an explanation, if his time had not been taken up with trying totalk to a large, handsome, quiet, well-dressed girl in

troduced to him by the Venus Annodom ini as her daughter. Shewas far older in manner, style, and repose than‘Very Young

’

Gayerson ; and , as he realised this thing,he felt sick .

Presently he heard the Venus Annodom ini saying,‘Do you know that your son is one of my most devotedadmirers?

’

‘ I don ’t wonder,’ said ‘Young ’

Gayerson . Here heraised his voice : ‘He follows his father’s footsteps .Didn’t I worship the ground you trod on, ever so longago, Kitty and you haven ’t changed since then .

H ow strange it all seems !234


THE BISARA OF POORER

Little Blind Fish, thou art marvellous wise,Little Blind Fish, who put out thy eyes?Open thy ears while I whisper my wishBring me a lover, thou little Blind Fish .

‘The Charm of the Bisara .

’

OME natives say that it cam e from the other side ofKulu, where the eleven-inch Temple Sapphire is.

Others, that it was made at the Devil-Shrineof AoChung in Thibet, was stolen by a K afir , from him by aGurkha, from him again by a Lahouli, from him by akhitmatgar, and by this latter sold to an Englishman, soall its virtue was lost ; because, to work properly, theB isara of Pooree must be stolen with bloodshed ifpossible, but, at any rate, stolen .

These stories of the coming into India are all false.

It was made at Pooree ages since the manner of itsmaking would fill a small book was stolen by one of

the Temple dancing-girls there, for her own purposes,and then passed on from hand to hand, steadily northward, till it reached Hanle : always bearing the samename the Bisara of Pooree . In shape it is a tinysquare box of silver, studded outside with eight smallhalas-rubies. Inside the box, which opens with a spring,is a little eyeless fish, carved from some sort of dark,shiny nut and wrapped in a shred of faded gold-cloth.

236

THE BISARA OF POOR E E

That is the Bisara of Pooree, and it were better for a manto take a king-cobra in his hand than to touch the Bisaraof Pooree .

All kinds of magic are out of date and done away withexcept in India, where nothing changes in spite of theshiny, top-scum stuff that people call civilisation .

’ Anyman who knows about the Bisara of Pooree will tellyou what its powers are always supposing that it hasbeen honestly stolen . It is the only regularly working,trustworthy love-charm in the country, with one excep

tion . [The other charm is in the hands of a trooper ofthe Nizam’s Horse, at a place called Tuprani, due northof Hyderabad ! This can be depended upon for a fact .Some one else may explain it .If the Bisara be not stolen, but given or bought or

found, it turns against its owner in three years, andleads to ruin or death . This is another fact which youmay explain when you have time . Meanwhile, you canlaugh at it . At present the Bisara is safe on a hackpony’s neck, inside the blue bead-necklace that keepsoff the Evil Eye . If the pony-driver ever finds it, andwears it, or gives it to his wife, I am sorry for him .

A very dirty Hill-coolie woman, with goitre, owned itat Theog in 1 884. It came into Simla from the northbefore Churton

’

s khitmatgar bought it, and sold it, forthree times its silver-value, to Churton, who collectedcuriosities . The servant knew no more what he hadbought than the master ; but a man looking over Churton’

s collection of curiosities Churton was an Assistant Commissioner by the way saw and held histongue . He was an Englishman, but knew how to believe . Which shows that he was different from mostEnglishmen . He knew that it was dangerous to have

237


any share in the little box when working or dormant ;for Love unsought is a terrible gift .Pack

‘

Grubby’

Pack, as we used to call himwas, in every way, a nasty little man who must havecrawled into the Army by mistake . Hewas three inchestal ler than his sword , but not half so strong. And thesword was a fifty

-shilling, tailor-made one . Nobodyliked him, and, I suppose, it was his wizenedness andworthlessness that made him fall so hopelessly in lovewith Miss Hollis, whowas good and sweet, and five-feetseven in her tennis-shoes . He was not content withfalling in love quietly, but brought all the strength ofhis miserable little nature into the business . If he hadnot been so objectionable, one might have pitied him .

H e vapoured, and fretted, and fumed, and trotted upand down , and tried to make himself pleasing in MissH ollis

’

s big, quiet, gray eyes, and failed . It was one ofthe cases that you sometimes meet , even in our country,where we marry by Code , of a really blind attachmentall on one side, without the faintest possibility of return .

Miss Hollis looked on Pack as some sort of vermin running about the road . He had no prospects beyondCaptain ’s pay, and no wits to help that out by one penny .

I n a large-sized man love like hiswould have been touching. In a good man it would have been grand . He being what hewas, it was only a nuisance .

You will believe this much . What you will not believe is what follows Churton, and The Man whoKnew what the Bisara was, were lunching at the SimlaClub together. Churton was complaining of life in general . H is best mare had rolled out of stable downthe cliff and had broken her back ; his decisions were being reversed by the upper Courts more than an Assistant

238



story . The facts of the case are these : Pack called onChurton next day when Churton was out, left his card,and stole the Bisara of Pooree from its place under theclock on the mantelpiece . Stole it like the thief he wasby nature ! Three days later all Simlawas electrified bythe news that Miss Hollis had accepted Pack theshrivelled rat, Pack ! Do you desire clearer evidencethan this? The Bisara of Pooree had been stolen, andit worked as it had always done when won by foul means .There are three or four times in a man’s life when he is

justified in meddling with other people’s affairs to playProvidence .The Man who Knew felt that hewas justified ; but be

lieving and acting on a belief are quite different things .The insolent satisfaction of Pack as he ambled by theside of Miss Hollis, and Churton

’

s striking release fromliver, as soon as the Bisara of Pooree had gone, decidedThe Man . He explained to Churton, and Churtonlaughed, because he was not brought up to believe thatmen on the Government House List steal at least little things . But the m iraculous acceptance by Miss Hollis of that tailor, Pack, decided him to take steps onsuspicion . He vowed that he only wanted to find outwhere his ruby-studded silver box had vanished to . Youcannot accuse a man on the Government House List ofstealing ; and if you rifle his room, you are a thief yourself. Churton, prompted by The Man who Knew, decided on burglary. If he found nothing in Pack’s room

but it is not nice to think of what would havehappened in that case .

Pack went to a dance at Benmore Benmore wasBenmore in those days, and not an office and dancedfifteen waltzes out of twenty-two with Miss Hollis.

240

THE BISARA OF POOR E E

Churton and The Man took all the keys that theycould lay hands on, and went to Pack

’s room in the hotel,

certain that his servants would be away . Pack was acheap soul . He had not purchased a decent cash-boxto keep his papers in, but one of those native imitationsthat you buy for ten rupees . It opened to any sort ofkey, and there at the bottom, under Pack

’s InsurancePolicy, lay the Bisara of Pooree !Churton called Pack names, put the Bisara of Pooree

in his pocket, and went to the dance with The Man .

At least, he came in time for supper, and saw the beginning of the end in Miss Hollis’

s eyes . She was hysterical after supper, and was taken away by her Mamma .At the dance, with the abominable Bisara in his

pocket, Churton twisted his foot on one of the steps leading down to the old Rink, and had to be sent home in a’rickshaw, grumbling . He did not believe in the Bisaraof Pooree any the more for this manifestation, but hesought out Pack and called him some ugly names ; and‘ thief ’

was the m ildest of them . Pack took the nameswith the nervous smile of a little man who wants bothsoul and body to resent an insult, and went his way .

Therewas no public scandal .A week later Pack got his definite dismissal from Miss

Hollis. There had been a mistake in the placing of heraffections, she said . So he went away toMadras, wherehe can do no great harm even if he lives to be a Colonel .Churton insisted upon The Man who Knew taking

the Bisara of Pooree as a gift . The Man took it, wentdown to the Cart-Road at once, found a cart-pony witha blue bead-necklace, fastened the Bisara of Pooree inside the necklace with a piece of shoe-string, and thankedHeaven that he was rid of a danger. Remember, in

24 1


case you ever find it, that you must not destroy theBisara of Pooree. I have not time to explain why justnow, but the power lies in the little wooden fish. Mr.Gubernatis or Max Muller could tell you more about itthan I .Youwill say that all this story ismade up . Very well .If ever you come across a little silver, ruby-studded box,seven-eighths of an inch long bythree-quarterswide, witha dark brown wooden fish, wrapped in gold cloth, insideit, keep it . Keep it for three years, and then you will discover for yourself whether my story is true or false.

Better still, steal it as Pack did, and you will be sorrythat you had not killed yourself in the beginning .

242



One day, late in the cold weather, I got a letter of preparation from Tranter of the Bombay side, advising meof the advent of a T . G a man called Jevon ; and sayingas usual, that any kindness shown to Jevon would be akindness to Tranter. Every one knows the regularform of these communications.Two days afterwards Jevon turned up with his letter

of introduction, and I did what I could for him . Hewas lint-haired, fresh-coloured, and very English . Buthe held no views about the Government of India . N or

did he insist on shooting tigers on the Station Mall, assome T . G .

’

s do. N or did he call us ‘ colonists,’ and

dine in a flannel-shirt and tweeds, under that delusionas other T . G .

’

s do. He was well behaved and verygrateful for the little I won for him most grateful ofall when I secured him an invitation for the Afghan Balland introduced him to a Mrs . D eemes, a lady for whomI had a great respect and admiration, who danced likethe shadow of a leaf in a light wind . I set great storeby the friendship of Mrs . Deemes ; but, had I knownwhat was coming, I would have broken Jevon

’s neckwith a curtain-pole before getting him that invitation .

But I did not know, and he dined at the Club, I think,on the night of the ball . I dined at home . When Iwent to the dance, the first man I met asked me whetherI had seen Jevon .

‘

N o,

’ said I . ‘

H e’

s at the Club .

Hasn ’t he come? ’ ‘Come ! ’ said the man .

‘Yes, he’ s

very much come . You’d better look at him .

’

I sought for Jevon . I found him sitting on a benchand smiling to himself and a programme . Half a lookwas enough for me . On that one night of all others, hehad begun a long and thirsty evening by taking toomuch ! He was breathing heavily through his nose, his

244

A FR IEND ’S FRIEND

eyes were rather red, and he appeared very satisfied withall the earth . I put up a little prayer that the waltzingwould work off the wine, and went about programmefilling, feeling uncomfortable . But I saw Jevon walkup to Mrs . Deemes for the first dance, and I knew thatall the waltzing on the card was not enough to keepJevon’s rebellious legs steady. That couple went roundsix times . I counted . Mrs. D eemes dropped Jevon’sarm and came across tome .

I am not going to repeat what Mrs. Deemes said tome , because shewas very angry indeed . I am not goingto write what I said to Mrs . Deemes, because I didn

’tsay anything. I only wished that I had killed Jevonfirst and been hanged for it . Mrs . Deemes drew herpencil through all the dances that I had booked with herand went away, leaving me to remember that what Iought to have said was that Mrs. Deemes had asked tobe introduced to Jevon because he danced well ; and thatI really had not carefully worked out a plot to get her insulted. But I felt that argumentwas no good, and thatI had better try to stop Jevon from waltzing me intomore trouble . He, however, was gone, and about everythird dance I set off to hunt for him . This ruined whatlittle pleasure I expected from the entertainment .Just before supper I caught Jevon at the buffet with hislegs wide apart, talking to a very fat and indignant chaperon . If this person is a friend of yours, as I understandhe is, I would recommend you to take him home,

’ said she .

‘He is unfit for decent society .

’ Then I knew that goodness only knew what Jevon had been doing, and I tri edto get him away .

But Jevon wasn’t going ; not be. He knew what wasgood for him , he did ; and he wasn

’t going to be dictated245


to by any loconial nigger-driver, he wasn’t ; and I was

the friend who had formed his infant mind, and broughthim up to buy Benares brassware and fearGod, so Iwas ;and we would have many more blazing good drunkstogether, so we would ; and all the she-camels in blacksilk in the world shouldn ’t make him withdraw his Opinion that there was nothing better than Benedictine togive one an appetite . And then but he wasmy guest .I set him in a quiet corner of the supper-room, and

went to find a wall-prop that I could trust . There wasa good and kindly Subaltern may Heaven bless thatSubaltern, and make him a Commander-in-Chief — whoheard of my trouble . He was not dancing himself, andhe owned a head like five-year-old teak-baulks . He saidthat he would look after Jevon till the end of the ball .Don’t suppose you much mind what I do with him?

said he .

‘Mind !’ said I . ‘No ! Y ou can murder the beast if

you like .

’

But the Subaltern did not murder him . He trottedoff to the supper-room, and sat down by Jevon , drinkingpeg for peg with him . I saw the two fairly established ,and went away, feeling more easy .

When ‘The Roast Beef of Old England ’ sounded, Iheard of Jevon ’s performances between the first danceand my meeting with him at the buffet . After Mrs.

Deemes had cast him off , it seems that he had found hisway into the gallery, and offered to conduct the Band orto play any instrument in it just as the Bandmasterpleased .

When the Bandmaster refused, Jevon said that hewasn ’t appreciated , and he yearned for sympathy . So

246



tempts to explain things to Mrs . Deemes and three orfour other ladies, and trying to clear my character for

I am a respectable man from the shameful slurs thatmy guest had cast upon it. Libel was no word for whathe had said .

When I wasn ’t trying to explain, I was running off tothe cloakroom to see that Jevon wasn

’

t dead of apoplexy . I didn ’t want him to die on my hands . He hadeaten my salt .At last that ghastly ball ended, though I was not inthe least restored to Mrs . Deemes

’ favour. When theladies had gone, and some one was calling for songs atthe second supper, that angelic Subaltern told the servants to bring in the Sahib who was in the cloakroom,

and clear away one end of the supper-table . While thiswas being done we formed ourselves into a Board ofPunishment with the Doctor for President .Jevon came in on four men ’s shoulders, and was putdown on the table like a corpse in a dissecting-room,

while the Doctor lectured on the evils of intemperance,and Jevon snored . Then we set to work .

We corked the whole of his face . We filled his hairwith meringue-cream till it looked like a white wig. To

protect everything till it dried, a man in the OrdnanceDepartment, who understood the work, luted a big bluepaper cap from a cracker,withmeringue-cream, lowdownon Jevon’s forehead . This was punishment, not play,remember. We took gelatine off crackers, and stuck bluegelatine on his nose, and yellow gelatine on his chin ,and green and red gelatine on his cheeks, pressing eachdab down till it held as firm as gold-beater’s skin .

We put a ham-fri ll round his neck, and tied it in a bowin front . He nodded like a mandarin .

248

A FRIEND ’S FRIEND

We fixed gelatine on the back of his hands, and burntcorked them inside, and put small cutlet-frills round hiswrists, and tied both wrists together with string. Wewaxed up the ends of his moustache with isinglass. Helooked very martial .We turned him over, pinned up his coat-tails between

his shoulders, and put a rosette of cutlet-frills there .We took up the red cloth from the ball-room to the supper-room, and wound him up in it . There was sixtyfeet of red cloth, six feet broad ; and be rolled up into abig fat bundle,with only that amazing head sticking out .Lastly, we tied up the surplus of the cloth beyond his

feet with cocoanut-fibre string as tightly as we knewhow. We were so angry that we hardly laughed at all .Just aswe finished,weheard the rumble ofbullock-carts

taking away some chairs and things that the General ’swifehad lent for the ball . So we hoisted Jevon, like a roll ofcarpets, into one of the carts, and the carts went away .

N ow the most extraordinary part of this tale is thatnever again did I see or hear anything of Jevon, T. G .

He vanished utterly. He was not delivered at theGeneral ’s house with the carpets . He just went into theblack darkness of the end of the night, andwas swallowedup . Perhaps he died and was thrown into the river.But, alive or dead, I have often wondered howhe got

rid of the red cloth and the meri ngue-cream . I wonderstill whether Mrs . Deemes will ever take any notice ofme again, and whether I shall live down the infamousstories that Jevon set afloat about my manners and customs between the first and the ninth waltz of the AfghanBall . They stick closer than cream .

Wherefore, I want Tranter of the Bombay side, deador alive . But dead for preference.

249

THE GATE OF THE HUNDRED SORROWS

If I can attain Heaven for a pice, why should you be envions?

Opium Smoker’s Proverb .

’

HIS is no work of mine . My friend, GabralMisquitta, the half-caste, spoke it all, betweenmoonset and morning, six weeks before he died ;

and I took it down from his mouth as he answered myquestions . Soz

It lies between the Coppersmith ’s Gully and the pipestem seller’s quarter, within a hundred yards, too, as thecrow flies, of the Mosque of Wazir Khan . I don’t mindtelling any one this much, but I defy him to find theGate, however well he may think he knows the CityYou might even go through the very gully it stands in ahundred times, and be none the wiser. We used to callthe gully,

‘The Gully of the Black Smoke,’ but its native

name is altogether different of course . A loaded donkey couldn ’t pass between the walls ; and, at one point,just before you reach the Gate, a bulged house-frontmakes people go along all sideways .It isn’t really a gate though . I t

’

s a house . OldFung-Tching had it first five years ago. Hewas a bootmaker in Calcutta . They say that be murdered hiswife there when he was drunk . That was why hedropped bazar-rum and took to the Black Smoke in

n 250



sort of breeze from the gully came in at the window nowand then . Besides the mats, there was no other furniture in the room only the coffin, and the old Joss al lgreen and blue and purple with age and polish .

Fung-Tching never told us why he called the place‘

The Gate of the Hundred Sorrows . ’

(He was the onlyChinaman I know who used bad-sounding fancy names .Most of them are flowery. As you

’

ll see in Calcutta . )We used to find that out for ourselves . Nothing growson you so much, if you

’

re white, as the Black Smoke .A yellow man is made different . Opium doesn’t tell onhim scarcely at all ; but white and black suffer a gooddeal . Of course, there are some people that the Smokedoesn’t touch anymore than tobaccowould atfirst . Theyjust doze a bit, as one would fall asleep naturally, andnext morning they are almost fit for work. Now, I wasone of that sortwhen I began, but I

’ve been at it for fiveyears pretty steadily, and it

’

s different now. There wasan old aunt of mine down Agra way, and she left me alittle at her death . About sixty rupees a month secured .

Sixty isn’t much. I can recollect a time,’seems hundreds

and hundreds of years ago, that I was getting my threehundred a month, and pickings, when I was working ona big timber-contract in Calcutta .

I didn’t stick to that work for long. The Black Smokedoes not allow of much other business ; and even thoughI am very little affected by it, as men go I couldn

’t doa day’s work now to save my life . After all, sixty rupeesis what I want. When old Fung-Tching was alive heused to draw the money for me, give me about half ofit to live on (I eat very little) , and the rest hekept himself .I was free of the Gate at any time of the day and night,and could smoke and sleep there when I liked, so I

252


didn’t care. I know the oldmanmade a good thing out of

it ; but that’s no matter. Nothing matters much tome ;

and besides, the money always came fresh and fresh eachm onth.

Therewas ten of usmet at the Gate when the placewasfirst opened . Me, and two Babus from a GovernmentOffice somewhere in Anarkulli , but they got the sack andcouldn ’t pay (no man who has to work in the daylightcan do the Black Smoke for any length of time straighton) ; a Chinaman that was Fung-Tching

’

s nephew ; abazar-woman that had got a lot of money somehow ; anEnglish loafer MacSomebody, I think, but I have forgotten, that smoked heaps, but never seemed to payanything (they said he had saved Fung-Tching

’

s life atsome tri al in Calcutta when hewas a barrister) ; anotherE urasian, like myself, from Madras ; a half-caste woman,and a couple ofmenwho said theyhadcomefromtheNorth.

I think theymust have been Persians orAfghans or something. There are notmore than five of us living now, butwe come regular. I don

’

t know what happened to theBabus ; but the bazar-woman she died after sixmonths ofthe Gate, and I think Fung-Tching took her bangles andnose-ring for himself. But I ’m not certain . The Englishman, he drank aswell as smoked, and he dropped off .

One of the Persians got killed in a row at night by the bigwell near the mosque a long time ago, and the Police shutup the well, because they said itwas full of foul air . Theyfound him dead at the bottom of it . So, you see, thereis onlyme, the Chinaman, the half-caste woman that wecall the Memsahib (she used to live with Fung-Tching) ,the other Eurasian, and one of the Persians. The Memsahib looks very old now. I think she was a youngwoman when the Gatewas Opened ; but we are all old for

253


the matter of that . Hundreds and hundreds of yearsold . It is very hard to keep count of time in the Gate,and, besides, time doesn

’t matter to me . I draw mysixty rupees fresh and fresh every month . A very, verylong while ago, when I used to be getting three hundredand fifty rupees a month, and pickings, on a big timbercontract at Calcutta, I had a wife of sorts. But she

’sdead now. People said that I killed her by taking tothe Black Smoke . Perhaps I did , but it

’

s so long sincethat it doesn’t matter. Sometimes when I first came tothe Gate, I used to feel sorry for it ; but that

’s all overand done with long ago, and I draw my sixty rupeesfresh and fresh everymonth, and am quite happy. Notdrunk happy, you know, but always quiet and soothedand contented .

How did I take to it? It began at Calcutta . I usedto try it in my own house , just to see what it was like .

I never went very far, but I think my wife must havedied then . Anyhow, I found myself here, and got toknow Fung-Tching. I don’t remember rightly howthat came about ; but he told me of the Gate and I usedto go there, and, somehow, I have never got away fromit since . Mind you, though, the Gate was a respectableplace in Fung-Tching

’

s time, where you could be comfortable, and not at all like the chandoo-khanas wherethe niggers go . No ; it was clean, and quiet, and notcrowded . Of course, there were others beside us tenand the man ; but we always had a mat apiece, with awadded woollen head-piece all covered with black andred dragons and things, just like the coffin in the corner.At the end of one

’s third pipe the dragons used tomove about and fight. I ’ve watched

’

em many andmany a night through . I used to regulate my Smoke

254



when Tsin-ling tri ed to burn gilt paper before him , she

said it was a waste of money, and if he kept a stick buming very slowly, the Joss wouldn t know the difference .So now we’ve got the sticks mixed with a lot of glue, andthey take half an hour longer to burn, and smell stinky ;let alone the smell of the room by itself. No businesscan get on if they try that sort of thing. The Jossdoesn’t like it . I can see that. Late at night, sometimes, he turns all sorts of queer colours blue and

green and red just as he used to do when old FungTching was alive ; and he rolls his eyes and stamps hisfeet like a devil .I don ’t know why I don ’t leave the place and smoke

quietly in a little room of my own in the bazar. Mostlike, Tsin-ling would kill me if I went away he drawsmy sixty rupees now and besides, it

’

s so much trouble, and I

’ve grown to be very fond of the Gate . I t’

s

not much to look at . Not what it was in the old man’

s

time, but I couldn’t leave it. I ’ve seen so many come

in and out. And I ’ve seen so many die here on themats that I should be afraid of dying in the open now.

I ’ve seen some things that people would call strangeenough ; but nothing is strange when you

’re on the BlackSmoke, except the Black Smoke . And if it was, itwouldn’t matter. Fung-Tching used to be very particular about his people, and never got in any one who

’dgive trouble by dying messy and such . But the nephewisn’t half so careful . He tells everywhere that he keepsa ‘

first-chop house . Never tries to get men in quietly,and make them comfortable like Fung-Tching did.

That’s why the Gate is getting a little bit more knownthan it used to be . Am ong the niggers of course . Thenephew daren’t get a white, or , for matter of that, a

256


mixed skin into the place . He has to keep us three, ofcourse me and the Memsahib and the other Eurasian .

We’

re fixtures . But he wouldn’t give us credit for apipeful not for anything.

One of these days, I hope, I shall die in the Gate .The Persian and the Madras man are terribly shakynow. They

’ve got a boy to light their pipes for them .

I always do that myself. Most like, I shall see themcarried out before me . I don’t think I shall ever outlivethe Memsahib or Tsin-ling. Women last longer thanmen at the Black Smoke, and Tsin-ling has a deal of theold man’s blood in him, though he does smoke cheapstuff . The bazar-woman knew when she was going twodays before her time ; and she died on a clean mat with anicely wadded pillow, and the old man hung up her pipejust above the Joss. Hewas always fond of her, I fancy.

But he took her bangles just the same .I should like to die like the bazar-woman on a

clean, cool mat with a pipe of good stuff between mylips . When I feel I

’m going, I shall ask Tsin-ling forthem, and he can draw my sixty rupees a month, freshand fresh, as long as he pleases. Then I shall lie back,quiet and comfortable, and watch the black and red dragons have their last big fight together ; and thenWell, it doesn

’t matter. Nothing matters much tome only I wish Tsin-ling wouldn’

t put bran into theBlack Smoke .

THE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS

Oh ! Where would I be when my froatwasOh ! Where would I be when the bullets fly?Oh ! Where would I be when I come to die?

Why,Somewheres anigh my chum .

If ’

e’

s liquor ’e’ll give me some,If I ’m dyin

’ ’e’ll ’old my ’ead,An’ ’e’ll wri te ’em ’Ome when I ’m dead .

Gawd send us a trusty chum !Barrack Room Ballad .

’

Y friends Mulvaney and Ortheris had gone on a

shooting-expedition for one day. Learoydwasstill in hospital, recovering from fever picked up

in Burma . They sent me an invitation to j oin them,

andwere genuinely pained when I brought beer almostenough beer to satisfy two Privates of the Lineand Me .

’

Twas’

t for that we bid you welkim , Sorr,’ said Mul

vaney sulkily .

’Twas for the pleasure av your com

ps

ny.

’

Ortheris came to the rescuewith ‘Well,’

e won’t benone the worse for bringin ’ liquor with ’

im . We ain’t a

file 0 ’

B ooks. We’re bloomin’ Tommies, ye cantankrisHiri shman ; an

’ ’ere’s your very good ’

ealth

We shot all the forenoon, and killed two pari ah-dogs,258



hease ;’Shun ’Verse harms. Right an’

lef’

tarrn . Slow march .

’Alt front. Rest on yourharms "

versed . With blank-cartridge load .

”An

’

that’s the end 0’ me . ’ He was quoting fragments from

Funeral Parties’ Orders .

‘ Stop ut !’ shouted Mulvaney.

‘Whin you’ve firedinto nothin ’

as often asme, over a better man than yoursilf, you will not make a mock av thim orders .

’

Tis

worse than whistlin ’ the Dead March in barricks.

An’

you full as a tick, an’ the sun cool, an

’ all an’ all ! Itake sham e for you . You ’re no better than a Paginyou an ’ your firin

’-parties an

’ your glass-eyes . Won’

tyou stop ut, Sorr?What could I do? Could I tell Ortheris anything

that he did not know of the pleasures of his life? I wasnot a Chaplain nor a Subaltern, and Ortheris had a rightto speak as he thought fit.Let him run, Mulvaney,

’ I said . I t’

s the beer. ’

‘No ! ’

Tisn’

t the beer,’ said Mulvaney.

‘ I knowfwhat

’

s comin’

. He’s tuk this way nowan’ agin, an’

it’

s

bad it’

s bad for I ’m fond av the bhoy.

’

Indeed, Mulvaney seemed needlessly anxious ; but Iknew that he looked af ter Ortheris in a fatherly way .

‘

Let me talk, let me talk,’ said Ortheris dreamily.

D’ you stop your parrit screamin’ of a ’

ot day,when thecage is a—cookin’ ’is pore little pink toes orf, Mulvaney?

’

‘Pink toes ! D ’ ye mane to say you’

ve pink toes undher your bullswools, ye Mulvaneygathered himself together for a terrific denunciationschool-misthress ! Pink toes ! Howmuch Bass wid thelabel did that ravin’ child dhrink?

’

Tain’t Bass,’ said Ortheris . It’s a bitterer beer nor

that. I t’

s’

ome-sickness l’

260

THE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS‘Hark to him ! An’ he goin’ Home in the “

Sherapis

in the inside av four monthsI don’t care. I t

’

s all one to me . ’

Owd’ you know Iain

’t ’fraid o’

dyin’ ’fore I gets my discharge paipers?

H e recommenced in a sing-song voice, the Orders .I had never seen this side of Ortheris’ character be

fore, but evidently Mulvaney had, and attached seriousimportance to it. While Ortheris babbled,with his headon his arms, Mulvaney whispered to meH e

’

s always tuk this way whin he’

s been checkedovermuch by the childher theymake Sarjints nowadays .T hat an’

bavin’ nothin’

to do . I can’t make ut out anyways . ’

‘Well, what does it matter ! Let him talk him selfthrough .

’

Ortheris began singing a parody of The RamrodCorps,

’ full of cheerful allusions to battle, murder, andsudden death . He looked out across the river as hesang ; and his face was quite strange to me. Mulvaneycaught me by the elbow to ensure attention.

Matther? It matthers everything !’

Tis some sortav fit that’s on him . I ’ve seen ut. ’Twill bould him allthis night, an

’ in the middle av it he’

ll get out av his cotan

’ go rakin’

in the rack for his ’

coutremints. Thinhe

’

ll come over to me an’

say, I ’m goin’ to Bombay.

Answer for me in the mora in’

. Thin me an ’

him willfight as we’ve done before him to go an

’ me to bouldhim — ’

ah so we’

ll both come on the books for disturbin

’

in barricks. I ’ve belted him , an’ I ’ve bruk his head,

an’ I

’

ve talked to him, but’

tis no manner av use whinthe fit

’

s on him . He’

s as good a bhoy as ever steppedwhin his mind’s clear. I know fwhat’

s comin’

, though,this night in barricks . Lord send he doesn’t loose on

26 1


me whin I rise to knock him down .

’

Tis that that’

s in

my mind day an’ night . ’

This put the case in a much less pleasant light, andfully accounted forMulvaney

’

s anxiety. He seemed tobe trying to coax Ortheris out of the fit ; for he shouteddown the bank where the boy was lyingListen now, you wid the

“pore pink .toes an’ theglass eyes ! Did you shwim the I rriwaddy at night, hehin’ me, as a bhoy shud ; or were you bidin

’ under a bed,as you was at Ahmid Kheyl?This was at once a gross insult and a direct lie, andMulvaney meant it to bring on a fight. But Ortherisseemed shut up in some sort of trance . He answeredslowly, without a sign of irritation, in the same cadencedvoice as he had used for his firing-party orders

‘Hi swum the I rriwaddy in the night, as you know,

for to take the town of Lungtungpen, nakid an’ without

fear. Hand where I was at Ahrm d Kheyl you know,

and four bloom in’ Pathans know too . But thatwas sum

mat to do, an’ I didn’t think 0

’

dyin’

. Now I ’m sickto go ’

Ome go ’Ome go ’Ome ! No, I ain’t mam

mysick, because my uncle brung me up, but I’m sick

for London again, sick for the sounds of’

er, an’ the

sights of ’

er, and the stinks of’

er ; orange-peel and has

phalt an’ gas comin’ in over Vaux

’

all Bridge . Sick forthe rail goin’ down to Box ’

I II, with your gal on yourknee an’ a new clay pipe in your face . That, an

’ theStran’ lights where you knows ev’ry one, an

’ the Copperthat takes you up is a old friend that tuk you up before,when you was a little, smitchy boy lying loose

’tweenthe Temple an’ the Dark H arches. No bloomin

’

guardmountin

’

, no bloom in’

rotten-stone, nor khaki, an’ your

self your own master with a gal to take an’

see the262



ever he likes . You can report that be separated fromyou before tiffin, and left his gun on the bank here

‘

I’

m to report that am I? ’ said Mulvaney slowly .

‘

Very well . If Orth’

ris manes to desert now, and willdesert now, an

’

you, Sorr, who have been a frind to mean

’

to him , will help him to ut, I , Terence Mulvaney, onmy oath which I ’ve never bruk yet, will report as yousay. But here he stepped up to Ortheris, and shookthe stock of the fowling-piece in his face ‘your fistes

help you, Stanley Orth’

ris, if ever I come across youagin ! ’

‘ I don’t care ! ’ said Ortheris . ‘

I’

m sick 0 ’ this dorg’

s

life . Give me a chanst . Don’t play with me. Le’ mego ! ’

‘ Strip,’ said I,

‘and change with me, and then I’

ll tellyou what to do .

’

I hoped that the absurdity of this would check Ortheris ; but he had kicked off his ammunition-boots andgot rid of his tunic almostbefore I had loosed my shirtcollar. Mulvaney gripped me by the arm

‘The fit’

s on him : the fit’

s workin’ on him still ! Bymy Honour and Sowl, we shall be accessiry to a desartion yet . Only, twenty-eight days, as you say, Sorr, orfifty-six, but think 0

’ the shame the black shame tohim an ’ me ! ’ I had never seen Mulvaney so excited .

But Ortheris was quite calm, and, as soon as he hadexchanged clothes with me, and I stood up a Private ofthe Line, he said shortly, Now ! Come on . What nox

’

?

D ’ yemean fair? Whatmust I do to get out 0’ this ’

ere a

Hell? ’

I told him that, if he would wait for two or three hoursnear the river

,I would ride into the Station and come

back with one hundred rupees . He would, with that264

THE MADNESS OF PRIVATE ORTHERIS

money in his pocket, walk to the nearest side-station onthe line, about five miles away, and would there take afirst-class ticket for Karachi . Knowing that he had nomoney on him when he went out shooting, his regimentwould not immediately wire to the seaports, but wouldhunt for him in the native villages near the river. Further, no one would think of seeking a deserter in a first

class carriage. At Karachi he was to buy white clothesand ship, if he could, on a cargo-steamer.Here he broke in . If I helped him to Karachi he

would arrange al l the rest . Then I ordered him to waitwhere hewas until itwas dark enough for me to ride intothe Station without my dress being noticed . Now Godin His wisdom hasmade the heart of the British Soldier,who is very often an unlicked ruffian, as soft as the heartof a little child, in order that he may believe in and follow his officers into tight and nasty places . He doesnot so readily come to believe in a ‘ civilian,

’ but, whenhe does, he believes implicitly and like a dog. I had hadthe honour of the friendship of Private Ortheris, at intervals, for more than three years, and we had dealt witheach other asman by man . Consequently, he consideredthat allmy words were true, and not spoken lightly.

Mulvaney and I left him in the high grass near theriver-bank, and went away, still keeping to the highgrass, towards my horse . The shirt scratched me horri bly .

We waited nearly two hours for the dusk to fall andallow me to ride off . We spoke of Ortheris in whispers,and strained our ears to catch any sound from the spotwhere we had left him . But we heard nothing exceptthewind in the plume-grass .I

’

ve bruk his head,’

said Mulvaney earnestly, M e

265


an’ agin . I ’ve nearly kilt him wid the belt, an’ yet I

can ’t knock thim fits out av his soft head . No ! An’

he’

s

not soft, for he’s reasonable an’ likely by natur’

. t at

is ut? Is ut his breedin ’ which is nothin’

, or his edukashin which he niver got? You that think ye know things,answer me that . ’

But I found no answer. I was wondering how longOrtheris, on the bank of the river, would hold out, andwhether I should be forced to help him to desert, as Ihad given my word .

Just as the dusk shut down and, with a very heavyheart, I was beginning to saddle up my horse, we heardwild shouts from the river.The devils had departed from Private Stanley Or

theris, No . 22639, B Company. The loneliness, thedusk, and the waiting had driven them out as I hadhoped . We set off at the double and found him plunging about wildly through the grass, with his coat offmy coat off , I mean . He was calling for us like a madman .

When we reached him he was dripping with perspiration, and trembling like a startled horse . We had greatdifficulty in soothing him . He complained that he wasin civilian kit, and wanted to tear my clothes off hisbody. I ordered him to strip, and we made a secondexchange as quickly as possible .The rasp of his own ‘grayback ’ shirt and the squeakof his boots seemed to bring him to himself. He put hishands before his eyes and said

‘Wotwas it? I ain’t mad,’ I ain’t sunstrook, an

’ I’vebin an’ gone an’ said, an

’ bin an’ gone an’ doneWot ’ave I bin an’ done ! ’

t at have you done? said Mulvaney You’

ve266


THE STORY OF MUHAMMAD DIN

Who is the happy man? He that sees in his ownhouse at home, little children crowned with dust, leaping and falling and crying.

‘Munichandra,

’

translated by Professor Peterson .

HE polo-ball was an old one, scarred, chipped, anddinted . It stood on the mantelpiece among thepipe-stems which Imam . Din, khitmatgar, was

cleaning for me .Does the Heaven-born want this ball? ’ said Imam

D in deferentially .

The Heaven-born set no particular store by it ; but ofwhat usewas a polo-ball to a khitmatgar?

‘By Your Honour’s favour I have a little son . Hehas seen this ball, and desires rt to play with . I do notwant it for myself. ’

No one would for an instant accuse portly old ImamDin of wanting to play with polo-balls . He carried outthe battered thing into the verandah ; and there followeda hurricane of j oyful squeaks, a patter of small feet, andthe thud-thud-thud of the ball rolling along the ground .

Evidently the little son had been waiting outside thedoor to secure his treasure . But how bad he managedto see that polo-ball?Next day, coming back fromoffice half an hour earlierthan usual, I was aware of a small figure in the dining

268

THE STORY OF MUHAMMAD DIN

room a tiny, plump figure in a ridiculously inadequateshirt which came, perhaps, half-way down the tubbystomach . It wandered round the room, thumb in mouth,crooning to itself as it took stock of the pictures . Un

doubtedly thiswas the ‘ little son.

’

He had no business in my room, of course ; but was sodeeply absorbed in his discoveries that he never noticedme in the doorway. I stepped into the room and startled him nearly into a fit. He sat down on the groundwith a gasp . H is eyes opened, and his mouth followedsuit. I knew what was coming, and fled, followed by along, dry howl which reached the servants

’ quarters farmore quickly than any command of urine had ever done .In ten seconds Imam D inwas in the dining-room. Thendespairing sobs arose, and I returned to find Imam Dinadmonishing the small sinner who was using most of hisshirt as a handkerchief.

‘This boy,’ said Imam D in judicially,

‘ is a budmasha big budmash . He will, without doubt, go to the

jail-khana for his behaviour. ’ Renewed yells from thepenitent, and an elaborate apology to myself from ImamDin .

‘Tell the baby,’ said I ,

‘ that the Sahib is not angry,and take him away .

’ Imam Din conveyed my forgiveness to the offender, who had now gathered all his shirtround his neck, stringwise, and the yell subsided into asob . The two set off for the door. ‘

H is name,’

saidImam Din, as though the name were part of the crime,‘

isMuhammad Din, and he is a budmash .

’ Freed frompresent danger, Muhammad Din turned round in hisfather’s arms, and said gravely,

‘ It is true that my nameis Muhammad D in, Tahib, but I am not a budmash . Iam a man !

’

269


From that day dated my acquaintance with Muham

mad Din . Never again did he come into my diningroom, but on the neutral ground of the garden we greetedeach other with much state, though our conversationwas confined to ‘

Talaam , Tahib’ from his side, and

‘ Salaam, Muhammad Din’ from mine . Daily on my

return from office, the little white shirt and the fat littlebody used to rise from the shade of the creeper-coveredtrellis where they had been bid ; and daily I checked myhorse here, that my salutation might not be slurred overor given unseemly.

Muhammad Din never had any companions . He usedto trot about the compound, in and out of the cas

tor-oil bushes, on mysterious errands of his own . Oneday I stumbled upon some of his handiwork far downthe grounds . He had half buried the polo-ball in dust,and stuck six shrivelled old marigold flowers in a circleround it . Outside that circle again was a rude square,traced out in bits of red brick alternating with fragments of broken china ; the whole bounded by a littlebank of dust . The water-man from the well-curb putin a plea for the small architect, saying that it was onlythe play of a baby and did not much disfiguremy garden .

Heaven knows that I had no intention of touching thechild’s work then or later ; but, that evening, a strollthrough the garden brought me unawares full on it ; sothat I trampled, before I knew, marigold-heads, dustbank, and fragments of broken soap-dish into confusionpast all hope of mending. Next morning I came uponMuhammad Din crying softly to himself over the ruin Ihad wrought . Some one had cruelly told him that theSahib was very angry with him for spoiling the garden,and had scattered his rubbish, using bad language the

270



They have no stamina, these brats,’

said the Doctor,as he left Imam Din

’s quarters .A week later, though I would have given much tohave avoided it, I met on the road to the Mussulmanburying-ground Imam D in, accompanied by one otherfriend, carrying in his arms, wrapped in a white cloth,all that was left of little Muhammad D in .

ON THE STRENGTH OF A LIKENESS

If your mirror be broken, look into still water ; buthave a care that you do not fall in . Hindu Proverb .

E ! T to a requited attachment, one of the mostconvenient things that a young man can car ryabout with him at the beginning of his career, is

an unrequited attachment. It makes him feel importantand business-like, and blase, and cynical ; and wheneverhe has a touch of liver, or suffers from want of exercise,he can mourn over his lost love, and be very happy in atender, twilight fashion .

Hannasyde’

s affair of the heart had been a godsend tohim . It was four years old, and the girl had long sincegiven up thinking of it . She had married and had manycares of her own . In the beginning, she had told Hannasyde that,

‘while she could never be anything morethan a sister to him, she would always take the deepestinterest in his welfare .

’ This startlingly new and original remark gaveH annasyde something to think over fortwo years ; and his own vanity filled in the other twentyfour months . H annasyde was quite different from PhilGarron, but, none the less, had several points in commonwith that far too lucky man .

He kept his unrequited attachment byhim asmenkeepa well-smoked pipe for comfort’s sake, and becauseit had grown dear in the using. It brought him hap

273


pily through one Sim la season . H annasyde was notlovely. There was a crudity in his manners, and aroughness in the way in which he helped a lady on to herhorse, that did not attract the other sex to him ; even ifhe had cast about for their favour, which he did not .He kept his wounded heart all to himself for a while .Then trouble came to him . All who go to Simla know

the slope from the Telegraph to the Public Works Office. H annasyde was loafing up the hill, one September morning between calling hours, when a

’

ri ckshawcame down in a hurry, and in the

’

ri ckshaw sat the living, breathing image of the girl who had made him sohappily unhappy . H annasyde leaned against the railings and gasped . He wanted to run downhill after the’rickshaw, but that was impossible ; so he went forwardwith most of his blood in his temples . It was impossible, for many reasons, that the woman in the

’

ri ckshawcould be the girl he had known . She was, he discoveredlater, the wife of a man from Dindigul, or Coimbatore,or some out-of-the-way place, and she had come up toSimla early in the season for the good of her health .

She was going back to Dindigul, or wherever it was, atthe end of the season ; and in all likelihood would neverreturn to Simla again, her proper Hill-station beingOotacamund . That night H annasyde, raw and savagefrom the raking up of all old feelings, took counsel withhimself for one measured hour . What he decided uponwas this ; and you must decide for yourself how muchgenuine affection for the old Love, and how much a verynatural inclination to go abroad and enjoy himself, affected the decision . Mrs. Landys-H aggert would neverin all human likelihood cross his path again . So whatever he did didn ’t much matter. She was marvellously

274



ane had bummed it forHannasyde in the dusk of an English drawing-room. In the actual woman herself inthe soul of her therewas not the least likeness, she andAlice Chisane being cast in different moulds. But allthatHannasydewanted to know and see and think aboutwas this maddening and perplexing likeness of face andvoice and manner. Hewas bent on making a fool of himself that way ; and hewas in no sort disappointed .

Open and obvious devotion from any sort of man isalways pleasant to any sort of woman ; butMrs. LandysHaggert, being a woman of the world, could make nothing of Hannasyde

’

s admiration .

He would take any am ount of trouble hewas a selfish man habitually to meet and forestall, if possible,her wishes. Anything she told him to do was law ; andhe was, there could be no doubting it, fond of her company so long as she talked to him, and kept on talkingabout trivialities. B ut when she launched into expression of her personal views and her wrongs, those smallsocial differences that make the spice of Sim la life, Hannasyde was neither pleased nor interested . He didn’twant to know anything about Mrs. Landys-Haggert, orher experi ences in the past she had travelled nearlyall over the world, and could talk cleverly he wantedthe likeness of Alice Chisane before his eyes and her voicein his ears . Anything outside that, reminding him ofanother personality, jarred, and he showed that it did .

Under the new Post Office, one evening, Mrs. LandysHaggert turned on him, and spoke her mind shortly andwithout warning. Mr . Hannasyde,

’

said she,‘will you

be good enough to explain why you have appointedyourself my special cavalier servente? I don’t understand it. But I am perfectly certain, somehow or other,

276

ON THE STRENGTH OF A LIKENESS

that you don’t care the least little bit in the world forme.

’ This seems to support, by the way, the theory thatno man can act or tell lies to a woman without beingfound out. H annasydewas taken off hisguard . His defence never was a strong one, because he was alwaysthinking of himself, and he blurted out, before he knewwhat he was saying, this inexpedient answer, No moreI do .

’

The queem ess of the situation and the reply madeMrs . Landys-Haggert laugh . Then it all came out ; andat the end of H annasyde

’

s lucid explanation Mrs. Haggert said, with the least little touch of scorn in her voice,‘

So I ’m to act as the lay-figure for you to hang the ragsof your tattered affections on , am I?

’

Hannasyde didn’t see what answer was required, and

be devoted him self generally and vaguely to the praiseof Alice Chisane, which was unsatisfactory. Now it isto be thoroughly made clear that Mrs . H aggert had notthe shadow of a ghost of an interest in H annasyde. Only

only no woman likes beingmade love throughinstead of to specially on behalf of a musty divinityof four years ’ standing.

Hannasyde did not see that he had made any veryparticular exhibition of himself. He was glad to find asympathetic soul in the arid wastes of Simla .

When the season ended, Hannasyde went down to hisown place and Mrs. Haggert to hers .

‘ Itwas like making love to a ghost,

’ said H annasyde to himself,‘ and it

doesn’t matter ; and now I’ll get to my work.

’ But hefound himself thinking steadily of the Haggert-Chisaneghost ; and he could not be certain whether it was Haggert or Chisane that made up the greater part of thepretty phantom .

277


He got understanding a month later.A peculiar point of this peculiar country is the way in

which a heartless Government transfers men from oneend of the Empire to the other. You can never be sureof getting rid of a friend or an enemy till he or she dies .Therewas a case once but that’s another story.

H aggert’

s Department ordered him up from Dindigulto the Frontier at two days’ notice, and he went through,losing money at every step from Dindigul to his station .

He dropped Mrs. H aggert at Lucknow, to stay withsome fri ends there, to take part in a big ball at theChutter Munzil, and to come on when he had made thenew home a little comfortable . Lucknow was Hannasyde’s station, and Mrs. Haggett stayed a week there .H annasyde went to meet her. As the train came in, hediscovered what he had been thinking of for the pastmonth . The unwisdom of his conduct also struck him .

The Lucknow week, with two dances, and an unlimitedquantity of rides together, clinched matters ; and Hannasyde found himself pacing this circle of thought :He adored Alice Chisane, at least he had adored her.And be admired Mrs . Landys-H aggert because she waslike Alice Chisane . But Mrs . Landys-H aggert was notin the least like Alice Chisane, being a thousand timesmore adorable . N ow Alice Chisane was ‘ the bri de ofanother,

’ and sowas Mrs. Landys-H aggert, and a goodand honest wife too . Therefore he, H annasyde, was

here he called himself several hard names,and wished that he had been wise in the beginning.

Whether Mrs. Landys-H aggert saw what was goingon in his mind she alone knows . He seemed to take anunqualified interest in everything connected with her

278


WR E SSLE Y OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE

I closed and drew for my Love’s sake,That now is false to me,

And I slew the R ievcr of Tarrant Moss,And set Dumeny free .

And ever they give me praise and gold,And ever I moan my loss ;

For I struck the blow for my false Love ’s sake,And not for the men of the Moss !

‘Tarrant Moss .’

NE of the many curses of our life in India isthe want of atmosphere In the painter

’

3 sense .

There are no half-tints worth noticing. Men

stand out all crude and raw, with nothing to tone themdown, and nothing to scale them against. They dotheir work, and grow to think that there is nothing buttheir work, and nothing like their work, and that theyare the real pivots on which the Administration turns .Here is an instance of this feeling : A half-caste clerkwas ruling forms in a Pay Office . He said to me,

‘Doyou know what would happen if I added or took awayone single line on this sheet? ’

Then, with the air of aconspirator, It would disorganise thewhole of theTreasury payments throughout the whole of the PresidencyCircle ! Think of that !

’

WR E SSLE Y OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE

If men had not this delusion as to the ultra-importance of their own particular employments, I supposethat they would sit down and kill themselves . But theirweakness is wearisome, particularly when the listenerknows that he himself commits exactly the same sin.

Even the Secretari at believes that it does good whenit asks an over-driven Executive Officer to take a census of wheat-weevils through a district of five thousandsquare miles .There was a man once in the Foreign Office a man

who had grown middle-aged in the Department, and wascommonly said, by irreverent juniors, to be able to tepeat Aitchison ’

s‘Treaties and Sunnuds ’ backwards in

his sleep . What he did with his stored knowledge onlythe Secretary knew ; and be, naturally, would not publish the news abroad . This man ’s name was Wressley,

and itwas the Shibboleth, in those days, to say Wress

ley knows more about the Central Indian States thanany living man .

’ If you did not say this, you were considered one of mean understanding.

Nowadays, the man who says that he knows the ravelof the inter-tri bal complications across the Border is ofmore use ; but, in Wressley

’

s time, much attention waspaid to the Central Indian States . They were called‘ foci ’ and ‘ factors,

’ and all manner of imposing names .And here the curse of Anglo-Indian life fell heavily .

WhenWressley lifted up his voice, and spoke about suchand-such a succession to such-and-such a throne, theForeign Office were silent, and Heads of Departmentsrepeated the last two or three words of Wressley

’

s sen

tences, and tacked‘

yes, yes,’ on to them, and knew

that they were assisting the Empire to grapple with serious political contingencies . In most big undertakings

28 1


one or two men do the work, while the rest sit near andtalk till the ripe decorations begin to fall .Wressley was the working-member of the Foreign Of

fice firm , and, to keep him up to his duties when heshowed signs of flagging, he was made much of by hissuperiors and told what a fine fellow he was. He didnot require coaxing, because he was of tough build, butwhat he received confirmed him in the belief that therewas no one quite so absolutely and imperatively neces

sary to the stability of India asWressley of the ForeignOffice . There might be other good men, but the known,honoured, and trusted man among men wasWressley ofthe Foreign Office . We had a Viceroy in those days whoknew exactly when to ‘gentle ’ a fractious big man, andto hearten-up a collar-galled little one, and so keep all histeam level . He conveyed to Wressley the impressionwhich I have just set down ; and even tough men are

apt to be disorganised by a Viceroy’s praise . Therewasa case once but that is another story.

All India knew Wressley’

s name and office it wasin Thacker and Spink’s Directory but who he waspersonally, or what he did, or what his special meritswere, not fifty men knew or cared . His work filled allhis time, and he found no leisure to cultivate acquaintances beyond those of dead Rajput chiefs with Ahirblots in their scutcheons . Wressley would have made avery good Clerk in the Herald ’s College had he not beena Bengal Civilian .

Upon a day, between office and office, great troublecame to Wressley overwhelmed him, knocked himdown, and left him gasping as though he had been a littleschoolboy. Without reason, against prudence, and at amoment’s notice, he fell in love with a frivolous, golden

282



He told Miss Venner that he was going to take leaveand hoped, on his return, to bring her a present worthyofher acceptance . Would shewait? Certainly shewould .

Wressley drew seventeen hundred rupees a month . Shewould wait a year for that. HerMamma would help herto wait .So Wressley took one year

’s leave and all the available documents, about a truck-load, that he could layhands on, and went down to Central India with his notion hot in his head . He began his book in the land hewas writing of. Too much official correspondence hadmade him a fri gid workman, and he must have guessedthat he needed the white light of local colour on hispalette . This is a dangerous paint for amateurs to playwith .

Heavens, how that man worked ! He caught his Rajahs, analysed his Rajahs, and traced them up intothe mists of Time and beyond, with their queens andtheir concubines . He dated and cross-dated, pedigreedand triple-pedigreed, compared, noted, connoted, wove,strung, sorted, selected, inferred, calendared and counter-calendared for ten hours a day . And, because thissudden and new light of Love was upon him , he turnedthose dry bones of history and dirty records of misdeedsinto things to weep or to laugh over as be pleased . His

heart and soul were at the end of his pen and they gotinto the ink . He was dowered with sympathy, insight,humour, and style for two hundred and thirty days andnights ; and his book was a Book. He had his vast special knowledge with him, so to speak ; but the spirit,the woven-in human Touch, the poetry and the powerof the output, were beyond all special knowledge. ButI doubt whether he knew the gift that was in him then,

284

WR E SSLEY OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE

and thus he may have lost some happiness . He wastoiling for Tillie Venner, not for himself. Men often dotheir best work blind, for some one else

’s sake .Also, though this has nothing to do with the

‘

story, inIndia, where every one knows every one else, you can

watchmen being driven, by the women who govern them,

out of the rank-and-file and sent to take up points alone .

A good man, once started, goes forward ; but an averageman, so soon as the woman loses interest in his successas a tribute to her power, comes back to the battalion andis no more heard of .Wressley bore the first copy

.

of his book to Simla, and,blushing and stamm ering, presented it to Miss Venner.She read a little of it . I give her review verbatim‘ Oh, your book? It

’

s all about those howwid Wajahs.

I didn ’t understand it . ’

Wressley of the Foreign Ofiice was broken, smashed,I am not exaggerating by this one frivolous little

girl . All that he could say feebly was ‘But butit’s my magnum opus ! The work of my life . ’ MissVenner did not know what magnum opus meant ; butshe knew that Captain Kerrington had won three racesat the last Gymkhana . Wressley didn

’

t press her to waitfor him any longer. He had sense enough for that .Then came the reaction after the year’s strain, andWressley went back to the Foreign Office and his Wa

jabs,’ a compiling, gazetteering, report-writing back, who

would have been dear at three hundred rupees a month .

He abided by Miss Venner’

s review ; which proves thatthe inspiration in the bookwas purely temporary and unconnected with himself. Nevertheless, he had no rightto sink, in a hill-tam , five packing-cases, brought up at

28 5


enormous expense from Bombay, of the best book of Indian history ever written .

When he sold off before retiring, some years later, Iwas turning over his shelves, and came across the onlyexisting copy of ‘Native Rule in Central India’ thecopy that Miss Venner could not understand . I readit, sitting on his mule-trunks, as long as the light lasted,and offered him his own price for it. He looked over myshoulder for a few pages and said to himself drearilyNow, howin theworld did I come towrite such damned

good stuff as that?Then to me‘Take it and keep it . Write one of your penny-farth

ing yarns about its birth . Perhaps perhaps thewhole business may have been ordained to that end.

’

Which, knowing what Wressley of the Foreign Officewas once, struck me as about the bitterest thing that Ihad ever heard a man say of his own work.

286



another . They can live absolutely alone and withoutinterruption just as the Dorrnicc did . Those twolittle people retired from the world after their marri ageand were very happy . They were forced, of course, togive occasional dinners, but they made no friends thereby, and the Station went its own way and forgot themonly saying, occasionally, that Dorrnouse was the bestof good fellows though dull . A Civil Surgeonwhoneverquarrels is a rarity, appreciated as such .

Few people can afford to play Robinson Crusoe anywhere least of all in India, where we are few in theland and very much dependent on each other’s kindoffices . Dumoise was wrong in shutting himself fromthe world for a year, and he discovered his mistake whenan epidemic of typhoid broke out in the Station in thehear t of the cold weather, and his wife went down . H e

was a shy little man, and five days were wasted beforehe realised that Mrs. Dumoise was burning with something worse than simple fever, and three days morepassed before he ventured to call on Mrs. Shute, theEngineer’s wife, and timidly speak about his trouble .

Nearly every household in India knows that Doctorsare very helpless in typhoid . The battle must be foughtout between Death and the Nurses minute by minuteand degree by degree . Mrs . Shute almost boxed Dumoise ’s ears for what she called his ‘ criminal delay,

’ andwent off at once to look after the poor girl . We hadseven cases of typhoid in the Station that winter and, asthe average of death is about one in every five cases,we felt certain that we should have to lose somebody .

But all did their best . The women sat up nursing thewomen, and the men turned to and tended the bachelors who were down, and we wrestled with those typhoid

288

BY WORD OF MOUTH

cases for fifty-six days, and brought them throughthe Valley of the Shadow in triumph . But, just whenwe thought allwas over, and were going to give a danceto celebrate the victory, little Mrs. Dumoise had a relapse and died in a week, and the Station went to thefuneral . Dumoise broke down utterly at the brink ofthe grave, and had to be taken away.

After the death Dumoise crept into his own house andrefused to be comforted . He did his duties perfectly,but we all felt that he should go on leave, and the othermen of his own Service told him so. Dumoise was verythankful for the suggestion he was thankful for anything in those days and went to Chini on a walkingtour. Chini is some twenty marches from Simla, in theheart of the Hills, and the scenery is good if you are introuble . You pass through big, still deodar forests,and under big, still cliff s, and over big, still grass-downsswelling like a woman ’s breasts ; and the wind across the

grass, and the rain among the deodars say‘Hush

hush hush .

’ So little Dumoise was packed off toChini, to wear down his grief with a full-plate cameraand a rifle . He took also a useless bearer, because theman had been his wife ’s favourite servant . He was idleand a thief, but Dumoise trusted everything to him .

On his way back from Chini, Dumoise turned aside toBagi, through the Forest Reserve which is on the spurof Mount Huttoo. Some men who have travelled morethan a little say that the march from Kotegarh to Bagiis one of the finest in creation . It runs through darkwet forest, and ends suddenly in bleak, nipped hillsideand black rocks . Bagi dak-bungalow is open to all thewinds and is bitterly cold . Few people go to Bagi . Perhaps that was the reason why Dumoise went there . He

289


halted at seven in the evening, and his bearer went downthe hillside to the village to engage coolies for the nextday’s march . The sun had set, and the night-windswerebeginning to croon among the rocks . Dumoise leanedon the railing of the verandah, waiting for his bearer toreturn . The man came back almost immediately afterhe had disappeared, and at such a rate that Dumoisefancied he must have crossed a bear. Hewas running ashard as he could up the face of the hill .But there was no bear to account for his terror. Heraced to the verandah and fell down, the blood spurtingfrom his nose and his face iron-gray . Then he gurgled‘ I have seen theMemsahib ! I have seen theMemsahib

‘Where? ’ said Dumoise .

Down there, walking on the road to the village. Shewas in a blue dress, and she lifted the veil of her bonnetand said “Ram Dass, give my salaams to the Sahib,and tell him that I shall meet him next month at Nuddea . Then I ran away, because I was afraid.

’

What Dumoise said or did I do not know. Ram Dassdeclares that he said nothing, but walked up and downthe verandah all the cold night, waiting for the Memsahib to come up the hill, and stretching out his armsinto the dark like a madman . But noMemsahib came,and

,next day, he went on to Simla cross-questioning the

bearer every hour.Ram Dass could only say that he had met Mrs. Du

moise, and that she had lifted up her veil and given himthe message which he had faithfully repeated to Dumoise . To this statement Ram Dass adhered. He didnot knowwhere Nuddea was, had no friends at N uddea,and would most certainly never go to Nuddea, eventhough his pay were doubled .

290



twilight, topack up Dumoise’

s just Opened trunks. Ram

Dass entered with the lamps.‘Where is the Sahib going? he asked .

‘To N uddea,’ said Dumoise softly.

Ram Dass clawed Dumoise ’

s knees and boots and

begged him not to go . Ram Dass wept and howled tillhe was turned out of the room . Then be wrapped upall his belongings and came back to ask for a character.He was not going to N uddea to see his Sahib die and,perhaps, to die himself.So Dumoise gave the man his wages and went down

to Nuddea alone, the other Doctor bidding him goodbye as one under sentence of death .

Eleven days later he had joined his Memsahib and

the Bengal Government had to borrow a fresh Doctorto com with that epidemic at Nuddea . The first im

portation lay dead in Chooadanga Dak-Bungalow.

TO BE FILED FOR REFERENCE

By the hoof of theWild Goat up-tossedFrom the Cliff where She lay in the Sun,

Fell the StoneTo the Tarn where the daylight is lostSo She fell from the light of the Sun ,

And alone .

Now the fall was ordained from the first,With the Goat and the Cliff and the Tarn,

But the StoneKnows only Her life is accursed,As She sinks in the depths of the Tarn,

And alone .

Oh, Thou who hast builded the world !Oh, Thou who hast lighted the Sun !Oh, Thou who hast darkened the Tarn !

Judge ThouThe sin of the Stone thatwas hurledBy the Goat from the light of the Sun,As She sinks in the mire of the Tarn,

Even now even now even now !

From the Unpublished Papers of McIntosh Jellaludin.

AY is it dawn, is it dusk in thy Bower,Thou whom I long for, who longest for me?Oh, be it night—be it

Here he fell over a little camel-colt that was sleepingin the Serai where the horse-traders and the best of the

293


blackguards from Central Asia live ; and because he wasvery drunk indeed and the night was dark, he could notrise again till I helped him . That was the beginning ofmy acquaintance with McIntosh Jellaludin . When a

loafer, and drunk, sings‘The Song of the Bower,

’ hemust be worth cultivating. He got off the camel’s backand said, rather thickly,

‘ I I I ’m a bit screwed,but a dip in Loggerhead will put me right again ; and, Isay, have you spoken to Symonds about the mare

’

s

knees?’

Now Loggerhead was six thousand weary miles awayfrom us, close to Mesopotamia, where you mustn

’t fishand poaching is impossible, and Charley Syrnond

’

s sta

ble a half mile farther across the paddocks . Itwas strangeto hear all the old names, on a May night, among thehorses and camels of the Sultan Caravanserai . Then theman seemed to remember himself and sober down at thesame time . He leaned against the camel and pointedto a corner of the Serai where a lamp was burning.

I live there,’ said he,

‘ and I should be extremelyobliged if you would be good enough to help my mutinous feet thither ; for I am more than usually drunkmost most phenomenally tight . But not in respectto my head .

“My brain cries out against” howdoes it go? But my head rides on the rolls on thedunghill I should have said, and controls the qualm .

’

I helped him through the gangs of tethered horses,and he collapsed on the edge of the verandah in front ofthe line of native quarters .

‘Thanks a thousand thanks ! 0 Moon and little,little Stars ! To think that a man should so shamelessly

Infamous liquor too. Ovid in exile drank noworse . Better. It was frozen. Alas ! I had no ice.

294



ter. Drink, unfortunately, youwill find on the premisesat any hour ; and thus I make youwelcome to all my poorestablishment .

’

I was admitted to the McIntosh household I andmy good tobacco . But nothing else . Unluckily, onecannot visit a loafer in the Serai by day. Friends buying horses would not understand it. Consequently, Iwas obliged to see McIntosh after dark. He laughed atthis, and said simply,

‘You are perfectly right . WhenI enjoyed a position in society, rather higher than yours , Ishould have done exactly the same thing. Good Heavens !I was once ’ he spoke as though he had fallen fromthe Command of a Regim ent an Oxford Man Thisaccounted for the reference to Charley Symonds’ stable .

‘You,’ said McIntosh slowly,

‘ have not had that advantage ; but, to outward appearance, you do not seempossessed of a craving for strong drinks . On the whole,I fancy that you are the luckier of the two. Yet I amnot certain . You are forgive my saying so evenwhile I am smoking your excellent tobacco painfullyignorant of many things. ’

We were sitting together on the edge of his bedstead,for he owned no chairs, watching the horses being watered for the night, while the native womanwas preparing dinner. I did not like being patronised by a loafer,but I was his guest for the time being, though he ownedonly one very torn alpaca coat and a pair of trousersmade out of gunny-bags . He took the pipe out of hismouth, and went on judicially,

‘All things considered, Idoubt whether you are the luckier. I do not refer toyour extremely limited classical attainments, or your excruciating quantities, but to your gross ignorance of

matters more immediately under your notice . That,296


for instance’

; he pointed to a woman cleaning a samovarnear the well in the centre of the Serai. She was flicking the water out of the spout in regular cadenced jerks .There are ways and ways of cleaning samovars . If

you knew why she was doing her work in that particularfashion, you would know what the Spanish Monkmeant when he said

I the Trinity illustrate,Drinking watered orange-pulpIn three sips the Arian frustrate,While he drains his at one gulp

and many other things which now are hidden from youreyes. However, Mrs . McIntosh has prepared dinner.Let us come and eat after the fashion of the people ofthe country—of whom, by the way, you know nothing.

’

The native woman dipped her hand in the dish withus. This was wrong. The wife should always wait untilthe husband has eaten . McIntosh Jellaludin apologised,

‘ It is an English prejudice which I have not been ableto overcome ; and she loves me. Why, I have neverbeen able to understand . I forgathered with her atJullundur, three years ago, and she has remained withme ever since. I believe her to be moral, and know herto be skilled in cookery.

’

He patted the woman ’

s head as he Spoke, and shecooed softly. She was not pretty to look at .McIntosh never told me what position he had held

before his fall . He was, when sober, a scholar and agentleman . When drunk, he was rather more of thefirst than the second . He used to get drunk about oncea week for two days . On those occasions the native

297


woman tended him while he raved in all tongues excepthis own . One day, indeed, he began reciting

‘Atalantain Calydon,

’ and went through it to the end, heatingtime to the swing of the verse with a bedstead-leg. Buthe did most of his ravings in Greek or German . The

man’s mind was,

a perfect rag-bag of useless things .Once, when he was beginning to get sober, he told me

that I was the only rational being in the Inferno intowhich he had descended a Virgil in the Shades, hesaid and that, in return for my tobacco, he would,before he died, give me the materials of a new Infernothat should make me greater than Dante . Then he fellasleep on a horse-blanket and woke up quite calm .

Man,’ said he, when you have reached the uttermost

depths of degradation, little incidents which would vex ahigher life are to you of no consequence. Last night mysoul was among the Gods ; but I make no doubt that mybestial body was writhing down here in the garbage . ’

You were abominablydrunk, if that’swhat you mean ,

’

I said .

‘ I was drunk filthily drunk . I who am the son ofa man with whom you have no concern I who wasonce Fellow of a College whose buttery-hatch you havenot seen I was loathsomely drunk. But considerhowlightly I am touched . It is nothing to me less thannothing ; for I do not even feel the headache which shouldbe my portion . Now, in a higher life, how ghastly wouldhave been my punishment, how bitter my repentance !Believe me, my friend with the neglected education, thehighest is as the lowest always supposing each degreeextreme .

’

He turned round on the blanket, put his head betweenhis fists and continued

298



man‘ ignorantWest and East

’ he said. His boastwas, first, that he was an Oxford Man of rare and shining parts, which may or may not have been true I didnot know enough to check his statements ; and, secondly,that he ‘had his hand on the pulse of native life’ whichwas a fact . As an Oxford Man, he struckme as a prig :hewas always throwing his education about. As a Mahommedan faquir asMcIntoshJellaludin hewas allthat I wanted for my own ends. He smoked severalpounds of my tobacco, and taught me several ounces ofthings worth knowing ; but he would never accept anygifts, not even when the cold weather came, and grippedthe poor thin chest under the poor thin alpaca coat. He

grew very angry , and said that I had insulted him, andthat he was not going into hospital . He had lived likea beast and he would die rationally, like a man .

As a matter of fact, he died of pneumonia ; and on thenight of his death sent over a grubby note askingme tocome and help him to die.The native womanwas weeping by the side of the bed .

McIntosh, wrapped in a cotton cloth, was too weak toresent a fur coat being thrown over him . He was veryactive as far as his mind was concerned, and his eyeswere blazing. When he had abused the Doctor whocame with me so foully that the indignant old fellow left,he cursed me for a few minutes and calmed down .

Then he told his wife to fetch out ‘The Book ’ from a

hole in the wall . She brought out a big bundle, wrappedin the tail of a petticoat, of old sheets of miscellaneousnotepaper, all numbered and covered with fine crampedwriting. McIntosh ploughed his hand through the rubbish and stirred it up lovingly.

‘This,’

he said,‘

is my work the Book of McIntosh

300


Jellaludin, showing what he saw and how he lived, andwhat befell him and others ; being also an account of thelife and sins and death of Mother Maturin . WhatMirza Murad Ali Beg’

s book is to all other books onnative life, will my work be to Mirza Murad Ali Beg

’s ! ’

This, aswill be conceded by any one who knows MirzaMurad Ali B

'

eg’s book, was a sweeping statement. Thepapers did not look specially valuable ; but McIntosh

handled them as if they were currency-notes . Then saidhe slowly

‘ In despite the many weaknesses of your education,you have been good to me . I will speak of your tobaccowhen I reach the Gods. I owe you much thanks formany kindnesses. But I abominatc indebtedness. Forthis reason, I bequeath to you now the monument moreenduring than brass my one book rude and imperfect in parts, but oh, how rare in others ! I wonderif you will understand it. It is a gif t more honourablethan Bah ! where is my brain rambling to?You will mutilate it horribly . You will knock out the

gems you call Latin quotations, you Philistine, and youwill butcher the style to carve into your own jerky jargon ; but you cannot destroy the whole of it. I be

queath it to you . Ethel My brain again !Mrs. McIntosh, bear witness that I give the

Sahib all these papers. They would be of no use to you,Heart of my Heart ; and I lay it upon you,

’ he turned tome here,

‘ that you do not let my book die in its presentform . It is yours unconditionally the story ofMcI n

tosh Jellaludin, which is not the story ofMcIntosh Jellaludin, but of a greater man than he, and of a far greaterwoman . Listen now ! I am neither mad nor drunk !That bookwillmakeyou famous.

’

301


I said,‘Thank you,

’

as the native woman put the bundle into my arms .

‘

My only baby ! ’ said McIntosh, with a smile . H e

was sinking fast, but he continued to talk as long as

breath remained . I waited for the end ; knowing that,in six cases out of ten, a dying man calls for his mother.He turned on his side and said

‘ Say how it came into your possession . No one willbelieve you, but my name, at least, will live . You willtreat it brutally, I know you will . Some of it must go ;the public are fools and prudish fools . I was their servant once . But do your mangling gently very gently . It is a great work, and I have paid for it in sevenyears’ damnation .

’

His voice stopped for ten or twelve breaths, and thenhe began mumbling a prayer of some kind in Greek .

The native woman cried very bitterly. Lastly, he rosein bed and said, as loudly as slowly

‘Not guilty, myLord ! ’

Then he fell back, and the stupor held him till he died .

The native woman ran into the Serai among the horses,and screamed and beat her breasts ; for she had lovedhim .

Perhaps his last sentence in life told what McIntosh

had once gone through ; but, saving the big bundle ofold sheets in the cloth, there was nothing in his room tosay who or what he had been.

The papers were in a hopeless muddle .Strickland helped me to sort them, and he said that

the writer was either an extreme liar or a most wonderful person . He thought the former . One of these daysyou may be able to judge for yourselves. The bundleneeded much expurgation, and was full of Greek non

302


SOLDIERS THREE

And Other Stories


CONTENTS

Black and White Continued

GeminiAt Tweuty-twoIn Flood TimeThe Sending of Dana DaOn the City Wall

SOLDIERS THREE

A COLLECTION OF STORIES

Setting forth certain passages in the lives and adventuresof Privates Terence Mulvaney, Stanley Ortheris, and

John Learoyd

‘We be Soldiers ThreePardonnez-moi, je vous en prie .

’


THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE“Hand the Colonel ’

s pet noosance,’

said Ortheris .

But wot makes you curse your rations? This fizzystuff ’

s good enough.

’

Stuff , ye oncivilised pagin !’ ’

Tis champagne we’

redhrinkin

’ now.

’

T isn’

t that I am set ag’in .

’

Tis thisquare stuff wid the little bits av black leather in it . Inrisdoubt I will be distressin

’

ly sick wid it in themom in .

’

t at is ut?’

Goose liver,’ I said, climbing on the top of the car

riage, for I knew that it was better to sit out with Mulveney than to dance many dances.Goose liver is ut? said Mulvaney . Faith, I

’mthinkin

’

thim that makes it wud do betther cut up theColonel . He carries a power av liver under his rightarrum whin the days are warm an’

the nights chill .He wud give thim tons an tons av liver. ’

Tis he sezso.

“ I’

m all liver to-day, sez he ; an’ wid that he

ordhers me ten days ’

C . B . for as moild a dhrink as

iver a good sodger tuk betune his teeth .

’

‘That was when’

e wanted for to wash ’

isself in theFort Ditch, Ortheris explained .

’

Said there was toomuch beer in the Barrick water-butts for a God-fearing man . You was lucky in gettin’ orf with wot youdid, Mulvaney.

’

Say you so? Now I ’m pershuaded I was cruel hardtreated, seciu

’

fwhat I’

ve done for the likes av him inthe days whin my eyes were wider Opin than they arenow. Man alive, for the Colonel to whip me on thepeg in that way ! Me that have saved the repitationav a ten times better man than him ! ’

Twas ne—farious an

’

that manes a power av evil I’‘

Never mind the nefari ousness,’ I said .

‘Whosereputation did you save? ’

4

THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE

More’

s the pity,’

twasn’

t my own, but I tuk moretrouble wid ut than av ut was.

"Twas just my way,

messin’ wid fwhat was no business av mine. Hearnow He settled himself at case on the top of thecarriage . ‘ I ’ll tell you all about ut. Av coorse I willname no names, for there

’

s wan that’s an orf’

cer’

s

lady now, that was in ut, and no more will I nameplaces, for a man is thracked by a place .

’

‘Eyah said Ortheris lazily,‘ but this is a mixed

story wot’

s comin .

’

‘Wanst upon a time, as the childer-books say, I was

Was you though? said Ortheris ; now that’

s extry

ordinaryOrth

’

ris,’

said Mulvaney,‘av you opin thim lips av

yours again , I will, savin’ your presince, Sorr, take you

by the slack av your trousers an’

heave you .

’

‘

I’

m mum,

’ said Ortheris.

‘Wot ’

appened when youwas a recruity?

‘ I was a betther recruity than you iver was or willbe, but that

’

s neither here nor there . Thin I becamea man, an

’

the divil of a man I was fifteen years ago.

They called me Buck Mulvaney in thim days, an’

,

begad, I tuk a woman’

s eye . I did that ! Ortheris,ye scrub, fwhat are ye sniggerin

’ at? Do youmisdoubtme? ’

‘Devil a doubt ! ’ said Ortheris ;‘ but I

’

ve’

eard summat like that before ! ’

Mulvaney dismissed the irnpertinence with a loftywave of his hand and continued

‘

An’

the orf’

cers av the rig’

mint I was in in thimdays was orf ’cers gran’

men, wid a manner on’

em,

an’

a way wid ’em such as is notmade these days all

5


but wan wan o’

the capt’

ns. A bad dhrill, a wakevoice, an

’ a M p leg thim three things are the signsav a bad man . You hear that in your mind, Orth

’

ris,me son .

‘An’ the Colonel av the ng mint had a daughterwan av thim lamblike, bleatin

’

, pick-me-up-an’-carry

me-or-I’

ll—die gurls such as was made for the naturalprey av men like the Capt

’

n who was iverlastin’ payin’

coort to her, though the Colonel he said time an’ over,

“Kape out av the brute’

s way, my dear .

” But heniver had the heart for to send her away from thethrouble, bein

’

as he was a widower an’

she their wanchfldf

Stop a minute, Mulvaney,’ said I ;

‘ how in the worlddid you come to know these things?

‘

How did I come? said Mulvaney, with a scornfulgrunt ;

‘

bekase I’

m turned durin’ the Quane’

s pleasureto a lump av wood, lookin

’ out straight fom inst me,wid a a candelabbrum in my hand, for you to pickyour cards out av, must I not see nor feel? Av coorseI du ! Up my back, an

’

in my boots, an’ in the short

hair av the neck that’

s where I kape my eyes whin I’

mon duty an

’

the reg’

lar wans are fixed . Know ! Takemy word for it, Sorr, ivrything an

’

a great dale moreis known in a rig

’

m int ; or fwhat wud be the use av aMess Sargint, or a Sargint

’

s wife doin’ wet-nurse to theMajor ’s baby? To reshume . He was a bad dhrillwas this Capt

’

n a rotten bad dhrill an’

whin first Iran me eye over him , I sez to myself : My Militiabantam !” I sez,

“my cock av a Gosport dunghill”

’twas from Portsmouth he came to us“ there

’

s combsto be cut,

”sez I ,

“an

’ by the grace av God,’

tis TerenceMulvaney will cut thim.

”

6



He was iverlastin’

ly oppressing her to fall in wid somesneakin

’

schame av his, an’

she was thryin’ to stand out

against him, but not as though she was set in her will .I wonder now in thim days that my ears did not growa yard on me head wid list

’

nin’

. But I looked straightfom inst me an

’ hauled up this an’ dragged down that,such as was my duty, an

’

the orf’

cers’

ladies sez one toanother, thinkin

’ I was out av listen-reach t at

an obligin’ young man is this Corp

’

ril Mulvaney !” Iwas a Corp

’

ril then . I was rejuced aftherwards, but,no m atther , I was a Corp

’

ril wanst .‘Well, this Sweethearts business wint on like most

amshure theatricals, an’ barrin’

fwhat I suspicioned,’

twasn’

t till the dhress-rehearsal that I saw for certain that thim two he the blackguard, an

’

she no wiserthan she should ha

’

been had put up an evasion .

’

‘A what?’

said I .E -vasion ! t at you call an elopem int. E—va

sion I calls it, bekaze, exceptin’ whin

’

tis right an ’ natural an’ proper,

’

tis wrong an’

dhirty to steal a man’s

wan child, she not knowin’ her own mind . There was

a Sargint in the Comm’

ssariat who set my face upone-vasions. I

’

ll tell you about that‘ Stick to the bloom in

’ Captains, Mulvaney,’

saidOrtheris ; Comm

’

ssariat Sargints is low .

’

Mulvaney accepted the amendment and went on :‘Now I knew that the Colonel was no fool, any more

than me,for I was hild the smartest man in the rig

’

mint, an’ the Colonel was the best orf

’

cer commandin'

in Asia . So fwhat he said an’ I said was mortial truth

We knew that the Capt’

n was bad, but, for reason:

which I have already oblitherated, I knew more than.

me Colonel . I wud ha’ rolled out his face wid the butt

8


av my gun before perm ittin’

av him to steal the gurl .Saints knew av he wud ha’ married her, and av hedidn’t she wud be in great torm int, an

’ the divll av ascandal . But I niver sthruck, niver raised me handon my shuperior orf

’

cer ; an’

that was a merricle nowI come to considher it.

’

Mulvaney, the dawn’

s risin said Ortheris,‘an’

we ’re no nearer’

ome than we was at the beginnin’

.

Lend me your pouch . Mine’s all dust .’

Mulvaney pitched his pouch over, and filled hispipe afresh .

So the dhress-rehearsal came to an end, an’

, bekaze

I was curious, I stayed behind whin the scene-shiftin’

was ended, an’

I shud ha’ been in barricks, lyin’

as flatas a toad under a painted cottage thing. They wastalkin ’ in whispers, an

’ she was shiverin’

an’

gaspin’

like a fresh-hukked fish. Are you sure you ’ve gotthe hang av the manewvers?

”sez he, or wurrds to that

effec’

as the coort-martial sez .

“Sure as death,”sez

she, but I misdoubt’

tis cruel hard on my father. ”“Damn your father, sez he, or anyways

’twas fwhathe thought, the arrangement is as clear as mud .

Jungi will drive the carri’ge afther all’s over, an

’ youcome to the station, cool an

’

aisy, in time for the twoo’clock thrain, where I

’

ll be wid your kit . ” “Faith ,”

thinks I to myself,“ thin there

’

s a ayah in the businesstu !

”

‘A powerful bad thing is a ayah . Don’t you niverhave any thruck wid wan . Thin he began sootherin

’

her, an’ all the orf ’

cers an’

orf’

cers’ ladies left, an

’ theyput out the lights . To explain the theory av the flight,as they say at Muskthry, you must understand thataf ther this Sweethearts nonsinse was ended, there

9


was another little bit av a play called Couplessome kind av couple or another. The gurl was actin ’

in this, but not the man . I suspicioned he’

d go to thestation wid the gurl’s kit at the end av the first piece .

’Twas the kit that flusthered me, for I knew for a

Capt’

n to go trapesing about the impire wid the Lordknew what av a tru-so on his arrum was nefarious,an’ wud be worse than easin

’

the flag, so far as the talkaftherwards wint .

’

Old on, Mulvaney. Wot’

s tru-so? ’ said Ortheris .‘You

’

re an oncivilised man, me son . Whin a gurl ’smarried, all her kit an

’ ’

coutrements are tru-so, whichmanes weddin’

-portion . An ’ ’

tis the same whin she’srunnin

’ away, even wid the biggest blackguard on theArrmy List.So I made my plan av campaign . The Colonel’s

house was a good two miles away . Dennis, sez Ito my colour-sargint, av you love me lend me yourkyart, for me heart is bruk an

’ me feet is sore widtrampin

’ to and from this foolishness at the Gaff .

An’ Dennis lent ut, wid a rampin’

, stampin’

red stallion in the shafts . Whin they was all settled down totheir Sweethearts for the first scene, which was along wan, I slips outside and into the kyart. Motherav H iven ! but I made that horse walk, an

’

we cameinto the Colonel’s compound like the D ivil wintthrough Athlone in standin’ leps . There was no onethere excipt the servints, an I wint round to the back an

’

found the gurl ’s ayah .

“Ye black brazen Jezebel, sez I , sellin’

yourmasther

’

s honour for five rupees pack up all the MissSahib ’s kit an’ look Slippy ! Capt

’

a Sahib ’

s order,sez I . Going to the station we are, I sez, an

’

wid1 0



out all the gurl’s kit an’ piled it into the carr

’

ge, the

sweat runnin’ down my face in dhrops.

“Go home,”

sez I , to B ennis’

s sars you’

ll find a man close here .

Very sick he is. Take him away, an’ av you iver say

wan wurrd about fwhat you’ve dekkoed, I

’

ll marrowyou till your own wife won

’t sum jao who are you !”

Thin I heard the stampin’ av feet at the ind av theplay, an

’ I ran in to let down the curtain . Whin theyall came out the gurl thried to hide herself behind wanav the pillars, an

’ sez Jungi in a voice that wouldn’

tha’ scared a bare. I run over to Jungi

’s cart ’agean’ tuk up the lousy old horse-blanket on the box,wrapped my head an’ the rest av me in ut, an

’

dhrove

up to where she was .

“Miss Sahib,” sez I going to the station? Cap

tain Sahib’s order ! ” an widout a sign she j umped inall among her own kit .

‘ I laid to an’ dhruv like steam to the Colonel’

shouse before the Colonel was there, an

’

she scream edan’ I thought she was goin’

off . Out comes the ayah ,

saying all sorts av things about the Capt’

n bavin’

come for the kit an’ gone to the station .

“Take out the luggage, you divil, sez I , or I’

llmurther you !

‘The lights av the thraps wid people com in’ from

the Gaff was showin’ across the parade ground, an

’

,

by this an’ that, the way thim two women worked atthe bundles an’

thrunks was a caution ! I was dyin’

to help, but, seciu’ I didn

’t want to be known, I satwid the blanket roun’ me an’ coughed an ’ thankedthe Saints there was no moon that night .

‘Whin all was in the house again, I niver asked forbukshish but dhruv tremenjus in the opp

’

site way1 2


from the other carr’

ges an’ put out my lights . Pres

intly I saw a naygur man wallowin’ in the road . I

slipped down before I got to him , for I suspicionedP rovidence was wid me all through that night. ’TwasJungi, his nose smashed in flat, all dumb sick as youplease . D ennis

’

s man must have tilted him out av thethrap . Whin he came to, H utt l

” sez I , but he beganto bowl .

“You black lump av dirt, I sez, is this the wayyou dhrive your gharri? That tikka has been owin

’

an’ fere-owin’

all over the bloom in’ country this whole

bloom in’ night, an

’ you as mut-walla as Davey’s sow.

Get up , you hog !” sez I louder, for I heard the wheels

av a thrap in the dark ; get up an’ light your lamm, or

you’

ll be run into ! ” This was on the road to the railway station .

“t at the divil’s this? sez the Capt

’

n’

s voicein the dhark, an

’ I could judge he was in a lather avrage .

Gharri - dhriver here, dhrunk, Sorr, sez I ; I’

vefound his gharri sthrayin

’ about cantonm ints, an’

now I’

ve found him .

“Oh ! sez the Capt’

n fwhat’

s his name?stooped down an pretended to listen .

He sez his name’

s Jungi, Sorr, sez I .“B ould my harse,

” sez the Capt’

n to his man, an’

wid that he gets down wid the whip an’ lays into Jungi,just mad wid rage an’

swearin’ like the scutt he was .

‘ I thought, afther a while, he wud kill the man, so Isez, Stop , Sorr, or you

’ll murdher him !” That dhrewall his fire on me, an

’ he cursed me into Blazes, an’

out again . I stud to attenshin an’ saluted Sorr,”

sez I , av ivry man in this wurruld had his rights, I’

m1 3


thinkin’ that more than wan wud be beaten to a jelly

for this night’s work that niver came off at all, Sorr,as you see !

” “Now, thinks I to myself,“Terence

Mulvaney, you’ve cut your own throat, for he

’ll strike,an’ you’ ll knock him down for the good av his sowl an’

your own iverlastin ’

dishgrace‘But the Capt

’

n never said a single wurrd. Hechoked where he stud , an

’ thin he went into his thrapwidout sayin

’ good-night, an’ I wint back to barricks.

’

‘And then? ’ said Ortheris and I together.‘That was all,

’ said Mulvaney ;‘ niver another word

did I hear av the whole thing . All I know was thatthere was no e-vasion , an

’

that was fwhat I wanted .

N ow, I put ut to you, Sorr, is ten days’ C . B . a fit an’ a

proper tratement for a man who has behaved as me? ’

‘Well, any’

ow,

’ said Ortheris,"tweren

’

t this ’ereColonel ’s daughter, an

’ you was blazen’

copped whenyou tried to wash in the Fort Ditch .

’

‘That,’ said Mulvaney, finishing the champagne,

‘

is

a shuparfluous irnpert’

nint observation .

’

1 4


PRIVATE LEAROYD ’S STORY

Ortheris landed at last m the ‘ little stuff’

bird-shopfor which your soul longed ; Learoyd —back again inthe smoky, stone-ribbed North, amid the clang of

the Bradford looms ; Mulvaney gri zzled, tender, andvery wise Ulysses, sweltering on the earthwork of aCentral India line judge if I have forgotten old daysin the Trap !

Orth’

ris, as allus thinks he knaws more than otherfoaks, said she wasn

’t a real laady, but nobbut a Hewrasian . I don’t gainsay as her culler was a bit dooskylike. But she was a laady. Why, she rode iv a car

riage, an’ good ’osses, too, an

’ her ’air was that oiledas you could see your faice in it, an

’ she wore di’mondrings an’ a goold chain, an

’ silk an’ satin dresses asmun ’

a’ cost a deal, for it isn

’t a cheap shOp as keepsenough 0

’ one pattern to fit a figure like hers . Hername was Mrs . DeSussa, an

’ t’ waay I coom to beacquainted wi

’ her was along of our Colonel’s Laady’

s

dog Rip .

I ’ve seen a vast 0’ dogs, but Rip was t

’ prettiest

picter of a cliver fox-tarrier’

at iver I set eyes on . Hecould do owt you like but Speeak, an

’ t’ Colonel’

s

Laady set more store by him than if he bed been a

Christian . She hed haim s of her awn, but they was i’

England, and Rip seemed to get all t’

coodlin’

and pettin

’

as belonged to a bairn by good right .But Rip were a bit on a rover, an

’

bed a hab it o’

breakin’ out o’

barricks like, and trottin’ round t’

plaice as if he were t’ Cantonment Magistrate coom

round inspectin’

. The Colonel leathers him once or

twice, but Rip didn’t care an’ kept on gooin’

his rounds,wi

’

his taail a-waggin’

as if he were flag-signallin

’ to1 6

PRIVATE LE AROYD ’S STORY

t’ world at large ’

at he was ‘gettin ’ on nicely, thank

yo’

, and how’

s yo’

sen?’ An

’

then t’ Colonel, as wasnoa sort of a hand wi

’

a dog, tees him Oop . A realclipper of a dog, an

’

it’

s noa wonder yon laady, Mrs .

DeSussa, should tek a fancy tiv him . Theer’

3 one

o’

t’ Ten Comm andments says yo’ maun ’

t cuvvet

your neebor’

s ox nor his j ackass, but it doesn’t say

nowt about his tarrier dogs, an’ happen thot’

s t’ reason why Mrs. DeSussa cuvveted Rip , tho

’ she went tochurch reg

’

lar along wi’

her husband, who was so michdarker

’

at if he hedn’

t such a good coaat tiv his backyo’ might ha’ called him a black man and nut tell alee nawther . They said he addled his brass i

’ j ute,an’ he’d a rare lot on it.Well , you seen, when they teed Rip up, t

’ poor awdlad didn’t enjoy very good ’

elth. So t’ Colonel’s

Leady sends for me as ’

ad a naame for bein’ knowl

edgeable about a dog, an’

axes what’s ailin’ wi’

him .

‘Why,’ says I,

‘he’s gatten t’ mopes, an’ what he

wants is his libbaty an’

coompany like t’ rest on us ;

wal, happen a rat or two’

ud liven him oop . It’

s low,

mum,

’ says I ,‘

is rats but it’s t

’

nature of a dog ; ansoa

’s cuttin’ round an meetin’

another dog or two an’

passin’ t’ time 0 ’ day, an’

hevvin’ a bit of a turn-up

wi’ him like a Christian .

’

So she says her dog maun’

t niver fight an’ noa Christians iver fought .

‘Then what’s a soldier for? says I ; an’ I explains

to her t’

contrairy qualities of a dog,’

at, when yo’

coom to think on’t, is one o’ t’

curusest things as is.For they learn to behave theirsens like gentlemenborn, fit for t

’

fost o’

coompany they tell me t’

Widdyherself is fond of a good dog and knaws one when

1 7

PRIVATE LEAROYD’S STORY

she sees it as well as onuy body : then on t’ other handa-tewin’ round after cats an’ gettin’ mixed oop i

’ allmanners o’ blackguardly street-rows, an

’ killin’ rats,

an’

fightin’ like divils.

T ’ Colonel’

s Laady says‘Well, Learoyd, I doan

’

t

agree wi’ you, but you

’re right in a way 0’

speeakin’

,

an’ I should like yo

’

to tek Rip out a-walkin’

wi ’

you

sometimes ; but yo’

maun’

t let him fight, nor chasecats, nor do nowt

’

orrid’

: an’

them was her verywods .

Soa Rip an’ me gooes out a-walkin’ o’

evenin’

s, he

bein’ a dog as did credit tiv a man, an’ I catches a lot

0’ rats an’ we bed a bit of a match on in an awd dryswimmin’

-bath at back 0’

t’

cantonments, an’ it was

none so long afore he was as bright as a button again .

He bed a way 0’

flyin’ at them big yel ler pariah dogs

as if he was a barrowoffan a how, an’ though his weight

were nowt , he tuk’em so suddint-like they rolled over

like skittles in a halley, an’ when they coot be stretched

after ’em as if he were rabbit-runnin .

’ Saame withcats when he cud get t’ cat agaete o

’

runnin’

.

One evenin’

, him an’ me was trespassin’ ovver a

compound-wall after one of them mongooses ’

at he’

d

started, an’ we was busy grubbin

’ round a pricklebush , an

’ when we looks up theer was Mrs . DeSussa wi ’

a parasel ovver her shoulder, a-watchin’

us.

‘ Oh, my !’

she sings out ;‘ there

’

s that lovelee dog ! Would he letme stroke him, Mister Soldier?

’

‘Ay, he would, mum,

’

sez I ,‘ for he’s fond o

’

laadies’

coompany. Coom here, Rip, an’

speeak to this kindlaady.

’

An’

Rip, seciu’ ’

at t’ mongoose bed getten

clean awaay, cooms up like t’ gentleman he was, nivver

a hauporth shy nor okkord.

Oh, you beautiful you prettee dog ! she says, clip1 8



I began to suspicion summat. Onuy body may givea soldier t ’ price of a pint in a friendly way an

’

theer’

s

no ’arm done, but when it cooms to five rupees sliptinto your hand, sly like, why, it

’s what t’ ’

lectioneerin’

fellows calls bribery an’ corruption . Specially when

Mrs . DeSussa threwed hints how t’ cold weatherwould soon be ovver, an

’ she was goin’ to Munsooree

Pahar an’ we was goin’

to Rawalpindi, an’

she wouldniver see Rip any more onless somebody she knowedon would be kind tiv her.Soa I tells Mulvaney an

’ Orth us all t’ taale thro’

,

beginnin’ to end .

’Tis larceny that wicked ould laady manes,’ says

t ’ Irishman,’

tis felony she is sejucin’ ye into, my irind

Learoyd , but I’

ll purtect your innocince. I’

ll saveye from the wicked wiles av that wealthy ould woman,an

’ I ’ll go wid ye this evenin’ and spake to her thewurrds av truth an’ honesty. But, Jock,

’ says he,waggin

’

his heead,’twas not like ye to kape all that

good dhrink an’ thim fine cigars to yerself, while Orth

’

ris here an’

me have been prowlin’ round wid throats as

dry as lime-kilns, and nothin’ to smoke but Canteen

plug.

’Twas a dhirty thrick to play on a comrade,for why should you, Learoyd, be balancin

’ yourselfon the butt av a satin chair, as if Terence Mulvaneywas not the aquil av anybody who thrades in jute !”

Let alone me,’ sticks in Orth’

ris,‘ but that’s like

life . Them wot’s really fitted to decorate societyget no show, while a blunderin

’ Yorkshireman like

you‘Nay,

’says 1 ,

‘

it’s none 0

’ t’ blunderin’ Yorkshireman she wants ; it

’

s Rip . H e’

s t’ gentleman this jour

ney.

’

20


Soa t’

next day, Mulvaney an’

R ip an’

me goes toMrs . DeSussa’

s, an’ t’ Irishman bein

’

a strairrger shewor a bit shy at iost . But yo

’

ve becard Mulvaneytalk, an

’ yo’ may believe as be fairly bewitched t’ awdlass wal she let out

’

at she wanted to tek Rlp away wi’

her to Munsooree Pahar. Then Mulvaney changeshis tune an

’ axes her solemn-like if she ’

d thought 0’

t’

consequences 0’ gettin’ two poor but honest soldiers

sent t’

Andamning Islands . Mrs . DeSussa began tocry, so Mulvaney turns round oppen t

’ other tack andsmooths her down , allowin

’ ’

at Rip ud be a vast betteroff in t

’ Hills than down 1 Bengal , and’

twas a pityhe shouldn ’

t go wheer he was so well beliked. Andsoa he went on, hackin

’

an’

fillin’

an’ workin ’ up t’ awdlass wal she felt as if her life warn

’

t worth nowt if shedidn’t hev t ’ dog .

Then all of a suddint he says ‘Butye shall havehim ,

marm, for I’ve a feelin’ heart, not like this could

blooded Yorkshireman ; but’

twill cost ye not a pennyless than three hundher rupees .

’

‘Don’

t yo ’ believe him , mum,

’ says I ;‘ t’ Colonel’s

Laady wouldn’t tek five hundred for him .

’

‘Who said she would? says Mulvaney ;‘i

’

s notbuyin

’ him I mane, but for the sake 0’

this kind, goodlaady, I

’ll do what I never dream t to do in my life .I ’ll stale him !

’

‘Don’

t say steal ,’

says Mrs . DeSussa ;‘

he shall havethe happiest home . Dogs often get lost, you know,

and then they stray, an’

he likes me and I like him asI niver liked a dog yet, an

’ I must hev him . If I gothim at t’ last minute I could carry him off toMunsooree

Pahar and nobody would niver knaw.

’

Now an’

again Mulvaney looked acrost at me, an’

21

PRIVATE LEAROYD’S STORY

though I could mak nowt 0’ what he was af ter, I con

cluded to take his leead.

‘Well , mum ,

’ I says,‘ I never thowt to coom down to

dog-steealin’

, but if my comrade sees how it could bedone to oblige a laady like yo

’

sen, I’m nut t’ man to bod

back, tho’

it’

s a bad business I ’m thinkin’

, an’ three

hundred rupees is a poor set-off again t’ chance of themDamning Islands as Mulvaney talks on .

’

I’

ll mek it three-fifty,

’ says Mrs . DeSussa ;‘only let

me hev t’ dog !”

So we let her persuade us, an’

she teks Rip’s measure

theer an’ then, an’ sent to Hamilton’s to order a silver

collar again t’ tim e when he was to be her awn, which

was to be t’ day she set ofi for Munsooree Pahar.

Sitha, Mulvaney,’ says I, when we was outside,

‘you’re niver goin’ to let her hev Rip‘An’ would ye disappoint a poor old woman? ’ says

he ;‘ she shall have a Rip .

’

‘An’

wheer’

s he to come through? ’ says I .‘Learoyd, my man,

’ he sings out,‘you ’

re a prettyman av your inches an

’ a good comrade, but your headis made av duff. Isn

’

t our friend Orth’

ris a Taxiderrrrist, an

’ a rale artist wid his nimble white fingers?An’ what’s a Taxidermist but a man who can thrate

shkins? Do ye mind the white dog that belongs tothe Can teen Sargint, bad cess to him he that’s losthalf his time an

’

snarlin’ the rest? He shall be lost

for good now ; an’

do ye mind that he’

s the very spitin shape an

’

size av the Colonel’s, barrin’ that his

tail is an inch too long, an’ he has none av the colour

that divarsifies the rale Rip, an’

his tirnper is that avhis masther an

’

worse. But fwhat is an inch on a dog’stail? An’

fwhat to a professional like Orth’

ris is a22



to keep t’ reet culler, tho’

Orth’

ris spent a matter 0 ’

seven rupees six annas i’ t’ best drooggist shops i’ Cal

cutta .

An’ t’ Canteen Sargint was lookin

’ for IS dog everywheer ; an

’

, wi’ bein’ tied up, t

’ beast’s tirnper gotwaur nor ever.It wor i’ t’ evenin’ when t’ train started thro’ Howrah

an’

we ’

elped Mrs . DeSussa wi’ about sixty boxes an

then we gave her t’ basket . Orth’

ris, for pride av

his work, axed us to let him coom along wi ’ us, an’

he couldn’

t help liftin’ t’ lid an’

showin’ t’ cur as he

lay coiled oop .

Oh ! ’ says t’ awd lass ;‘ the beautee ! How sweet

he looks !’

An ’ just then t’ beauty snarled an ’ showedhis teeth, so Mulvaney shuts down t

’ lid and says :‘Ye

’

ll be careful, marm , whin ye tek him out. He’sdisaccustomed to travelling by t’ railway, an

’ he’ll besure to want his rale mistress an’

his friend Learoyd, soye’ll make allowance for his feelings at fost. ’

She would do all thot an’ more for the dear, goodRip, an

’ she would nut oppen t’ basket till they weremiles away, for fear anybody should recognise him , an

’

we were real good and kind soldier-men, we were, an’

she bonds me a bundle 0’ notes, an

’ then cooms up afew of her relations an’ friends to say good-bye—notmorethan seventy-five theer wasn’t an ’ we coots away .

What coom to t’ three hundred and fifty rupees?Thot

’

s what I can scarcelins tell yo’

, but we meltedit we melted it. It was share an

’

share alike, forMulvaney said : ‘ If Learoyd got hold of Mrs . DeSussafirst, sure

’twas I that rem irnbered the Sargint’

s dogjust in the nick av time, an

’

Orth’

ris was the artistav janius that made a work av art out av that ugly

24


piece av ill-nature . Yet, by way av a thank offerin’

that I was not led into felony by that wicked ouldwoman, I

’

ll send a thrifle to Father Victor for thepoor people he’s always beggin

’ for. ’

But me an’

Orth’

ris, he bein’

Cockney an’ I bein’

pretty far north, did nut see it i’ t’ saame way. We’d

getten t’ brass, an

’ we meaned to keep it . An ’

soa

we did for a short time .

Noa, noa, we niver becard a wod more 0’ t’ awd lass .

Our rig’

m int went to Pindi, an’

t’

Canteen Sarginthe got himself another tyke insteead o’ t’

one’

at gotlost so reg

’

lar an’

was lost for good at last.

25

THE BIG DRUNK DRAP ’

We’re goin ome, we’re goin ome

Our ship is at the shore,An

’

you mus’ pack your ’

aversack,

For we won’t come back no more .Ho, don

’t you grieve for me,My lovely Mary Ann ,

For I ’ll many you yet on a fourp’

ny hit,

As a time expired ma-a-an iBarrack-room Ballad .

’

N awful thing has happened ! My friend, Private Mulvaney, who went home in the

‘Serapis,’

time-expired, not very long ago, has come backto India as a civilian ! It was all Dinah Shadd

’

s fault .She could not stand the poky little lodgings, and shemissed her servant Abdullah more than words couldtell . The fact was that the Mulvaneys had been outhere too long, and had lost touch of England .

Mulvaney knew a contractor on one of the new Central India lines, and wrote to him for some sort of work .

The contractor said that if Mulvaney could pay thepassage he would give him comm and of a gang of cooliesfor old sake’s sake . The pay was eighty-five rupeesa month, and Dinah Shadd said that if Terence did

26


THE BIG DRUNK DRAF’

something ye niver were an’ niver meant to be, anall the ould days shut up along wid your papers.

Eyah ! I ’m growin’ rusty, an

’ ’

tis the will av God thata man mustn’t serve his Quane for time an’ all .He helped himself to a fresh peg, and sighed furi

ously .

‘ Let your beard grow, Mulvaney,’ said I ,

‘ and thenyou won’t be troubled with those notions . You’ll bea real civilian .

’

Dinah Shadd had told me in the drawing-room ofher desire to coax Mulvaney into letting his beard grow.

’

Twas so civilian-like,’ said poor Dinah, who hated

her husband’s hankering for his old life .

‘Dinah Shadd, you’

re a dishgrace to an honust,clane-scraped man ! ’ said Mulvaney, without replyingto me . ‘Grow a heard on your own chin, darlint, andlave my razors alone . They’

re all that stand betunemeand dis-ris-pect-ability. Av I didn ’t shave, I wud betorm inted wid an outrajis thurrst ; for there

’s nothin’

so dhryin’ to the throat as a big billy-goat beard wag

gin’ undher the chin . Ye wudn

’

t have me dhrinkalways, Dinah Shadd? By the sam e token, you

’rekapin’ me crool dhry now. Let me look at that whisky .

’

The whisky was lent and returned, but Dinah Shadd ,who had been just as eager as her husband in askingafter old friends, rent me with

‘ I take shame for you, Sorr, coming down herethough the Saints know you

’

re as welkim as the daylight whin you do come an

’

upsettin’

Terence’

s headwid your nonsense about about fwhat’

s much betterforgotten . He bein

’ a civilian now, an’

you niver wasaught else . Can you not let the Arrmy rest?

’

Tisnot good for Terence .

’

28

THE BIG DRUNK DRAP ’

I took refuge by Mulvaney, for Dinah Shadd has atemper of her own .

Let be— let be,’ saidMulvaney.

‘

Tis only wanst in away I can talk about the ould days. ’ Then to meYe say Dhrumshticks is well, an

’

his lady tu? I niverknew how I liked the gray garron till I was shut avhim an’ Asia .

’ ‘

Dhrum shticks’ was the nicknam e of

the Colonel comm anding Mulvaney’

s old regiment .‘

Will you be seein’

him again? You will . Thin tellhim ’ Mulvaney

’

s eyes began to twinkle ‘ tell himwid Privit

‘Mister Terence,’ interrupted Dinah Shadd .

‘

N ow the Divil an’

all his angils an’

the Firmamentav H iven fly away wid the Mister,

”an’ the sin av

making me swear be on your confession, Dinah Shadd !Privit, I tell ye . Wid Privit Mulvaney

’

s best obedience, that but for me the last time-expired wud be still

pullin’ hair on their way to the sea .

’

He threw hirnself back in the chair, chuckled , and wassilent .Mrs . Mulvaney,

’

I said,‘please take up the whisky,

and don’t let him have it until he has told the story.

’

Dinah Shadd dexterously whipped the bottle awaysaying at the same time,

’

Tis nothing to be proud av,and thus captured by the enemy, Mulvaney spake :Twas on Chuseday week. I was behaderin ’ round

wid the gangs on the ’

bankm int—I ’ve taught thehoppershow to kape step an’ stop screechin’ whin a head-gangman comes up to me, wid about two inches av shirttail hanging round his neck an

’ a disthressful light inhis oi . Sahib ,

” sez he,“ there’s a rig

’

mint an’

a halfav soldiers up at the junction, knockin

’ red cinders outav ivrything an

’

iverybody ! They thried to hang me29


in my cloth,” he sez, an

’

there will be murder an ’

ruin an’ rape in the place before nightfall ! They say

they’re comin’ down here to wake us up . What wil lwe do wid our women-folk?”

“Fetch my throlly !” sez I ; my heart

’

s sick in myribs for a wink at anything wid the Quane

’

s uniformon ut . Fetch my throlly, an

’

six av the jildiest men ,and run me up in shtyle.

”

‘He tuk his best coat,’ said Dinah Shadd reproach

fully.

’Twas to do honour to the Widdy. I cud ha’ doneno less, Dinah Shadd . You and your digresshins interfere wid the coorss av the narrative . Have you iverconsidhered fwhat I wud look like wid me head shavedas well as me chin? You hear that in your mind,Dinah darlin’

.

I was throllied up six miles, all to get a shquint atthat draf ’

. I knew ’twas a spring draf ’ goin ’ home,for there’s no rig

’

m int hereabouts, more’s the pity .

’

‘Praise the Virgin murmured Dinah Shadd . ButMulvaney did not hear.

‘Whin I was about three-quarters av a mile off therestcamp, powtherin

’ along fit to burrst, I heard thenoise av the men, an

’

, on my sowl, Sorr, I cud catchthe voice av Peg Barney bellowin ’ like a bison wid thebelly-ache . You rem irnber Peg Barney that was in DComp

’

ny a red , hairy scraun, wid a scar on his jaw?Peg Barney that cleared out the Blue Lights’ Jubileemeeting wid the cook-room mop last year?

‘

Thin I knew ut was a draf ’

of the Ould R ig’

mint,

an’

I was conshumed wid sorrow for the bhoy that wasin charge . We was barrd scrapin

’

s at any time . DidI iver tell you how Horker Kelley went into clink

30


THE BIG DRUNK B RAF’

does a frog get fat? They suk ut in through theirshkins.

There was Peg Barney sittin’ on the groun

’ in hisshirt wan shoe off an ’ wan shoe on—whackin ’ a tentpeg over the head wid his boot, an

’ singin’ fit to wakethe dead .

’Twas no clane song that be sung, though .

’Twas the D ivil’

s Mass . ’

‘What ’

s that? ’ I asked .

‘Whin a bad egg is shut av the Army, he sings theD ivil

’

s Mass for a good riddance ; an’ that manes

swearin ’ at ivrything from the Commandher-in-Chiefdown to the Room-Corp

’

ril, such as you niver in yourdays heard . Some men can swear so as to make greenturf crack ! Have you iver heard the Curse in anOrange Lodge? The D ivil’s Mass is ten times worse,an’ Peg Barney was singin’

ut, whackin’ the tent-peg

on the head wid his boot for each man that he cursed .

A powerful big voice had Peg Barney, an’ a hard swearer

he was whin sober. I stood forninst him, an’ ’twas

not me oi alone cud tell Peg was dhrunk as a coot.“Good mornin,

’ Peg,” I sez, whin he dhrew breath

afther cursin’ the Adj

’

tint-Gen’

ral ; I ’ve put on mybest coat to see you, Peg Barney,

” sez I .“Thin take ut off again,

” sez Peg Barney,latherin’

away wid the boot “ take ut off an’ dance, ye lousycivilian !”

Wid that he begins cursin’ ould Dhrumshticks,

being so full be clean m isrem irnbers the Brigade-Major,

an’ the Judge-Advokit-Gen’

ral.“Do you know me, Peg?

”sez I, though me blood

was hot in me wid being called a civilian .

’

‘An’ him a decent married man wailed Dinah Shadd .

“I do not,

”sez Peg,

“but dhrunk or sober I ’ll32


tear the hide off your back wid a shovel whin I ’vestopped singin’

“Say you so, Peg Barney? sez I . ’Tis clear asmud you’ve forgotten me . I ’ll assist your autobi

ography . Wid that I stretched Peg Barney, bootan

’

all, an’ wint into the camp . An awful sight ut

was !“Where’s the orf ’

cer in charge av the detachment?sez I to Scrub Greene the manest little worm that everwalked .

“There’s no orf’

cer , ye ould cook, sez Scrub ;“we’

re

a bloomin’ Republic . ”“Are you that?

”sez I thin I ’m O ’

connell theDictator, an

’ by this you will larn to kape a civil tonguein your rag-box .

”

‘Wid that I stretched Scrub Greene an’ wint to theorf

’

cer’

s tent . ’Twas a new little bhoy not wan I’d

iver seen before . He was sittin’ in his tent, purtendin’

not to ’ave ear av the racket .‘ I saluted but for the life av me I mint to shake

hands whin I went in .

’Twas the sword hangin’

on

the tent-pole changed my will .“Can ’t I help , Sorr? sez I ’

tis a strong man’sjob they ’ve given you, an

’ you ll be wantin ’ help bysundown . He was a bhoy wid bowils, that child, an

’

a rale gintleman .

“ Sit down,” sez he .

“N ot before my orf

’

cer , sez I ; an’ I tould him

fwhat my service was.

“ I ’ve heard av you, sez be . You tuk the townav Lungtungpen nakid .

“Faith,” thinks I , that’s Honour an Glory

for ’twas Lift’

nint B razenose did that job I ’m wid33

THE BIG DRUNK B RAF’

ye, Sorr, sez I, if I’m av use. They shud niver ha’

sent you down wid the draf’

. Savin’ your presince,Sorr, I sez,

’tis only Lift’

nint H ackerston in theOuld R ig

’

mint can manage a HomeI ’

ve niver had charge of men like this before,sez he, playin

’ wid the pens on the table ;“an

’ I see bythe Rig

’

lations“Shut your oi to the R ig

’

lations, Sorr, I sez, tillthe throoper

’

s into blue wather. By the Rig’

lations

you’ve got to tuck thim up for the night, or they’ll be

runnin’ foul av my coolies an’ makin a shiverarium

half through the country. Can you trust your noncoms, Sorr?

”

“Yes,”sez he .

“Good,”

sez I there ’ll be throuble before thenight . Are you marchin

’

, Sorr?”

“To the next station,” sez he .

“Better still, sez I ; there’ll be big throuble .

“Can ’t be too hard on a Home sez he ; the

great thing is to get thim in-ship .

”

“Faith you ’

ve larut the half av your lesson, Sorr,sez I ,

“but av you shtick to the R ig’

lations you’ll niverget thim in-ship at all, at all . Or there won

’

t be a ragav kit betune thim whin you do .

”

’Twas a dear little orf ’cer bhoy, an’ by way av

kapin’ his heart up, I tould him fwhat I sawwanst in a

draf’ in Egypt . ’

‘What was that, Mulvaney?’ said I .

Sivin-an’-fifty men sittin

’ on the bank av a canal,laughin

’ at a poor little squidgereen av an orf’

cer thatthey’d made wade into the slush an’ pitch the thingsout av the boats for their Lord High Mightinesses .That made me orf ’

cer bhoy woild wid indignation.

34



squshed when we first met. Peg wint spinnin’

acrossthe tent .

Peg him out, Sorr, sez I , in a whishper .

“Peg him out ! sez me orf’

cer bhoy, up loud, justas if

’twas battalion-p ’rade an ’ he pickin’

his wurrds

from the Sargint.‘The non-coms tuk Peg Barney a howlin ’ handful

he was an’ in three m inuts he was pegged out chindown, tight-dhrawn on his stumm ick, a tent-peg toeach arm an

’ leg, swear in’ fit to turn a naygur white .

‘ I tuk a peg an ’ jammed ut into hisugly jaw.

“Biteon that, Peg Barney,

” I sez ;“ the night ls settin ’ frosty,

an’ you ’ll be wantin ’

divarsion before the mornin’

.

But for the Rig’

lations you’d be bitin’ on a bullet

now at the thriangles, Peg Barney, sez I .‘All the draf ’ was out av their tents watchin

’

Barneybein’ pegged .

’

T is agin the Rig’

lations ! He strook him !screeches out Scrub Greene, who was always a lawyer ;an

’

some of the men tuk up the shoutin ’

.

Peg out that man ! sez my orf’

cer bhoy, niverlosin

’ his tirnper ; an’ the non-coms wint in and pegged

out Scrub Greene by the side av Peg Barney.

‘

I end see that the draf ’

was comin ’ roun’

.

men stud not knowin ’

fwhat to do.

Get to your tents ! sezme orf ’

cer bhoy. Sargint,put a sintry over these two men .

”

‘

The men wint back into the tents like jackals, an’

the rest av the night there was no noise at all exciptthe stip av the sintry over the two, an

’ Scrub Greeneblubberin

’

like a child .

’

Twas a chilly night, an’ faith,

ut sobered Peg Barney.

Just before Revelly, my orf’

cer bhoy comes out an36


sez : Loose those men an’

send thim to their tents !Scrub Greene wint away widout a word, but Peg Barney, stiff wid the cowld, stud like a sheep , thryin

’ tomake his orf ’

cer understhand he was sorry for playin’

the goat .There was no tucker in the draf ’ whin ut fell in

for the march, an’

divil a wurrd about “ illegality ” cudI hear.

‘ I wint to the ould Colour-Sargint and I sez Letme die in glory,

” sez I . “ I ’ve seen a man this day ! ”“A man he is,

” sez ould Hother “ the draf ’

s as

sick as a herrin’

. They ’ll all go down to the sea likelambs . That bhoy has the bowils av a cantonm int avGin

’

rals.

“Amin , sez I, an’ good luck go wid him , wheriver

he be, by land or by sea. Let me know how the draf’

gets clear.‘

An’ do you know how they did? That bhoy, so I

was tould by letter from Bombay, bullydamned’em

down to the dock, till they endu’t call their sowls their

own . From the time they left me oi till they was’tween decks, not wan av thim was more than dacintlydhrunk . An

’

, by the Holy Ar ticles av War, whin theywint aboard they cheered him till they cudn

’

t spake,an’ that, mark you, has not come about wid a draf

’

in the mirn ’

ry av livin’ man ! You look to that little

orf’

cer bhoy. He was bowils.

’Tis not ivry childthat wud chuck the Rig

’

lations to Flanders an’ stretch

Peg Barney on a wink from a brokin ’

an’ dilapidated

ould carkiss like mesilf . I’d be proud to serve

‘Terence, you’re a civilian,

’ said Dinah Shaddwam ingly.

‘ So I am so I am . Is ut likely I wud forget ut?37

THE BIG DRUN K DRAP ’

But he was a gran’ bhoy all the same, an’ I

’

m only a

mudtipper wid a hod on my shoulthers . The whisky’

sin the heel av your hand, Sorr. Wid your good lavewe

’

ll dhrink to the Ould Rig’

nrint three fingersstandin’ up !And we drank.


THE SOLID MULDOON

rior to Pri vates of the Line : it shows the Refining Influ

ence of Civilisation and the March of Progress .

Tale provoked tale, and each tale more beer. Evendreamy Learoyd

’s eyes began to brighten, and he unbur

dened himself of a long history in which a tri p to Malham Cove, a girl at Pateley Brigg, a ganger, himself,and a pair of clogs were mixed in a drawling tangle .

‘An ’ so Ah coot’s yead oppen from t’ chin to t’ hair,

an ’ he was abed for t’ matter 0 ’ a month,’ concluded

Learoyd pensively .

Mulvaney cam e out of a reverie he was lyingdown and flourished his heels in the air. ‘You ’

re

a man , Learoyd,’ said be critically,

‘ but you’ve onlyfought wid men, an

’ that ’s an ivry-d ay expayri ence ;

but I ’ve stud up to a ghost, an’ that was not an ivry

day expayri ence.

’

‘No? ’ said Ortheri s, throwing a cork at him .

‘You

git up an’ address the ’ouse you an ’ yer expayriences.

I s it a bigger one nor usual? ’

’

Twas the livin’ trut ’ answered Mulvaney, stretching out a huge arm and catching Ortheris by the collar.‘

Now where are ye, me son? Will ye take the wurrudav the Lorrd out av my mouth another time? ’ Heshook him to emphasise the question .

No, somethin’ else, though ,

’ said Ortheris, making adash at Mulvaney

’

s pipe, capturing it, and holding itat arm

’

s length ; I’ll chuck it acrost the ditch if you

don’t let me go ! ’

‘

You maraudin’

hathen !’

Tis the only cutty I iverloved . Handle her tinder or I ’

ll chuck you acrost thenullah . If that poipe was bruk—Ah ! Give her backto me, Sorr !

’

Ortheris had passed the treasure to my hand . It was40

THE SOLID MULDOON

an absolutely perfect clay, as shiny as the black ball atPool . I took it reverently, but I was firm .

‘Will you tell us about the ghost-fight if I do?’ I

Is ut the shtory that’s troublin’ you? Av course

I will . I mint to all along. I was only gettin’ at utmy own way, as Popp Doggle said whin they foundhim thrying to ram a cartridge down the muzzle .Orth

’

ris, fall away !He released the little Londoner, took back his pipe,

filled it, and his eyes twinkled . He has the most eloquent eyes of any one that I know.

Did I iver tell you,’ he began,

‘ that I was wanst thedivil av a man?

’

You did,’ said Learoyd with a childish gravity that

made Ortheris yell with laughter, for Mulvaney wasalways irnpressing upon us his great merits in the olddays .Did I iver tell you,

’ Mulvaney continued calmly,‘that I was wanst more av a divil than I am now?

‘Mer-ria ! You don’t mean it? ’ said Ortheris .‘Whin I was Corp

’

ril - I was rejuced aftherwards

but, as I say, whin I was Corp’

ril, I was a divil of aman .

’

He was silent for near ly a minute, while his mind rummaged among old memori es and his eye glowed . H e

hit upon the pipe-stem and charged into his tale.Eyah ! They was great tim es . I

’m ould now ; mehide’s wore off in patches ; sinthry go has disconceitedme, an

’ I ’m a married man tu . But I ’

vc had my dayI ’ve had my day, an

’ nothin’ can take away the tasteav that ! O my time past, whin I put me fut throughivry livin’ wan av the Tin Commandmints between

41

THE SOLID MULDOON

Revelly and Lights Out, blew the froth off a pewter,wiped me moustache wid the back av me hand, an

’

slept on ut all as quiet as a little child ! But ut’

s overut

’

s over, an’ ’twill niver come back to me ; not though

I prayed for a week av Sundays . Was there any wanin the Ould R ig

’

m int to touch Corp’

ril Terence Mulvaney whin that same was turned out for sedukshin?I niver met him . Ivry woman that was not a witchwas worth the runnin ’ afther in those days, an

’ ivryman wasmy dearest frind or I had stri pped to him an ’

we knew which was the betther av the tu .

‘Whin I was Corp’

ril I wud not ha’ changed wid theColonel no, nor yet the Commandher-in-Chief. Iwudbe a Sargint. There was nothin’ I wud not be !Mother av H ivin, look at me . t at am I now?

‘We was quartered in a big cantonm int’

tis no

manner av use namin’ names, for utmight give the bar

ricks disrepitation an’ I was the Imperor av the E arthto my own mind, an

’ wan or tu women thought thesame . Small blame to thim . Af ther we had lainthere a year, Bragin, the Colour-Sargint av E Comp

’

ny,

wint an’ took a wife that was lady’s-maid to some big

lady in the Station . She’

s dead now is Annie B ragindied in child-bed at Kirpa Ta! , or ut may ha

’ beenAlmorah—seven—nine years gone, an

’ Bragin he married agin . But she was a pretty woman whin Bragininthrojuced her to cantonm int society. She had eyeslike the brown av a butterfly

’

s wing whin the sun

catches ut an’ a waist no thicker than my arm , an’

a little sof button av a mouth I wud ha’ gone throughall Asia bristlin ’ wid bay

’

nits to get the kiss av . An ’

her hairwas as long as the tail av the Colonel’s charger

forgive me mentionin’

that blunderin’

haste in the

42


THE SOLID MULDOON

finger. I had reason for thinkin ’ that way till I metAnnie Bragin .

‘Time an’

agin whin I was blandandherin m the duska man wud go past me as quiet as a cat.

“That’square,

” thinks I ,“ for I am , or I should he, the only

man in these parts . N ow what divilment can Anniebe up to? ” Thin I called myself a blayguard forthinkin

’ such things ; but I thought thim all the same.

An’

that, mark you, is the way av a man.

‘Wan evenin’ I said Mrs . Bragin, manin’

no dis

respect to you, who is that Corp’

rilman ”— I had seenthe stripesthough I cud niver get sight av hi s face whois that Corp

’

ril man that comes in always whin I ’mgoin’ away?”

“Mother av God ! sez she turnin’

as white as mybelt ;

“have you seen him too?“Seen him ! ” sez I ;

“av coorse I have . D id yewant me not to see him, for

”—we were standin’ talkin ’

in the dhark, outside the verandah av B ragin’

s quarters you ’d better tell me to shut me eyes. OnlessI ’m mistaken, he

’s come now.

”

‘An ’ sure enough, the Corp’

ril man was walkin’ tous, hangin

’

his head down as though he was ashamedav hirnsilf .

“Good-night, Mrs. Bragin, sez I, very cool ; tis

not for me to interfere wid your a-moors ; but youmight manage some things wid more dacincy. I’m off

to canteen,” I sez .

‘ I turned on my heel an’ wint away, swearin

’ I wud

give that man a dhressin’ that wud shtOp him messin

about the Married Quarters for a month an’ a week . Ihad not tuk ten paces before Annie Bragin was hangin

’

on tomy arm, an’ I cud feel that shewas shakin

’

all over.44

THE SOLID MULDOON

Stay wid me, Mister Mulvaney, sez she ; you’

reflesh an

’ blood, at the least are ye not? ”

“ I ’m all that,”sez I , an

’ my anger wint away in a

flash .

“Will I want to be asked twice, Annie?”

‘Wid that I slipped my arm round her waist,for

,

begad, I fancied she had surrindered at discretion,an’

the honours av war were mine .

“t at nonsinse is this?

”sez she, dhrawin

’ hersilf up on the tips av her dear little toes . “Wid themother’s milk not dhry on your irnpident mouth ! Letgo ! she sez .

Did ye not say just now that Iwas flesh andblood?sez I . I have not changed since,

” I sez ; an’ I kep ’ my

arm where ut was .“Your arms to yoursilf sez she, an

’ hereyes sparkild.

Sure,’

tis only human nature,” sez I ; an

’ I kep’

my arm where ut was .“Nature or no nature, says she, you take your

arm away or I’

ll tell Bragin, an’ he’

ll alter the natureav your head . t at d

’

you take me for?”she sez .

“A woman, sez I° the prettiest in herricks . ”

Awife,” sez she ; the straightest in cantonm ints !

‘Wid that I dropped my arm, fell back tu paces, an’

saluted, for I saw that she mint fwhat she said .

’

‘Then you know something that some men would

give a good deal to be certain of How could you tell?’

I demanded in the interests of Science .

“Watch the hand, said Mulvaney ; av she shutsher hand tight thumb down over the knuckle, takeup your bat an go. You ’ll only make a fool av yoursilf av you shtay. But av the hand lies opin on the lap,or av you see her thryin

’

to shut ut, an’ she can’t, -

go

on ! She’s not past reasonin’

wid.

”

45

THE SOLID MULDOON

‘Well, as I was sayin

’

, I fell back, saluted, an’ was

goin’ away.

Shtay wid me, she sez . Look ! He’

s comin ’

again .

She pointed to the verandah, an’ by the Hoight av

Impart ’

n ince, the Corp’

ri l man was comin ’ out av Bragin’s quarters .

He’s done that these five evenin ’

s past, sez An

nie Bragin .

“Oh, fwhat will I do !”

“He’ll not do ut again,” sez I , for Iwas fightin

’ mad .

Kape away from a man that has been a thrifle

crossed in love till the fever’

s died down . He rageslike a brute beast .

‘ I wint up to the man in the verandah, manin’

, assure as I sit, to knock the life out av him . He slippedinto the Open .

“t at are you doin’

philanderin’

about here, ye scum av the gutter?” sez I polite, to

give him his warnin’

, for I wanted him ready.

‘He niver lifted his head , but sez , all moum ful an’

melancolious, as if he thought I wud be sorry for him“ I can ’t find her, sez he .

My troth,” sez I , you

’ve lived too long you an’

your seekin’s an’

findin’

s in a dacint married woman’

s

quarters ! H ould up your head, ye frozen thief avGenesis,

”sez I ,

“an’ you ’ll find all you want an ’ more ! ”

But he niver hild up , an’

I let go from the shoulderto where the hair is short over the eyebrows .

“That’

ll do your business,” sez I , but it nearly

did mine instid . I put my body weight behind the blow,

but I hit nothing at all, an’ near put my shoulthcr out .

The Corp’

ril man was not there, an’ Annie Bragin, who

had been watchin’ from the verandah, throws up herheels, an

’ carries on like a cock whin his neck’

s wrung46


THE SOLID MULDOON

as a dumb dog just frothing wid rage ; but he had nochanst wid me in reach, or leam in

’

, or anything else.Will ye hear reason? sez I , whin his first wind

was run out .“Not whoile I can see, sez he . Wid that I gave

him both, one after the other, smash through the low

gyard that he’d been taught whin he was a boy, an

’

the eyebrow shut down on the cheek-bone like the wingav a sick crow.

“Will you hear reason now, ye brave man? sez I .“Not whoile I can speak,

” sez he, staggerin’ up

blind as a stump . I was loath to do ut, but I wintround an’ swung into the jaw-side-on an’ shifted ut ahalf pace to the lef’ .

“Will ye hear reason now? sez I ; I can’t keep my

tirnper much longer, an’ ’

tis like I will hurt you .

”

“Not whoile I can stand, he mumbles out av onecorner av his month. So I closed an’ threw him—blind,dumb, an

’ sick, an’ j amm ed the jaw straight.

“You’re an ould fool, Mister Bragin,” sez I .

“You’

re a young thief,”sez he,

“an

’ you’ve brukmy heart, you an

’ Annie betune you !‘

Thin he began cryin’

like a child as he lay . I wassorry as I had niver been before . ’

T is an awful thingto see a strong man cry.

“ I ll swear on the Cross, sez I .I care for none av your oaths, sez he .Come back to your quarters, sez I , an

’ if youdon

’

t believe the livin’

, begad, you shall listen to thedead,

” I sez .I hoisted him an’ tuk him back to his quarters.Mrs . Bragin,

”sez I ,

“here’s a man that you can curequicker than me . ”

48

THE SOLID MULDOON“You’ve shamed me before my wife, he whirnpers.

“Have I so? ”sez I . “By the look on Mrs . B ragin

’

s

face I think I ’m for a dhressin’-down worse than I gave

you .

‘An’ I was ! Annie Braginwaswoildwid indignation .

T here was not a name that a dacint woman cud use

thatwas not given my way. I ’ve had my Colonel walkroun’ me like a cooper roun’ a cask for fifteen m inutsin Ord’

ly-Room, bekaze I wint into the Corner Shopan unstrapped lewnatic; but all that I iver tuk fromhis rasp av a tongue was gingerpop to fwhat Annietould me . An’ that, mark you, is the way av a woman .

‘Whin ut was done for want av breath, an’ Annie

was bendin’ over her husband, I sez :

’Tis all thrue,an’ I ’m a blayguard an

’ you’

re an honest woman ; butwill you tell him of wan service that I did you? ”

‘

As I finished speakin’ the Corp

’

ril man cam e up tothe verandah, an

’ Annie Bragin shquealed. The moonwas up, an

’ we cud see his face .“ I can’t find her,

” sez the Corp’

ril man, an’ wint

out like the puff av a candle .Saints stand betune us an

’

evil ! sez Bragin,crossin’ himself ;

“that’s Flahy av the Tyrone. ”“Who was he?” I sez,

“ for he has given me a daleav fightin

’ this day.

‘Bragin tould us that Flahy was a Corp’

ril who losthis wife av cholera in those quarters three years gone,an’ wint mad, an

’ walked afther they buried him, huntin’

for her.“Well,

”sez I to Bragin, he

’

s been hookin’ outav Purgathory to kape company wid Mrs . Bragin ivryevenin’ for the last fortnight. You may tell Mrs .

Quinn, wid my love, for I know that she’

s been talkin ’

49

THE SOLID MULDOON

to you, an’ you’ve been listenin ’

, that she ought toondherstand the differ

’twixt a m an an ’ a ghost . She’

s

had three husbands,”sez I ,

“an

’ you’

ve got a wife toogood for you . Instid av which you lave her to beboddered by ghosts an

’ —an’ all manner av evil spirruts .

I ’ll niver go talkin ’ in the way av politeness to a man’swife again . Good-night to you both,

” sez I ; an’ wid

that I wint away, bavin’ fought wid woman, man , and

Divil all in the heart av an hour. By the same tokenI gave Father Victor wan rupee to say a mass forFlahy

’

s soul, me bavin’

discommoded him by shticking my fist into his systim .

’

‘Your ideas of politeness seem rather large, Mulvaney,

’ I said .

‘That’s as you look at ut,’ said Mulvaney calmly.

‘Annie Bragin niver cared for me . For all that, I didnot want to leave anything behin

’

me that Bragincould take bould av to be angry wid her about whinan honust wurrd cud ha

’ cleared all up . There’s

nothing like opin-speakin’

. Orth’

ri s, ye scutt, let meput me oi to that bottle, for my throat

’

s as dhry as whinI thought I wud get a kiss from Annie Bragin . An ’

that ’s fourteen years gone ! Eyah ! Cork’

s own cityan ’ the blue sky above ut— an

’

the times that was— thetimes that was ! ’

50


WITH THE MAIN GUARD

Ortheris, clad only in white trousers, had just sluicedover his shoulders ; and a fourth private was mutteringuneasily as he dozed open-mouthed in the glare of the

great guard-lantem . The heat under the bricked archway was terrifying.

‘The worrst night that iver I rem imber . Eyah !Is all Hell loose this tide?

’ said Mulvaney. A puff ofburning wind lashed through the wicket-gate like a

wave of the sea, and Ortheris swore .‘

Are ye more heasy, Jock?’ he said to Learoyd .

‘

Put

yer ’ead between your legs . It’ll go orf in a minute. ’

‘Ah don’t care . Ah would not care, but ma heart is

plaayin’

tivvy-tivvy on ma ri bs. Let me die ! Oh ,

leave me die ! ’

groaned the huge Yorkshireman, whowas feeling the heat acutely, being of fleshly build .

The sleeper under the lantern roused for a momentand raised himself on his elbow. Die and be damnedthen ! ’ he said .

‘

I’

m damned and I can ’t die ! ’

‘Who ’s that?’

I whispered, for the voice was new to

Gentleman born,’ said Mulvaney ;

‘

Corp’

ril wanyear , Sargint nex

’

. Red-hot on his C’

nrission, butdhrinks like a fish. He

’

ll be gone before the cowldweather ’

s here . So !’

H e slipped his boot, and with a naked toe just touchedthe tri gger of his Martini . Ortheris misunderstood themovement, and the next instant the Irishman

’s rifle wasdashed aside, while Ortheris stood before him, his eyesblazing with reproof.

‘You said Ortheris . My Gawd, you ! If itwas you ,wot would we do?

’

Kape quiet, little man, said Mulvaney, puttinghim aside, but very gently ; tis not me, nor will ut be

52

WITH THE MAIN GUARD

me whoile Dinah Shadd’

s here . I was but showin’

omething.

’

Learoyd, bowed on his bedstead, groaned, and thegentleman-ranker sighed in his sleep . Ortheris tookMulvaney

’

s tendered pouch, and we three smoked

gravely for a space while the dust-devils danced on theglacis and scoured the red-hot plain .

‘

Pop?’

said Ortheris, wiping his forehead .

‘Don’

t tantalise wid talkin’ av dhrink, or I’ll stuff you

into your own breech-block an ’ fire you off ! ’ grunted

Ortheris chuckled, and from a niche in the verandahproduced six bottles of gingerade .

Where did ye get ut, ye Machiavel?’

said Mulvaney.

Tis no bazar pop .

’

’

Ow do Hi know wot the Orf ’

cers drink? ’ answeredOrtheri s . ‘

Arst the mess-man .

’

Ye ’ll have a D isthrict Coort-Mar tial settin’

on ye

yet, me son,’

said Mulvaney,‘

but’

he Opened abottle ‘ I will not report ye this tim e . t at’s in themess-kid is mint for the belly, as they say,

’speciallywhin that mate is dhrink . Here

’s luck ! A bloodywar or a—no, we

’ve got the sickly season . War, thin !’

he waved the innocent ‘ pop ’ to the four quarters ofHeaven .

‘Bloody war ! North, East, South, an’ West !

Jock, ye quakin’ hayri ck, come an

’

dhrink .

’

But Learoyd, half mad with the fear of death presagod in the swelling veins of his neck, was begging hisMaker to strike him dead, and fighting for more airbetween his prayers . A second time Ortheris drenchedthe quiveri ng body with water, and the giant revived .

‘An ’ Ah divn ’

t see thot a mon is i’ fettle for gooin’ onto live ; an

’ Ah divn ’

t see thot there is owt for t’ livin ’

53

WITH THE MAIN GUARD

for. Hear now, lads ! Ah’

m tired -tired . There’

s

nobbut water i’ ma bones . Let ma die l’

The hollow of the arch gave back Learoyd ’s brokenwhisper in a bass boom . Mulvaney looked at me hopelessly, but I remembered how the madness of despairhad once fallen upon Ortheris, that weary, weary afternoon on the banks of the Khemi River, and how it hadbeen exorcised by the skilful magician Mulvaney.

‘Talk, Terence ! I said,‘ or we shall have Learoyd

slinging loose, and he’ll be worse than Ortheri s was .

Talk ! He’ll answer to your voice .

’

Almost before Ortheris had deftly thrown all therifles of the guard on Mulvaney

’

s bedstead, the Irishman ’s voice was uplifted as that of one in the middleof a story, and, turning to me, he said

‘

In barricks or out of it, as you say, Sorr, an Oirishrig

’

m int is the divil an’

more . ’Tis only fit for a youngman wid eddicated fisteses . Oh the crame av disruption is an Oirish rig

’

m int, an’

ri ppin ’

, tearin’

, ragin’

scattherers in the field av war ! My first rig’

m int wasGiri sh—Faynians an

’

rebils to the heart av their marrow was they, an

’

so they fought for the Widdy bettherthanmost, bein

’

contrairy—Oirish. Theywas the Black

Tyrone . You ’ve heard av thim, Sorr?’

Heard of them ! I knew the Black Tyrone for thechoicest collection of unmitigated blackguards, dogstealers, robbers of hen-roosts, assaulters of innocentcitizens, and recklessly daring heroes in the Army List.Half Europe and half Asia has had cause to know theBlack Tyrone—good luck be with their tattered Coloursas Glory has ever been !

‘Theywas hot pickils an’ ginger ! I cut a man’s head

tu deep wid my belt in the days av my youth , an’

, afther54


WITH TH E MAIN GUARD

Hah ! He was a Man. The Tyrone tuk a little orf ’

cer

bhoy, but divil a bit was he in comm and, as I’ll dimon

strate presintly. We an’ they came over the brow av

the hill, wan on each side av the gut, an’ there was that

ondacint Reserve waitin’

down below like rats in a pit .“Howld on, men sez Crook, who tuk a mother

’

s

care av us always . R owl some rocks on thim by wayav visitin

’-kyards. We hadn

’

t rowled more thantwinty bowlders, an

’ the Paythans was beginnin’ to

swear tremenjus, whin the little orf’

cer bhoy av theTyrone shqueaks out acrost the valley t at the

divil an’ all are you doin ’

, shpoilin’ the fun for my men?

Do ye not see they’ll stand? ”

“Faith, that’s a rare pluckt wan ! sez Crook .

Niver m ind the rocks, men. Come along down an’

take tay wid thim“There’s damned little sugar in ut !

”sez my rear

rank man ; but Crook heard .

“Have ye not all got spoons? he sez, laughin’

, an’

down we wint as fast as we cud . Learoyd bein’ sick atthe Base, he, av coorse, was not there .

‘

Thot’

s a lie ! ’ said Learoyd, dragging his bedsteadnearer. ‘Ah gotten thot theer, an

’ you knawit, Mulvaney .

’ He threw up his arms, and from the rightarm-pit ran, diagonally through the fell of his chest,a thin white line terminating near the fourth left rib .

My mind ’s said Mulvaney, the unabashed .

‘Ye were there . W hat was I thinkin ’ of? ’Twasanother man, av coorse. Well, you

’ll remimber thin,Jock, how we an

’ the Tyrone met wid a hang at thebottom an ’ got jamm ed past al l movin ’ among thePaythans?

‘Ow ! It was a tight ’ole. I was squeezed till I56

WITH THE MAIN GUARD

thought I ’d bloomin ’ well bust,’ said Ortheris, rubbing

his stomach meditatively.

’Twas no place for a little man, but wan littleman

’-Mulvaney put his hand on Ortheris’s shoulder

‘

saved the life av me . There we shtuck, for divil abit did the Paythans flinch, an

’

divil a bit dare we ; ourbusiness bein ’

to clear ’em out . An’ the most exthryordinar’ thing av all was that we an ’ they just rushedinto each other’s arrums, an

’ there was no firing for along time . Nothin’ but knife an’

bay’

nit when wecud get our hands free : an

’ thatwas not often . Wewasbreast-on to thim, an

’ the Tyrone was yelpin’ behindav us in a way I didn ’t see the lean av at first. But Iknew later, an

’ so did the Paythans.

“Knee to knee l” sings out Crook, wid a laugh whinthe rush av our comin

’ into the gut shtopped, an’

he

was huggin’ a hairy great Paythan , neither bein

’ ableto do anything to the other, tho

’ both waswi shful .“B reast to breast !

” he sez, as the Tyrone waspushin’

us forward closer an’

closer.“An

’ hand over back ! sez a Sargint thatwas behin’

.

I sawa sword lick out past Crook’

s ear, an’ the Paythan

was tuk in the apple av his throat like a pig at B romeenFair.

“Thank ye, Brother Inner Guard, sez Crook, coolas a cucumber widout salt .

“ I wanted that room .

”

An’ he wint forward by the thickness av a man’s body,bavin

’ turned the Paythan undher him . The man bitthe heel off Crook s boot in his death-bite.

“Push, men ! sez Crook.

“Push, ye paper-backedbeggars !

”he sez.

“Am I to pull ye through?” So wepushed, an

’ we kicked, an’ we swung, an

’ we swore, an’

the grass bein’

slippery, our heels wouldn’t bite, an

’

5 7

WITH THE MAIN GUARD

God help the front rank man that wint down thatday !Ave you ever bin in the Pit hentrance o ’ the Vic .

on a thick night? ’ interrupted Ortheris . ‘ It was worsenor that, for they was goin

’

one way, an’ we wouldn ’t

’ave it . Leastaways, I’adu ’

f much to say.

’

‘Faith, me son , ye said ut, thin . I kep ’ the little manbetune my knees as long as I cud, but he was pokin

’

roun’ wid his bay’

nit, blindin’ an ’

stiff'

m’

feroshus .

The devil of a man is Orth’

ris in a ruction - arcn’

t

ye? ’ said Mulvaney .

‘Don’t make game !’ said the Cockney.

‘ I knowedI wasn ’t no good then, but I guv

’em compot from thelef’ flank when we opened out . No ! ’ he said, bringingdown his hand with a thump on the bedstead,

‘a bay’

nit ain’t no good to a little man might as well’ave

a bloom in’

fishin’-rod ! I

’ate a clawin’

, maulin’

mess, but gimme a breech that’s wore out a hit an

’

hammunition one year in store, to let the powder kissthe bullet, an

’ put me somewheres where I ain ’

t trodon by ’

nlkin swine like you, an’ s’elp me Gawd I could

bowl you over five times outer seven at height undred .

Would yer try, you lumberin’

Hiri shman?’

‘

No ye wasp . I ’ve seen ye do ut. I say there’s

nothin better than the bay’

nit, wid a long reach, adouble twist av ye can, an

’ a slow recover. ’

‘Dom the bay’

nit,’ said Learoyd, who had been

listening intently. Look a-here He picked up arifle an inch below the foresight with an underhandedaction, and used it exactly as a man would use a

Sitha,’ said he softly,

‘

thot’

s better than owt, fora mon can bash t’

faace wi’ thot, an

’

, if he divn’

t, he

5 8


WITH THE MAIN GUARD

I , widout turnin’ my head , for the long knives was

dancin’ in front like the sun on Donegal Bay whin ut’

s

rough .

“We’

ve seen our dead, he sez, squeezin’ into me

our dead that was men two days gone ! An’ me thatwas his cousin by blood could not bring Tim Goulan offLet me get on, he sez,

“ let me get to thim or I ’ll runye through the back !”

“My troth, thinks I ,“ if the Tyrone have seen

their dead, God help the Pathans this day !” An’ thin

I knew why the Oiri shwas ragin ’ behind us as theywas .

‘ I gave room to the man, an’ he ran forward wid the

Hay-makers’ Lift on his bay’

nit an’ swung a Paythanclear off his feet by the belly-band av the brute, an

’ theiron bruk at the lockin ’

-ri ng.

“T im Coulan

’

ll slape easy to-night, sez he wid agrin ; an

’ the next minut his head was in two halvesand he wint down gri nnin

’ by sections.‘The Tyrone was pushin’ an’ pushin’

in, an’

our

men was swearin ’ at thim , an’ Crook was workin’ away

in front av us al l, his sword-arm swingin’ like a pump

handle an’

his revolver spittin’ like a cat . But the

strange thing av ut was the quiet that lay upon .

’Twaslike a fight in a drame except for thim that was dead .

‘Whin I gave room to the Oiri shman I was expindedan

’

forlorn in my inside . ’Tis a way I have, savin’

your presince, Sorr, in action .

“Let me out bhoys,

”

sez I , backin’ in among thim .

“ I ’m goin’

to be onwell !Faith they gave me room at the wurrd, though theywould not ha’ given room for all Hell wid the chill off .When I got clear, I was, savin

’ your presince, Sorr ,outragis sick bekaze I had dhrunk heavy that day.

Well an ’ far out av harm was a Sargint av the Tyrone60

WITH THE MAIN GUARD

sittin’ on the little orf

’

cer bhoy who had stopped Crookfrom rowlin

’

the rocks . Oh, he was a beautiful bhoy,an ’

the long black curses was sliding out av his innocint mouth like mora in

’-jew from a rose !

“W hat have you got there? ” sez I to the Sargint.

“Wan av Her Majesty’s bantams wid his spurs up,

sez he .“H e

’

s goin’ to Coort-Martial me . ”“Let me go ! ” sez the little orf

’

cer bhoy. Letme go and command my men manin’ thereby theBlack Tyrone, which was beyond any command—ay,

even av they had made the D ivil a Field-Orf ’

cer .

“His father bowlds my mother’s cow-feed in Clon

mel,” sez the man that was sittin’ on him .

“Will Igo back to his mother an’ tell her that I ’ve let himthrow himself away? Lie still, ye little pinch of dynamite an

’

Coort-Martial me aftherwards.

”

Good ,”sez I ;

’

tis the likes av him makes the likesav the Commander-in-Chief, but we must presarvethim . W hat d ’

you want to do, Sorr?”

sez I, verypoliteful .

Kill the beggars kill the beggars ! he shqueaks,his big, blue eyes brirnm in

’ wid tears .“An

’

how’

llye do that? ” sez I . “You’ve shquibbedoff your revolver like a child wid a cracker ; you canmake no play wid that fine large sword av yours ; an

’

your hand ’s shakin’ like an asp on a leaf . Lie still andgrow,

” sez I .“Get back to your comp

’

ny, sez he ;“you’re in

solint !”

“All in good time, sez I, but I’ll have a dhrink

first .‘Just thin Crook comes up, blue an

’ white all overwhere he wasn’t red .

6 1

WITH THE MAIN GUARD“Wather !” sez be ; I

’

m dead wid drouth ! Oh ,

but it’

s a gran’

day !”

‘

Hc dhrank half a skinful, and the rest he tilts intohis chest, an

’ it fair hissed on the hairy hide av him .

He sees the little orf’

cer bhoy undher the Sargint.

“Fwaht’

s yonder? ”sez he.

“Mutiny, Sorr,” sez the Sargint, an

’

the orf’

cer

bhoy begins pleadin’ pitiful to Crook to be let go ; but

divil a bit wud Crook budge.Kape him there,

” he sez tis no child’s work thisday . By the same token,

”sez be,

“ I ’ll confishcate

that iligant nickle-plated scent-sprinkler av yours , formy own has been vom itin ’

dishgraceful !”

‘

The fork av his hand was black wid the back-spitav the machine . So he tuk the orf ’

cer bhoy’

s revolver.Ye may look, Sorr, but, by my faith, there

’s a dale moredone in the field than iver gets into Field Ordhers !

“Come on, Mulvaney, sez Crook ;“ is this a Coort

Mar tial? The two av us wint back together into themess an’ the Paythans were still standin

’ up . Theywas not too irnpart

’

nint though, for the Tyrone wascallin’ wan to another to rem imber Tim Goulan .

‘Crook stopped outside av the strife an’ looked anx

ious, his eyes rowlin’ roun’

.

“W hat is ut, Sorr?” sez I ; can I get ye anything?

“Where’s a bugler? sez he .

I wint into the crowd—our men was dhrawin ’ breathbehin’ the Tyrone

,who was fightin

’ like sowls in tormint—an

’

prisintly I came acrost little Frehan, ourbugler bhoy, pokin

’ roun ’ among the best wid a rifle an’

“I s amusin

’

yoursilf fwhat you’re paid for, ye

limb?”sez I , catchin

’ him by the scruff . “Come out

62


WITH THE MAIN GUARD

cud do to get thim off . They was mad mad mad !Crook sits down in the quiet that fell whin we had gonedown the valley, an

’ covers his face wid his hands .Prisintly we all came back again accordin

’ to our natures and dispossishins, for they, mark you, showthrough the hide av a man in that hour .

“B hoys ! bhoys !

” sez Crook to himself. I misdoubt we could ha ’ engaged at long range an ’ savedbetther men than me .

”He looked at our dead an

’

said no more .“Captain dear, sez a man av the Tyrone, comin

’

up wid his mouth bigger than iver his mother kissedut, spittin

’ blood like a whale Captain dear, sezbe,

“ if wan or two in the shtalls have been discommoded,the gallery have enjoyed the perform inces av a Roshus.

”

‘Thin I knew that man for the Dublin dock-rat hewas wan av the bhoys that made the lessee av Silver’s Theatre gray before his time wid tearin

’ out thebowils av the benches an

’

t’

rowin’ thim into the pit .

So I passed the wurrud that I knew when I was in theTyrone an ’ we lay in Dublin .

“1 don ’t know who

’twas, I whispers, an ’ I don’t care, but anywaysI ’ll knock the face av you, Tim Kelly.

”

“Eyah !” sez the man, was you there too? We’ll

call ut Silver’s Theatre . Half the Tyrone, knowin’

the ould place, tuk ut up : so we called ut Silver’

sTheatre .The little orf’

cer bhoy av the Tyrone was thrarnblin ’ an’

cryin’

. He had no heart for the Coort-Martials that he talked so big upon . Ye’ll do well later,sez Crook, very quiet, for not bein ’ allowed to killyourself for amusemint.

I'

m a dishgraced man ! sez the little orf’

cer bhoy.

64

WITH THE MAIN GUARD“Put me undher arrest, Sorr, if you will, but by my

sowl, I’d do ut again sooner than face your mother wid

you dead, sez the Sargint that had sat on his head,standin’ to attention an ’

salutin’

. But the young wanonly cried as tho ’

his little heart was breakin’

.

Thin another man av the Tyrone cam e up, wid thefog av fightin

’

on him .

’

‘The what, Mulvaney?’

Fog av fightin’

. You know, Sorr, that, like makin’

love, ut takes each man diff’

rint. Now I can ’t helpbein ’ powerful sick whin I ’m in action . Or th

’

ris, here,niver stops swearin ’ from ind to ind, an

’

the only timethat Learoyd opins his mouth to sing is whin he ismessin’ wid other people

’s heads ; for he’

s a dhirtyfighter is Jock. R ecruities sometime cry, an

’ sometime they don

’t know fwhat they do, an’ sometime

they are all for cuf f in’ throats an’

such-like dirtiness ;but some men get heavy-dead-dhrunk on the fightin

’

.

This man was. He was staggerin’

, an’

his eyes werehalf shut, an

’ we cud hear him dhraw breath twintyyards away . He sees the little orf

’

cer bhoy, an’ comes

up, talkin’ thick an’ drowsy to him silf .

,

“

Blood the

young whelp !” he sez ;

“blood the young whelp”; an

’

wid that he threw up his arms, shpun roun’

, an’ dropped

at our feet, dead as a Paythan, an’ there was niver sign

or scratch on him . They said’

twas his heart wasrotten, but oh,

’twas a quare thing to see !‘Thin we wint to bury our dead, for we wud not lave

thim to the Paythans, an’ in movin ’ among the haythen

we nearly lost that little orf’

cer bhoy. He was forgivin’ wan divil wather and layin

’

him aisy against arock .

“Be careful, Sorr,”sez I ; awounded Paythan

’

s

worse than a live wan.

” My troth, before the words65

WITH THE MAIN GUARD

was out of my mouth, the man on the ground firesat the orf

’

cer bhoy lanin ’ over him , an’ I saw the helmit

fly. I dropped the butt on the face av the man

an’ tuk his pistol. The little orf’

cer bhoy turnedvery white, for the hair av half his head was singed

“ I tould you so , Sorr ! sez I ; an’

, afther that, whinhe wanted to help a Paythan I stud wid the muzzlecontagious to the ear. They dare not do anythin

’

but

curse . The Tyrone was growlin’ like dogs over a bone

that has been taken away too soon, for they had seentheir dead an

’ they wanted to kill ivry sowl on the

ground . Crook tould thim that he’

d blow the hide offany man that misconducted himself ; but, seeing thatut was the first tim e the Tyrone had iver seen theirdead, I do not wondher they were on the sharp .

’

T is

a shameful sight ! Whin I first saw ut I wud niver ha ’

given quarter to any man nor th of the Khaibar no,

nor woman either, for the women used to come outafther dhark Auggrh !

‘Well, evenshually we buri ed our dead an’ tuk away

our wounded, an’ come over the brow av the bills to

see the Scotchies an’ the Gurkys taking tay with the

Paythans in bucketsfuls. We were a gang av dis

solute ruffians, for the blood had caked the dust, an’

the sweat had cut the cake, an’

our bay’

nitswas hangin’

like butchers ’ steels betune our legs, an’

most av usweremarked one way or another.

‘A Staff Orf’

cer man, clean as a new rifle, rides up an’

What damned scarecrows are youA comp

’

ny av Her Majesty’s Black Tyrone an’

wan av the Ould R ig’

m int,”

sez Crook very quiet,givin

’ our visitors the flure as’twas .

66


WITH THE MAIN GUARD

waitin’ for Ma-ary ! ’ he bummed ;

‘ but I’

d like to killsome more bloomin ’

Paythans before my tim e’s up .

War ! Bloody war ! North, East, South, and West.’

‘Amen, said Learoyd slowly.

W hat’s here? said Mulvaney, checking at a blurof white by the foot of the old sentry-box. He stoopedand touched it . ‘ It ’s Norah Norah M’

Taggar t !

Why, Nonie darlin’

, fwhat are ye doin’

out av yourmother

’

s bed at this time?The two-year-old child of Sergeant M’

Taggart musthave wandered for a breath of cool air to the very vergeof the par apet of the Fort ditch . Her tiny night-shiftwas gathered into a wisp round her neck and she moanedin her sleep .

‘ See there ! ’ said Mulvaney ;‘ poor lamb !

Look at the heat-rash on the innocint skin av her.’

Tis

hard—crool hard even for us . W hat must it be forthese? Wake up, Nonie, your mother will be woildabout you. Begad, the child might ha

’

fallen into theditch ! ’

He picked her up in the growing light, and set heron his shoulder, and her fair curls touched the grizzledstubble of his temples . Or theris and Learoyd followedsnapping their fingers, while Norah smiled at them asleepy smile . Then carolled Mulvaney, clear as alark, dancing the baby on his arm

‘ If any young man should marry you,

Say nothin’ about the joke ;That iver ye slep ’ in a sinthry-box,Wrapped up in a soldier’s cloak.

’

‘Though, on my sowl, Nonie,’ he said gravely,

‘Therewas not much cloak about you . Niver mind, you won

’t68

WITH THE MAIN GUARD

dhress like this ten years to come . K iss your friendsan’

run along to your mother. ’

Nonie, set down close the Married Quarters, noddedwith the quiet obedience of the soldier’s child, but, ereshe pattered off over the flagged path, held up her lipsto he kissed by the Three Musketeers . Ortheris wipedhis mouth with the back of his hand and swore sentimentally ; Learoyd turned pink ; and the two walkedaway together. The Yorkshireman lifted up his voiceand gave in thunder the chorus of ‘The Sentry-Box,

’

while Ortheri s piped at his side .’Bin to a bloom in’ sing-song, you two?

’ said theArtilleryman, whowas taking his cartridge down to theMorning Gun .

‘You ’re over merry for these dasheddays . ’

‘ I hid ye take care 0 ’ the brat, said be,For it comes of a noble race,

’

Learoyd bellowed . The voices died out in the swimrning-bath .

‘Oh, Terence !’ I said, dropping into Mulvaney

’

s

speech, when we were alone,‘ it’s you that have the

Tongue ! ’

He looked at me wearily ; his eyes were sunk in hishead, and his face was drawn and white .

‘Eyah ! ’

said he ;‘ I ’ve blandandhered thim through the night

somehow, but can thim that helps others help thimselves? Answer me that, Sorr !

’

And over the bastions of Fort Amara broke the pitiless day.

69

IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE

Hurrah ! hurrah ! a soldier’s life for me !

Shout, boys, shout ! for it makes you jolly and free.‘The Ramrod Corps . ’

B OPLE who have seen, say that one of thequaintest spectacles of human frailty is an outbreak of hysterics in a girls’ school . It starts

without warning, generally on a hot afternoon, amongthe elder pupils . A girl giggles till the giggle getsbeyond control . Then She throws up her head, andcries,

‘Honk, honk, honk,’ like a wild goose, and tear s

mix with the laughter. If the m istress be wise, shewill rap out something severe at this point to checkmatters . If she be tender-hearted, and send for a

drink of water, the chances are largely in favour ofanother girl laughing at the afflicted one and herselfcollapsing . Thus the trouble spreads, and may endin half of what answers to the Lower Sixth of a boys

’

school rocking and whooping together. Given a weekof warm weather, two stately promenades per diem,

a heavy mutton and rice meal in the m iddle of the day,

a certain amount of nagging from the teachers, and afew other things, some amazing effects develop . Atleast, this is what folk say who have had experience.

70



hired-carriage wedding, and he felt that the‘

ecklar ’

of that was meagre . Miss M’

Kenna did not care so

much . The Sergeant’s wife was helping her to make

her wedding-dress, and she was very busy . Slane was,just then

,the only moderately contented man in bar

racks . All the rest were more or less miserable .

And they had so much to make them happy, too.

All their work was over at eight in the morning, andfor the rest of the day they could lie on their backs andsmoke Canteen-plug and swear at the punkah-coolies.

They enjoyed a fine, full flesh meal in the middle of theday, and then threw themselves down on their cots andsweated and slept till it was cool enough to go out withtheir ‘ towny,

’ whose vocabulary contained less thansix hundred words, and the Adjective, and whose viewson every conceivable question they had heard manytimes before .There was the Canteen of course, and there was the

Temperance Room with the second-hand papers in it ;but a man of any profession cannot read for eight hoursa day in a temperature of 96 degrees or 98 degrees inthe shade, running up sometimes to 1 03 degrees atmidnight . Very few men , even though they get a pannikin of flat, stale, muddy beer and hide it under theircots, can continue drinking for six hours a day. Oneman tried, but he died, and nearly the whole regimentwent to his funeral because it gave them somethingto do. It was too early for the excitement of fever orcholera . The men could only wait and wait and wait,and watch the shadow of the barrack creeping acrossthe blinding white dust. That was a gay life .They lounged about cantonments it was too hotfor any sort of game, and almost too hot for vice

72


and fuddled themselves in the evening, and filledthemselves to distension with the healthy nitrogenousfood provided for them, and the more they stoked theless exercise they took and more explosive they grew.

Then tempers began to wear away, and men fell a-brooding over insults real or imaginary, for they had nothingelse to think of . The tone of the repartees changed

,

and instead of saying light-heartedly : ‘

I’

ll knock yoursilly face in,

’ men grew laboriously polite and hintedthat the cantonm ents were not big enough for themselves and their enemy, and that there would be morespace for one of the two in another Place .It may have been the Devil who arranged the thing,

but the fact of the case is that Losson had for a longtim e been worrying Simmons in an aim less way. Itgave him occupation . The two had their cots side byside, and would sometimes spend a long afternoonswearing at each other; but Simmonswas afraid of Losson and dared not challenge him to a fight. He thoughtover the words in the hot still nights, and half thehate he felt towards Lossou he vented on the wretchedpunkah-coolie .Losson bought a parrot in the bazar, and put it into

a little cage, and lowered the cage into the cool darknessof a well , and sat on the well-curb, shouting bad language down to the parrot. He taught it to say :

‘

Simmons, ye so-oor,

’ which means swine, and several otherthings entirely unfit for publication . He was a big,gross man, and he shook like a jelly when the parrothad the sentence correctly. Simmons, however, shookwith rage, for all the room were laughing at him theparrot was such a disreputable puff of green feathersand it looked so human when it chattered . Losson

73


used to sit, swinging his fat legs, on the side of the cot ,and ask the parrot what it thought of Simmons . The

parrot would answer ‘ Simmons, ye so-oor .

’ ‘Good

boy,’ Lossou used to say, scratching the parrot

’s head ;‘ye ’ear that, Sim?

’ And Simmons used to turn over

on his stomach and make answer :‘ I ’ear. Take ’

ccd

you don’t ’ear something one of these days . ’

In the restless nights, after he had been asleep allday

, fits of blind rage came upon Simmons and heldhim till he trembled all over, while he thought in howmany diff erent ways he would slay Losson . Sometimeshe would picture him self trampling the life but of theman

with heavy ammunition-boots, and at others smashingin his face with the butt, and at others jumping on hisshoulders and dragging the head back till the neckbonecracked . Then his mouth would feel hot and fevered ,and he would reach out for another sup of the beer inthe pannikin .

But the fancy that came to him most frequently andstayed with him longest was one connected with thegreat roll of fat under Losson

’

s right ear. He noticedit first on a moonlight night, and thereafter it wasalways before his eyes . It was a fascinating roll of fat .A man could get his hand upon it and tear away one

side of the neck ; or he could place the muzzle of a rifleon it and blow away all the head in a flash . Losson

had no ri ght to be sleek and contented and well-to-do,

when he, Simmons, was the butt of the room . Someday, perhaps, he would show those who laughed at the‘ Simmons, ye so-oor j

’ oke, that he was as good as therest, and held a man

’

s life In the crook of his forefinger.When Losson snored , Simmons hated him more bitterlythan ever. Why should Lossou be able to sleep when

74


IN THE MATT ER OF A PRIVATE

The tension snapped . Simmons fell back on the

arm-rack deliberately, the men were at the far endof the room

,and took out his rifle and packet of

ammunition .

‘Don ’t go playing the goat, Sim !’

saidLossou . Put it down’

; but there was a quaver in hisvoice . Another man stooped, slipped his boot and

hurled it at Simmons’s head . The prompt answer wasa shot which, fired at random, found its billet in Losson’s throat . Losson fell forward without a word, andthe others scattered .

‘

You thought it was ! ’ yelled Simmons. ‘You’

redrivin

’ me to it ! I tell you you’re drivin’ me to it !Get up, Lossou ,

an ’ don’t lie shamm in’ there you an

’

your blasted parrit that druv me to it !’

But there was an unaffected reality about Losson’

s

pose that showed Simmons what he had done . The menwere still clamouring in the verandah . Simmons appropriated two more packets of ammunition and ran intothe moonlight, muttering : I

’ll make a night of it .Thirty ronn ’s, an

’ the last for myself. Take you that,you dogs ! ’

He dropped on one knee and fired into the brown of

the men on the verandah,but the bullet flew high , and

landed in the brickwork with a vicious phwit that madesome of the younger ones turn pale . It is as musketrytheorists observe, one thing to fire and another to befired at .Then the instinct of the chase flared up . The news

spread from barrack to barrack, and the men doubledout intent on the capture of Simmons, the wild beast,who was heading for the Cavalry parade-ground, stopping now and again to send back a shot and a cursein the direction of his pursuers .

76

IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE‘ I ’ll learn you to spy on me !

’ he shouted ;‘ I ’ll learn

you to give me dorg’

s names ! Come on, the’

ole lot0

’ you ! Colonel John Anthony Deever, C . heturned towards the Infantry Mess and Shook his rifle‘

you think yourself the devil of a man but I tell

you that if you put your ugly old carcass outside 0’

that door, I’ll make you the poorest-lookin’ man in

the army. Come out, Colonel John Anthony Deever,C . B . ! Come out and see me practiss on the rainge .

I ’m the crack shot of the ’ole bloom in ’ battalion .

’

In proof of which statement Simmons fired at thelighted windows of the mess-house .Private Simmons, E Comp

’

ny, on the Cavalryp ’rade-ground, Sir, with thirty rounds,

’ said a Sergeantbreathlessly to the Colonel . ‘ Shootin’ right and lef’

Sir. ’Shot Private Lossou . What’s to be done, Sir?Colonel John Anthony Deever, C . B sallied out,

only to be saluted by a Spurt of dust at his feet .‘Pull up ! ’ said the Second in command ; I don

’t wantmy step that way, Colonel . He

’

s as dangerous as amad dog.

’

‘ Shoot him like one, then,’ said the Colonel bitterly,

‘ if he won’t take his chance . My regiment, too ! Ifit had been the Towheads I could have understood .

’

Private Simmons had occupied a strong positionnear a well on the edge of the parade-ground, and wasdefying the regiment to come on . The regimwt wasnot anxious to comply, for there is small honour inbeing shot by a fellow-private . Only Corporal Slane,rifle in hand, threw himself down on the ground, andworm ed his way towards the well .

‘Don’t shoot,’ said he to the men round him ;

‘ likeas not you

’

ll ’

it me . I ’ll catch the beggar

77

IN THE MATT ER OF A PRIVATE

Simmons ceased shouting for a while, and the noiseof trap-wheels could be heard across the plain . Major

Oldyne, Commanding the Horse Battery , was comingback from a dinner in the Civil Lines ; was driving afterhis usual custom that is to say, as fast as the horsecould go.

‘A orf’

cer ! A blooming Spangled orf’

cer !’

shri ekedSimmons ;

‘ I ’ll make a scarecrow of that orf’

cer !’

The trap stopped .

‘What’s this? ’ demanded the Major of Gunners .

You there, drop your rifle.’

‘Why, it’

s Jerry Blazes ! I ain’t got no quarrel with

you, Jerry Blazes . Pass, frien’

, an’ all’s well ! ’

But Jerry Blazes had not the faintest intention of

passing a dangerous murderer. He was, as his adoringBattery swore long and fervently, without knowledgeof fear, and they were surely the best judges, for JerryBlazes, it was notorious, had done his possible to kill aman each time the Battery went out.

He walked towards Simmons, with the intention ofrushing him, and knocking him down .

‘Don ’t make me do it, Sir,’ said Simmons ;

‘ I ain’t

got nothing agin you . Ah ! you would? ’ the Maj orbroke into a run Take that

,then

The Major dropped with a bullet through his shoulder,

and Simmons stood over him . He had lost the satisfaction of killing Losson in the desired way ; but herewas a helpless body to his hand . Should he slip inanother cartridge and blow off the head, or with thebutt smash in the white face? He stopped to consider,and a cry went up from the far side of the parade-ground :‘

He’

s killed Jerry Blazes ! ’ But in the shelter of thewell-pillars Simmons was safe, except when he stepped

78



rage, threw his rifle down and rushed at Slane fromthe protection of the well . Within striking distance, hekicked savagely at Slane’s stomach, but the weedyCorporal knew something of Simmons

’s weakness, andknew, too, the deadly guard for that kick . Bowingforward and drawing up his right leg till the heel of theright foot was set some three inches above the insideof the left knee-cap, he met the blow standing on oneleg exactly as Gonds stand when they meditateand ready for the fall that would follow. Therewas anoath

,the Corporal fell over to his own left as Shinbone

met Shinbone, and the Private collapsed, his right legbroken an inch above the ankle.

’

Pity you don’t know that guard, Sim

’ said Slane,spitting out the dust as he rose . Then raising hisvoice ‘ Come an’ take him orf . I ’ve bruk ’

is leg .

’

This was not strictly true, for the Private had accom

plished his own downfall, since it is the special meri tof that leg-guard that the harder the kick the greaterthe kicker’s discomfiture .

Slane walked to Jerry Blazes, and hung over himwith ostentatious anxiety, while Sirnmons, weepingwithpain, was carried away .

’Ope you ain’t ’urt badly,

Sir,’ said Slane . The Major had fainted, and therewas

an ugly, ragged hole through the top of his arm . Slaneknelt down and murmured :

‘ S ’elp me, I believe’

e’

s

dead . Well , if that ain’t my blooming luck all over!

’

But the Major was destined to lead his Battery afieldfor many a long day with unshaken nerve . He wasremoved, and nursed and petted into convalescence,while the Battery discussed the wisdom of capturingSimm ons, and blowing him from a gun . They idolisedtheir Major, and his reappearance on parade

'

brought80


about a scene nowhere provided for in the Army Regulations .

Great, too, was the glory that fell to Slane’s share .

The Gunners would have made him drunk thrice a dayfor at least a fortnight . Even the Colonel of his own regiment complimented him upon his coolness, and the localpaper called him a hero . These things did not puff himup . When the Major offered him money and thanks,the virtuous Corporal took the one and put aside theother. But he had a request to make and prefaced itwith many a ‘Beg y’ pardon, Sir .

’ Could the Major seehis way to letting the Slane-M ’

Kenna wedding beadorned by the presence

'

of four Battery horses to pulla hir ed barouche? The Major could, and so could theBattery. Excessively so . It was a gorgeous wedding .

‘Wot did I do it for?’ said Corporal Slane . ‘For

the’

orses 0’ course . Jhansi ain’t a beauty to look at,

but I wasn’t goin ’

to’ave a hired turn-out. Jerry

Blazes? If I ’

adn’

t’

a’ wanted something, Sim might

ha ’ blowed Jerry Blazes’ blooming ’ead into H irish stewfor aught I

’

d ’

a’ cared .

’

And they hanged Private Simmons hanged him ashigh as Haman in hollow square of the regiment ; andthe Colonel said it was Drink ; and the Chaplain wassure it was the Devil ; and Simmons fancied it was both,but he didn ’t know, and only hoped his fate would be awarning to his companions ; and half-a-dozen

‘

intelli

gent publicists ’ wrote six beautiful leading articles on‘The Prevalence of Crime in the Army.

’

But not a soul thought of comparing the‘

bloodyminded Simmons ’ to the squawking, gaping schoolgirlwith which this story opens .

8 1

BLACK JACK

( 1 888)

To the wake av Tim O’

Hara

Came company,All St . Patri ck’s Al leyWas there to see .

Robert Buchanan .

the Three Musketeers share their silver, tobacco, and liquor together, as they protect eachother in barracks or camp, and as they rej oice

together over the joy of one, so do they divide theirsorrows . When Ortheris

’

s irrepressible tongue hasbrought him into cells for a season , or Learoyd has runamok through his kit and accoutrements, or Mulvaneyhas indulged in strongwaters, and under their influencereproved his Commanding Officer, you can see thetrouble in the faces of the untouched two . And the restof the regiment know that comment or jest is unsafe.

Generally the three avoid Orderly-Room and the CornerShOp that follows, leaving both to the young bloodswho have not sown their wild oats ; but there are occasionsFor instance, Ortheri s was Sitting on the drawbridge

of the main gate of Fort Am ara, with his hands in hispockets and his pipe, bowl down, in hismouth . Learoyd

82


BLACK JACK

dirt is. You’re hirnperfectly eddicated, Sargint, sez’

e, an’ then we fell in . But after P

’rade,’

e was up an’

Mullins was swearin irnself black in the face at Ord ’

ly

Room that Mulvaney ’

ad called ’

im a swine an ’ Lordknows wot all . You know Mullins. ’

E’

ll’ave ’

is’ead broke in one 0 ’ these days . ’

E’

s too big a bloom in’

liar for ord’

nary consumption .

“Three hours’ can an’

kit, sez the Colonel ; not for bein’ dirty on p ’rade ,

but for ’avin’ said somethin’ to Mullins, tho

’ I do not

believe, sez’

e,“you said wot ’

e said you said . An’

Mulvaney fell away sayin ’ nothin ’

. You know’

e neverSpeaks to the Colonel for fear 0 ’ gettin ’ ’

imself freshcopped .

’

Mullins, a very young, and very much married Sergeant, whose manners were partly the result of innatedepravity and partly of irnperfectly digested BoardSchool, came over the bridge, and most rudely askedOrtheris what he was doing .

‘Me? ’ said Ortheris . ‘Ow ! I ’m waiting for myC

’

m ission .

’Seed it comin ’ along yit? ’

Mullins turned purple and passed on . There wasthe sound of a gentle chuckle from the glacis whereLearoyd lay .

’

E expects to get his C’mission some day,

’ explainedOrtheris ;

‘Gawd ’elp the Mess that’ave to put their

’ands into the same kiddy as ’

im ! Wot time d’

you

make it, Sir? Fower ! Mulvaney ’

ll be out in’

arf an

hour. You don’t want to buy a dorg, Sir, do you?A pup you can trust ’

arf R ampore by the Colonel’

s

grey’

ound.

’

Ortheris,’ I answered stem ly, for I knew what was

in his mind,‘ do you mean to say that

‘ I didn ’t mean to arx money 0’ you, any

’

ow,

’ said84

BLACK JACK

Ortheris ; I’d

’

a’

sold you the dorg good an ’ cheap,but

but - I know Mulvaney ’

ll want somethin ’ afterwe

’ve walked’

im orf, an’

I ain ’t got nothin ’

,nor ’

e’asu

’

t neither. I’

d sooner sell you the dorg, Sir .

’

S

trewth I would !’

A shadow fell on the drawbridge, and Ortheris beganto rise into the air, lifted by a huge hand upon his collar.

‘

Onything but t’

braass,’ said Learoyd quietly

, as heheld the Londoner over the ditch . Onything but t

’

braass, Orth’

ris, ma son ! Ah’

ve got one rupee eightannas of ma own .

’ He showed two coins, and replacedOrtheris on the drawbridge rail .Very good,

’ I said ;‘where are you going to?

Goin ’ to walk’

im orf wen ’

e comes out—two milesor three or fower,

’ said Ortheri s .The footsteps within ceased . I heard the dull thudof a knapsack falling on a bedstead , followed by the rattleof arms . Ten minutes later, Mulvaney, faultlesslydressed, his lips tight and his face as black as a thunderstorm, stalked into the sunshine on the drawbridge.Learoyd and Ortheri s sprang from my side and closedin upon him, both leaning towards him as horses leanupon the pole . In an instant they had disappeareddown the sunken road to the cantonments, and I wasleft alone . Mulvaney had not seen fit to recognise me ;so I knew that his trouble must be heavy upon him .

I climbed one of the bastions and watched the figuresof the Three Musketeers grow smaller and smalleracross the plain . They were walking as fast as theycould put foot to the ground, and their heads werebowed . They fetched a great compass round the paradeground, skirted the Cavalry lines, and vanished in thebelt of trees that fri nges the low land by the river.

85

BLACK JACK

I followed slowly, and sighted them dusty, sweat

ing, but still keeping up their long, swinging tramp on

the river bank . They crashed through the Forest R eserve, headed towards the Bri dge of Boats, and presently established themselves on the how of one of thepontoons . I rode cautiously till I saw three puffs ofwhite smoke rise and die out in the clear evening air ,and knew that peace had come again . At the bri dgehead they waved me forward with gestures of welcome .

‘Tie up your ’orse,’ shouted Ortheris,

‘

an’ come on

,

Sir. We’re all goin ’ ’ome in this ’ere bloomin ’ boat . ’

From the bridge-head to the Forest Officer’s bungalow is but a step . The mess-man was there, and wouldsee that a man held my horse . Did the Sahib requireought else a peg, or beer? Ritchie Sahib had lefthalf-a-dozen bottles of the latter, but since the Sahibwas a friend of Ritchie Sahib, and he, the mess-man ,

was a poor manI gave my order quietly, and returned to the bridge .

Mulvaney had taken off his boots, and was dabblinghis toes in the water ; Learoyd was lying on his back onthe pontoon ; and Ortheriswas pretending to rowwith abig bamboo .

I ’m an ould fool,’ said Mulvaney reflectively,

‘

dhraggin’ you two out here bekaze I was undher the

Black Dog sulkin’ like a child . Me thatwas soldier

in’ when Mullins, an’ be damned to him, was shquealin

’

on a counterpin for five shillin’ a week an’ that not

paid ! B hoys, I’ve took you five miles out av natural

pevarsity. Phew ! ’‘Wot’s the odds so long as you ’re ’appy? ’ said Or

theris, applying himself afresh to the bamboo .

‘

As

well ’ere as anywhere else . ’

86


BLACK JACK

had my bay’

nit, an’ Mullins came round the corner,

an’

he looked in my face an’ grinned dishpiteful .

“Y ou

can’t blow your own nose, sez he . Now, I cannottell fwhat Mullins

’

s expayr ience may ha’ been , but

Mother av God, he was nearer to his death that minufthan I have iver been to mine and that’s less thanthe thicknuss av a hair ! ’

‘

Y es,’ said Ortheris calmly,

‘you ’d look fine with allyour buttons took orf, an

’

the Band in front 0 ’ you ,walkin ’ roun’

Slow time . We’re both front-rank men,me an’ Jock, when the rig

’

ment’

s in ’

ollow square .

B loom in’ fine you ’

d look . The Lord giveth an’ theLord taketh awai, H easy with that there drop !Blessed be the naime o

’

the Lord,” he gulped in a

quaint and suggestive fashion .

‘Mullins ! Wot’s Mullins? ’ said Learoyd slowly .

‘Ah ’d take a coomp’

ny o’ Mullinses ma hand behind

me . Sitha, Mulvaney, don’t be a fool . ’

‘

You were not checked for fwhat you did not do, an’

made a mock av afther. ’Twas for less than that theTyrone wud ha’ sent O’

H ara to Hell , instid av lettin’

him go by his own choosin’

, whin Rafferty shot him ,

’

retorted Mulvaney .

‘

And who stopped the Tyrone from doing it? ’ I asked .

‘That ould fool who ’s sorry he didn’t stick the pigMullins . ’

H is head dropped again . When he rai sedit he shivered and put his hands on the shoulders ofhis two companions .

‘Ye ’

ve walked the D ivil out av me, bhoys,’ said he .

Ortheris shot out the red-hot dottle of his pipe on theback of the hairy fist.

‘They say’Ell’s ’otter than

that,’ said he, as Mulvaney swore aloud .

‘You bewarned so. Look yonder !

’ he pointed across the88

BLACK JACK

r iver toa ruined temple ‘Me an’ you an’ ’

im’

be

indicated me by a jerk of his head ‘

was there oneday when Hi made a bloomin

’

Show 0’

myself . You an’

’

im stopped me doin’ such an’ Hi was on

’y wishfulfor to desert . You are makin’ a bigger bloom in ’

Show0

’ yourself now.

’

‘Don’t mind him, Mulvaney,’ I said ;

‘Dinah Shaddwon ’t let you hang yourself yet a while, and you don

’tintend to try it either. Let’s hear about the Tyrone andO

’

Hara . Rafferty shot him for fooling with his wife.What happened before that?

‘There’s no fool like an ould fool . You know you cando anythin

’

wid me whin I ’m talkin’

. Did I say I wudlike to cut Mullins

’

s liver out? I deny the irnputashin ,

for fear that Orth’

ris here wud report me . Ah ! Youwud tip me into the river, wud you? Sit quiet, littleman . Anyways , Mullins is not worth the trouble avan extry p

’rade, an’ I will trate him wid outrajis con

tirnpt. The Tyrone an ’

O’

H ara ! O’

H ara an’ theTyrone, begad ! Ould days are hard to bring back intothe mouth, but they

’re always inside the head .

’

Followed a long pause .‘

O’

H ara was a D ivil . Though I saved him , for thehonour av the rig

’

m int, from his death that time, Isay it now . He was a Divil a long, bould, blackhaired D ivil . ’

Which way? ’ asked Ortheris .Women .

’

Then I‘

know another. ’

Not more than in reason, if you mane me, ye warpedwalkin-shtick . I have been young, an

’ for why shouldI not have tuk what I cud? Did I iver, whin I wasCorp

’

ril, use the rise av my rank wan step an’ that89

BLACK JACK

taken away, more’s the sorrow an’ the fault av

“

me !to prosecute a nefarious inthrigue, as O

’

H ara did? DidI , whin I was Corp

’

ril, lay my spite upon a man an’

make his life a dog’s life from day to day? Did Ilie, as O

’

H ara lied, till the young wans in the Tyroneturned white wid the fear av the Judgment av Godkillin’ thim all in a lumm as ut killed the woman atDevizes? I did not ! I have sinned my sins an ’ I havemade my confesshin, an

’

Father Victor knows theworst av me . O

’

Hara was tuk, before he cud spake ,on Rafferty’s doorstep, an

’ no man knows the worst avhim . But this much I know !

‘The Tyrone was recruited any fashion in the oulddays . A draf

’ from Connemara a draf’ from Ports

mouth a draf ’ from Kerry, an’ that was a blazin ’

bad draf here, there, and iverywhere but thelarge av thim was Oiri sh Black Oirish. Now thereare Oirish an ’

Oirish. The good are good as the best,but the bad are wurrst than the wurrst.

’

Tis this way .

They clog together in pieces as fast as thieves, an’

nowan knows fwhat they will do till wan turns informeran’ the gang is bruk . But ut begins again, a day later,meetin

’

in holes an’ corners’ an swearin’ bloody oaths

an’

shtickin’ a man in the back an’

runnin’ away, an

’

thinwaitin ’ for the blood-money on the reward papersto see if ut’

sworth enough . Those are the Black Oirish,

an’ ’

tis they that bring dishgrace upon the name avOireland, an

’ thim I wud kill as I nearly killed wanwanst.But to reshume. My room ’twas before I was

married was wid twelve av the scum av the earththe pickin’s av the gutter mane men thatwud neitherlaugh nor talk nor yet get dhrunk as a man shud. They

90


BLACK JACK

him in the Ar tillery troughs if ut was not that I’

mthryin

’ for my shtripes.

”

Is that all yewill do? sez another. Have ye nomore spunk than that, ye blood-dhrawn calf?

“Blood-dhrawn I may he, says I , gettin’ back to

my cot an’ makin’ my line round ut ;

“but ye know thatthe man who comes acrost this mark will be moreblood-dhrawn than me . N0 man gives me the nam ein my mouth, I sez. Ondersthand, I will have nopart wid you in anythin

’ ye do, nor will I raise my fist

to my shuperior . Is any wan cornin’

on?”sez I .

They made no move, tho’ I gave thim full time, but

stud growlin’ an ’

snarlin’ together at wan ind av the

room . I tuk up my cap and wint out to Canteen ,

thinkin’ no little av mesilf , an

’

there I grew most ou

dacintly dhrunk in my legs. My head was all reasonable .

“Houligan , I sez to a man in E Comp

’

ny that wasby way av ’ bein ’

a frind av urine ; I’

m overtuk fromthe belt down . Do you give me the touch av yourshoulther to preserve my formation an

’ march meacrost the ground into the high grass. I

’

ll sleep ut offthere,

” sez I ; an’

Houligan he’

s dead now, but goodhe was while he lasted walked wid me, givin

’ me thetouch whin I wintwide, ontil we came to the high grassan’

, my faith, the sky an’

the earth was fair rowlinundher me . I made for where the grass was thickust,an’ there I slep’

offmy liquor wid an easy conscience . Idid not desire to come on books too frequint ; my characther havin

’ been shpotless for the good half av a year.‘Whin I roused, the dhrink was dyin

’ out in me, an’

I felt as though a she-cat had littered in my mouth .

I had not learned to bould my liquorwid comfort in thim

B LACK JACK

days . ’Tis little betther I am now. I will get Houligan to pour a bucket over my head, thinks I , an

’ Iwud ha’ risen, but I heard some wan say

“Mulvaneycan take the blame av ut for the backslidin ’ hound he

Oho ! sez I , an’ my head rang like a guard-room

gong :“fwhat is the blam e that this young man must

take to oblige Tim Vulmea? For ’twas Tim Vulmea

that shpoke.

I turned on my belly an’ crawled through the grass,a bit at a tim e, to where the spache cam e from. Therewas the twelve av my room sittin ’ down in a little patch,the dhry grass wavin

’ above their heads an’ the sin avblack murdher in their hearts . I put the stuff aside toget clear view.

“W hat’s that? sez wan man , jumpin’ up .

“A dog,” says Vulmea .

“You ’re a nice hand tothis job ! As I said, Mulvaney will take the blam eav ut comes to a pinc

’

Tis han d to swear a man’s lif e away, sez a young

Thank ye for that, thinks I . Now, fwhat thedivil are you paragins conthrivin

’

against me? ”

’Tis as easy as dhrinkin ’ your quart,”sez Vulmea .

At seven or thereon, O’

H ara will come acrost to theMarri ed Quarters,goin

’

to callonSlimmy’

swife, theswine !Wan av us

’

ll pass the wurrd to the room an’ we shtart

the divil an’ all av a shine laughin

’ an’

crackin’

onan’

t’

rowin’

our boots about . Thin O’

H ara will cometo give us the ordher to be quiet, the more by tokenbekaze the room lamp will be knocked over in thelarkin’

. He will take the straight road to the ind door,where there’s the lamp in the verandah, an

’

that’

ll bring93

BLACK JACK

him clear against the light as he sthands. He wil lnot be able to look into the dhark . Wan av us willloose 03 ,

an’ a close shot it will be, an’

sham e to theman that misses.

’Twill be Mulvaney’

s rifle, she thatis at the head av the rack there’

s no m istakin’ thatlong-shtocked, cross-eyed bitch even in the dhark.

The thief misnamed my ould firin’-piece out av

jealousy I was pershuaded av that an ’

ut mademe more angry than all .

‘But Vulm ea goes on O’

Hara will dhrop, an’

bythe time the light

’

s lit again, there’

ll be some six av us

on the chest av Mulvaney, cryin’

murdher an’

rape .

Mulvaney’

s cot is near the ind door, an’ the Shmokin ’

rifle will be lyin’

undher him whin we’

ve knocked himover. We know, an

’ all the rig’

mint knows, that Mulvaney has given 0

’Hara more lip than any man av us.

Will there be any doubt at the Coon-Martial? Wudtwelve honust sodger-bhoys swear away the life av adear

,quiet, swate-timperedman such as isMulvaney

wid his line av pipe-clay roun’

his cot, threatenin’ us

wid murdher av we overshtepped ut, as we can truthful testify?

Mary, Mother av Mercy ! thinks I to mesilfit is this to have an unrulymirnber an

’

fistes fit to use !Oh the sneakin’ hounds !

”

‘The big dhrops ran down my face, for I was wakewid the liquor an

’ had not the full av my wits about me .I laid sthill an’ heard thim workin

’

themselves up toswear my life by tellin

’

tales av ivry time I had put mymark on wan or another ; an

’ my faith, they was fewthat was not so dishtinguished.

’Twas all in the wayav fair fight, though, for niver did I raisemy hand exciptwhin they had provoked me to ut.

94


BLACK JACK

cat-ways . Thin he threw up his head an’ made the

men swear by ivry oath known to stand by him notalone in the room but at the Coort-Martial that wasto set on me ! He tould off five av the biggest to stretchme on my cot whin the shot was fired, an

’ another manhe tould off to put out the light, an

’ yet another toload my rifle. He wud not do that himself ; an

’ thatwas quare, for

’twas but a little thing considerin’

.

Thin they swore over again that they wud notbethray wan another, an

’

crep’

out av the gras s indiff

’

rint ways, two by two . A mercy ut was that theydid not come on me . I was sick wid fear in the pit avmy stumm ick sick, sick, sick ! Af ther they was allgone, I wint back to Canteen an

’ cal led for a quartto put a thought in me . Vuhnea was there, dhrinkin

’

heavy, an’ politeful to me beyond reason . t at

wi ll I do? fwhat will I do ! thinks I to mesilf whinVulmea wint away .

Presintly the Arm’

rer-Sargint comes in stiffin’ an ’

crackin’ on, not pleased wid any wan, bekaze the

Martini-Henry bein ’ new to the rig’

m int in those dayswe used to play the mischief wid her arrangem ints.

’Twas a long time before I cud get out av the way avthryin

’ to pull back the backsight an ’

turnin’ her over

afther firin’

as if she was a Snider.t at tailor-men do they give me to work wid?

sez the Arm ’

rer-Sargint .

“Here’s Hogan, his nose

flat as a table, laid by for a week, an’ ivry Comp ny

sendin’ their arrums in knocked to small Shivrecns.

“t at’s wrong wid Hogan, Sargint? sez I .

“Wrong ! ” sez the Arm’

rer-Sargint ; I showed himas though I had been his mother, the way av shtrippina ’Tini, an

’ he shtrup her clane an’ easy. I tould him

96

BLACK JACK

to put her to again an’

fire a blank into the blow-pitto Show how the dirt hung on the groovin

’

. He didthat

,but he did not put in the pin av the fallin’

-block,

an’ av coorsc whin he fired he was strook by the block

jumpin’ clear . Well for him ’twas but a blank a

full charge wud ha’ cut his oi out.

”

I looked a thrifle wiser than a boiled sheep’

s head .

How’s that, Sargint?” sez I .

“This way, ye blundherin’ man, an

’ don’t you bedoin’

ut, sez he . Wid that he shows me a Wasteraction the breech av her all cut away to Show theinside an

’

so plazed hewas to grumble that he dimonstrated fwhat Hogan had done twice over. An

’ thatcomes av not knowin ’ the wepping you

’re providedwid , sez he .

“Thank ye, Sargint, sez I ; I will come toyou againfor further information .

”

“Yewill not,” sez he . Kape your clanin’

-rod awayfrom the breech-pin or you will get into throuble.

I wint outside an’ I could ha’ danced wid delightfor the grandeur av ut.

“They will load my rifle, goodluck to thim, whoile I

’m away,” thinks I , and back I

wint to the Canteen to give them their clear chanst .‘The Canteen was fillin

’ wid men at the ind av theday . I made feign to be far gone in dhrink, an

’

, wanby wan, all my roomful cam e in wid Vuhnea . I wintaway, walkin

’ thick an’ heavy, but not so thick an’

heavy that any wan cud ha ’ tuk me . Sure and thruethere was a kyartridge gone from my pouch an

’ lyinsnug in my rifle . I was hot wid rage against thim all,and I worried the bullet out wid my teeth as fast as Icud, the room bein

’ empty . Then I tuk my boot an’

the clanin’-rod and knocked out the pin av the fallin’

97

BLACK JACK

block . Oh,’twas music when that pin rowled on the

flure ! I put ut into my pouch an’ stuck a dab av dirt

on the holes in the plate, puttin’ the fallin’

-block back .

That ’ll be your business, Vulmea, sez I , lyin’ easy

on the cot. Come an’

sit on my chest the whole roomav you, an

’ I will take you to my bosom for the biggestdivils that iver cheated halter.

”I wud have no mercy

on Vulmea . H is oi or his life little I car ed !‘At dusk they came back, the twelve av thim an

’ theyhad all been dhrinkin

’

. I was shammin’ sleep on the

cot . Wan man wint outside in the verandah . Whin hewhishtled they began to rage roun

’ the room an’ carryon

tremenjus . But I niver want to hear men laugh as

they did skylarkin’

too !’Twas like mad jackals .

Shtop that blasted noise !” sez O’

H ara in the dark,an’ pop goes the room lamp . I cud hear O

’

H ara run

nin’ up an’ the rattlin’ av my rifle in the rack an

’ themen breathin’ heavy as they stud roun

’

my cot. Icud see O

’

H ara in the light av the verandah lamp, an’

thin I heard the crack av my rifle . She cried loud ,poor darlint, bein

’ mishandled . Next m inut’ five men

were bouldin’ me down . Go easy, I sez ; fwhat’

s

it all about? ”

‘Thin Vulmea, on the flure, raised a bowl you cudhear from wan ind av cantonm ints to the other. “ I ’mdead, I

’m butchered, I’m blind ! sez he . Saints

have mercy on my sinful sowl ! Sind for Father Constant ! Oh , Sind for Father Constant an

’

let me goclean ! By that I knew he was not so dead as I cudha’ wished .

‘

O’

H ara picks up the lamp in the verandah wid ahand as stiddy as a rest . “

t at damned dog’

s thrickis this av yours?”

sez he, and turns the light on Tim98


BLACK JACK“Why,

’

tismy rifle ! ” sez I , corrrin’ up to look ; Vul

mea, ye divil, fwhat were you doin’

wid her— answerme that?

“Leave me alone sez Vulmea ; I’m dyin

“ I ’ll wait till you re betther,” sez I, an thin we two

will talk ut out umbrageous .”

O ’Hara pitched Tim into the doolie, none too tinder, but all the bhoys kep

’ by their cots, which was notthe Sign av innocint men . I was huntin

’

ivrywherefor my fal lin

’-block, but not findin

’

ut at all . I niverfound ut.

“Now fwhat will I do? sez O’

H ara, swinging theverandah light in his hand an ’ lookin ’ down the room .

I had hate and contirnpt av O’

H ara, an’ have now,

dead tho’ he is, but for all that, will I say he was abrave man . He is baskin

’

in Purgathory this tidebut I wish he cud hear that, whin he stud lookindown the room an

’ the bhoys shivered before the oi avhim , I knew him for a brave man an

’ I liked him so.

“t at will I do? sez O’

H ara agin, an’ we heard

the voice av a woman low an ’

sof’ in the verandah .

’Twas Slimmy’

s wife, come over at the Shot, sittin’ on

wan av the benches an ’ scarce able to walk.

O Denny ! Denny, dear, sez she, have theykilt you? ”

O ’Hara looked down the room again an’ showed histeeth to the gum . Then he spat on the flure.

“You’

re not worth ut,” sez he . “Lightthat lam p ,

ye dogs,”an

’ wid that he turned away, an’ I saw him

walkin’

off wid Slimrny’

s wife ; she thryin’ to wipe off

the powther-black on the front av his jackut wid herhandkerchief. A brave man you are, thinks Ia brave man an

’

a bad woman .

1 00

BLACK JACK‘No wan said a word for a time . They was allashamed, past spache.

“W hat d ’yon think he will do? sez wan av thimat last . “He knows we’re all in ut .

”

“Are we so? ” sez I from my cot. The man thatsez that to me will be hurt . I do not know,

” sez I ,“ fwhat onderhand divilmint you have conthrived, butby what I ’ve seen I know that you cannot commitmurdher wid another man

’s rifle such shakin ’ cowards you are . I ’m goin ’ to slape, I sez,

“an

’ you canblow my head off whoile I lay.

” I did not slape, tho’

,

for a long time . Can ye wonder?‘Next morn the news was through all the rig

’

m int,

an’ therewas nothin’ that the men did not tell . O

’

H ara

reports, fair an’ easy, that Vulmea was come to grief

through tamperin’ wid his rifle in barricks, all for to

Show the mechanism . An’ by my sowl, he had theimpart

’

nince to say that hewas on the shpot at the timean’ cud certify that ut was an accidint ! You mightha’ knocked my roomful down wid a straw whin theyheard that . ’Twas lucky for thim that the bhoys werealways thryin

’ to find out how the new rifle was made,an

’ a lot av thim had come up for casin’ the pull byshtickin

’ bits av grass an’ such in the part av the lockthat showed near the thrigger . The first issues ofthe ’Tinis was not covered in, an

’ I mesilf have easedthe pull av mine tim e an’ agin . A light pull is tenpoints on the range to me .

“ I will not have this foolishness ! sez the Colonel .I will twist the tail off Vulmea !

”sez be ; but whin he

sawhim , all tied up an’

groanin’ in hospital, he changed

his will . Make him an early convalescint, sez he

to the Doctor, an

’

Vulmea was made so for a warnin’

.

1 01

BLACK JACK

His big bloody bandages an’ face puckered up to wan

side did more to kape the bhoys from messin’ wid the

insides av their rifles than any punishm int.

‘

O’

Hara gave no reason for fwhat he’d said, an

’

all my roomful were too glad to inquire, tho’ he put

his spite upon thim morewearin’ than before . Wan day ,

howiver , he tuk me apart very polite, for he cud bethat at the choosin ’

.

“You ’re a good sodger, tho’ you

’

re a damned insolint man,

” sez he .Fair words, Sargint, sez I , or I may be insolint

again .

”

’Tis not like you, sez he, to lave your rifle inthe rack widout the breech-pin, for widout the breechpin she was whin Vulmea fired . I should ha’ foundthe break av ut in the eyes av the holes, else, he sez .

Sargint,” sez I ,

“fwhat wud your life ha’ been

worth av the breech-pin had been in place, for, on mysowl, my life wud be worth just as much to me av Itould you whether ut was or was not. Be thankfulthe bullet was not there,

” I sez .

“That’s thrue,” sez be, pulling his moustache ; but

I do not believe that you, for all your lip, was in thatbusiness .

“Sargint, sez I , I cud hamm er the life out av a

man in ten m inuts wid my fistes if that man dishplcasedme ; for I am a good sodger, an

’ I will be threated as

such, an’

whoile my fistes are my own they’re strong

enough for all work I have to do . They do not flyback towards me ! ” sez I , lookin

’ him betune the eyes .“You’re a good man,

”sez he, lookin

’ me betunethe eyes an ’ oh he was a gran’

-built man to see !“you’re a good man,

” he sez,“an

’ I cud wish, for the1 02


BLACK JACK

vate Ortheris are all too dar ing for publication,‘ look

at the sun . I t’

s a quarter past Six ! ’

‘

0 Lord ! Three—quarters of an hour for five an’

a’

’arf miles ! We’ll ’ave to run like Jimmy O .

’

The Three Musketeers clambered on to the bridge,and departed hastily in the direction of the cantonment road . When I overtook them I offered them two

stirrups and a tail, which they accepted enthusiastically .

Ortheris held the tail, and in this manner we trottedsteadily through the shadows by an unfrequented road .

At the turn into the cantonments we heard carriagewheels . Itwas the Colonel

’s barouche, and in it sat theColonel’s wife and daughter. I caught a suppressedchuckle, and my beast sprang forward with a lighterstep .

The Three Musketeers had vanished into the night .

THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS

A TALE WITHOUT A PLOT

( 1 887- 88)


POOR DEAR MAMMA

it shameful ! (Spreads stocking-heel on open hand forinspection . )Miss D . Never mind that ! You can ’t mend it .

Help me with this hateful bodice . I ’ve run the stringso, and I

’ve run the stri ng so, and I can’t make the

fulness come right . Where would you put this? (Waveslilies of the valley. )Miss T. As high up on the shoulder as possible .Miss D . Am I quite tall enough? I know it makesMay Olger look lop-sided .

Miss T. Y es, but May hasn’t your shoulders . Hers

are like a hock-bottle .Bearer. (Rapping at door. ) Captain Sahib come .

Miss D . (Jumping up wildly, and hunting for body,which she has discarded owing to the heat of the day . )Captain Sahib ! What Captain Sahib? Oh, good gracions, and I

’m only half dressed ! Well, I shan’t

bother.Miss T. (Calmly. ) You needn

’t . It isn’t for us .That’s Captain Gadsby. He is going for a ride withMamma . He general ly comes five days out of the seven .

Agonised Voice . (From an inner apartment . ) Minnie, run out and give Captain Gadsby some tea, andtell him I shall be ready in ten minutes ; and, O Minnie,come to me an instant, there

’

s a dear gir l !Miss T. Oh, bother ! (Aloud . ) Verywell,Mamm a .

Exit, and reappears, after five minutes, flushed,and rubbing her fingers .

Miss D . You look pink . What has happened?Miss T. (In a stage whisper. ) A twenty-four-inch

waist, and she won’t let it out . Where are my bangles?

(Rummages on the toilet-table, and dabs at her hairwith a brush in the interval . )

1 08

POOR DEAR MAMMA

Miss D . Who is this Captain Gadsby? I don’tthink I ’ve met him .

Miss T . You must have . He belongs to the Harrarset. I ’ve danced with him, but I

’ve never talked tohim . He

’

s a big yellow man, just like a newly-hatchedchicken, with an e-normous moustache . He walkslike this (imitates Cavalry swagger) , and he goes

‘

H a

Hmmm !’ deep down in his throat when he can’t think

of anything to say . Mamma likes him . I don’t .Miss D . (Abstractedly. ) Does he wax that mous

tache?Miss T . (Busy with powder-puff . ) Yes, I think so.

Why?Miss D . (Bending over the bodice and sewing furi

ously . ) Oh, nothing onlyMiss T. (Sternly . ) Only what? Out with it,Emm a .

Miss D . Well , May Olger she’s engaged to Mr.Charteri s, you know said Promise you won ’

t repeat this?Miss T . Yes, I promise . What did She say?Miss D . That that being kissed (with a rush) by

a man who didn ’t wax his moustache was like eatingan egg without salt .Miss T. (At her full height, with crushing scorn . )

May Olger is a horrid, nasty Thing, and you can tellher I said so . I ’m glad she doesn ’t belong to my setI must go and feed this man ! Do I look presentable?Miss D . Y es, perfectly . Be quick and hand him over

to your Mother, and then we can talk . I shall listenat the door to hear what you say to him .

Miss T. Sure I don’t care . I ’m not afraid of Cap

tain Gadsby.

1 09

POOR DEAR MAMMA

In proof of this swrngs into drawing-room with amannish stride followed by two short steps,which produces the effect of a restive horseentering. Misses Captain Gadsby, who issitting in the Shadow of the window-curtain ,

and gazes round helplessly.

Captain Gadsby. (Aside ) The filly, by Jove !’Must ha’ picked up that action from the sire. (Aloud ,rising . ) Good evening, Miss Threegan .

Miss T. (Conscious that she is flushing. ) Goodevening, Captain Gadsby. Mamma told me to say

that she will be ready in a few minutes . Won’t you havesome tea? (Aside ) I hopeMamma will be quick. Whatam I to say to the creature? (Aloud and abruptly . )Milk and sugar?Capt . G . N0 sugar, tha-anks, and very little milk .

H a-Hmmm .

Miss T. (Aside ) If he’s going to do that, I

’m lost .I shall laugh . I know I shall !Capt . G . (Pulling at his moustache and watching it

sideways down his nose . ) H a-Hmmm . (Aside )’Wonder what the little beast can talk about. ’Mustmake a shot at it.Miss T. (Aside ) Oh, this is agonising ! I must

say something.

Both Together . Have you beenCapt . G . I beg your pardon . You were going to

sayMiss T . (Who has been watching the moustache

with awed fascination . ) Won’t you have some eggs?

Capt . G . (Looking bewilderedly at the tea-table . )Eggs ! (Aside ) O Hades ! She must have a nurserytea at this hour. S ’pose they’ve wiped her mouth and

1 1 0


POOR DEAR MAMMA

Capt . G . But I can’t speak the vernacular.

Miss T . (Patronisingly. ) You should pass the HigherStandard and try.

Capt . G . I have, but I don’t seem to be any the

wiser. Are you?Miss T . I never passed the Higher Standard . B ut

the khansamah is very patient with me . He doesn’

tget angry when I talk about sheep ’s topees, or ordermaunds of grain when I mean seers .Capt . G . (Aside, with intense indignation . ) I

’

d

like to see Mir Khan being rude to that girl ! Hullo !Steady the Buff s ! (Aloud . ) And do you understandabout horses too?Miss T. A little not very much . I can

’

t doctorthem, but I know what they ought to eat, and I amin charge of our stable .

Capt . G . Indeed ! You might help me then . Whatought a man to give his sais in the Hills? My ruffian

says eight rupees, because everything is so dear .

Miss T . Six rupees a month, and one rupee Simlaallowance neither more nor less . And a grass-cutgets six rupees . That’s better than buying grass in thebazar .Capt . G . (Admiringly . ) How do you know?Miss T . I have tried both ways .Capt . G. Do you ride much, then? I ’ve never seen

you on the Mall?Miss T . (Aside ) I haven

’t passed him more thanfifty times . (Aloud . ) Nearly every day.

Capt . G . By Jove ! I didn’t know that. Ha

Hmmm ! (Pulls at his moustache and is silent forforty seconds . )Miss T . (Desperately, and wondering what will

1 1 2

POOR DEAR MAMMA

happen next . ) It looks beautiful . I shouldn’t touch

it if I were you . (Aside ) I t’

s all Mamma ’s faultfor not coming before . I will be rude !Capt. G . (Bronzing under the tan, and bringing

down his hand very quickly . ) Eh ! Wha-at ! Oh, yes !Ha ! ha ! (Laughs uneasily . ) (Aside ) Well, of all thedashed check ! I never had a woman say that to me yet .She must be a cool hand or else Ah ! that nursery-tea !Voice from the Unknown . Tchk ! tchk ! tchk !

Capt . G . Good gracious ! What’s that?Miss T . The dog, I think . (Aside ) Emma has

been listening, and I’ll never forgive her !

Capt . G . (Aside ) They don’t keep dogs here .

(Aloud . )’Didn ’t sound like a dog, did it?

Miss T. Then it must have been the cat . Let’sgo into the verandah . What a lovely evening it is !

Steps into verandah and looks out across the hillsinto sunset . The Captain follows .

Capt . G . (Aside ) Superb eyes? I wonder thatI never noticed them before ! (Aloud . ) There

’s goingto be a dance at Viceregal Lodge on Wednesday. Can

you spare me one?Miss T. (Shortly . ) No ! I don

’t want any of yourcharity-dances . You only askme because Mamma toldyou to . I hop and I bump . You know I do !Capt . G. (Aside ) That’s true, but little girls

shouldn’t understand these things . (Aloud . ) No, onmy word, I don

’t . You dance beautifully .

Miss T . Then why do you always stand out afterhalf-a-dozen turns? I thought officers in the Armydidn’t tell fibs.

Capt . G . It wasn’t a fib, believe me . I really dowant the pleasure of a dance with you .

1 1 3

POOR DEAR MAMMA

Miss T . (Wickedly . ) Why? Won’t Mamma dance

with you any more?Capt . G . (More earnestly than the necessity de

mands . ) I wasn’t thinking of your Mother. (Aside )

You little vixen !Miss T . (Still looking out of the window. ) Eh?Oh, I beg your pardon . I was thinking of somethingelse .Capt . G. (Aside ) Well ! I wonder what she

’llsay next . I

’ve never known a woman treat me likethis before . I might be Dash it, I might be an

Infantry subaltern ! (Aloud . ) Oh, please don’t

trouble . I ’m not worth thinking about . Isn’t yourMother ready yet?Miss T . I should think so ; but promise me Captain

Gadsby, you won’t take poor dear Mamma twrce round

Jakko any more . It tires her so.

Capt . G . She says that no exercise tires her.Miss T . Yes, but she suffers afterwards . You

don ’t know what rheumatism is, and you oughtn’t to

keep her out so late, when it gets chill in the evenrngs .Capt . G . (Aside ) Rheumatism ! I thought she

came off her horse rather in a bunch . Whew ! Onelives and learns . (Aloud . ) I

’m sorry to hear that.She hasn ’t mentioned it to me .Miss T . (Flurri ed . ) Of course not ! Poor dearMamma never would . And you mustn’t say that Itold you either. Promise me that you won’t . Oh,Captain Gadsby, promise me you won

’

t !Capt . G . I am dumb, or I shall be as soon as

you’ve given me that dance, and another if youcan trouble yourself to think about me for a minute .

1 1 4


POOR DEAR MAMMA

Capt . G . I go Home occasionally. And I usedto know the Galleries . (Nervously. ) You mustn

’tthink me only a Philistine with a moustache .

Miss T . Don ’t ! Please don ’t ! I ’m so sorry forwhat I said then . I was horribly rude It Slippedout before I thought . Don ’t you know the temptationto say frightful and shocking things just for the meresake of saying them? I ’m afraid I gave way to it .Capt . G . (Watching the girl as she flushes . ) I

think I know the feeling. It would be terrible ifwe all yielded to it, wouldn

’t it? For instance I mightsay

Poor Dear Mamm a . (Entering, habited, batted,and booted . ) Ah, Captain Gadsby !

’Sorry to keepyou waiting .

’Hope you haven ’t been bored .

’Mylittle girl been talking to you?Miss T . (Aside ) I

’m not sorry I spoke about therheumatism . I ’m not ! I ’m not ! I only wish I

’

d

mentioned the corns too .

Capt . G . (As ide ) What a shame ! I wonder howold she is . It never occurred to me before . (Aloud. )We

’

ve been discussing Shakespeare and the musicalglasses ’ in the verandah .

Miss T . (Aside ) Nice man ! He knows that quotation . He isn ’t a Philistine with a moustache .

(Aloud . ) Good-bye, Captain Gadsby. (As ide ) Whata huge hand and what a squeeze ! I don’t suppose hemeant it, but he has driven the rings into my fingers .Poor Dear Mamma . Has Vermilion come round

yet? Oh, yes ! Captain Gadsby, don’t you think that

the saddle is too far forward? (They pass into thefront verandah . )Capt . G . (As ide ) How the dickens should I know

1 1 6

POOR DEAR MAMMA

what she prefers? She told me that she doted onhorses . (Aloud . ) I think it is .

Miss T . (Coming out into front verandah . ) Oh ,Bad B uldoo ! I must speak to him for this . He has

taken up the curb two links, and Verm ilion hates that .

(Passes out and to horse’

s head . )Capt . G. Let me do it !Miss T . No, Vermilion understands me . Don’t

you, old man? (Looses curb-chain skilfully, and patshorse on nose and throttle . ) Poor Vermilion ! Didthey want to cut his chin off ? There !

Captain Gadsby watches the interlude withundisguised admiration .

Poor Dear Mamma . (Tartly to Miss T . ) You’ve

forgotten your guest, I think, dear.Miss T. Good gracious ! So I have ! Good-bye .

(Retreats indoors hastily. )Poor Dear Mamma . (Bunching reins in fingers ham

pered by too tight gauntlets . ) Captain Gadsby !Capt . Gadsby stoops and makes the foot-rest .Poor Dear Mamma blunders, halts too long,and breaks through it .

Capt . G. (Aside ) Can’t hold up eleven stone for

ever. It’s all your rheumatism . (Aloud . ) Can’timagine why I was so clumsy . (Aside ) Now LittleFeatherweight would have gone up like a bird .

They ride out of the garden . The Captainfalls back .

Capt. G. (Aside ) How that habit catches her underthe arms ! Ugh !Poor Dear Mamma . (With the worn smile of six

teen seasons, the worse for exchange . ) You’re dull

this afternoon, Captain Gadsby .

1 1 7

POOR DEAR MAMMA

Capt . G . (Spurring up wearily . ) Why did you

keep me waiting so long?E t caetera, et caetera, et caetera .

(An interval of three weeks)

Gilded Youth . (Sitting on railings opposite TownHall . ) Hullo, Gaddy !

’Been trotting out the Gor

gonzola ! We all thought it was the Gorgon you’re

mashing.

Capt . G. (With withering emphasis . ) You youngcub ! What the does it matter to you?

Proceeds to read Gilded Youth a lecture on

discretion and deportment, which crumbleslatter like a Chinese Lantern . Departs fumrng.

(Further interval of five weeks)

Scene . Exterior of New Simla Library on a foggyevening . Miss Threegan and Miss Deercourt meetamong the ’rickshaws . Miss T . is carrying a bundleof books under her left arm .

Miss D . (Level intonation . ) Well?Miss T. (Ascending intonation . ) Well?Miss D . (Capturing her friend

’s left arm , takingaway all the books, placing books in

’

rickshaw, re

turning to arm , securing hand by the third finger andinvestigating. ) Well ! You bad girl ! and you nevertold me !Miss T . (Demurely . ) He— he he only spoke

yesterday afternoon .

Miss D . Bless you, dear ! And I’m to be brides

maid, aren’t I? You know you promised ever so long

ago .

1 1 8


THE WORLD WITHOUT

‘Certain people of immrtance’

CENE . Smoking-room of the Degchi Club .

Time, pm . of a stuffy night in the Rains,

Four men dispersed in picturesque attitudes andeasy-chairs . To these enter Blayne of the IrregularMoguls, in evening dress .

Blayne . Phew ! The Judge ought to be hangedin his own store-godown . Hi, khitmatgar ! Poorawhisky peg, to take the taste out of my mouth .

Curtiss . (Royal Artillery. ) That’s it

,is it? What

the deuce made you dine at the Judge’s? You knowhis bandobust .Blayne .

’Thought it couldn’t be worse than theClub ; but I

’ll swear he buys ullaged liquor and doctorsit with gin and ink (looking round the room) . I S thisall of you to-night?Doone . (P. W. D . ) Anthony was called out at

dinner. Mingle had a pain in his tummy .

Curtiss . Miggy dies of cholera once a week in theRains, and gets drunk on chlorodyne in between .

’Goodlittle chap , though . Any one at the Judge’s, Blayne?Blayne . Cockley and his memsahib looking aw q y

white and fagged .

’Female girl couldn ’t catch thename on her way to the Hills, under the Cockleys

’

1 20

THE WORLD WITHOUT

charge the Judge, and Markyn fresh from Simladisgustingly fit .Curtiss . Good Lord , how truly magnificent ! Was

there enough ice? When I mangled garbage there Igot one whole lump nearly as big as a walnut . Whathad Markyn to say for himself?Blayne . ’Seems that every one is having a fairly

good time up there in spite of the rain . By Jove, thatreminds me ! I know I hadn ’t come across just forthe pleasure of your society . News ! Great news !Markyn told me.Doone . Who ’s dead now?Blayne. N0 one that I know of ; but Gaddy

’s bookedat last !Dropping Chorus . How much? The Devil ! Markyn

was pulling your leg. Not Gaddy !Blayne . (Humming )

‘Yea, verily, verily, verily !Verily, verily, I say unto thee .

’ Theodore, the gift 0’

God ! Our Phillup ! I t’

s been given’

out up above .

Mackesy . (Barrister-at-Law. ) Huh ! Women willgive out anything. What does accused say?Blayne . Markyn told me that be congratulatedhim warily one hand held out, t

’other ready to guard .

Gaddy turned pink and said it was so .

Curtiss . Poor old Gaddy ! They all do it . Who’

sshe? Let’s hear the details .Blayne . She

’s a girl daughter of a Colonel Somebody .

Doone . Sim la’

s stiff with Colonel’s daughters . Bemore explicit .Blayne . Wait a shake . Whatwas her name? Threesomething. ThreeCurtiss . Stars, perhaps . Gaddy knows that brand .

1 2 1

THE WORLD WITHOUT

Blayne . Threegan Minnie Threegan .

Mackesy. Threegan ! Isn’t she a little bit of a gi r lwith red hair?Blayne. ’Bout that from what Markyn said .

Mackesy. Then I ’ve met her. She was at Lucknow last season .

’Owned a permanently juvenileMamma, and danced damnably. I say, Jervoise, youknew the Threegans, didn

’t you?Jervoise. (Civilian of twenty-five years

’

service ,

waking up from his doze . ) Eh? What’s that? Knewwho? How? I thought I was at Home, confound you !Mackesy. The Threegan girl

’s engaged, so Blaynesays .Jervoise. (Slowly) Engaged engaged ! Bless mysoul ! I

’m getting an old man ! Little Minnie Threegan engaged . It was only the other day I went homewith them in the Surat ’ — no , the

‘Massilia ’ — andshe was crawling about on her hands and knees amongthe ayahs . ’Used to call me the ‘Tick Tack Sahib’

because I showed her my watch . And that was inSixty Seven no , Seventy . Good God, how timeflies ! I

’m an old man . I remember when Threeganmarried Miss Derwent daughter of old Hooky Derwent but that was before

‘

your time . And so thelittle baby’s engaged to have a little baby of her own !Who

’

s the other fool?Mackesy. Gadsby of the Pink Hussars .Jervoise .

’

N ever met him . Threegan lived in debt,marri ed in debt, and

’

ll die in debt . Must be gladto get the girl off his hands .Blayne. Gaddy has money lucky devil . Place atHome, too .

Doone. He comes of first-class stock .

’

Can’

t quite1 22


THE WORLD WITHOUT

Curtiss . Prickly heat between the shoulders . I’

m

covered with it . Let’s hOpe Beora will be cooler.Blayne . Whew ! Are you ordered into camp, too?I thought the Gunners had a clean sheet .Curtiss . No, worse luck. Two cases yesterday

one died and if we have a third, out we go. Is thereany shooting at Beora, Doone?Doone . The country

’s under water, except thepatch by the Grand Trunk Road . I was there yesterday, looking at a bund, and came across four poordevils in their last stage . It’s rather had from here toK uchara .

Curtiss . Then we’re pretty certain to have a heavygo of it. Heigho ! I shouldn’t mind changing placeswith Gaddy for a while .

’Sport with Amaryllis in theshade of the Town Hall, and all that . Oh, why doesn

’tsomebody come and marry me, instead of letting mego into cholera-cammMackesy . Ask the Committee.Curtiss . You ruffian ! You’ll stand me another

peg for that . Blayne, what will you take? Mackesyis fined on moral grounds . Doone, have you any preference?Doone . Small glass Kummel, please . Excellent

carrn inative, these days . Anthony told me so.

Mackesy . (Signing voucher for four drinks . ) Mostunfair punishment . I only thought of Curtiss as

Actaeon being chivied round the billiard tables by thenymphs of Diana .

Blayne . Curtiss would have to irnport his nymphsby train . Mrs . Cockley

’

s the only woman in the

Station . She won’t leave Cockley, and he’

s doing hisbest to get her to go .

1 24

THE WORLD WITHOUT

Curtiss . Good, indeed ! Here’s Mrs . Cockley

’

s

health . To the only wife in the Station and a damnedbrave woman !Omnes . (Drinking ) A dam ned brave woman !Blayne . I suppose Gaddy will bring his wife here

at the end of the cold weather . They are going to bemarried almost immediately, I believe .

Curtiss . Gaddy may thank his luck that the PinkHussars are all detachment and no headquarters thishot weather, or he

’d be torn from the arms of his loveas sure as death . Have you ever noticed the thoroughminded way British Cavalry take to cholera? It’sbecause they are so expensive . If the Pinks had stoodfast here, they would have been out in camp a monthago. Yes, I should decidedly like to be Gaddy.

Mackesy. H e’

ll go Home after he’s married, andsend in his papers see if he doesn

’t .Blayne . Why shouldn’t be? Hasn ’t be money?

Would any one of us be here ifwe weren’t paupers?

Doone. Poor old pauper ! What has become of thesix hundred you rooked from our table last month?Blayne . It took unto itself wings . I think an en

terprising tradesman got some of it, and a shroff gobbledthe rest or else I spent it .Curtiss. Gaddy never had dealings with a shroff

in his life .Doone . Virtuous Gaddy ! If I had three thousand a

month, paid from England, I don’t think I ’d deal with

a shroff either.Mackesy . (Yawning . ) Oh, it

’

s a sweet life ! Iwonder whether matrimony would make it sweeter.Curtiss . Ask Cockley with his wife dying by

inches !1 25

THE WORLD WITHOUT

Blayne . Go home and get a fool of a girl to come ou tto what is it Thackeray says? the splendid palaceof an Indian pro-consul . ’

Doone . Which reminds me My quarters leak likea Sieve I had fever last night from sleeping in a swam p .

And the worst of it is, one can’t do anything to a roof

till the Rains are over.Curtiss . What’s wrong with you? You haven ’t

eighty rotting Tommies to take into a running stream .

Doone . No : but I ’m mixed boils and bad language .

I’

m a regular Job all over my body . It’s sheer poverty of blood, and I don

’t see any chance of gettingricher either way.

Blayne. Can’t you take leave?

Doone . That’s the pull you Army men have overus . Ten days are nothing in your sight . I ’m so im

portant that Government can’t find a substitute if Igo away. Ye-es, I

’

d like to be Gaddy, whoever hiswife may be .Curtiss . You’ve passed the turn of life that Mackesy

was speaking of.Doone . Indeed I have, but I never yet had the

brutality to ask a woman to share my life out here .Blayne. On my soul I believe you

’re right . I ’mthinking of Mrs. Cockley. The woman

’

s an absolutewreck .

Doone. Exactly . Because she stays down here .The only way to keep her fit would be to send her to theHills for eight months and the same with any woman .

I fancy I see myself taking a wife on those terms .Mackesy. With the rupee at one and Sixpence The

little Doones would be little Debra Doones, with a fine

Mussoorie chi-chi accent to bring home for the holidays.1 26


THE WORLD WITHOUT

General Chorus . Poor little devil ! Why doesn’t

he get away?Anthony.

’

Can’

t . He has his leave all right, bu the

’

s so dipped he can ’t take it, and I don’t think his

name on paper would raise four annas . That’s in con

fidence, though .

Mackesy . All the Station knows it .Anthony .

‘ I suppose I shall have to die here,’ he

said, squirming all across the bed . He’s quite madeup his mind to Kingdom Come And I know he hasnothing more than a wet-weather tummy if he couldonly keep a hand on himself.Blayne . That’s bad . That ’s very bad . Poor little

Miggy . Good little chap, too. I sayAnthony. What do you say?Blayne . Well , look here anyhow. If it

’

s likethat as you say I say fifty.

Curtiss . I say fifty.

Mackesy . I go twenty better.Doone . Bloated Crmsus of the Bar ! I say fifty.

Jervoise, what do you say? Hi ! Wake up !Jervoise . E b? What’s that? What’s that?Curtiss . We want a hundred rupees from you .

You ’re a bachelor drawing a gigantic income, and there’

sa man in a holeJervoise . What man? Any one dead?Blayne . No, but he

’ll die if you don’

t give thehundred . Here ! Here’s a peg-voucher. You can seewhat we’ve signed for , and Anthony

’s man will comeround to-morrow to collect it . So there will be notrouble .

Jervoise. (Signing ) One hundred , E . M . J . Thereyou are (feebly) . It isn

’t one of your jokes, is it?1 28

THE WORLD WITHOUT

Blayne . No, it really is wanted . Anthony, youwere the biggest poker-winner last week, and you

’vedefrauded the tax-collector too long. Sign !Anthony. Let’s see Three fifties and a seventy

two twenty three twenty say four hundred andtwenty . That’

ll give him a month clear at the Hills .Many thanks, you men . I

’ll send round the chaprassito-morrow.

Curtiss . You must engineer his taking the stuff,and of course you mustn’tAnthony. Of course It would never do . He

’dweep with gratitude over his evening drink .

Blayne . That’s just what he would do, damn him .

Oh ! I say, Anthony, you pretend to know everything.

Have you heard about Gaddy?Anthony . N0 . Divorce Court at last?Blayne . Worse . H e

’

s engaged !Anthony . How much . He can

’t be !Blayne . He is . He’s going to be married in a few

weeks . Markyn told me at the Judge’s this evening .

I t’

s pukka .

Anthony . You don’t say so? Holy Moses ! Tbere’

ll

be a shine in the tents of Kedar.Curtiss . ’Regiment cut up rough, think you?Anthony.

’Don’t know anything about the Regiment .Mackesy. It is bigamy, then?Anthony. Maybe . Do you mean to say that you

men have forgotten, or is there more charity in theworld than I thought?Doone . You don’t look pretty when you are trying

to keep a secret . You bloat . Explain .

Anthony. Mrs . Herriott !1 29

THE WORLD WITHOUT

Blayne. (After a long pause, to the room generally . )I t

’

s my notion that we are a set of fools .Mackesy. Nonsense ! That business was knocked

on the head last season . Why, young MallardAnthony. Mallard was a candlestick, paraded as

such . Think a while . Recollect last season and thetalk then . Mallard or no Mallard, did Gaddy evertalk to any other woman?Curtiss . There

’

s something in that . Itwas slightlynoticeable now you come to mention it . But she ’

s

at Naini Tal and he’

s at Shu la .

Anthony. He had to go to Simla to look after aglobe-trotter relative of his a person with a title .

Uncle or aunt .Blayne . And there he got engaged . N0 law pre

vents a man growing tired of a woman .

Anthony . Except that he mustn’

t do it till the woman is tired of him . And the Herriott woman was notthat .Curtiss . She may be now. Two months of Naini

Tal work wonders .Doone. Curious thing how some women carry a

Fate with them . There was a Mrs . D eegie in the Central Provinces whose men invariably fell away and gotmarried . It became a regular proverb with us when Iwas down there . I remember three men desperatelydevoted to her, and they all, one after another, tookwives .Curtiss . That

’s odd. Now I should have thoughtthat Mrs. Deegie

’

s influence would have led them totake other men

’s wives . It ought to have made themafraid of the judgment of Providence .

An thony. Mrs . Herriott will make Gaddy afraid of1 30


THE TENTS OF KEDAR

Only why should it be with pain at all,Why must I ’twixt the leaves of coronal

Put any kiss of pardon on thy brow?Why should the other woman know so much,And talk together Such the look and suchThe smile he used to love with, then as now.

‘

Any Wife to any Husband .

’

CENE . A Naini Tal dinner for thirty-four.Plate, wines, crockery, and kbitmatgars carefully calculated to scale of Rs . 6000 per mensem ,

less Exchange . Table split lengthways by bank of

flowers .

Mrs. Herriott . (After conversation has risen toproper pitch . ) Ah !

’Didn’t see you in the crush inthe drawing-room . (Sotto voce . ) Where have youbeen all this while, Pip?Captain Gadsby. (Turning from regularly-ordained

dinner partner and settling hock glasses . ) Good evening. (Sotto voce . ) Not quite so loud another time.You ’ve no notion how your voice carri es . (Aside )So much for shirking the written explanation . It’llhave to be a verbal one now. Sweet prospect ! Howon earth am I to tell her that I am a respectable, engaged member of society, and it

’

s all over between us.

1 32

THE TENTS OF KEDAR

Mrs . H . I’ve a heavy score against you. Where

were you at the Monday Pop? Where were you onTuesday? Where were you at the Lamonts’ tennis?I was looking everywhere .

Capt . G. For me ! Oh, I was alive somewhere, Isuppose . (Aside) I t

’

s for Minnie’s sake, but it’

s

going to be dashed unpleasant .Mrs . H . Have I done anything to offend you? I

never meant it if I have . I couldn’t help going for aride with the Vaynor man . It was promised a weekbefore you came up .

Capt . G. I didn’t knowMrs . H . It really was .

Capt . G . Anything about it, I mean .

Mrs . H . What has upset you to-day? All thesedays? You haven’t been near me for four whole daysnearly one hundred hours . Was it kind ofyou, Pip?

And I ’ve been looking forward somuch to your coming .

Capt . G. Have you?Mrs . H . You know I have ! I ’ve been as foolish

as a schoolgirl about it . I made a little calendar andput it in my card-case, and every time the twelve o

’clock

gun went off I scratched out a square and said :‘That

brings me nearer to Pip . My Pip ! ’

Capt . G . (With an uneasy laugh . ) What will Mackler think if you neglect him so?Mrs. H . And it hasn’t brought you nearer. You

seem farther away than ever. Are you sulking aboutsomething? I know your temper.Capt . G. No .

Mrs . H . Have I grown old in the last few months,then? (Reaches forward to bank of flowers for menucard .)

1 33

THE TENTS OF KEDAR

Partner on Left . Allow me . (Hands menu-card .

Mrs . H . keeps her arm at full stretch for three seconds . )Mrs . H . (To partner . ) Oh, thanks . I didn

’t see

(Turns right again . ) Is anything in me changed at all?Capt . G . For goodness sake go on with your dinner !

You must eat something . Try one of those outlet arrangements . (Aside ) And I fancied she had goodShoulders, once upon a time ! What an ass a man canmake of himselfMrs . H . (Helping herself to a paper frill, seven

peas, some stamped carrots, and a spoonful of gravy . )That isn’t an answer. Tell me whether I have doneanything .

Capt . G . (Aside ) If it isn’t ended here there will

be a ghastly scene somewhere else . If only I ’d writtento her and stood the racket at long range ! (To khitmatgar . ) Han ! Sirnpkin do . (Yes . Champagne . )(Aloud . ) I

’ll tell you later on .

Mrs .

"

H . Tell me now . It must be some foolishmisunderstanding, and you know that there was to benothing of that sort between us . We, of all people inthe world, can

’

t afford it . Is it the Vaynor man, anddon’t you like to say so? On my honourCapt . G . I haven

’

t given the Vaynor man a thought.Mrs . H . But how d

’

you know that I haven’t?

Capt . G . (Aside ) Here’

s my chance and may theDevil help me through with it . (Aloud and measuredly. )Believe me, I do not care how often or how tenderlyyou think of the Vaynor man .

Mrs . H . I wonder if you mean that . Oh, whatis the good of squabbling and pretending to misunderstand when you are only up for so short a time? Pip,don ’t be stupid !

1 34


THE TENTS OF KEDAR

Capt . G. No, it’

s a reality. (Aside ) I wonderif smashes of this kind are always so raw.

Mrs . H . Really, Pip , you’re getting more ab surd

every day.

Capt . G . I don’t think you quite understand meShall I repeat it?Mrs . H . No ! For pity’s sake don’t do that . I t

’

s

too terri ble, even in fun .

Capt . G . (Aside ) I’ll let her think it over for a

while. But I ought to be horsewhipped .

Mrs . H . I want to know what you meant by whatyou said just now.

Capt. G . Exactly what I said . No less .Mrs . H . But what have I done to deserve it? What

have I done?Capt . G . (Aside ) If She only wouldn

’t look at me .

(Aloud and very slowly, his eyes on . his plate . )D

’

you remember that evening in July, before the Rainsbroke, when you said that the end would have to comesooner or later and you wondered for which of usit would come first?Mrs . H . Yes ! I was only joking . And you swore

that, as long as there was breath in your body, it shouldnever come And I believed you .

Capt . G . (Fingering menu-card . ) Well, it has .That’s all .

A long pause, during which Mrs . H . bows herhead and rolls the bread-twist into littlepellets : G. stares at the oleanders .

Mrs. H . (Throwing back her head and laughingnaturally . ) They train us women well , don

’t they,

Pip?Capt. G . (Brutally, touching shirt-stud . ) So far

1 36

THE TENTS OF KEDAR

as the expression goes . (Aside ) It isn’t in her nature

to take things quietly. There’ll be an explosion yet .Mrs . H . (With a shudder. ) Thank you . B -but

even R ed Indians allow people to wriggle when they’rebeing tortured I believe. (Slips fan from girdle andfans slowly ; rim of fan level with chin . )Partner on Left . Very close to-night, isn

’t it?’

You find it too much for you?Mrs . H . Oh no, not in the least . But they really

ought to have punkahs, even in your cool Naini Tal,oughtn

’

t they? (Turns, dropping fan and raising eyebrows . )Capt . G . It’s all right . (As ide ) Here comes the

storm !

Mrs . H . (Her eyes on the tablecloth : fan ready inright hand . ) It was very cleverly managed , Pip , andI congratulate you . You swore you never contentedyourself with merely saying a thing you swore that,as far as lay in your power, you

’d make my wretchedlife pleasant for me . And you’ve denied me the consolation of breaking down . I should have done itindeed I should . A woman would hardly have thoughtof this refinement, my kind, considerate friend . (Fanguard as before . ) You have explained things so tenderly and truthfully, too ! You haven’t spoken or

written a word of warning, and you have let me believein you till the last minute . You haven’t condescendedto give me your reason yet. No ! A woman couldnot have managed it half so well . Are there many menlike you in the world?Capt . G . I ’m sure I don ’t know . (To khitmatgar. )

Ohe ! Simpkin do .

Mrs . H . You call yourself a man of the world, don’t

1 37

THE TENTS OF KEDAR

you? Do men of the world behave like Devils whenthey do a woman the honour to get tired of her?Capt . G . I ’m sure I don’t know. Don

’t speak so

loud !Mrs . H . Keep us respectable, O Lord, whatever

happens ! Don ’t be afraid of my compromising you .

You’ve chosen your ground far too well , and I’ve been

properly brought up . (Lowering fan . ) Haven’t youany pity, Pip, except for yourself?Capt . G . Wouldn ’t it be rather impertinent of m e

to say that I ’m sorry for you?Mrs. H . I think you have said it once or twice be

fore . You’

re growing very careful of my feelings . MyGod, Pip, I was a good woman once ! You said I was .

You ’ve made me what I am . What are you going to dowith me? What are you going to do with me? Won’tyou say that you are sorry? (Helps herself to icedasparagus . )Capt . G . I am sorry for you, if you want the pity

of such a brute as I am . I ’m awf’

ly sorry for you .

Mrs . H . Rather tame for a man of the world . Doyou think that that admission clears you?Capt . G. What can I do? I can only tell you what

I think of myself . You can’t think worse than that?Mrs . H . Oh yes, I can ! And now, will you tell me

the reason of all this? Remorse? Has Bayard beensuddenly conscience-stricken?Capt . G. (Angrily, his eyes still lowered . ) No !

The thing has come to an end on my side. That’s all.

Mafisch !

Mrs. H .

‘That’s all . Mafiscb !’

As though I werea Cairene Dragoman . You used to make prettierspeeches . D

’

you remember when you said1 38


THE TENTS OF KEDAR

clo-osed.

’ I ought to be proud of having kept such aman so long.

Capt . G . (Aside ) It only remains to pray for theend of the dinner . (Aloud . ) You know what I thinkof myself.Mrs . H . As it’s the onlyperson in the world you ever

do think of, and as I know your mind thoroughly, I do .

You want to get it all over and Oh, I can’t

keep you back ! And you’re going think of it,

Pip to throw me over for another woman . And

you swore that all other women were Pip, my Pip !She can

’

t care for you as I do . Believe me, she can’t !

I s it any one that I know?Capt . G. Thank goodness it isn’t . (Aside ) I ex

pected a cyclone, but not an earthquake .Mrs . H . She can ’t ! Is there anything that I

wouldn ’t do for you or haven ’t done? And to thinkthat I should take this trouble over you, knowingwhat you are ! Do you despise me for it?Capt . G. (Wiping hismouth to hide a smile . ) Again?

It’s entirely a work of charity on your part .Mrs. H . Ahhh ! But I have no right to resent it.

I s she better-looking than 1 ? Who was it saidCapt . G. No not that !Mrs . H . I ’ ll be more merciful than you were . Don’t

you know that all women are alike?Capt . G. (Aside ) Then this is the exception that

proves the rule .Mrs . H . All of them ! I

’ll tell you anything youlike . I will, upon my word ! They only want theadmiration from anybody no matter who anybody ! But there is always one man that they carefor more than any one else in the world, and would

1 40

THE TENTS OF KEDAR

sacrifice all the others to . Oh, do listen ! I’ve kept the

Vaynor man trotting af ter me like a poodle, and hebelieves that he is the only man I am interested in .

I’

ll tell you what he said to me .Capt . G . Spare him . (Aside ) I wonder what his

version is .Mrs . H . He’s been waiting for me to look at him

all through dinner . Shall I do it, and you can see whatan idiot he looks?Capt . G.

‘But what imports the nomination of thisgentleman?Mrs . H . Watch ! (Sends a glance to the Vaynor

man,who tries vainly to combine a mouthful of ice

pudding, a smirk of self-satisfaction, a glare of intensedevotion, and the stolidity of a British dining countenance . )Capt . G . (Critically ) He doesn

’t look pretty.

Why didn’t you wait till the spoon was out of hismouth?Mrs . H . To amuse you . She’ll make an exhibitionof you as I ’

vemade of him ; and peoplewill laugh at you .

Oh, Pip, can’t you see that? I t

’

s as plain as the noonday sun . You

’ll be trotted about and told lies to, andmade a fool of like the others . I never made a fool ofyou, did I?Capt . G. (Aside ) What a clever little woman it is !Mrs. H . Well, what have you to say?Capt . G. I feel better.Mrs. H . Yes, I suppose so, after I have come down

to your level . I couldn’t have done it if I hadn’t cared

for you somuch . I have Spoken the truth .

Capt . G . It doesn’t alter the situation .

Mrs . H . (Passionately ) Then she has said that she1 4 1

THE TENTS OF KEDAR

cares for you . Don’

t believe her, Pip . I t’

s a lieas bad as yours to me !Capt . G . Ssssteady ! I

’

ve a notion that a friendof yours is looking at you .

Mrs . H . He ! I hate him . He introduced you tome .Capt . G. (Aside ) And some people would like

women to assist in making the laws . Introduction toimply condonement . (Aloud . ) Well, you see, if youcan remember so far back as that, I couldn

’t, in commonpoliteness, refuse the offer .Mrs . H . In common politeness ! We have got be

yond that !Capt . G. (Aside ) Old ground means fresh trouble .

(Aloud . ) On my honourMrs . H . Your what? Ha, ha !Capt . G . Dishonour, then . She

’

s not what you imagine . I meant toMrs . H . Don ’t tell me anything about her ! She

won’t care for you, and when you come back, after having made an exhibition of yourself, you

’

ll find me occupied withCapt . G . (Insolently . ) You couldn

’

t while I amalive . (Aside ) If that doesn

’t bring her pride to herrescue, nothing will .Mrs . H . (Drawing herself up . ) Couldn ’t do it?I? (Softening ) You

’

re right . I don’

t believe I couldthough you are what you are a coward and a liar

in grain .

Capt. G. It doesn’t hurt so much after your littlelecture with demonstrations .Mrs . H . One mass of vanity ! Will nothing ever

touch you in this life? There must be a Hereafter1 42


THE TENTS OF KE DAR“

fully? I ’ve accepted your dismissal, and you managedit as cruelly as you could, and I have made you respectmy sex, haven

’t I? (Arranging gloves and fan .) Ionly pray that she’ll know you some day as I knowyou now. I wouldn

’t be you then, for I think evenyour conceit will be hurt . I hOpe she

’ll pay you backthe humiliation you’

ve brought on me . I hopeNo . I don

’t . I can’t give you up ! I must havesomething to look forward to or I shall go crazy. Whenit

’

s all over, come back to me, come back to me, andyou’ll find that you’re my Pip still !Capt . G . (Very clear ly. )

’False move, and you

pay for it . I t’

s a girl !Mrs. H . (Rising ) Then it was true ! They said

but I wouldn’t insult you by asking. A girl ! I wasa girl not very long ago . Be good to her, Pip . I daresay she believes in you .

Goes out with an uncertain smile . He watchesher through the door, and settles into a chairas the men redistri bute themselves .

Capt . G. Now, if there is any Power who looksafter this world, will He kindly tell me whatdone? (Reaching out for the claret, and half aloud . )What have I done?

WITH ANY AMAZEMENT

And are not afraid with any amazement .Marri age Service .

CENE. A bachelor’s bedroom toilet-table arranged with unnatural neatness . Captain Gadsbyasleep and snoring heavily. Time, am . a

glorious autumn day at Simla . Enter delicately Captain Mafflin of Gadsby

’

s regiment . Looks at sleeper, andshakes his head, murmuring

‘Poor Gaddy ! ’ Performsviolent fan tasia with hair-brushes on chair-back .

Capt. M. Wake up, my sleeping beauty ! (Roars)‘Uprouse ye, then, my merry merry men !

It is our Opening day !It is our opening da-ay !

’

Gaddy, the little dicky-birds have been billing andcooing for ever so long ; and I

’m here !Capt. G. (Sitting up and yawning. )

’Mornin’

. Thisis awf

’

ly good of you, old fellow. Most awf ’

ly good ofyou .

’Don’t know what I should do without you .

’Pon my soul, I don’t . ’Haven’t Slept a wink all night .

Capt . M . I didn ’t get in till half-past eleven .

’Had alook at you then, and you seemed to be sleeping as

soundly as a condemned criminal .Capt . G. Jack, if you want to make those dis

1 45

WITH ANY AMAZEMENT

gustingly worn-out jokes, you’d better go away. (With

portentous gravity. ) It’s the happiest day in my life .

Capt . M . (Chuckling grimly . ) Not by a very longchalk, my son . You

’re going through some of the mostrefined torture you’ve ever known . But be calm . Iam with you .

’

Shun ! Dress !Capt . G. Eh ! What-at?Capt . M . Do you suppose that you are your own

master for the next twelve hours? If you do, of course

(Makes for the door. )Capt . G . No ! For goodness sake, old man, don

’

t

do that ! You’ll see me through, won’t you? I

’

ve

been mugging up that beastly drill, and can’t remember

a line of it .Capt. M. (Overhauling G .

’

s uniform . ) Go and tub.

Don’t bother me . I ’ll give you ten minutes to dress in .

Interval, filled by the noise as of one splashing inthe bath-room .

Capt . G. (Emerging from dressing-room. ) Whattime is it?Capt . M . Nearly eleven .

Capt . G. Five hours more . 0 Lord !Capt . M . (Aside )

’First sign of funk, that.’Won

der if it’s going to spread . (Aloud . ) Come along tobreakfast .Capt . G. I can’t eat anything. I don’t want my

breakfast.Capt . M. (Aside ) So early ! (Aloud . ) Captain

Gadsby, I order you to eat breakfast, and a dashed goodbreakfast, too. None of your bridal airs and graceswith me !

Leads G . downstairs, and stands over him whilehe eats two chops.

1 46


WITH ANY AMAZEMENT

Capt . M . K eep quiet for another ten minutes if

you can, you lunatic ; and walk !The two tramp at five miles an hour for fif teenminutes .

Capt . G . What’s the time? How about that cursedwedding-cake and the slippers? They don

’

t throw ’emabout In church , do they?Capt . M . I n-variably . The Padre leads off with

his boots .Capt . G . Confound your silly soul ! Don’t make

fun of me . I can’t stand it, and I won

’

t.Capt . M . (Untroubled . ) So-ooo, old horse ! You

’

llhave to sleep for a couple of hours this afternoon .

Capt . G . (Spinning round . ) I’

m not going to betreated like a dashed child . Understand that !Capt. M . (Aside ) Nerves gone to fiddle-strings .

What a day we’re having ! (Tenderly putting his handon G .

’

s shoulder . ) My David, how long have youknown this Jonathan? Would I come up here to makea fool of you after all these year s?Capt . G . (Penitently . ) I know, I know, Jack—but

I’

m as upset as I can be . Don’

t mind what I say . Justhear me run through the drill and see if I

’

ve got it all

‘To have and to hold for better or worse, as it wasin the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end , so help me God . Amen .

’

Capt . M . (Suffocating with suppressed laughter. )Yes. That’s about the gist of it. I ’ll prompt if youget into a hat .Capt . G . (Earnestly. ) Yes, you

’

ll stick by me,Jack, won

’

t you? I ’m awf’

ly happy, but I don’t mind

telling you that I ’m in a blue funk !1 48

WITH ANY AMAZEME NT

Capt . M . (Gravely . ) Are you? I should neverhave noticed it . You don

’t look like it.Capt . G . Don’t I? That’s all right . (Spinning

round . ) On my soul and honour, Jack, She’s the

sweetest little angel that ever came down from the sky .

There isn’t a woman on earth fit to speak to Her !

Capt . M . (Aside ) And this is old Gaddy ! (Aloud . )Go on if it relieves you .

Capt . G . You can laugh ! That’s all you wild assesof bachelors are fit for.Capt . M . (Drawling . ) You never would wait for

the troop to come up . You aren ’t quite married yet,y

’

know.

Capt . G. Ugh ! That reminds me . I don’t be

lieve I shall be able to get into my boots . Let’s go

home and try ’em on ! (Hurri es forward . )Capt . M .

’Wouldn ’t be in your shoes for anythingthat Asia has to offer .

Capt . G . (Spinning round . ) That just shows yourhideous blackness of soul your dense stupidityyour brutal narrow-mindedness . There’s only one faultabout you . You

’

re the best of good fellows, and Idon’t know what I should have done without you , butyou aren’t married . (Wags his head gravely . ) Takea wife, Jack .

Capt . M . (With a face like a wall . ) Ya-as . Whosefor choice?Capt . G . If you ’re going to be a blackguard, I

’m going on What’s the time?Capt . M . (Hume )

An’ since ’twas very clear we drank only ginger-beer,Faith, there must ha

’ been some stingo in the ginger. ’

1 49

WITH ANY AMAZEMENT

Come back, you maniac . I’m going to take you

home, and you’re going to lie down .

Capt . G. What on earth do I want to lie down for?Capt . M. Give me a light from your cheroot and

see.

Capt . G. (Watching cheroot-butt quiver like a tuning fork . ) Sweet state I

’m in !Capt . M . You are . I

’

ll get you a peg and you’ ll go

to sleep .

They return and M . compounds a four-fingerpeg.

Capt . G. 0 bus ! bus ! It’ll make me as drunk as an

owl .Capt. M .

’Curious thing,’

twon’

t have the slightesteffect on you . Drink it off , chuck yourself down there,and go to bye-bye .Capt . G . It

’

s absurd . I shan’t sleep . I know I

shan ’t !Falls into heavy doze at end of seven nrinutes .

Capt . M . watches birn tenderly.

Capt . M . Poor old Gaddy ! I’

ve seen a few turnedoff before, but never one who went to the gallows in thiscondition .

’Can ’t tell how it aff ects’em though . I t

’

s

the thoroughbreds that sweat when they re backed intodouble-harness . And that’s the man who wentthrough the guns at Amdheran like a devil possessedof devils . (Leans over G . ) But this is worse than theguns, old pal—worse than the guns, isn

’t it? (G . turns

in his sleep , and M . touches him clumsily on the forehead . ) Poor, dear old Gaddy ! Going like the restof ’em going like the rest of ’em Friend that sticketh closer than a brother eight years . Dashed bit ofa slip of a girl eight weeks ! And where

’

s your1 50


WITH ANY AMAZEMENT

We honour the KingAnd Brides joy do bringGood tidings we tell,And ring the Dead’s knell . ’

Capt . G. (Dismounting at the door of the Church . )I say, aren

’t we much too soon? There are no end of

people inside . I say, aren’

t we much too late ! Stickby me, Jack ! What the devil do I do?Capt. M. Strike an attitude at the head of the aisle

and wait for Her. (G. groans as M . wheels him intoposition before three hundred eyes . )Capt . M . (Imploringly. ) Gaddy, if you love me, for

pity’s sake, for the Honour of the Regiment, stand up !Chuck yourself into your uniform ! Look like a man !

I ’ve got to speak to the Padre a minute . (G. breaksinto a gentle perspiration . ) If you wipe your face I

’

ll

never be your best man again . Stand up ! (G. trembles visibly. )Capt . M . (Returning ) She

’

s coming now. Lookout when the music starts . There’s the organ beginning to clack.

Bride steps out of’rickshaw at Church door.

G . catches a glimpse of her and takes heart.Organ .

‘The Voice that breathed o’

er Eden,That earliest marriage day,

The primal marriage-blessing,It hath not passed away.

’

Capt . M . (Watching G . ) By Jove ! He is looking well .

’Didn’t think he had it in him .

Capt . G. Howlong does this hymn go on for?1 52

WITH ANY AMAZEMENT

Capt . M. It will be over directly . (Anxiously. )Beginning to bleach and gulp? Hold on, Gaddy, andthink 0 ’ the Regiment .Capt . G. (Measuredly. ) I say, there

’s a big brownlizard crawling up that wall .Capt . M. My Sainted Mother ! The last stage of

collapse !Bride comes up to left of altar, lif ts her eyes onceto G . , who is suddenly smitten mad .

Capt. G. (To himself again and again . ) LittleFeatherweight’s a woman a woman ! And I thoughtShewas a little girl .Capt . M . (In a whisper. ) From the halt—inward

wheel .Capt . G. obeys mechanically and the ceremonyproceeds .

Padre . only unto her as long as ye both shalllive?Capt . G. (H is throat useless . ) Ha-hmmm !Capt . M. Say you will or you won

’t . There’

s nosecond deal here .

Bride gives response with perfect coolness andis given away by the father.

Capt . G . (Thinking to Show his learning . ) Jack,give me away now, quick !Capt . M . You’ve given yourself away quite enough .

Her right hand, man ! Repeat ! Repeat !‘Theodore

Philip .

’ Have you forgotten your own name?Capt . G . stumbles through Affirmation, whichBride repeats without a tremor.

Capt . M . Now the ring ! Follow the Padre ! Don’t

pull off my glove ! Here it is ! Great Cupid, he’

s

found his voice !1 53

WITH ANY AMAZEMENT

G. repeats Troth in a voice to be heard to theend of the Church and turns on his heel .

Capt . M . (Desperately . ) Rein back ! Back to

your troop ! ’

Tisn’

t half legal yet .Padre . j oined together let no man put asunder .

Capt . G . , paralysed with fear, j ibs after Blessing .

Capt . M . (Quickly . ) On your own front — one

length . Take her with you . I dou ’t come . You’

ve

nothing to say . (Capt . G . Jrngles up to altar. )Capt . M . (In a piercing rattle meant to be a whisper. ) Kneel, you stiff-necked ruffian ! Kneel !Padre . whose daughters are ye, so long

as ye dowell and are not afraid with any am azement .Capt . M . Dismiss ! Break off ! Left wheel !

All troop to vestry. They sign .

Capt . M . Kiss Her, Gaddy .

Capt . G . (Rubbing the ink into his glove . ) E b !

Wha-at?Capt . M . (Taking one pace to Bride . ) If you

don’t, I Shall .Capt . G . (Interposing an arm . ) Not this j ourney !General kissing, in which Capt . G. is pursued byunknown female .

Capt . G. (Faintly to M . ) This is Hades ! Can Iwipe my face now?Capt . M . My responsibility has ended . Better ask

Missis Gadsby .

Capt . G . winces as though shot and processionis Mendelssohned out of Church to house,where usual tortures take place over thewedding-cake .

Capt . M . (At table . ) Up with you, Gaddy . Theyexpect a Speech .

1 54


WITH AN Y AMAZEMENT

sends home both spurs in the midst of a spa ttering gale of Best Patna.

Capt . M . For your lif e and your loveGaddy ! And God bless you !

Throws half a pound of rice atG. , who disappears ,bowed forward on the saddle, in a cloud of

sunlit dust.Capt . M . I

’

ve lost old Gaddy. (Lights cigaretteand strolls off , singing absently)

You may carve it on his tombstone, you may cut iton his card,

That a young man married is a young man marred !’

Miss Deercourt. (From her horse . ) Really, Captain Mafflin ! You are more plain-spoken than polite.

Capt . M . (Aside ) They say marriage is likecholera.

’Wonder who’

ll be the next victim .

White satin slipper slides from his

falls at his feet . Left wondering.

1 56

THE GARDEN OF EDEN

‘And ye shall be as Gods? ’

CENE . Thymy grass-plot at back of the Mahasu dak-bungalow, overlooking little woodedvalley . On the left, glimpse of the Dead Forest

of Fagoo ; on the right, Sinrla Hil ls . In background,line of the Snows . Capt. Gadsby, now three weeksa husband , is smoking the pipe of peace on a rug in thesunshine . Banjo and tobacco-pouch on rug. Overhead the Pagoo eagles. Mrs. G. comes out of bungalow .

Mrs . G . My husband !Capt. G. (Lazily, with intense enjoyment . ) Eh,

wh-at? Say that again .

Mrs. G. I ’ve written to Mamma and told her thatwe shall be back on the 1 7th.

Capt . G . Did you give her my love?Mrs . G. No, I kept all that for myself. (Sit

ting down by his side . ) I thought you wouldn’t mind .

Capt. G. (With mock sternness. ) I object awf’

ly.

How did you know that it was yours to keep?Mrs. G. I guessed , Phil .Capt. G. (Rapturously . ) Lit-tle Featherweight !Mrs. G. I won’t be called those sporting pet names,

bad boy.

1 57

THE GARDEN OF EDEN

Capt G . You’

ll be called anything I choose . H as

it ever occurred to you , Madam, that you are my Wife?Mrs. G . It has. I haven’t ceased wondering at it

yet.

Capt . G. Nor I . It seems so strange ; and yet, somehow, it doesn

’t . (Confidently. ) You see, it could havebeen no one else .

Mrs . G . (Softly . ) N o. No one else — for me or

for you . It must have been all arranged from the

beginning . Phil, tell me again what made you carefor me .

Capt . G . How could I help it? You were you ,

you know .

Mrs . G . Did you ever want to help it? Speak thetruth !Capt . G. (A twinkle in his eye. ) I did, darling,

just at the first . But only at the very firs t.

(Chuckles . ) I called you stoop lowand I ’ll whisper‘a little beast . ’ Ho ! ho ! ho !Mrs . G . (Taking him by the moustache and making

him sit up . )‘A— little beast ! ’ Stop laughing over

your crime ! And yet you had the - the awful cheekto propose to me !Capt . G . I

’

d changed my mind then . And youweren’t a little beast any more .

Mrs . G. Thank you, Sir ! And when was I ever?Capt . G . Never ! But that first day, when you

gave me tea in that peach-coloured muslin gown thingyou looked you did indeed, dear such an absurdlittle mite . And I didn

’

t know what to say to you .

Mrs . G . (Twisting moustache . ) So you said‘ little

beast . ’ Upon my word, Sir ! I called you a‘

Crrrrea

ture, but I wish now I had called you something worse1 58


THE GARDEN OF EDEN

Capt. G. Yes.Mrs. G . Foolish?Capt . G. Very.

Mrs . G. And a dear?Capt. G. That is as my lady pleases.Mrs . G. Then your lady is pleased . (A pause. )

D’

you know that we’re two solemn, serious, grown-up

peopleCapt . G. (Tilting her straw bat over her eyes . ) You

grown-up ! Pooh ! You’re a baby.

Mrs. G . And we’re talking nonsense .Capt . G. Then let’s go on talking nonsense . I

rather like it . Pussy, I’ll tell you a secret . Prom ise

not to repeat?Mrs . G . Ye-os. Only to you .

Capt . G . I love you .

Mrs. G. R e-ally ! For how long?Capt . G. For ever and ever .Mrs . G. That

’s a long tim e.Capt . G.

’Think so? I t’

s the shortest I can dowith .

Mrs. G . You’re getting quite clever .

Capt . G. I ’m talking to you .

Mrs . G. Prettily turned . Hold up your stupid oldbead and I

’ll pay you for it !Capt. G. (Affecting supreme contempt. ) Take it

yourself if you want it.Mrs. G. I ’ve a great mind to and I will ! (Takes

it, and is repaid with interest . )Capt. G. Little Featherweight, it

’

s my opinion thatwe are a couple of idiots.Mrs. G. We’re the only two sensible people in the

world ! Ask the eagle. He’

s coming by.

1 60

THE GARDEN OF EDEN

Capt . G. Ah ! I daresay he’

s seen a good manysensible people at Mahasu. They say that those birdslive for ever so long.

Mrs. G. How long?Capt . G . A hundred and twenty years.

Mrs. G. A hundred and twenty years ! 0 oh ! Andin a hundred and twenty years where will these two

sensible people be?Capt . G. What does it matter so long as we are

together now.

Mrs. G . (Looking round the horizon . ) Yes, Onlyyou and I I and you in the whole wide, wide worlduntil the end . (Sees the line of the Snows . ) How bigand quiet the hills look ! D

’

you think they care forus?

Capt . G .

’Can’t say I’ve consulted ’em particularly .

I care, and that’s enough for me .

Mrs . G. (Drawing nearer to him . ) Yes, nowbut afterwards . What’s that little black blur on theSnows?Capt . G. A snowstorm, forty miles away . You’ll

see it move, as the wind carries it across the face ofthat Spur, and then it will be all gone .Mrs. G . And then it wi ll be all gone . (Shivers . )Capt . G. (Anxiously . )

’Not chilled, pet, are you?’

Better let me get your cloak.

Mrs. G . No . Don’t leave me, Phil . Stay here .I believe I am afraid . Oh, why are the hills so horrid !Phil, promise me, prom ise me that you

’ll always loveme .

Capt . G. What’s the trouble, darling? I can’tpromise any more than I have ; but I

’ll promise thatagain and again if you like .Mrs. G . (Her head on his shoulder. ) Say it, then

1 6 1

THE GARDEN OF EDEN

say it ! N -no don’

t ! The the eagles wouldlaugh . (Recovering ) My husband, you

’ve marrieda little goose .

Capt . G . (Very tenderly. ) Have I? I am content whatever she is, so long as she is mine .Mrs . G . (Quickly . ) Because she is yours or because she is me m ineself?Capt . G . Because she is both . (Piteously. ) I

’mnot clever , dear, and I don

’t think I can make myselfunderstood properly .

Mrs. G . I understand . Pip, will you tell me something?Capt . G . Anything you like . (Aside ) I wonder

what’s coming now .

Mrs. G. (Halting, her eyes lowered . ) You toldme once in the old days centuries and centuries agothat you had been engaged before . I didn ’t say

anything then .

Capt . G . (Innocently . ) Why not?Mrs . G . (Raising her eyes to his. ) Because be

cause I was afraid of losing you, my heart . But nowtell about it please.Capt . G . There

’

s nothing to tell . I was aw’

flyold then nearly two-and-twenty and shewas quitethat .Mrs . G . That means she was older than you . I

Shouldn’t like her to have been younger. Well?Capt . G. Well, I fancied myself in love and raved

about a bit, and oh yes, by Jove ! I made up poetry.

Ha ! ha !Mrs . G . You never wrote any for me ! What hap

pened?Capt . G . I cam e out here, and the whole thing went

1 62


THE GARDEN OF EDEN

didn’t and then you came and I cared for you,

very, very much indeed . That’s all . (Face hidden . )You aren

’t angry, are you?Capt . G. Angry ? Not in the least . (Aside ) Good

Lord, what have I done to deserve this angel?Mrs . G . (As ide ) And he never asked for the name !

How funny men are ! But perhaps it’

s as well .Capt . G . That man will go to heaven because you

once thought you cared for him .

’Wonder if you ’

llever drag me up there?Mrs . G. (Firmly . )

’Shan’t go if you don’

t .Capt . G. Thanks . I say, Pussy, I don

’

t know muchabout your religious beliefs . You were brought up tobelieve in a heaven and all that, weren

’t you?Mrs . G . Yes. But it was a pincushion heaven,

with hymn-books in all the pews .Capt . G . (Wagging his head with intense con

viction . ) Never mind . There is a pukka heaven .

Mrs . G. Where do you bring that message from, myprophet?Capt . G . Here . Because we care for each other.

So it’

s all right .Mrs. G . (As a troop of langurs crash through the

branches . ) So it’

s all right . But Darwin says thatwe came from those !Capt . G . (Placidly . ) Ah ! Darwin was never in

lovewith an angel . That settles it . Sstt, you brutes !Monkeys, indeed ! You shouldn

’t read those books .Mrs. G . (Folding her hands . ) If it pleases my

Lord the K ing to issue proclamation .

Capt. G. Don’t, dear one . There are no orders between us. Only I ’d rather you didn’t . They lead tonothing, and bother people

’s heads .1 64

THE GAR DEN OF EDEN

Mrs . G. Like your first engagement .Capt . G. (With an imm ense calm . ) That was a

necessary evil and led to you . Are you nothing?Mrs. G. Not so verymuch, am I?Capt. G. All this world and the next to meMrs . G . (Very softly. ) My boy of boys ! ShallI tell you something?Capt . G. Yes, if it

’

snot dreadful—about othermen .

Mrs . G. It’s about my own had little self.Capt . G. Then it must be good . Go on, dear.Mrs. G. (Slowly . ) I don

’t know why I ’m tellingyou, Pip ; but if ever you marry again (Interlude )Take your hand from my mouth or I ’ll bite ! In thefuture, then, remember I don’t know quite how toput it !Capt . G. (Snorting indignantly . ) Don

’t try.

‘Marryagain,

’ indeed !Mrs . G . I must . Listen, my husband . Never,

never, never tell your wife anything that you do not

wish her to remember and think over all her life . B e

cause a woman yes, I am a woman can ’t forget.Capt . G . By Jove, how do you know that?Mrs . G. (Confusedly . ) I don ’t . I ’m only guess

ing. I am I was a silly little girl ; but I feelthat I know so much, oh, so very much more than you,dearest . To begin with, I

’m your wife .Capt . G . So I have been led to believe .Mrs. G . And I shall want to know every one of

your secrets to Share everything you know with

you . (Stares round desperately. )Capt . G. So you shall, dear, so you shall but

don’t look like that .Mrs . G . For your own sake don’t stop me, Phil .

1 65

THE GARDEN OF EDEN

I shall never talk to you in this way again . You mustnot tell me ! At least, not now. Later on, when I

’

m

an old matron, it won’t matter, but if you love me, be

very good to me now ; for this part of my life I shallnever forget ! Have I made you understand?Capt . G . I think so, child . Have I said anything

yet that you disapprove of?Mrs . G. Will you be very angry. That that voice,

and what you said about the engagementCapt . G. But you asked to be told that, darling.

Mrs . G. And that’s why you shouldn’t have toldme ! You must be the judge, and, oh, Pip, dearly as

I love you, I Shan’t be able to help you ! I shall hinder

you, and you must judge in spite of me !Capt . G . (Meditatively . ) We have a great many

things to find out together, God help us both say so,

Pussy but we shall understand each other betterevery day ; and I think I

’m beginning to see now. Howin the world did you come to know just the immrtance

of giving me just that lead?Mrs . G . I ’ve told you that I don’t know. Only

somehow it seemed that, in all this new life, I was being

guided for your sake as well as my own .

Capt. G. (Aside ) Then Mafflin was right ! Theyknow, and we we’re blind all of us . (Lightly . )’Getting a little beyond our depth, dear, aren

’

t we?I ’ll remember, and if I fail, let me be punished as Ideserve .

Mrs . G . There shall be no punishment . We’

ll start into life together from here— you and I and no one else .

Capt . G . And no one else . (A pause . ) Your eyelashes are all wet, Sweet? Was there ever such a quaintlittle Absurdity?

1 66


THE GAR DEN OF EDEN

Both Together. (Con bri o, to the horror of themonkeys, who are settling for the night . )

Vanity, all is Vanity, said Wisdom, scom ingme

I clasped my true Love’s tender hand and answeredfrank and free cc

If this be Vanity who ’d be wise?If this be Vanity who ’d be wise?If this be Vanity who ’d bewi

(Crescendo . ) Vanity let it be !

Mrs . G . (Defiantly to the gray of the evening sky . )Vanity let it be ! ’

Echo . (From the Pagoo spur .) Let it be !

1 68

FATIMA

And you may go into every room of the house andsee everything that is there, but into the Blue Roomyou must not go .

‘The Story of Blue Beard .

’

CENE. The Gadsbys’ bungalow in the Plains .

Time, 1 1 am . on a Sunday morning . CaptainGadsby, in his shirt-sleeves, is bending over a

complete set of Hussar’s equipment, from saddle to

picketing-rope, which is neatly spread over the floorof his study. He is smoking an unclean briar, and hisforehead is puckered with thought .

Capt . G. (To himself, fingering a headstall . ) Jack’

san ass . There’s enough brass on this to load a muleand , if the Americans know anything about anything,it can be cut down to a bit only.

’Don’t want thewatering-bridle, either. Humbug ! Half-a-dozen setsof chains and pulleys for one horse ! Rot ! (Scratchinghis head . ) Now, let

’s consider it all over from thebeginning . By Jove, I

’ve forgotten the scale of weights !Ne’er mind .

’Keep the bit only, and eliminate everyboss from the crupper to breastplate . No breastplateat all . Simple leather strap across the breast likethe Russians . Hi ! Jack never thought of that !

1 69

FATIMA

Mrs . G. ( Entering hastily, her hand bound in acloth . ) Oh, Pip, I

’ve scalded my hand over thathorrid, horrid T iparee j am !Capt . G . (Absently . ) Eh ! Wha-at?Mrs . G . (With round-eyed reproach . ) I

’ve scaldedit awfully ! Aren

’

t you sorry? And I did so want thatiam to j am properly.

Capt . G . Poor little woman ! Let me kiss the placeand make it well . (Unrolling bandage . ) You smallsinner ! Where ’s that scald? I can ’t see it .Mrs . G. On the top of the little finger. There

I t’s a most ’

normous big burn !Capt . G . (Kissing little finger. ) Baby ! Let Hyder

look after the jam . You know I don’t care for sweets .Mrs . G. In-deed? Pip !Capt . G . Not of that kind, anyhow . And now

run along, Minnie, and leave me to my own base devices . I ’m busy .

Mrs. G . (Calmly settling herself in long chair. ) SoI see . What a mess you

’

re making ! Why have youbrought all that smelly leather stuff into the house?Capt . G . To play with . Do you mind, dear?Mrs . G . Let me play too . I

’

d like it .Capt . G . I ’m afraid you wouldn

’

t, Pussy Don ’tyou think that jam will burn , or whatever it is that

jam does when it’s not looked after by a clever little

housekeeper?Mrs . G . I thought you said Hyder could attend to

it . I left him in the verandah, stir ring when I hurtmyself so .

Capt . G . (His eye returning to the equipment . )Po-oor little woman ! Three pounds four and seven

is three eleven, and that can be cut down to two eight.

1 70


FATIMA

would you like it put? ( Holds saddle above hishead . )Mrs. G. (A break in her voice. ) Nowhere. Pip,

how good you are and how strong ! Oh, what’

s

that ugly red streak inside your arm?Capt . G. (Lowering saddle quickly. ) Nothing. I t

’

s

a mark of sorts . (Aside ) And Jack’s coming to titf

'

m

with his notions all cut and dried !Mrs. G . I know it

’

s a mark, but I’ve never seen

it before . It runs all up the arm . What is it?Capt . G . A cut if you want to know.

Mrs . G. Want to know ! Of course I do ! I can’

thave my husband cut to pieces in this way . Howdidit come? Was it an accident? Tell me, Pip .

Capt . G . (Grimly. ) No .

’

Twasn’

t an accident .I got it from a man in Afghanistan .

Mrs. G. In action? Oh, Pip, and you never toldme?

Capt . G. I ’d forgotten all about it.

Mrs . G . Hold up your arm ! What a horrid, uglyscar ! Are you sure it doesn

’t hurt now? How did theman give it you?Capt . G. (Desperately looking at his watch . ) With

a knife . I came down old Van Loo did, that’s to say

and fell on my leg, so I couldn’t run . And thenthis man came up and began chopping at me as Isprawled .

Mrs . G . Oh, don’t, don

’t ! That’s enough !what happened?Capt . G. I couldn’t get to my holster, and Mafflin

came round the corner and stopped the performance.Mrs . G . How? H e

’

s such a lazy man, I don’

t believe he did .

1 72

FATIMA

Capt. G. Don’

t you? I don’t think the man hadmuch doubt about it . Jack cut his head off .

Mrs . G . Cut his head off‘With one blow

,

’

as they say in the books?Capt . G . I ’m not sure . I was too interested in

myself to know much about it . Anyhow, the head wasoff , and Jack was punching old Van Loo in the ribs tomake him get up . Now you know all about it, dear ,and nowMrs . G . You want me to go, of course . You never

told me about this, though I’ve been married to you

for ever so long ; and you never would have told me if Ihadn’t found out ; and you never do tell me anythingabout yourself, or what you do, or what you take aninterest in .

Capt . G . Dar ling, I’m always with you, aren

’t I?Mrs . G . Always in my pocket, you were going to

say . I know you are ; but you are always thinkingaway from me.

Capt . G . (Trying to hide a smile .) Am I? I wasn’t

aware of it . I ’m awf ’

ly sorry.

Mrs . G . (Piteously. ) Oh, don’t make fun of me !

Pip , you know what I mean . When you are readingone of those things about Cavalry, by that idioticPrince—why doesn’t he be a Prince instead of a stableboy?Capt . G . Prince Kraft a stable-boy? Oh,myAunt !

Never mind , dear . You were going to say?Mrs . G. It doesn’t matter ; you don

’t care for whatI say. Only only you get up andwalk about the roomstaring in front of you, and then Mafflin comes in todinner, and after I

’m in the drawing-room I can hearyou and him talking, and talking, and talking, about

1 73

FATIMA

things I can’t understand and oh, I get so tiredand feel so lonely ! I don t want to complain and be atrouble, Pip ; but I do indeed I do !Capt . G . My poor darling ! I never thought of that .

Why don’t you ask some nice people in to dinner?Mrs . G . Nice people ! Where am I to find them?

Horrid frumps ! And if I did, I shouldn’t be amused .

You know I only want you .

Capt. G . And you have me surely, Sweetheart?Mrs. G . I have not ! Pip , why don

’t you take meinto your life?Capt . G . More than I do? That would be diffi

cult, dear.Mrs . G . Yes, I suppose it would to you . I ’m no

help to you no companion to you ; and you like tohave it so .

Capt . G . Aren’t you a little unreasonable, Pussy?

Mrs . G . (Stamping her foot . ) I’m the most reason

able woman in the world when I ’m treated properly .

Capt . G . And since when have I been treating youimproperly?Mrs . G . Always and since the beginning .

know you have .

Capt . G . I don’t ; but I

’m willing to be convinced .

Mrs . G . (Pointing to saddlery. ) There !Capt . G . How do you mean?Mrs . G . What does all that mean? Why am I not

to be told? I s it so precious?Capt . G . I forget its exact Government value just

at present . It means that it is a great deal too heavy.

Mrs . G . Then why do you touch it?Capt . G . To make it lighter. See here, little love,I ’ve one notion and Jack has another, but we are both

1 74


FATIMA

Mrs . G . Oh, nothing and you’ve kept all thisa secret from me ! Why?Capt . G. Not a secret, exactly, dear . I didn

’t sayanything about it to you because I didn’t think itwould amuse you .

Mrs . G. And am I only made to be amused?Capt. G. No, of course . I merely mean that it

couldn’

t interest you .

Mrs . G. I t’

s your work and and if you’

d letme, I

’d count all these things up . If they are too heavyyou know by howmuch they are too heavy and you musthave a list of things made out to your scale of lightness,andCapt . G. I have got both scales somewhere in my

head ; but it’s hard to tell how light you can make a

headstall, for instance, until you’ve actually had a

model made .

Mrs. G. But if you read out the list, I could copyit down, and pin it up there just above your table .Wouldn ’t that do?Capt . G . It would he awf ’

ly nice, dear, but it wouldbe giving you trouble for nothing. I can ’t work thatway. I go by rule of thumb . I know the present scaleof weights, and the other one the one that I

’mtrying to work to will shift and vary so much thatI couldn’t be certain, even if I wrote it down .

Mrs . G. I ’m so sorry . I thought I might help . I s

there anything else that I could be of use in?Capt . G . (Looking round the room . ) I can

’t thinkof anything. You

’

re always helping me, you know.

Mrs . G. Am I? How?Capt . G . You are you of course, and as long as you

’

re

near me I can ’t explain exactly, but it’s in the air.

1 76

FATIMA

Mrs. G. And that’

s why you wanted to send meaway?Capt . G . That’s only when I ’m trying to dowork

grubby work like this .Mrs . G. Mafflin

’s better , then, isn’t he?

Capt . G. (Rashly . ) Of course he is . Jack and Ihave been thinking along the same groove for two orthree years about this equipment . It’s our hobby

,and

it may really be useful some day .

Mrs . G. (After a pause . ) And that’s all that you

have away from me?Capt. G. It isn’t very far away from you now. Take

care the oil on that bit doesn ’t come off on your dress .Mrs. G . I wish I wish so much that I could really

help you . I believe I could if I left the room . Butthat’s not what I mean .

Capt . G. (Aside ) Give me patience ! I wish shewould go. (Aloud . ) I assure you you can

’t do anything for me, Minnie, and I must really settle down tothis . Where

’s my pouch?Mrs. G. ( Crossing to writing-table . ) Here you

are, Bear . What a mess you keep your table in !Capt. G. Don’t touch it . There

’

s a method in mymadness, though you mightn

’t think of it .Mrs. G . (At table ) I want to look— Do you

keep accounts, Pip?Capt. G . (Bending over saddlery . ) Of a sort .

Are you rummaging am ong the Troop papers? Becareful .Mrs . G. Why? I shan’t disturb anything . Good

gracious ! I had no idea that you had anything to dowith so many sick horses .Capt. G .

’Wish I hadn’

t, but they insist on falling1 77

FATIMA

sick . Minnie, if I were you I really should not investigate those papers . You may come across somethingthat you won ’t like .Mrs . G . Whywill you always treat me like a child?I know I ’m not displacing the horrid things .Capt. G. (Resignedly. ) Very well, then . Don

’

t

blame me if anything happens . Play with the tableand let me go on with the saddlery . (Slipping handinto trousers-pocket . ) Oh, the deuce !Mrs. G . (Her hack to G . ) What

’s that for?Capt . G . Nothing. (Aside ) There

’s not much init, but I wish I

’d torn it up .

Mrs . G. (Turning over contents of table . ) I knowyou ’ll hate me for this ; but I do want to see w at yourwork is like . (A pause . ) Pip, what are

‘ farcy-buds’

?

Capt . G . Hah ! Would you really like to know?They aren’t pretty things .Mrs . G . This ‘Journal of Veterinary Science

’

saysthey are of absorbing interest.

’ Tell meCapt . G . (Aside ) It may turn her attention .

Gives a long and designedly loathsome account ofglanders and farcy.

Mrs . G. Oh, that’s enough . Don

’

t go on !

Capt . G . But you wanted to know Then thesethings suppurate and matterate and spreadMrs. G . Pip , you

’re making me sick ! You’

re ahorrid, disgusting schoolboy.

Capt . G . (On his knees among the hridles . ) Y ou

asked to be told . It’s not my fault if you worrym e in totalking about horrors .Mrs . G. Why didn

’t you say No?Capt . G. Good Heavens, child ! Have you com e

in here simply to bully me?1 78


FATIMA

he deserves to be .

’ What does that mean? I s she

congratulating you about our marriage?Capt. G. Yes, I suppose so.Mrs. G. (Still reading letter. ) She seems to be a

particular friend of yours .Capt . G . Yes. She was an excellent matron of

sorts a Mrs . Herriott wife of a Colonel Herriott.I used to know some of her people at Home long agobefore I came out .Mrs . G . Some Colonels

’

wives are young as

young as me . I knew one who was younger.Capt . G . Then it couldn ’t have been Mrs . Herriott.

She was old enough to have been your mother, dear.Mrs . G . I remember now . Mrs. Scargill was talk

ing about her at the Duffins’ tennis, before you camefor me, on Tuesday . Captain Mafflin said she was a‘ dear old woman .

’ Do you know, I think Mafflin is avery clumsy man with his feet .Capt . G. (Aside ) Good old Jack ! (Aloud.) Why,

dear?Mrs . G. He had put his cup down on the ground then,

and be literally stepped into it . Some of the tea spirtedover my dress the gray one . I meant to tell youabout it before .Capt . G . (Aside ) There are the makings of a

strategist about Jack, though his methods are coarse.

(Aloud . ) You’d better get a new dress, then . (Aside )

Let us pray that that will turn her.Mrs . G . Oh , it isn

’t stained in the least. I onlythought that I ’d tell you . (Returning to letter. ) Whatan extraordinary person ! (Reade )

‘But need I remind you that you have taken upon yourself a chargeof wardship ’ what in the world is a charge of warri

1 80

ship?‘

which, as you yourself know, may end inConsequencesCapt. G . (Aside ) It

’

s safest to let ’

em see everything as they come across it, but

’seems tome that thereare exceptions to the rule . (Aloud . ) I told you thatthere was nothing to be gained from rearranging mytableMrs. G. (Absently . ) What does the woman mean?She goes on talking about Consequences ‘ almostinevitable Consequences

’

with a capital C for halfa page . (Flushing scar let . ) Oh, good gracious ! Howabominable !Capt . G. (Promptly . ) Do you think so? Doesn’t

it show a sort of motherly interest in us? (Aside )Thank Heaven, Harrie always wrapped her meaning upsafely ! (Al oud . ) Is it absolutely necessary to go on

with the letter, darling?Mrs. G. It

’s irnpertinent—it’

s simply horrid. Whatri ght has this woman to wri te in this way to you? Sheoughtn’t to.

Capt. G. When you write to the Deercourt girl, Inotice that you generally fill three or four sheets . Can’tyou let an old woman babble on paper once in a way?She means well .Mrs . G. I don’t care. She shouldn’t write, and

if she did , you ought to have shown me her letter.Capt. G. Can’t you understand why I kept it to

myself, or must I explain at length as I explainedthe farcy-buds?Mrs. G. (Furiously. ) Pip, I hate you ! This is as

bad as those idiotic saddle-bags on the floor ! Neverm ind whether it would please me or not, you ought tohave given it to me to read .

1 8 1

FATIMA

Capt. G. It comes to the same thing. You tookit yourself.Mrs . G . Yes, but if I hadn

’t taken it, you wouldn’

t

have said a word . I think this Harriet Herriott it’

s

like a name in a book is an interfering old Thing.

Capt . G. (Aside ) So long as you thoroughly understand that she is old , I don

’t much care what you think .

(Aloud . ) Very good, dear. Would you like to writeand tell her so? She ’s seven thousand miles away.

Mrs. G . I don’t want to have anything to do withher, but you ought to have told me . (Turning to lastpage of letter. ) And she patronises me, too . I

’

ve

never seen her ! (Reade )‘ I do not know how the

world stands with you ; in all human probability Ishall never know ; but whatever I may have said before, I pray for her sake more than for yours that allmay be well . I have learnt what misery means, and Idare not wish that any one dear to you should Shar emy knowledge .

’

Capt . G . Good God ! Can’

t you leave that letteralone, or, at least, can

’t you refrain from reading italoud? I ’ve been through it once Put it back on thedesk . Do you hear me?Mrs . G. (Irresolutely. ) I sh-shan

’

t ! (Looks atG .

’

s eyes . ) Oh, Pip , please ! I didn’t mean to make

you angry’Deed, I didn

’t . Pip, I’m so sorry, I

know I ’ve wasted your timeCapt . G. (Grimly . ) You have . Now, will you be

good enough to go if there is nothing more in myroom that you are anxious to pry into?Mrs. G . (Putting out her hands . ) Oh, Pip, don

’tlook at me like that ! I ’ve never seen you look like thatbefore and it hu-urts me ! I

’

m sorry. I oughtn’

t to1 82


FATIMA

attempts to catch her, and bolts herself in her ownroom . )Capt. G. (His arms full of portiere . ) Oh ! (Sitting

down heavily in chair. ) I’m a brute a pig a bully,

and a blackguard . My poor, poor little darling !Made to be amused only

1 84

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

Knowing Good and Evil

CENE . The Gadsbys’

bungalow in the Plains,in June . Punkah-coolies asleep in verandah whereCapt . Gadsby is walking up and down . Doctor’s

trap in porch . Junior Chaplain drifting generally anduneasily through the house .Time am . Heat 94 degrees in verandah .

Doctor. (Coming into verandah and touching G. onthe shoulder. ) You had better go in and see her now.

Capt . G. (The colour of good cigar-ash. ) Eh,wha-at? Oh yes, of course . What did you say?Doctor. (Syllable by syllable . ) Go in to

the room and see her. She wants to speakto you . (Aside, testily. ) I shall have him on my handsnext .Junior Chaplain . (In half-lighted dining-room . ) Isn

’

tthere anyDoctor. (Savagely. ) H sh, you little fool !Junior Chaplain . Let me do my work . Gadsby,stop a minute ! (Edges after G . )Doctor . Wait till she sends for you at least at

least. Man alive, he’ll kill you if you go in there ! What

are you bothering him for?1 85


Junior Chaplain . (Coming into verandah . ) I’

ve

given him a stiff brandy-peg . He wants it . You’veforgotten him for the last ten hours, and forgottenyourself too .

G . enters bedroom, which is lit by one nightlamp . Ayah on the floor pretending to beasleep .

Voice . (From the bed . ) All down the street suchbonfires ! Ayah, go and put them out ! (Appealingly . )How can I sleep with an installation of the C . I . E . inmy room? N0 , not C . I . E . Something else . Whatwas it?Capt. G. (Trying to control his voice . ) Minnie,

I ’m here . (Bending over bed . ) Don’t you know me,

Minnie? It’s me it’s Phil it’

s your husband .

Voice . (Mechanically. ) It’

s me it’s Philyour husband .

Capt. G . She doesn ’t know me ! I t’

s your own

husband , darling.

Voice . Your own husband, darling.

Ayah . (With an inspiration . ) Memsahib understanding all I saying .

Capt . G . Make her understand me then quick !

Ayah . (Hand on Mrs. G .

’

s forehead . ) Memsahib !Captain Sahib here .Voice . Salam do . (Fretfully. ) I knowI

’m not fitto be seen .

Ayah . (Aside to G . ) Say‘

marneen’ same as break

fash .

Capt . G . Good morning, little woman . Howare weto-day?Voice . That

’s Phil . Poor old Phil . (Viciously . )Phil, you fool, I can

’t see you . Come nearer.1 86



Capt . G . All right ! All right ! Go away now ; she’

ll

recognise me ; you’re bothering her. She must

mustn ’t she?Doctor. She will before Have I your leave to

Capt . G. Anything you please, so long as she’llknow me. I t

’

s only a question of hours, isn’t it?

Doctor. (Professionally) While there’s life there’

shope, y

’

know. But don’t build on it .Capt . G. I don’t. Pull her together if it’

s possible.

(Aside ) What have I done to deserve thi s?Doctor. (Bending over bed . ) Now, Mrs . Gadsby !

We shall be all right to-morrow. You must take it, orI shan’t let Phil see you . It isn’t nasty, is it?Voice . Medicines ! Always moremedicines ! Can ’t

you leave me alone?Capt . G. Oh, leave her in peace, Doc !Doctor. (Stepping back, aside. ) May I be for

given if I’ve done wrong. (Aloud . ) In a few minutes

she ought to be sensible ; but I daren’t tell you to

look for anything. It’s only

Capt . G. What? Go on, man .

Doctor. (In a whisper. ) Forcing the last rally.

Capt . G. Then leave us alone.Doctor. Don’t mind what she says at first, if you

can . They they they turn against those theylove most sometimes in this I t

’

s hard butCapt. G. Am I her husband or are you? Leave

us alone for what time we have together.Voice . (Confidentially. ) And we were engaged quitesuddenly, Emma. I assure you that I never thought ofit for a moment ; but, oh , my little Me I don’t knowwhat I should have done if he hadn ’t proposed .

1 88


Capt. G. She thinks of that Deercourt girl beforeshe thinks of me . (Aloud . ) Minnie !Voice. Not from the shops, mummy dear . You

can get the real leaves from K aintu, and (laughingweakly) never mind about the blossoms Dead whitesilk is only fit for widows, and I won

’t wear it . It’s asbad as a winding-sheet. (A long pause . )Capt . G. I never asked a favour yet . If there is

anybody to listen to me, let her know me even ifI die too !Voice . (Very faintly. ) Pip, Pip, dear .

Capt . G . I ’m here, darling.

Voice . What has happened? They’

ve been botheringme so with medicines and things, and they wouldn

’tlet you come and see me I was never ill before . Am

I ill now?Capt. G. You you aren’t quite well .Voice. How funny ! Have I been ill long?Capt. G. Some days ; but you

’ll be all right in alittle timeVoice . Do you think so, Pip? I don’t flee! well andOh ! what have they done to my hair?Capt . G . I d-d-don’t know.

Voice . They’ve cut it off . What a shame !Capt . G. It must have been to make your head

cooler.Voice . ’Just like a boy’s wig. Don’t I look horrid?Capt . G. Never looked prettier in your life, dear.

(Aside ) Howam I to ask her to say good-bye?Voice . I don ’t feel pretty. I feel very ill . Myheart won’t work . I t

’

s nearly dead inside me, and

there’

s a funny feeling in my eyes. Everything seemsthe same distance you and the almirah and the

1 89


table inside my eyes or miles away . What does itmean, Pip?Capt. G. You ’re a little feverish, Sweetheart

very feverish . (Breaking down . ) My love ! my love !Howcan I let you go?Voice . I thought so. Why didn’t you tell me thatat first .Capt . G. What?Voice . That I am going to die .Capt . G. But you aren

’t ! You shan ’t .Ayah to punkah-coolie . (Stepping into verandahafter a glance at the bed . ) Punkah chor do ! (Stoppulling the punkah . )Voice . It

’s hard, Pip . So very, very hard afterone year j ust one year. (Wailing ) And I ’m onlytwenty . Most girls aren

’t even married at twenty.

Can ’t they do anything to help me? I don’t want to die .Capt . G. Hush, dear . You won’t.Voice . What

’s the use of talking? Help me !

You ’ve never failed me yet . Oh , Phil, help me to keepalive . (Feverishly . ) I don

’t believe you wish me tolive . You weren

’

t a bit sorry when that horrid Babything died . I wish I

’

d killed it !Capt . G . (Drawing his hand across his forehead . )

I t’

s more than a man’

s meant to bear it’s not right.

(Aloud . ) Minnie, love, I’d die for you if it would help.

Voice . N0 more death . There ’s enough already,Pip, don

’t you die too .

Capt . G . I wish I dared .

Voice . It says ‘Till Death do us part . ’ Nothingafter that and so it would be no use . It stops atthe dying . Why does it stop there? Only such a veryshort lif e, too . Pip, I

’m sorry we married .

1 90



Voice . I wonder where I shall be this time to

morrow?Capt . G. Would you like to see the Padre?Voice . Why should I ? He

’

d tell me that I am

going to heaven ; and that wouldn’t be true, because

you are here . Do you recollect when be upset thecream-ice all over his trousers at the Gassers ’ tennis?Capt . G. Yes, dear.Voice . I often wondered whether he got another pair

of trousers ; but then his are so shiny all over that youreally couldn

’

t tell unless you were told . Let’s callhim in and ask .

Capt . G . (Gravely . ) No . I don’t think he’d likethat . ’Your head comfy, Sweetheart?Voice . (Faintly with a sigh of contentment . ) Yeth !

Gracious, Pip , when did you shave last? Your chin’s

worse than the barrel of a musical box . N o, don’t

lift it up . I like it . (A pause . ) You said you’

ve nevercried at all . You

’re crying all over my cheek.

Capt . G . I I I can ’t help it, dear.Voice . How funny ! I couldn

’t cry now to save mylife . (G . shivers . ) I want to sing.

Capt . G . Won’t it tire you? ’Better not, perhaps .

Voice . Why? I won’t be bothered about—(Beginsin a hoarse quaver)

Minnie bakes oaten cake, Minnie brews ale,All because her Johnnie

’

s coming home from the sea

(That’s parade, Pip) .

And She grows red as rose, who was so pale ;And

“Ar e you sure the church-clock goes? says she .

(Pettishly . ) I knew I couldn’t take the last note .

1 92


H ow do the bass chords run? (Puts outher hands andbegins playing piano on the sheet. )Capt . G. (Catching up hands.) Ahh ! Don’t do

that, Pussy, if you love me .Voice . Love you? Of course I do. Whoelse should

it be? (A pause . )Voice . (Very clearly . ) Pip, I

’m going now. Something’s choking me cruelly. (Indistinctly . ) Into thedark— without you, my heart . But it’s a lie, dearwe mustn’t believe it . Forever and ever, living

or dead . Don ’t let go, my husband hold me tight .They can’t whatever happens . (A cough . ) Pipmy Pip ! Not for always and so soon !

(Voice ceases . )Pause of ten minutes . G. buries his face inthe side of the bed while Ayah bends overbed from opposite Side and feels Mrs. G .

’

s

breast and forehead.

Capt . G . (Rising ) Doctor 'Sahib ko salaam do .

Ayah . (Still by bedside, with a shriek . ) Ai l Ai l

Tuta-phuta ! My Memsahib ! Not getting nothave got ! Pusseena agya ! (The sweat has come !

(Fiercely to G. ) Tum jao Doctor Sahib ko j aldi !)(You go to the doctor. ) Oh !my Memsahib !Doctor. (Entering hastily . ) Come away, Gadsby .

(Bends over bed . ) Eh ! The Dev What inspired

you to stop the punkah? Get out, man go awaywait outside ! Go ! Here, Ayah ! (Over his shoul

der to G. ) Mind , I prom ise nothing .

The dawn breaks as G . stumbles into the garden .

Capt. M. (Reining up at the gate on his way toparade and very soberly . ) Old man, how goes?Capt. G. (Dazed ) I don’t quite know . Stay a

1 93

TH E VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

bit . Have a dri nk or something. Don’t run away .

You ’re just getting am using. Ha ! ha !Capt . M . (Aside ) What am I let in for? Gaddy

has aged ten years in the night.Capt . G. (Slowly, fingering charger’s headstall . )

Your curb ’s too loose .

Capt . M . So it is . Put it straight,will you? (Aside )I shall be late for parade . Poor Gaddy .

Capt . G . links and unlinks curb-chain aimlessly,and finallystands staring towardstheverandah.

The day bri ghtens .Doctor. (Knocked out of professional gravity,

tramping across flower-beds and shaking G .

’

s hands . )It ’s it ’s - it’s ! Gadsby, there

’s a fair chancea dashed fair chance ! The flicker, y

’

know. The sweat,

y’

know! I sawhow it would be . The punkah , y’

know.

Deuced clever woman that Ayah of yours . Stoppedthe punkah just at the right time . A dashed goodchance ! No— you don ’t go in . We’

ll pull herthrough yet, I promise on my reputation underProvidence . Send a man with this note to Bingle .Two heads better than one . ’Specially the Ayah !We’

ll pull her round . (Retreats hastily to house . )Capt . G . (His head on neck of M .

’

S charger. ) JackI bub bub believe, I

’m going to make a hubbub bloody exhibitiod of byself .Capt . M . (Sniffing Openly and feeling in his left

cuff . ) I’

h-b I’

h doing it already . Old had, whatcad I say? I

’

h as pleased as Cod dab you, Gaddy !You’re one big idiot and I ’

h adother . (Pulling hirnself together. ) Sit tight ! Here comes the Devildodger .Junior Chaplain . (Who is not in the Doctor

’

s con1 94



pale cheeks pink again, or I shall be angry. Don’t tryto lift the urn . You ’ll upset it . Wait . (Comes roundto head of table and lifts urn . )Mrs . G. Quickly . ) Khitmatgar, bowarchi-khana

see kettly lao . (Butler, get a kettle from the cookhouse . ) (Drawing down G .

’

s face to her own . ) Pipdear, I remember.Capt . G. What?Mrs . G. That last terrible night .Capt . G. Then just you forget all about it .Mrs. G. (Softly, her eyes filling . ) Never. It has

brought us very close together, my husband . There !

(Interlude ) I’m going to give Junda a saree .

Capt . G . I gave her fifty dibs .Mrs . G. So she told me . It was a

’

normous reward .

Was I worth it? (Several interludes . ) Don’

t ! Here ’sthe khitmatgar. Two lumps or one, Sir?

1 96

THE SWELLING OF JORDAN

‘ If thou hast run with the footmen and they havewearied thee, then how canst thou contend with horses?And if in the land of peace wherein thou trustedst theywearied thee, then how wilt thou do in the swelling ofJordan? ’

CENE .

—The Gadsbys’ bungalow in the Plains,

on a January morning . Mrs. G . arguing withbearer in back verandah . Capt . M . ri des up .

Capt . M .

’Mornin’

, Mrs . Gadsby . How’s the Infant Phenomenon and the Proud Proprietor?Mrs. G . You ’ll find them in the front verandah ; go

through the house . I ’m Martha just now.

Capt . M .

’Cumbered about with cares of khitmatgars? I fly .

Passes into front verandah, where Gadsby iswatching Gadsby junior, aged ten months,crawling about the matting.

Capt . M . What’s the trouble, Gaddy spoilingan honest man ’s Europe morning this way? (SeeingG. junior. ) By Jove, that yearling

’

s comin’

on amazingly ! Any am ount of bone below the knee there .Capt . G. Yes, he

’s a heathy little scoundrel . Don’

t

you think his hair’s growing?

1 97

TH E SWELLING OF JORDAN

M . Let’

s have a look . Hi ! H st ! Come here,

General Luck, and we’ll report on you .

Mrs . G . (Within . ) What absurd name will yougive him next? Why do you call him that?M . Isn’t be our Inspector General of Cavalry?

Doesn ’t he come down in his seventeen-two perambulator every morning the Pink Hussars parade? Don ’twriggle, Bri gadier. Give us your private opinion onthe way the third squadron went past. ’

Trifle ragged,weren’t they?G. A bigger set of tailors than the new draft I don ’t

wish to see . They’ve given me more than my fairshare knocking the squadron out of shape . I t

’

s

sickening !M . When you’re in command , you

’ll do better, young’

un . Can ’t you walk yet? Grip my finger and try.

(To G . )’

Twon’

t hurt his books, will it?G . Oh, no . Don’t let him flop, though, or he

’lllick al l the blacking off your boots .Mrs . G . (Within . ) Who

’s destroying my son’scharacter?M . And my Godson’s . I ’m ashamed of you, Gaddy .

Punch your father in the eye, Jack ! Don’t you stand

it ! Hit him again !G . (Sotto voce . ) Put the Butcha down and come

to the end of the verandah . I ’d rather the wife didn’thear just now .

M . You look awf ’

ly serious . Anything wrong?G .

’Depends on your view entirely . I say, Jack,you won ’t think more hardly of me than you can help,will you? Come farther this way . The fact of thematter is, that I

’ve made up my m ind at least I’

mthinking seriously of cutting the Service .

1 98



after Am dheran, when we were picketed under Jagei,and he

’

d left his sword by the way, did you everpay Ranken for that sword? in an Utmanzai

’

s headthat man told me that he ’d stick by me and the

Pinks as long as he lived . I don’t blam e him for notsticking by me I ’m not much of a man but I doblame him for not sticking by the Pink Hussars .

G . (Uneasily . ) We were little more than boys then .

Can’t you see, Jack, how things stand?’

Tisn’

t as if wewere serving for our bread . We’ve all of us, more orless, got the filthy lucre . I ’m luckier than some, perhaps . There

’s no call for me to serve on .

M . None in the world for you or for us, except theRegimental . If you don’t choose to answer to that,of courseG. Don’t be too hard on a man . You know that a

lot of us only take up the thing for a few year s andthen go back to Town and catch on with the rest.M . Not lots, and they aren

’t some of Us .G . And then there are one

’s affairs at Home to beconsidered my place and the rents, and all that . Idon’t suppose my father can last much longer, and thatmeans the title and so on .

M .

’Fraid you won’t be entered in the Stud Book

correctly unless you go Home? Take six months,then

,and come out in October. If I could slay off a

brother or two, I s’pose I should be a Marquis of sorts .

Any fool can be that ; but it needs men , Gaddy men

like you to lead flanking squadrons properly . Don’

tyou delude yourself into the belief that you

’

re goingHome to take your place and prance about am ong pinknosed Kabuli dowagers . You aren

’t built that way. Iknow better.

200


G. A man has a ri ght to live his life as happily ashe can . You ar en’t married .

M . No praise be to Providence and the one or twowomen who have had the good sense to j awab meG. Then you don’t know what it is to go into your

own room and see your wife’s head on the pillow, and

when everything else is safe and the house shut up forthe night, to wonder whether the roof-beams won

’tgive and kill her.M . (Aside ) Revelations first and second ! (Aloud . )

So-o ! I knew a man who got squiffy at our Mess onceand confided to me that he never helped his wife onto her horse without praying that she’d break herneck before she came back. All husbands aren’t alike,you see .

G. What on earth has that to do with my case?The man must ha’ been mad, or his wife as bad as theymake ’em .

M . (Aside )’No fault of yours if either weren’

tall you say. You’ve forgotten the time when you wereinsane about the Herri ott woman . You always werea good band at forgetting. (Aloud . ) Not more madthan men who go to the other extreme . Be reasonable,Gaddy . Your roof-beams are sound enough .

G . That was only a way of speaking. I ’ve beenuneasy and worried about the wife ever since that awfulbusiness three years ago when I nearly lost her.Can you wonder?M. Oh, a shell never falls twice in the same place .

You ’

ve paid your toll to misfortune why shouldyour wife he picked out more than anybody else’s?G. I can talk just as reasonably asyou can, but youdon’

t understand, you don’t understand . And then201


there’s the Butcha . Deuce knows where the Ayahtakes him to sit in the evening ! He has a bit of a cough .

Haven’t you noticed it?M . Bosh ! The Brigadier’s jumping out of his skin

with pure condition . He’s got a muzzle like a roseleaf and the chest of a two-year-old. What

’

s demoral

ised you?G. Funk . That’s the long and the short of it,

Funk !M . But what is there to funk?G. Everything. It’s ghastly.

M . Ah ! I see.‘You don’t want to fight,And by Jingo when we do,

You’ve got the kid, you’ve got the wife,

You’ve got the money, too .

’

That’s about the case, eh?G. I suppose that’s it . But it’s not formyself.

because of them . At least I think it is.

M . Are you sure? Looking at the matter in a coldblooded light, the wife is provided for even if you werewiped out to-night . She has an ancestral home to goto, money, and the Brigadier to carry on the illustriousname .G . Then it is for myself or because they are part of

me . You don’t see it . My life

’s so good, so pleasant,as it is, that I want to make it quite safe . Can

’

t youunderstand?M . Perfectly. Shelter-pit for the Orf

’

cer’

s charger,’

as they say in the Line .G. And I have everything to my hand to make it so .

I’

m sick of the strain and the worry for their sakes out202


THE SWE LLING OF JORDAN

You’

ve ri dden Van Loo . I s he the sort of brute to pickhis way

’

specially when we’re coming up in columnof troop with any pace on?M . Once in a Blue Moon do we gallop in column

of troop, and then only to save time . Aren’t three

lengths enough for you?G . Yes quite enough . They just allow for the

full development of the smash . I ’m talking like a cur,I know ; but I tell you that, for the past three months,I

’

ve felt every hoof of the squadron in the small of myback every time that I ’ve led .

M . But, Gaddy, this is awful !G. Isn ’t it lovely? Isn ’t it royal? A Captain of

the Pink Hussars watering up his charger before paradelike the blasted boozing Colonel of a Black Regiment !M . You never did?G . Once only. He squelched like a mussuck, and

the Troop-Sergeant-Major cocked his eye at me . Youknow old H affy

’

s eye . I was afraid to do it again .

M . I should think so . That was the best way torupture old Van Loo’s tummy, and make him crumpleyou up . You knew that .G . I didn ’t care . It took the edge off him .

M .

‘Took the edge off him?’ Gaddy, you —youyou mustn’t, you know ! Think of the men .

G. That’s another thing I am afraid of. D’

you

s’pose they know?M . Let’s hope not ; but they

’

re deadly quick to Spotskrim little things of that kind . See here, old man,send the wife home for the hot weather and come toKashmir with me . We’

ll start a boat on the Dal orcross the Rhotang shoot ibex or loaf which youplease . Only come ! You

’

re a bit off your oats and204


you’re talking nonsense . Look at the Colonel swagbellied rascal that he is . He has a wife and no end ofbow-window of his own . Can any one of us ri de roundhim chalk-stones and all? I can’t, and I think I canshove a crock along a bit .G . Some men are different. I haven’t the nerve.

Lord help me, I haven’t the nerve ! I ’ve taken up a

hole and a half to get my knees well under the wallets .I can’t help it . I

’m so afraid of anything happeningto me . On my soul, I ought to he broke in front of thesquadron, for cowardice .

M . Ugly word, that . I should never have the courage to own up .

G. I meant to lie about my reasons when I began,but I ’ve got out of the habit of lying to you, old man .

Jack, you won’t? But I know you won’t .

M . Of course not . (Half aloud . ) The Pinks arepaying dearly for their Pri de.G. Eh ! Wha-at?M . Don’t you know? The men have called Mrs.

Gadsby the Pride of the Pink Hussars ever since she

came to us .G .

’

Tisn’

t her fault . Don ’t think that . I t’

s allmine .M. What does She say?G. I haven’t exactly put it before her. She’s the

best little woman in the world, Jack, and all that butshe wouldn’t counsel a man to stick to his calling if itcame between him and her. At least, I thinkM . Never mind . Don’t tell her what you told me .Go on the Peerage and Landed-Gentry tack.

G. She’d see through it . She’s five times clevererthan I am .

205


M . (Aside ) Then she’ll accept the sacrifice and

think a little bit worse of him for the rest of her days .G. (Absently . ) I say, do you despise me?M .

’Queer way of putting it . Have you ever beenasked that question? Think a m inute What answerused you to give?G . So bad as that? I ’m not entitled to expect any

thing more ; but it’

s a bit hard when one’s best fr iendturns round andM . So I have found . But you will have consolationsBailiff s and Drains and Liquid Manure and the

Primrose League, and, perhaps, if you’re lucky , the

Colonelcy of a Yeomanry Cav-al-ry Regiment alluniform and no riding l believe . How old are you?G . Thirty-three . I know it

’

s

M . At forty you’ll be a fool of a J . P. landlord .

At fifty you ’ll own a bath-chair, and the Brigadier, ifhe takes after you, will be fluttering the dovecotes ofwhat’s the particular dunghill you

’

re going to? Also

Mrs . Gadsby will be fat .G . (Limply . ) This is rather more than a joke .

M . D’yon think so? Isn’t cutting the Service a

joke? It generally takes a man fifty years to arriveat it . You

’

re quite right, though . It is more than ajoke . You ’ve managed it in thirty-three .

G . Don’t make me feel worse than I do . Will it

satisfy you if I own that I am a shirker, a skr imshanker,and a coward?M . It will not, because I

’m the only man in theworld who can talk toyou like this without being knockeddown . You mustn’t take all that I ’ve said to heartin this way . I only spoke —a lot of it at least— out ofpure selfishness because, because Oh, damn it all,

206



sermon . Your husband is recommending me to get

married .

’Never saw such a one-idea’d man !Mrs. G. Well, why don

’t you? I daresay you wouldmake some woman very happy .

G. There’s the Law and the Prophets, Jack . Nevermind the Regiment . Make a woman happy. (Aside )O Lord !M . We’ll see . I must be off to make a Troop Cook

desperately unhappy. I won’t have the wily H us

sar fed on Government Bullock Train shin-bones .

(Hastily . ) Surely black ants can’t be good for the

Brigadier. He’s picking ’em off the matting and eating’em . Here, Senor Comandante Don Grubbynosc,

come and talk to me . (Lifts G. junior in his arms . )’Want my watch? You won ’t be able to put it intoyour mouth, but you can try. (G. junior drops watch,breaking dial and hands .)Mrs . G . Oh, Captain Mafflin, I am so sorry ! Jack,

you had, had little villain, Ahhh !M . It’s not the least consequence, I assure you .

He ’d treat the world in the same way if he could getit into his hands . Everything’s made to be playedwith and broken, isn

’t it, young’

un?

Mrs . G . Mafflin didn ’t at all like his watch beingbroken, though he was too polite to say so. It wasentirely his fault for giving it to the child . Dem littlepuds are werry, werry feeble, aren

’t dey, my Jack-in-debox? (To G . ) What did he want to see you for?G. Regimental shOp as usual .Mrs . G. The Regiment ! Always the Regiment.

On my word, I sometimes feel jealous of Mafflin .

G . (Wearily . ) Poor old Jack ! I don’t think you

208

TH E SWELLING OF JORDAN

need . Isn’t it time for the Butcha to have his nap?Bring a chair out here, dear . I ’ve got something totalk over with you .

And this is the End of the Story of the Gadsbys.

L ’ENVOI

HAT is the moral? Who rides may read .

When the night is thick and the tracks arebhnd,

A friend at a pinch is a friend indeedBut a fool to wait for the laggar d behindDown to Gehenna or up to the ThroneHe travels the fastest who travels alone.

White hands cling to the tightened rein,Slipping the spur from the booted heel,

Tenderest voices cry,

‘Turn again,’

Red lips tarnish the scabbarded steel,High hopes faint on a warm hearth-stoneHe travels the fastest who travels alone.

One may fall but he falls by himselfFalls by himself with himself to blame ;One may attain and to him is the pelf,Loot of the city in Gold or Fam e

Plunder of earth shall be all his ownWho travels the fastest and travels alone .

Wherefore the more ye be holpen and stayedStayed by a friend in the hour of toil ,

Sing the heretical song I have madeHis be the labour and yours be the spoil .

Win by his aid and the aid disownHe travels the fastest who travels alone .


DRAY WARA YOW DEE

‘

For jealousy is the rage of a man : therefore he willnot spare in the day of vengeance .

’

LMONDS and raisins, Sahib? Grapes fromKabul? Or a pony of the rarest if the Sahibwill only come with me. He is thirteen three,

Sahib, plays polo, goes in a cart, carries a lady andHoly Kurshed and the Blessed Imams, it is the Sahibhimself ! My heart is made fat andmy eye glad . May

you never be tired ! AS is cold water in the Tirah, so isthe sight of a friend in a far place . And what do you inthis accursed land? South of Delhi, Sahib, you knowthe saying ‘Rats are the men and trulls the women .

’

It was an order? Ahoo ! An order is an order till oneis strong enough to disobey . Omy brother, 0 my friend,we have met in an auspicious hour ! Is allwell in the heartand the body and the house? In a lucky day have wetwo come together again .

I am to go with you? Your favour is great. Willthere be picket-room in the compound? I have threehorses and the bundles and the horse-boy. Moreover,remember that the police here hold me a horse-thief.What do these Lowland bastards know of horse-thieves?

2 1 3

DRAY WARA YOW DEE

Do you remember that time in Peshawar when K am al

hammered on the gates of Jum rud mounteba nkthat he was and lifted the Colonel’s horses and all

in one night? Kam al is dead now, but his nephew hastaken up the matter, and there will be more horsesamissing if the Khaiber Levies do not look to it.

The Peace of God and the favour of His Prophet beupon this house and all that is in it ! Shafizullah, mmthe mottled mare under the tree and draw water. The

horses can stand in the sun, but double the felts overthe loins . Nay, my friend, do not trouble to lookthem over. They are to sell to the Officer fools who knowso many things of the horse . The mare is heavy infoal ; the gray is a devil unlicked ; and the dun but

you know the trick of the peg . When they are soldI go back to Pubbi, or, it may be, the Valley of Peshawar.0 friend of my heart, it is good to see you again . I

have been bowing and lying all day to the OfficerSahibs in respect to those horses ; and my mouth is dryfor straight talk . Auggrh ! Before a meal tobacco isgood . Do not join me, for we are not in our own country. Sit

,in the verandah and I will spread my cloth here .

But first I will drink. In the name of God returningthanks, thrice ! This is sweet water, indeed sweetas the water of Sheoran when it comes from the snows .They are all well and pleased in the North Khoda

B aksh and the others . Y ar Khan has come down withthe horses from Kurdistan six and thirty head only,and a full half pack-ponies and has said openly in theK ashmir Serai that you English should send guns andblow the Amir into Hell . There are fifteen tolls nowon the Kabul road ; and at Dakka, when he thought

21 4


DRAY WARA YOW DE E

To call a sweeper and have me led away by one Of

these lizard-men? I am the Sahib ’s friend . I havedrunk water in the shadow of his house, and he hasblackened my face . Remains there anything m oreto do? Will the Sahib give me eight annas to make

smooth the injury and complete the insultForgive me, my brother. I knew not I know not

now—what I say. Yes, I lied to you ! I will putdust on my head and I am an Afridi ! The hors eshave been marched footsore from the Valley to thisplace, and my eyes are dim , and my body aches for thewant of sleep, and my heart is dried up with sorrow and

shame . But as it was my sham e, so by God the D ispenser of Justice by Allah-al-Mumit it shall bemy own revenge !We have spoken together with naked hearts before

this, and our hands have dipped into the same dish,and thou hast been to me as a brother. Therefore Ipay thee back with lies and ingratitude as a Pathan

,

Listen now! When the grief of the soul is too heavy forendurance it may be a little eased by speech ; and, moreover, the rrrind of a true man is as a well, and the pebbleof confession dropped therein sinks and is nomore seen .

From the Valley have I come on foot, league by league,with a fire in my chest like the fire of the Pit . And why?Hast thou, then, so quickly forgotten our customs,among this folk who sell their wives and their daughtersfor silver? Come back with me to the North and beamong men once more . Come back, when this matteris accomplished and I call for thee ! The bloom of the

peach-orchards is upon all the Valley, and here is onlydust and a great stink. There is a pleasant wind amongthe mulberry trees, and the streams are bright with

2 1 6

DRAY WARA YOW DEE

snow-water, and the caravans go up and the caravansgo down, and a hundred fires Sparkle in the gut of thePass, and tent-peg answers hammer-nose, and packhorse squeals to pack-horse across the drift smoke ofthe evening. It is good in the North now. Comeback with me Let us return to our own people ! Come !

Whence is my sorrow? Does a man tear out hisheart and make fritters thereof over a slow fire foraught other than a woman? Do not laugh, friend of

mine, for your time will also be . A woman of theAbazai was she, and I took her to wife to staunch thefeud between our village and the men of Ghor. I am nolonger young? The lime has touched my beard? True.I had no need of the wedding? Nay, but I loved her.What saith Rahman : ‘ Into whose heart Love enters,there is Folly and naught else. By a glance of the eyeShe hath blinded thee ; and by the eyelids and the fringeof the eyelids taken thee into the captivity withoutransom, and naught else.

’ Dost thou remember thatsong at the sheep-roasting in the Pindi camp among theUzbegs of the Am ir?The Abazai are dogs and their women the servantsof sin . There was a lover of her own people, but ofthat her father told me naught. My friend, curse forme in your prayers, as I curse at each praying from theFahr to the Isha, the name of D aoud Shah, Abazai ,whose head is still upon his neck, whose hands arestill upon his wrists, who has done me dishonour, whohas made my nam e a laughing-stock am ong the womenof Little Malikand.

I went into Hindustan at the end of two monthsto Cherat . I was gone twelve days only ; but I had

2 1 7

DRAY WARA YOW DEE

said that I would be fifteen days absent . This I didto try her, for it is written :

‘Trust not the incapable . ’

Coming up the gorge alone in the falling of the light,I heard the voice of a man singing at the door of myhouse ; and it was the voice of Daoud Shah, and thesong that he sang was ‘Dray wara yow dee

’ ‘

All

three are one .

’ It was as though a heel-rope had beenslipped round my heart and all the Devils were drawingit tight past endurance . I crept silently up the hillroad, but the fuse of my matchlock was wetted with therain, and I could not slay Daoud Shah from afar .Moreover, it was in my mind to kill the woman also .

Thus he sang, sitting outside my house, and, anon, thewoman opened the door, and I came nearer, crawlingon my belly among the rocks . I had only my knifeto my hand . But a stone slipped under my foot,and the two looked down the hillside, and be, leavinghis matchlock, fled from my anger, because he wasafraid for the life that was in him . But the womanmoved not till I stood in front of her, crying

‘ Owoman , what is this that thou hast done? And she, voidof fear, though she knew my thought, laughed , saying :‘ It is a little thing . I loved him, and thou art a dogand cattle-thief coming by night . Strike ! ’ And I ,being still blinded by her beauty, for, O my friend, thewomen of the Abazai are very fair, said

‘Hast thouno fear? ’ And she answered : ‘None but only thefear that I do not die ’ Then said I ‘Have no fear. ’

And she bowed her head, and I smote it off at the neckbone so that it leaped between my feet . Thereafter,the rage of our people came upon me, and I backed offthe breasts, that the men of LittleMalikandmight knowthe crime, and cast the body into the watercourse that

21 8


DRAY WARA YOW DEE

Aho ! so tenderly ! in my arms, saying‘Well hast

thou done and well shalt thou be repaid .

’ And out ofthat embrace Daoud Shah shall not go forth with thebreath in his nostrils . Auggrb ! Where is the pitcher?I am as thirs ty as a mother mare in the first month .

Your Law ! What is your Law to me? When thehorses fight on the runs do they regard the boundarypillars ; or do the kites of Ali Musj id forbear becausethe carrion lies under the shadow of the Ghor Kuttri?The matter began across the Border. It shall fini shwhere God pleases. Here, in my own country, or inHell . All three are one .Listen now, Sharer of the sorrow of my heart, and I

will tell of the hunting. I followed to Peshawar fromPubbi, and I went to and fro about the streets of Peshawar like a houseless dog, seeking for my enemy. OnceI thought that I sawhim washing his mouth in the conduit in the big square, but when I came up hewas gone .It may be that it was he, and, seeing my face, he hadfled .

A girl of the bazar said that he would go to Nowshera .

I said : ‘ O heart’s heart does Daoud Shah visit thee? ’

And she said ‘Even so. I said : ‘ I would fain see

him , for we be friends parted for two years . Hide me,I pray, here in the shadow of the window-shutter, andI will wait for his coming.

’ And the girl said : ‘OPathan , look into my eyes !

’ And I turned, leaningupon her breast, and looked into her eyes, swearingthat I Spoke the very Truth of God. But she answered :Never friend waited friendwith such eyes . Lie to Godand the Prophet, but to a woman ye cannot lie. Get

hence ! There shall no harm befall Daoud Shah bycause of me .

’

220

DRAY WARA YOW DEE

I would have strangled that girl but for the fear ofyour Police ; and thus the hunting would have cometo naught . Therefore I only laughed

‘

and departed,and she leaned over the window-bar in the night andmocked me down the street . Her name is Jamum .

When I have made my account with the man I will return to Peshawar and her lovers shall desire her nomore for her beauty’s sake . She shall not be Jamum,

but Ak , the cripple among trees. Ho ! ho ! Ak shallshe be !At Peshawar I bought the horses and grapes, and thealmonds and dried fruits, that the reason of my wanderings might be open to the Government, and thatthere might be no hindrance upon the road . But whenI came to Nowshera he was gone, and I knew not whereto go . I stayed one day at Nowshera, and in the nighta Voice spoke in my cars as I slept among the horses.All night it flew round my head and would not ceasefrom whispering . I was upon my belly, sleeping as theDevils sleep, and it may have been that the Voice wasthe voice of a Devil . It said : Go south, and thoushalt come upon Daoud Shah .

’ Listen,my brother, andchiefest among friends listen ! Is the tale a long one?Think how it was long to me I have trodden everyleague of the road from P ubbi to this place ; and fromNowshera my guide was only the Voice and the lust ofvengeance .To the Uttock I went, but that was no hindrance

to me. Ho ! ho ! Aman may turn the word twice, evenin his trouble . The Uttock was no uttock (obstacle)to me ; and I heard the Voice above the noise of thewaters beating on the big rock, saying : Go to the right .

’

So I went to Pindigheb, and in those days my sleepwas22 1

DRAY WARA YOW DEE

taken from me utterly, and the head of the woman ofthe Abazai was before me night and day, even as it hadfallen between my feet . Dray wara yow dee ! Draywara yow dee ! Fire, ashes, and my couch, all three areone all three are one !Now I was far from the winter path of the dealerswho

had gone to Sialkot, and so south by the rail and the B igRoad to the line of cantonments ; but there was a Sahibin c at P indigheb who bought fromme a whitemareat a good price, and told me that one Daoud Shah hadpassed to Shahpur with horses . Then I saw that thewarning of the Voice was true, and made swift to cometo the Salt Hills . The Jhelum was in flood, but Icould not wait, and, in the crossing, a bay stallion waswashed down and drowned . Herein was God hardto me not in respect of the beast, of that I hadno care but in this snatching. While I was uponthe right bank urging the horses into the water,Daoud Shahwas upon the left ; for Alghias ! Alghias

the hoofs of my mare scattered the hot ashes of his fireswhen we came up the hither bank in the light of moming. But he had fled . H is feet were made swift by theterror of Death . And I went south from Shahpur asthe kite flies . I dared not turn aside lest I should missmy vengeance which is my right . From ShahpurI skirted by the Jhelum , for I thought that he wouldavoid the Desert of the Reshna . But, presently, atSahiwal, I turned away upon the road to Jhang, Samundri, and Gugera, till, upon a night, the mottledmare breasted the fence of the rail that runs to Montgomery. And that place was Okara, and the head ofthe woman of the Abazai lay upon the sand between myfeet.

222


DRAY WARA YOW DEE

There was no sleep with me in that journeying ; andthat was a heavy burden . Dost thou know, brotherof mine, the evil of wakefulness that cannot breakwhen the bones are sore for lack of sleep, and the skinof the temples twitches with weariness, and yetthere is no sleep there is no sleep? Dray wara yowdee ! Dray wara yow dee ! The eye of the Sun, theeye of the Moon, andmy own unrestful eyes all threeare one all three are one !There was a city the name whereof I have forgotten

,

and there the Voice called all night. That was tendays ago . It has cheated me afresh .

I have come hither from a place called Hamirpur,and, behold, it is my Fate that I should meet with theeto my comfort, and the increase of friendship . Thisis a good omen . By the joy of looking upon thy facethe weariness has gone from my feet, and the sorrowof my so long travel is forgotten . Also my heart ispeaceful ; for I know that the end is near.It may be that I shall find Daoud Shah in this city

going northward, since a Hillman will ever head backto his Hills when the spring warns . And shall he seethose bills of our country? Surely I shall overtakehim ! Surely my vengeance is safe ! Surely God hathhim in the hollow of H is hand against my claiming.

There shall no harm befall Daoud Shah till I come ; forI would fain kill him quick and whole with the lifesticking firm in his body. A pomegranate is sweetestwhen the cloves break away unwilling from the rind .

Let it be in the daytime, that I may see his face, andmydelight may be crowned .

And when I have accomplished the matter and myHonour is made clean , I shall return thanks unto God

224

DRAY WARA YOW DEE

the Holder of the Scale of the Law, and I shallFrom the night, through the day, and into theagain I shall sleep ; and no dream shall trouble me .And now, 0 my brother, the tale is all told .

Ahi ! Alghias ! Ahi !

225

THE JUDGMENT OF B UNGARA

( 1 888)

See the pale martyr with his shirt on fire. Printer’

s

Error.

HEY tell the tale even now among the grovesof the B erbulda Hill, and for corroborationpoint to the roofless and windowless Mission

house . The great God B ungara, the God of Things asThey Are, Most Terrible, One-eyed, Bearing the RedElephant Tusk, did it all ; and he who refuses to believein B ungara will assuredly be smitten by the Madnessof Yat the madness that fell upon the sons and thedaughters of the Buria Kol when they turned asidefrom Dungara and put on clothes . So says Athon Daze,who is High Priest of the shrine and Warden of theRed Elephant Tusk . But if you ask the AssistantCollector and Agent in Charge of the Buria Kol, hewill laugh not because he hears any malice againstm issions, but because he himself saw the vengeance ofDungara executed upon the spiritual children of the

Reverend Justus K renk, Pastor of the Tubingen Mission, and upon Lotta, his virtuouswif e .Yet if ever a man merited good treatment of the Godsit was the Reverend Justus, one time of Heidelberg,who, on the faith of a call, went into the wilderness

226i



of spiri tuality that may lie therein . If to the cure of

souls you add that of bodies, your task will be all themore difficult, for the sick and the maimed will profess any and every creed for the sake of beefing, andwill laugh at you because you are simple enough to believe them .

As the day wears and the impetus of the morning diesaway, there will come upon you an overwhelming senseof the uselessness of your toil . This must be strivenagainst, and the only Spur in your side will be the beliefthat you are playing against the Devil for the livingsoul . It is a great, a joyous belief ; but hewho can holdit unwavering for four and twenty consecutive hoursmust be blessed with an abundantly strong physiqueand equable nerve .Ask the gray heads of the Bannockburn Medical Crusade what manner of life their preachers lead ; speakto the Racine Gospel Agency, those lean Americanswhose boast is that they go where no Englishman darefollow ; get a Pastor of the Tubingen Mission to talkof his experiences if you can . You will be referredto the printed reports, but these contain no mentionof the men who have lost youth and health, all that aman may lose except faith, in the wilds ; of Englishmaidens who have gone forth and died in the feverstricken jungle of the Panth Hills, knowing from thefirst that death was almost a certainty. Few Pastorswill tell you of these things any more than they willspeak of that young David of St . Bees, who, set apartfor the Lord ’s work, broke down in the utter desolation,and returned half distraught to the Head Mission ,crying,

‘There is no God, but I have walked with theDevil ! ’

228

TH E JUDGMENT OF B UNGARA

The reports are silent here, because heroism, failure,doubt, despair, and self-abnegation on the par t of amere cultured white man are things of no weight ascompared to the saving of one half-human soul from afantastic faith in wood-spiri ts, goblins of the rock, andriver-fiends.

And Gallio, the Assistant Collector of the countryside,

‘ cared for none of these things . ’ He had been longin the district, and the Buria Kol loved him and broughthim offerings of speared fish, or orchids from the dim,

moist heart of the forests, and as much game as hecould eat . In return, he gave them quinine, andwith Athon Daze, the High Priest, controlled theirsirnple policies .

‘When you have been some years in the country,’

said Gallio at the K renks’ table,

‘you grow to find onecreed as good as another. I

’

ll give you all the assistance in my power, of course, but don

’t hurt my BuriaKol . They are a good people, and they trust me .

’

I will them the Word of the Lord teach ,’ said Justus.

his round face beaming with enthusiasm, and I willassuredly to their prejudices no wrong hastily withoutthinking make . But, O my friend , this in the mindimpartiality-of-creed-judgment-be-looking is very bad .

’

‘Heigh-ho ! ’ said Gallio,‘ I have their bodies and the

district to see to, but you can try what you can do fortheir souls . Only don ’t behave as your predecessor did,or I ’m afraid that I can’t guarantee your life .

’

And that? said Lotta sturdily, handing him a cupof tea .

‘He went up to the Temple of Dungara to be surehewas new to the country and began hammering oldB ungara over the head with an umbrella ; so the Buria

229

THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA

Kol turned out and hammered him rather savagely . Iwas in the district, and he sent a runner to me with a

note saying : “Persecuted for the Lord ’s sake. Sendwing of regimen The nearest troops were about twohundred miles off , but I guessed what he had beendoing. I rode to Panth and talked to old Athon Dazelike a father, telling him that a man of his wisdom oughtto have known that the Sahib had sunstroke and wasmad . You never saw a people more sorry in your life .

Athon Daze apologised, sent wood and milk and fowlsand all sorts of things ; and I gave five rupees to theshrine and told Macnamara that he had been injudicious .He said that I had bowed down in the House of R irn ~

mon ; but if he had only just gone over the brow of the

hill and insulted Palin Deo, the idol of the Suria Kol,he would have been irnpaled on a charred bamboo longbefore I could have done anything, and then I shouldhave had to hang some of the poor brutes . Be gentlewith them, Padri but I don’t think you’ll domuch .

’

‘Not I ,’ said Justus,

‘but my Master. We will withthe little children begin . Many of them will be sickthat is so . After the children the mothers ; and then themen . But I would greatly that you were in internalsympathies with us prefer. ’

Gallio departed to risk his life in mending the rottenbamboo bridges of his people, in killing a too persistenttiger here or there, in sleeping out in the reeking jungleor in tracking the Suria Kol raiders who had taken afew heads from their brethren of the Buria clan . He wasa knock-kneed, shambling young man, naturally devoidof creed or reverence, with a longing for absolute powerwhich his undesirable district gratified .

‘No one wants my post,’

he used to say grim ly,‘

and

230



So Matui took her child again would be a servant, evera slave, to this wonderful white woman, for her owntribe would recognise her no more And Lotta weptwith her exhaustively, after the German fashion, whichincludes much blowing of the nose .

‘First the child, then the mother, and last the man,and to the Glory of God all,

’ said Justus the Hopeful .And the m an came, with a bow and arrows, very angryindeed, for there was no one to cook for him .

But the tale of the Mission is a long one, and I haveno space to show how Justus, forgetful of his injudicious predecessor, grievously smote Moto, the husbandof Matui, for his brutality ; how Moto was startled, butbeing released from the fear of instant death , took heartand became the faithful ally and first convert of Justus ;how the little gathering grew, to the huge disgust ofAthon Daze ; how the Priest of the God of Things asThey Are argued subtilely with the Priest of the God ofThings as They Should Be, and was worsted ; how the

dues of the Temple of Dungara fell away in fowls andfish and honeycomb ; how Lotta lightened the Curseof Eve am ong the women, and how Justus did his bestto introduce the Curse of Adam ; how the Buria K olrebelled at this, saying that their God was an idle God,and how Justus partially overcame their scruplesagainst work, and taught them that the black earthwas rich in other produce than pig-nuts only.

All these things belong to the history of many months,and throughout those months the white-haired AthonDazemeditated revenge for the tribal neglectofB ungara .

With savage cunning he feigned friendship towardsJustus, even hinting at his own conversion ; but to thecongregation of Dungara he said darkly : They of the

232


Padri’

s flock have put on clothes and worship a busyGod . Therefore Dengara will afflict them grievouslytill they throw themselves,howling, into the waters of theB erbulda.

’ At night the Red Elephant Tusk boomedand groaned among the hills, and the faithful waked andsaid ‘The God of Things as They Are matures rcvenge against the backsliders . Be merciful, B ungara,to us Thy children, and give us all their crops !

’

Late in the cold weather the Collector and his wifecame into the Buria Kol country.

‘

Go and look at

K renk’

s Mission,’ said Gallio .

‘He is doing good workin his own way, and I think he

’d be pleased if youopened the bamboo chapel that he has managed to runup . At any rate you’

ll'

see a civilised Buria Kol . ’

Great was the stir in the Mission .

‘Now he and the

gracious lady will that we have done good work withtheir own eyes see, and yes we will him our converts in all their clothes by their own hands constructedexhibit . It will a great day be for the Lord always,

’

Said Justus ; and Lotta said‘Amen .

’

Justus had, in his quiet way, felt jealous of the BaselWeaving Mission, his own converts being unhandy ; butAthon Daze had latterly induced some of them to

hackle the glossy silky fibres of a plant that grew plenteously on the Panth Hills . It yielded a cloth whiteand smooth almost as the tappa of the South Seas, andthat day the converts were to wear for the first timeclothes made therefrom . Justus was proud of hiswork .

‘They shall in white clothes clothed to meet theCollector and his well-hem lady come down, singing“Now thank we all our God. Then hewill the Chapelopen, and yes even Gallio to believe will begin .

233


Stand so, my children, two by two, and Lotta, whydo they thus themselves bescratch? It is not seemlyto wriggle, Nala, my child . The Collector will be hereand be pained .

’

The Collector, his wife, and Gallio climbed the hi llto the Mission-station . The converts were drawnup in two lines, a shining band nearly forty strong .

Hah said the Collector, whose acquisitive bent ofmind led him to believe that he had fostered the institution from the first. ‘Advancing, I see, by leaps andbounds . ’

Never was truer word spoken ! The Mission wasadvancing exactly as he had said at first by littleheps and shuffles of shamefaced uneasiness, but soonby the leaps of fly-stung horses and the bounds of maddened kangaroos . From the hill of Panth the RedElephant Tusk delivered a dry and anguished blare .

The ranks of the converts wavered, broke, and scattered with yells and shrieks of pain, while Justus andLotta stood horror-stricken .

‘ It is the Judgment of Dungara !’ shouted a voice .

‘ I burn ! I burn ! To the river or we die ! ’

The mob wheeled and headed for the rocks thatoverhung the B erbulda, writhing, stamping, twisting,and shedding its garments as it ran, pursued by thethunder of the trummt of Dungara . Justus and Lottafled to the Collector ahnost in tears .

I cannot understand ! Yesterday,’ panted Justus,

‘

they had the Ten Comm andments . What is this?Praise the Lord , all good spiri ts by land and by sea .

Nala ! Oh, shame !’

With a bound and a scream there alighted on therocks above their heads, Nala, once the pride of the

234



would take about half an hour to burn through the irthick hides, and thenGallio burst into laughter, but Lotta was weeping in

the arms of the Collector’s wife, and Justus had coveredhis face with his hands .Girardenia heterOphylla !

’ repeated Gallio . K ren k ,

why didn’t you tell me? I could have saved you th is .

Woven fire ! Anybody but a naked Kol would hav eknown it, and, if I

’m a judge of their ways, you’ll never

get them back .

’

He looked across the river to where the converts wer estill wallowing and wailing in the shallows, and thelaughter died out of his eyes, for he saw that the Tubingen Mission to the Buria Kol was dead .

Never again, though they hung mournfully round thedeserted school for three months, could Lotta or Justu scoax back even the most promising of their flock . No !The end of conversion was the fire of the Bad Placefire that ran through the limbs and gnawed intothebones .Who dare a second time tempt the anger of Dungara?Let the little man and his wife go elsewhere . TheBuria Kol would have none of them . An unofficialmessage to Athon Daze that if a hair of their headswere touched, Athen Daze and the priests of B ungar awould be banged by Gallio at the temple shrine, protected Justus and Lotta from the stumpy poisonedarrows of the Buria Kol, but neither fish nor fowl, honeycomb, salt, nor young pig were brought to their doorsany more . And, alas ! man cannot live by grace aloneif meat be wanting.

‘Let us go, mine wife,’ said Justus ;

‘ there is no goodhere, and the Lord has willed that some otherman shallthe work take in good time in His own good time.

236


We will go away, and I will yes some botanybestudy .

’

If any one is anxious to convert the Buria Kol afresh,there lies at least the core of a Mission-house underthe hill of Panth . But the chapel and school have longsince fallen back into jungle .

237

AT HOWLI THANA

His own shoe, his own head .

—Native Proverb .

S a messenger, if the heart of the Presence bemovedto so great favour. And on six rupees. Yes,Sahib, for I have three little, little children whose

stomachs are always empty, and corn is now but fortypounds to the rupee . I will make so clever a messengerthat you shall all day long be pleased with me, and ,at the end of the year, shall bestow a turban . I knowall the roads of the Station and many other things .Aha, Sahib ! I am clever. Give me service . I wasaforetirne in the Police . A bad character? Now without doubt an enemy has told this tale . Never was Ia scame I am a man of clean heart, and all my wordsare true . They knew this when I was in the Police .They said : ‘Afzal Khan is a true speaker in whose wordsmen may trust . ’ I am a D elhi Pathan, Sahib . All

Delhi Pathans are good men . The Sahib has seenDelhi? Yes, it is true that there be many scamps amongthe Delhi Pathans. How wise is the Sahib ! Nothingis bid from his eyes, and he will make me his messenger,and I will take all his notes secretly and without ostentation . Nay, Sahib, God is my witness that I meant noevil . I have long desired to serve under a true Sahib

238


AT HOWLI THANA

He was hard—hard even as is the Sahib who, without doubt, will give me the shadow of his protection .

Many eyes had Yunkum Sahib, and moved quicklythrough his district . Men called him The Tiger Of

Gokral-Seetarun , because he would arrive unannouncedand make his kill, and, before sunset, would be givingtrouble to the Tehsildars thirty miles away. No one

knew the comings or the goings of Yunkum Sahib . H e

had no camp, and when his horse was weary he rodeupon a devil-carriage . I do not know its name, but theSahib sat in the midst of three silver wheels that madeno creaking . and drave them with his legs, prancinglike a bean-fed horse thus . A shadow of a hawkupon the fields was not more without noise than thedevil-carr iage of Yunkum Sahib . It was here : it wasthere : it was gone : and the rapport was made, and therewas trouble . Ask the Tehsildar of Rohestri how theheir-stealing came to be known, Sahib .

It fell upon a night that we of the Thana slept according to custom upon our charpoys, having eatenthe evening meal and drunk tobacco . When we awokein the morning, behold, of our six rifles not one remained .

Al so, the big Police-book that was in the Havildar’ s

charge was gone . Seeing these things, we were verymuch afraid, thinking on our parts that the dacoits,regardless of honour, had come by night, and put us toshame . Then said Ram Baksh, the Havildar

‘Besilent ! The business is an evil business, but it mayyet go well . Let us make the case complete . Bringa kid and my tulwar. See you not now, 0 fools? Akick for a horse, but for a man a word is enough .

’

We of the Thana, perceiving quickly what was in themind of the Havildar, and greatly fearing that the ser

240

AT HOWLI THANA

v ice would be lost, made haste to take the kid into theinner room, and attended to the words of the Havildar.‘ Twenty dacoits came,

’ said the Havildar, and we,taking his words, repeated after him according to cus

tom .

‘There was a great fight,’ said the Havildar,

‘ andof us no man escaped unhurt . The bars of the windowwere broken . Suruj Bul, see thou to that ; and, 0men , put speed into your work, for a runner must gowith the news to The Tiger of Gokral-Seetarun .

’ Thereupon, Suruj Bul, leaning with his shoulder, brake in thebars of the window, and I, beating her with a whip,m ade the Havildar’s mare skip among the melon-bedstill they were much trodden with hoof-prints .These things being made, I returned to the Thana,and the goat was slain, and certain portions of the wallswere blackened with fire, and each man dipped hisclothes a little into the blood of the goat . Know, 0

Sahib, that a wound made by man upon his own bodycan, by those skilled, be easily discerned from a woundwrought by another man . Therefore, the Havildar,taking his tulwar, smote one of us lightly on the forearmin the fat, and another on the leg, and a third on the

back of the hand . Thus dealt be with all of us till theblood came ; and Suruj Bul , more eager than the others,took out much hair. 0 Sahib, never was so perfect anarrangement . Yea, even I would have sworn that theThana had been treated as we said . There was smokeand breaking and blood and trampled earth .

‘

Ride now, Maula Baksh,’ said the Havildar,

‘

to thehouse of the Stunt Sahib, and carry the news of thedacoity. Do you also, 0 Afzal Khan, run there, andtake heed that you are mired with sweat and dust onyour incoming. The blood will be dry on the clothes,

241

AT HOWLI THANA

I will stay and send a straight report to the Dipty Sahib,and we will catch certain that ye know of, villagers ,so that all may be ready against the D ipty Sahib

’

s

arrival .’

Thus Maula Baksh rode, and I ran hanging on thestirrup, and together we came in an evil plight beforeThe Tiger of Gokral-Seetarun in the R ohestri tehsil .Our tale was long and correct, Sahib, for we gave eventhe names of the dacoits and the issue of the fight, andbesought him to come . But The Tiger made no Sign ,

and only smiled after the manner of Sahibs when theyhave a wickedness in their hearts . ‘ Swear ye to therapport? ’ said he, and we said :

‘Thy servants swear .The blood of the fight is but newly dry upon us .

Judge thou if it be the blood of the servants of the Presence, or not .

’ And he said ‘ I see Ye have donewell . ’

B ut he did not call for his horse or hi s devilcarriage, and scour the land as was his custom . H e

said : ‘Rest now and eat bread, for ye be weari ed men .

I will wait the coming of the D ipty Sahib .

’

Now it is the order that the Havildar of the Thanashould send a straight report of all dacoities to the D iptySahib . At noon came he, a fat man and an old, andoverbearing withal , but we of the Thana had no fear ofhis anger, dreading more the silences of The Tiger ofGokral-Seetarun . With him came R am Baksh, theHavildar, and the others, guarding ten men of the village of Howli all men evil affected towards the Policeof the Sirkar . As prisoners they came, the irons upontheir hands, crying for mercy Imam Baksh, thefarmer, who had denied his wife to the Havildar, andothers, ill-conditioned rascals against whom we of theThana bore spite . It was well done, and the Havildar

242


AT HOWLI THANA

I am a scamm It is as the Presence pleases . God

will make the Presence a Lord , and give him a richMem

sahib as fair as a Peri to wife , and many strong sons ,if he makes me his orderly . The Mercy of Heaven beupon the Sahib ! Y es, I will only go to the bazar andbring my children to these so-palace—like quarters andthen the Presence is my Father and my Mother ,and I , Afzal Khan , am his slave .Ohe, Sirdar-ji l I also am of the household of the

Sahib .

GEMINI

( 1 888)

Great is the justice of the White Man greater thepower of a lie . Native Proverb .

HIS is your English Justice, Protector of the Poor.Look at my back and loins, which are beaten withsticks heavy sticks ! I am a poor man, and there

is no justice in Courts .There were two of us, and we were born of one birth,

but I swear to you that I was born the first, and RamDass is the younger by three full breaths . The as

trologer said so, and it iswritten in my horoscope thehoroscope of Durga Dass .But we were al ike I and my brother, who is a beast

without honour so alike that none knew, together orapart, which was Durga Dass . I am a Mahajun of

Pali in Marwar, and an honest man . This is true talk.

When we were men, we left our father’s house in Pal i,

and went to the Punjab, where all people are mud-headsand sons of asses . We took shop together in Isser JangI and my brother near the big well where the Govem or

’

s camp draws water. But Ram Dass, who iswithout truth, made quarrel with me, and we weredivided . He took his books, and his pots, and hisMark,

245

GEMINI

and became a bunnia a money-lender in the longstreet of Isser Jang near the gateway of the roadthat goes to Montgomery. It was not my fault thatwe pulled each other

’s turban . I am a Mahajun ofPal i, and I always speak true talk. Ram Dass wasthe thief and the liar.Now no man, not even the little children, could at one

glance see which was Ram B ass and which was DurgaDass . But all the people of Isser Jang may theydie without sons ! said that we were thieves . Theyused much had talk, but I took money on their bedsteads and their cooking-pots, and the standing cropand the calf unborn, from the well in the big square tothe gate of the Montgomery road . They were fools,these people unfit to cut the toe-nails of a Marwarifrom Pali . I lentmoney to them all . A little, very littleonly here a pice and there a pice . God is mywitnessthat I am a poor man ! The money is all with Ram Dassmay his sons turn Christian, and his daughter be a

burning fire and a shame in the house from generationto generation ! May she die unwed, and be the motherof a multitude of bastards ! Let the light go out in thehouse of Ram Dass, my brother. This I pray dailytwice with offerings and charms .Thus the trouble began . We divided the town ofIsser Jang between us I and my brother. Therewasa landholder beyond the gates, living but one short mileout, on the road that leads to Montgomery, and hisname was Muhammad Shah , son of a Nawab . He wasa great devil and drank wine . So long as there werewomen in his house, and wine and money for the marriage-feasts, he was merry and wiped hismouth . RamDass lent him the money, a lakh or half a lakh how

246


GEMINI

saw me he turned aside into the high crops, becausethere was hatred between us. And I went forward tillI came to the orange-bushes by the landholder’

s house .

The bats were flying, and the evening smoke was lowdown upon the land . Here met me four men swashbucklers and Muhammadans with their faces boundup, laying hold of my horse

’s bri dle and crying out :‘This is Ram Dass ! Beat !

’ Me they beat with theirstaves heavy staves bound about with wire at the end,suchweapons as those swine of Punjabis use—till, havingcried for mercy, I fell down senseless . But these shameless ones still beat me, saying : O Ram Dass, this is yourinterest well-weighed and counted into your hand,Ram Dass . ’ I cried aloud that I was not Ram Dass,but Durga Dass, his brother, yet they only beat me themore, and when I could make no more outcry they leftme . But I saw their faces . There was Elahi Baksh,who runs by the side of .the landholder’s white horse,and Nur All the keeper of the door, and Wajih All thevery strong cook, and Abdul Latif the messenger allof the household of the landholder. These things I canswear on the Cow’s Tail if need be, but Ahi ! Ahi !

it has been already sworn, and I am a poor man whosehonour is lost .When these four had gone away laughing, my brother

Ram Dass came out of the crops and mourned over meas one dead . But I opened my eyes, and prayed him toget me water. When I had drunk, he carried me onhis back, and by by-ways brought me into the town ofIsser Jang . My heart was turned to R am Dass, mybrother, in that hour because of his kindness, and I lostmy enmity.

But a snake is a snake till it is dead ; and a liar is a248

GEMINI

liar till the Judgment of the Gods takes hold of hisheel. I was wrong in that I trusted my brother theson of my mother.When we had come to his house and I was a little

restored, I told him my tale, and he said‘

Vifithout

doubt, it is me whom they would have beaten . Butthe LawCourts are Open, and there is the Justice of theSirkar above all ; and to the Law Courts do thou go whenthis sickness is over-past .Now when we two had left Pali in the old years,

there fell a famine that ran from Jeysulrnir to Gurgaonand touched Gogunda in the south . At that tim e thesister of my father came away and lived with us in IsserJang ; for a man must above all see that his folk do notdie of want. When the quarrel between us twain cameabout, the sister of my father a lean she-dog without teeth said that Ram Dass had the right, andwent with him . Into her hands because she knewmedicines and many cures Ram Dass, my brother,put me faint with the beating, and much bruised evento the pouring of blood from the mouth . When I hadtwo days’

Sickness the fever came upon me ; and I setaside the fever to the account written in mymind againstthe landholder.The Punjabis of Isser Jang are all the sons of Belial

and a she-ass, but they are very good witnesses, bearingtestimony unshakingly whatever the pleaders may say.

I would purchase witnesses by the score, and each manshould give evidence, not only against Nur Ali, Waj ihAli, Abdul Latif, and Elahi Baksh, but against thelandholder, saying that be upon his white horse hadcalled his men to beat me ; and, further, that they hadrobbed me of two hundred rupees . For the latter

249

GEMINI

testim ony I would remit a little of the debt of the manwho sold the lac-bangles, and he should say that he hadput the money into my hands, and had seen the robberyfrom afar, but, being afraid, had run away. This planI told to my brother Ram Dass ; and he said that thearrangement was good, and bade me take comfort andmake swift work to be abroad again . My heart wasopened to my brother in my sickness, and I told himthe names of those whom I would call as witnessesall men in my debt, but of that the Magistrate Sahibcould have no knowledge, nor the landholder. The

fever stayed with me, and after the fever I was takenwith colic and gripings very terrible. In that day Ithought that my end was at hand, but I know now

that she who gave me the medicines, the sister of myfather a widow with a widow’s heart had broughtabout my second sickness . Ram Dass, my brother,said that my housewas shut and locked, and brought methe big door-key and my books, together with all themoneys that were in my house even the money thatwas buried under the floor ; for I was in great fear lestthi eves should break in and dig. I speak true talk ;there was but very little money in my house . Perhapsten rupees perhaps twenty . How can I tell? Godismy witness that I am a poor man .

One night, when I had told Ram Dass all that wasin my heart of the lawsuit that I would bring againstthe landholder, and R am Dass had said that he hadmade the arrangements with the witnesses, giving metheir nam es written, I was taken with a new greatsickness, and they put me on the bed . When I wasa little recovered I cannot tell how many daysafterwards I made inquiry for Ram Dass, and the

250


GEMINI

But Jowar Singh shook his head, and a woman cried‘What he is here? What quarrel had the landholderwith you, bunnia? It is only a shameless one and onewithout faith who profits by his brother’s smarts. Havethese bunnias no bowels? ’

I cried again, saying‘By the Cow —by the Oath of

the Cow, by the Temple of the Blue-throated Mahadeo ,I and I only was beaten beaten to the death ! Let

your talk be straight, 0 people of Isser Jang, and Iwill pay for the witnesses . ’ And I tottered where Istood, for the sickness and the pain of the beating wereheavy upon me .Then Ram Narain, who has his carpet spread under

the jujube-tree by the well , and writes all letters forthe men of the town, came up and said :

‘

To-day isthe one-and-fortieth day since the beating, and sincethese six days the case has been judged in the Court andthe Assistant Commissioner Sahib has given it for yourbrother Ram Dass, allowing the robbery, to which, too,

I here witness, and al l things else as the witnesses said .

There were many witnesses, and twice Ram Dass hecame senseless in the Court because of his wounds, andthe Stunt Sahib the baba Stunt Sahib gave him achair before all the pleaders . Why do you howl, DurgaDass? These things fell as I have said . Was it not so?And Jowar Singh said ‘That is truth . I was there,

and there was a red cushion in the chair. ’

And Ram Narain said : Great shame has come uponthe landholder because of this judgment, and fearinghis anger, Ram B ass and all his house have gone backto Pali . Ram Dass told us that you also had gone first,the enmity being healed between you, to Open a shopin Pali. Indeed, it were well for you that you go even

252,

GEMINI

now, for the landholder has sworn that if he catch anyone of your house he will hang him by the heels fromthe well-beam and, swinging him to and fro

,will beat

him with staves till the blood runs from his cars. WhatI have said in respect to the case is true, as these menhere can testify even to the five hundred rupees . ’

I said ‘Was it five hundred? ’ And Kirpa Ramthe jat, said

‘Five hundred ; for I bore witness also .

And I groaned, for it had been in my heart to havesaid two hundred only.

Then a new fear came upon me and my bowels turnedto water, and, running swiftly to the house of Ram Dass,I sought for my books and mymoney in the great woodenchest under my bedstead . There remained nothingnot even a cowrie ’s value . AH had been taken by thedevil who said he was my brother. I went to my ownhouse also and opened the boards of the shutters ; butthere also was nothing save the rats among the grainbaskets . In that hour my senses left me, and, tearingmy clothes, I ran to the well-place, crying out for theJustice of the English on my brother Ram Dass, and,in my madness, telling all that the books were lost .When men saw that I would have jumped down thewell they believed the truth of my talk, more especiallybecause upon my back and bosom were still the marksof the staves of the landholder.Jowar Singh the carpenter withstood me, and turning

me in his hands for he is a very strong man showedthe scars upon my body, and bowed down with laughterupon the well-curb . He cried aloud so that all heardhim, from the well-square to the Caravanserai of thePilgrims Oho ! The jackals have quarrelled, andthe gray one has been caught in the trap . In truth,

253

GEMINI

this man has been grievously beaten, and his brother

has taken the money which the Court decreed ! Oh ,bunnia

, this shall be told for years against you ! Thejackals have quarrelled, and, moreover, the books areburned . 0 people indebted to Durga Dass and Iknow that ye be many the books are bum ed

Then all Isser Jang took up the cry that the bookswere burned Ahi ! Ahi ! that in my folly I had letthat escape my mouth and they laughed throughoutthe city . They gave me the abuse of the Punjabi, thisis a terrible abuse and very hot ; pelting me also withsticks and cow-dung till I fell down and cried for mercy.

Ram Narain, the letter-writer, bade the people cease,for fear that news should get into Montgomery, andthe Policemen might come down to inquire . He said,using many bad words ‘Thi s much mercy will I doto you, Durga Dass, though there was no mercy inyour dealings with my sister’s son over the matter ofthe dun heifer. H as any man a pony on which hesets no store, that this fellow may escape? If thelandholder hears that one of the twain (and God knowswhether he beat one or both, but this man is certamlybeaten) be in the city, there will be a murder done,and then will come the Police, making inquisition intoeach man’s house and eating the sweet-seller’s stuffall day long.

’

Kirpa Ram, the jat, said :‘ I have a pony, very sick.

But with heating he can be made to walk for two miles .If he dies, the hide-sellers will have the body.

’

Then Chumbo, the hide-seller, said :‘ I will pay three

annas for the body, and will walk by this man’s side

till such tim e as the pony dies . If it be more than twomiles, I will pay two annas only .

’

254


GEMINI

may read, and his disgrace be accomplished that R amDass, my brother, son of Purun Dass, Mahajun of Pal i,is a swine and a night-thief, a taker of life, an eater offlesh, a jackal—spawn without beauty, or faith, or cleanliness, or honour !

AT TWENTY-TWO

Narrow as the womb, deep as the Pit, and dark as

the heart of a man . Sonthal Miner’s Proverb .

WEAVER went out to reap but stayed to unravelthe com -stalks. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I S there any sensein a weaver?

Janki Meah glared at Kundoo, but, as Janki Meahwas blind, Kundoo was not impressed . He had cometo argue with Janki Meah, and, if chance favoured, tomake love to the old man ’s pretty young wife .This was Kundoo

’

s grievance, and he spoke in thename of all the five men who, with Janki Meah, composed the gang in Number Seven gallery of TwentyTwo . Janki Meah had been blind for the thirty yearsduring which he had served the Jirnahari Collierieswith pick and crowbar . Al l through those thirty yearshe had regularly, every morning before going down,drawn from the overseer his allowance of lamp-oiljust as if he had been an eyed miner. What K undoo

’

s

gang resented, as hundreds of gangs had resented before, was Janki Meah

’

s selfishness. He would not addthe oil to the common stock of his gang, but would saveand sell it .

‘I knew these workings before you were born ,’ Janki

25 7

AT TWENTY-TWO

Meah used to reply ‘ I don ’t want the light to get mycoal out by, and I am not going to help you . The oilis mine, and I intend to keep it .

’

A strange man in many ways was Janki Meah, thewhite-haired, hot-tempered, sightless weaver who hadturned pitman . All day long except on Sundays andMondays, when he was usually drunk he worked inthe Twenty-Two shaft of the Jirnahari Colliery as

cleverly as a man with all the senses . At evening hewent up in the great steam-hauled cage to the pit bank,and there called for his pony a rusty, coal-dusty beastnearly as old as Janki Meah . The pony would come tohis side, and Janki Meah would clamber on to its backand be taken at once to the plot of land which he, likethe other miners, received from the Jimabari Company .

The pony knew that place, and when, after six years, theCompany changed all the allotments to prevent theminers from acquiring proprietary rights, Janki Meahrepresented, with tears in his eyes, that were his holdingshifted he would never be able to find his way to thenew one .

‘My horse only knows that place,’ pleaded

Janki Meah, and so he was allowed to keep his land .

On the strength of this concession and his accumulatedoil-savings, Janki Meah took a second wife - a girlof the Jolabe main stock of the Meahs, and singularlybeautiful . Janki Meah could not see her beauty, wherefore he took her on trust, and forbade her to go down thepit . He had not worked for thirty years in the darkwithout knowing that the pit was no place for prettywomen . He loaded her with ornaments not brassor pewter, but real silver ones and she rewardedhim by flirting outrageously with K undoo of NumberSeven gallery gang K undoo was really the head of

258


AT TWENTY-TWO

coal . Even in the days when the Twenty-Two khadwas unsunk, and there were not two thousand menhere, I was known to have all knowledge of the pits .

What khad is there that I do not know, from the bottomof the shaft to the end of the last drive? I s it the Baromba khad , the oldest, or the Twenty-Two whereTibu

’

s gallery runs up to Number Five? ’

‘Hear the old fool talk !’ said Kundoo, nodding to

Unda . No gallery of Twenty-Two will cut into Fivebefore the end of the Rains .

.We have a month ’s solid

coal before us. The Babuji says so.

’

‘Babuj i ! P igji ! Dogji ! What do these fat slugsfrom Calcutta know ! He draws and draws and draws,and talks and talks and talks, and his maps are allwrong. I , Janki , know that this is so. When a manhas been shut up in the dark for thirty years God giveshim knowledge . The old gallery that Tibu

’

s gang madeis not six feet from Number Five .

’

‘Without doubt God gives the blind knowledge,’

said Kundoo, with a look at Unda .

‘

Let it be as yousay. I for my part, do not know where lies the galleryof Tibu s gang, but I am not a withered monkey whoneeds oil to grease his joints with .

’

Kundoo swung out of the hut laughing, and Undagiggled . Janki turned his sightless eyes towards hiswife and swore .

‘ I have land , and I have sold a greatdeal of lam p-oil mused Janki,

‘ but I was a fool tomarry this child .

A week later the Rains set in with a vengeance, andthe gangs paddled about in coal-slush at the pit-banks .Then the big mine-pumm were made ready, and theManager of the Colliery ploughed through the wet towards the Tarachunda River swelling between its Soppy

260

AT TWENTY-TWO

banks. Lord send that this beastly beck doesn’t misbehave,

’

said the Manager piously, and he went to takecounsel with his Assistant about the pumm.

But the Tarachunda misbehaved very much indeed .

After a fall of three inches of rain in an hour it wasobliged to do something . It topped its bank and joinedthe flood-water that was hemmed between two lowhills

just where the embankment of the Colliery main linecrossed . When a large part of a rain-fed river and afew acres of flood-water make a dead set for a ninefoot culvert, the culvert may spout its finest, but thewater cannot all get out. The Manager pranced uponone leg with excitement, and his languagewas irnproper .He had reason to swear, because he knew that one

inch of water on land meant a pressure of one hundredtons to the acre ; and here was about five feet of waterform ing, behind the railway embankment, over theshal lower workings of Twenty-Two . You must understand that, in a coal-mine, the coal nearest the surfaceis worked first from the central shaft. That is to say,

the miners may clear out the stuff to within ten, twenty,or thirty feet of the surface, and, when all is worked out,leave only a skin of earth upheld by some few pillarsof coal . In a deep mine, where they know that they haveany amount of material at hand, men prefer to get alltheir mineral out at one shaft, rather than make a number of little holes to tap the comparatively unimmrtant

surface-coal .And the Manager watched the flood .

The culvert spouted a nine-foot gush ; but the waterstill formed, and word was sent to clear the men outof Twenty-Twe . The cages came up crammed and

crammed again with the men nearest the pit-eye, as they26 1

AT TWENTY-TWO

call the place where you can see daylight from the bottomof the main shaft. All away and away up the longblack galleries the flare-lamps were winking and dancinglike so many fire-flies, and the men and the womenwaited for the clanking, rattling, thundering cages tocome down and fly up again . But the out-workingswere very far off , and word could not be passed quickly,though the heads of the gangs and the Assistant shoutedand swore and tramped and stumbled . The Managerkept one eye on the great troubled pool behind the embankment, and prayed that the culvert would give wayand let the water through in tim e . With the othereye he watched the cages come up and saw the headmancounting the roll of the gangs . With all his heart andsoul he swore at the winder who controlled the irondrum that wound up the wire rope on which hung thecages .In a little t ime there was a down-draw in the water

behind the embankment a sucking whirlpool, allyellow and yeasty. The water had smashed throughthe skin of the earth and was pouring into the old shallow workings of Twenty-Two .

Deep down below, a rush of black water caught thelast gang waiting for the cage, and as they clamberedin , the whirl was about their waists . The cage reachedthe pit-bank, and the Manager called the roll . Thegangs were all safe except Gang Janki, Gang Mohul, andGang R abirn , eighteen men, with perhaps ten basketwomen who loaded the coal into the little iron carri agesthat ran on the tramways of the main galleries . Thesegangs were in the out-workings, three-quarters of amile away, on the extreme fringe of the mine . Oncemore the cage went down, but with only two English

262


AT TWENTY-TWO‘There has been no water in the cutting in our time,

’

clamoured the women .

‘Why cannot we go away?‘Be silent ! ’ said Janki . ‘ Long ago, when my father

was here, water cam e to Ten—no , Eleven cutting, andthere was great trouble. Let us get away to where theair is better. ’

The three gangs and the basket-women left NumberNine gallery and went farther up Number Sixteen.

At one turn of the road they could see the pitchy blackwater lapping on the coal . It had touched the roof ofa gallery that they knew well a gallery where theyused to smoke their huqas and manage their flirtations.

Seeing this, they called aloud upon their Gods, and

the Mehas, who are thrice bastard Muhammadans,strove to recollect the name of the Prophet. Theycame to a great open square whence nearly all the coalhad been extracted . It was the end of the out-workings

,and the end of the mine .

Far away down the gallery a small pumping-engine,

used for keeping dry a deep working and fed with steamfrom above, was throbbing faithfully . They heard itcease .

‘They have cut off the steam,

’ said Kundoo hopefully .

‘They have given the order to use all the steam for thepit-bank pumps . They will clear out the water. ’

‘ If the water has reached the smoking-gallery,’ said

Janki,‘

all the Company’

s pumps can do nothing forthree days . ’

‘ It is very hot moaned Jasoda, the Meah basketwoman .

‘There I S a very bad air here because of thelamps. ’

Put them out,’ said Janki ;

‘why do youwant lamps?’

The lam ps were put out and the company sat still in264

AT TWENTY-TWO

the utter dark. Somebody rose quietly and beganwalking over the coals . It was Janki, who was touching the walls with his hands .

‘Where is the ledge? ’

he murmured to himself.Sit, sit said Kundoo. If we die, we die. The

air is very bad .

’

But Janki still stumbled and crept and tapped withhi s pick upon the walls . The women rose to their feet.

‘ Stay all where you are Without the lamps youcannot see, and I — I am always seeing,

’ said Janki .Then he paused, and called out :

‘Oh, you who havebeen in the cuttingmore than ten years, what is the nameof this Open place? I am an old man and I have forgotten .

’

‘

B ullia’

s Room,

’ answered the Sonthal who had com

plained of the vileness of the air.‘Again,

’ said Janki .‘

B ullia’

s Room .

’

‘Then I have found it,’ said Janki . ‘The name

only had Slipped my memory. Tibu’

s gang’s gallery

is here . ’

‘A lie,’ said Kundoo.

‘There have been no galleriesin this place since my day.

’

‘Three paces was the depth of the ledge,’ muttered

Janki without heeding ‘ and oh, my poor bones !I have found it ! It is here, up this ledge . Come all

you, one by one, to the place of my voice and I willcount you .

’

There was a rush in the dark, and Janki felt thefirst man

’s face hit his knees as the Sonthal scrambledup the ledge .

‘Who? ’ cried Janki .‘ I, Sunna Manj i .

’

265

AT TWENTY-TWO‘

Sit you down,’

said Janki . ‘Who next? ’

One by one the women and the men crawled up theledge which ran along one side of ‘

B ullia’

s Room .

’ Degraded Muhammadan, pig-eating Musahr , and wildSonthal, Janki ran his hand over them all .

‘

Now follow after,’

said be,‘catching hold of my heel,

and the women catching the men’s clothes .’ He did

not ask whether the men had brought their picks withthem . A miner, black or white, does not drop his pick .

One by one, Janki leading, they crept into the old

gallery a six-foot way with a scant four feet fromthill to roof.

‘

The air is better here,’ said Jasoda . They could hear

her heart beating in thick, sick bumps .Slowly, slowly,

’ said Janki . ‘ I am an old man, andI forget many things . This is Tibu

’

s gallery, but whereare the four bricks where they used to put their buqafire on when the Sahibs never saw? Slowly, slowly, 0you people behind .

’

They heard his hands disturbing the small coal onthe floor of the gallery and then a dull sound .

‘Thisis one unbaked brick, and this is another and another .K undoo is a young man let birn come forward. P ut

a knee upon this brick and strike here . When Tibu’

s

gang were at dinner on the last day before the good coalended

,they heard the men of Five on the other side,

and Five worked their gallery two Sundays later or

it may have been one . Strike here, Kundoo, but giveme room to go back .

’

Kundoo, doubting, drove the pick, but the first softcrush of the coal was a call to him . He was fighting forhis life and for Unda—pretty Little Unda with rings onall her toes for Unda and the forty rupees . The

266


AT TWENTY-TWO

for the first time . At last they saw a flare-lamp, andGangs Janki, Mogul, and R ahirn of Twenty-Two stumbled dazed into the glare of the draught-furnace atthe bottom of Five ; Janki feeling his way and the restbehind .

Water has come into Twenty-Two . God knowswhere are the others . I have brought these men fromTibu

’

s gallery in our cutting,making connection throughthe north side of the gallery. Take us to the cage,

’ sa idJanki Meah .

At the pit-bank of Twenty-Two some thousand people clamoured and wept and shouted . One hundredmen -one thousand men had been drowned in thecutting. They would al l go to their homes to-morrow .

Where were theirmen? Little Unda, her cloth drenchedwith the rain, stood at the pit-mouth call ing downthe shaft for Kundoo. They had swung the cages clearof the mouth, and her only answer was the murmur ofthe flood in the pit’s-eye two hundred and sixty feetbelow.

‘Look after that woman ! She’ll chuck herself downthe shaft in a minute,

’ shouted the Manager.But he need not have troubled ; Unda was afraid

of Death . She wanted Kundoo. The Assistant waswatching the flood and seeing how far he could wadeinto it . There was a lull in the water, and the whirlpoolhad slackened . The mine was full, and the people atthe pit-bank howled .

My faith,we shall be lucky if we have five hundred

hands on the place to-morrow !’ said the Manager.

‘There’s some chance yet of running a temporary damacross that water. Shove in anything tubs and

268

AT TWENTY-TWO

bullock-carts if you haven’

t enough bricks . Makethem work now if they never worked before . Hi ! yougangers, make them work .

’

Little by little the crowd was broken into detachments, and pushed towards the water with prom isesof overtime . The dam-making began, and when itwas fairly under way, the Manager thought that thehour had come for the pumps . There was no freshinrush into the mine . The tall , red, iron-clampedpum p-beam rose and fell, and the pumps snored andguttered and shrieked as the first water poured outof the pipe .

‘We must run her all to-night,’ said the Manager

wearily,‘but there

’

s no hope for the poor devils downbelow. Look here, Gur Sahai, if you are proud of yourengines, show me what they can do now.

’

Gur Sahai gri nned and nodded, with his right handupon the lever and an oil-can in his left. He could dono more than he was doing, but he could keep thatup til l the dawn . Were the Company’s pumps to bebeaten by the vagaries of that troublesome TarachundaRiver? Never, never ! And the pum ps sobbed andpanted ‘Never, never l

’ The Manager sat in theshelter of the pit-bank roofing, trying to dry himselfby the pump-boiler fire, and, in the dreary dusk, he sawthe crowds on the dam scatter and fly .

‘That’s the end,’ he groaned . Twill take us six

weeks to persuade’

em that we haven ’

t tried to drowntheir mates on purpose . Oh, for a decent, rationalGeordie l

’

But the flight had no panic in it . Men had run overfrom Five with astounding news, and the foremen couldnot hold their gangs together. Presently, surrounded

269

AT TWENTY-TWO

by a clamorous crew, Gangs Habiru , Mogul, and Janki,and ten basket-women, walked up to report themselves,and pretty little Unda stole away to Janki

’s but to prepare his evening meal .

‘Alone I found the way,’ explained Janki Meah,

‘ andnow will the Company give me pension?

’

The sirnple pit-folk shouted and leaped and wentback to the dam, reassured in their old belief that,whatever happened, so great was the power of the Company whose salt they ate, none of them could be killed .

But Gur Sahai only bared his white teeth, and kepthis hand upon the lever and proved his pumps to theuttermost .

I say,

’ said the Assistant to the Manager, a weeklater,

‘

do you recollect Germ inal? ’

‘Yes . Queer thing. I thought of it in the cagewhen that balk went by. Why? ’

Oh, this business seems to be Germ inal upside down .

Janki was in my verandah all this morning, telling m e

that Kundoo had eloped with his wife Unda or

Anda, I think her name was .’

‘Hillo ! And those were the cattle that you risked

your life to clear out of Twenty-Two !’

‘No— I was thinking of the Company’s props, notthe Company’s men .

’

‘ Sounds better to say so now ; but I don’t believe

you , old fellow .

’

270


IN FLOOD TIME

are the boulders to thee, Ram Pershad, my Rustum, mymountain of strength? Go in ! Go in !No, Sahib ! It is useless . You can hear him trumpet .

He is telling Kala Nag that he cannot come over. See !

He has swung round and is shaking his head . He is nofool . He knows what the B arwhi means when it isangry. Aha ! Indeed, thou art no fool, my child !Salaam, Ram Pershad, Bahadur ! Take him underthe trees, mahout, and see that he gets his spices . We lldone, thou chiefest am ong tuskers . Salaam to the

Sirkar and go to sleep .

What is to be done? The Sahib must wait till theriver goes down . It will shrink to-morrow morning,if God pleases, or the day after at the latest ! N owwhy does the Sahib get so angry? I am his servant .Before God, I did not create this stream ! What can Ido? My but and all that is therein is at the serv iceof the Sahib, and it is beginning to rain . Come away,my Lord . How will the river go down for your throwing abuse at it? In the old days the English peoplewere not thus . The fire-carriage has made them soft.In the old days, when they drave behind horses byday or by night, they said naught if a river barred theway, or a carriage sat down in the mud . It was thewill of God not like a fire-carriage which goes andgoes and goes, and would go though all the devils in theland hung on to its tail . The fire-carriage hath spoiledthe English people . After all, what is a day lost, or,for that matter, what are two days? Is the Sahibgoing to his own wedding, that he is so mad with haste?Ho ! ho ! ho ! I am an old man and see few Sahibs . For

give me if I have forgotten the respect that is due tothem . The Sahib is not angry?

272

IN FLOOD TIME

His own wedding ! Ho ! ho ! ho ! The mind of an old

m an is like the numah-tree . Fruit, bud, blossom, and

the dead leaves of all the years of the past flourish to

gether. Old and new and that which is gone out ofr emembrance, all three are there ! Sit on the bedstead, Sahib, and drink milk. Or would the Sahibin truth care to drink my tobacco? It is good . It isthe tobacco of N uklao. My son , who is in Service there,sent it to me . Drink, then, Sahib, if you know how tohandle the tube . The Sahib takes it like a Musalman .

Wah ! Wah ! Where did he learn that? H is own wedding ! Ho ! ho ! ho ! The Sahib says that there is no

wedding in the matter at all . Now is it likely that theSahib would speak true talk to me who am only a blackman? Small wonder then that he is in haste . Thirtyyears have I beaten the gong at this ford, but neverhave I seen a Sahib in such haste . Thirty years, Sahib .

That is a very long time . Thirty years ago this fordwas on the track of the bunjaras, and I have seen twothousand pack-bullocks cross in one night . N ow therail has come, and the fire-carriage says buz-buz-buz,and a hundred lakhs of maunds slide across that bigbridge . It is very wonderful ; but the ford is lonelynow that there are no bunjaras to camp under thetrees .Nay, do not trouble to look at the sky without. It

will rain till the dawn . Listen ! The boulders aretalking to-night in the bed of the river. Hear them !They would be husking your bones, Sahib, had you triedto cross . See, I will shut the door and no rain can enter.Wahi ! Ahui ! Ugh ! Thirty years on the banks of theford . An old man am I and where is the oil forthe lamm

273

IN FLOOD TIME

Your par don, but, because of my years, I sleep no

sounder than a dog ; and you moved to the door. Lookthen

,Sahib . Look and listen . A full half kos from

bank to bank is the stream now you can see it underthe stars and there are ten feet of water therein . I t

will not Shrink because of the anger in your eyes, andwill not be quiet on account of your curses. Whichis louder, Sahib your voice or the voice of the

river? Call to it perhaps it will be ashamed . Lie

down and sleep afresh, Sahib . I know the anger ofthe B arhwi when there has fallen rain in the foothills . I swam the flood, once, on a night tenfold worsethan this, and by the Favour of God I was releasedfrom Death when I had come to the very gates thereof .

May I tell the tale? Very good talk. I will fill thepipe anew.

Thirty years ago it was, when I was a young man an dhad but newly come to the ford . I was strong then ,and the bunjar as had no doubt when I said

‘ this fordis clear. ’ I have toiled all night up to my shoulderblades in running water amid a hundred bullocks madwith fear, and have brought them across, losing not abeef . When all was done I fetched the shivering menand they gave me for reward the pick of their cattlethe bell-bullock of the drove . So great was the honourin which I was held ! But to-day, when the rain fallsand the river rises, I creep into my but and whimperlike a dog. My strength is gone from me . I am anold man and the fire-carriage has made the ford desolate. They were wont to call me the Strong One ofthe B arhwi .Behold my face, Sahib it is the face of a monkey.

274


IN FLOOD TIME

something that he does not know. There is neitherShiah nor Sunni, forbidden nor idolater, in Love ; andthe Nine Bars are but nine little fagots that the flam eof Love utterly burns away. In truth, I would havetaken Her ; but what could I do? The headman wouldhave sent his men to break my head with staves. I amnot I was not afraid of any five men ; but againsthalf a village who can prevail?Therefore it wasmy custom, these things having been

arranged between us twain, to go by night to the villageof Pateera, and there we met among the crops, no manknowing aught of the matter. Behold, now ! I waswont to cross here, skirting the jungle to the river bendwhere the railway bridge is, and thence across the elbowof land to Pateera . The light of the shrine was myguide when the nights were dark . That jungle nearthe river is very full of snakes little karaits thatsleep on the sand and, moreover, Her brothers wouldhave slain me had they found me in the crops . Butnone knew none knew save She and I ; and the blownsand of the river-bed covered the track of my feet .In the hot months it was an easy thing to pass fromthe ford to Pateera, and in the first Rains, when theriver rose slowly, it was an easy thing also . I set thestrength of my body against the strength of the stream ,

and nightly I ate in my but here and drank at Pateerayonder . She had said that one Hirnam Singh, a thief,had sought Her, and he was of a village up the river buton the same bank . All Sikhs are dogs, and they haverefused in their folly that good gift of God tobacco . Iwas ready to destroy H irnam Singh that ever he hadcome nigh Her ; and the more because he had Sworn toHer that She had a lover, and that he would lie in wait

276

IN FLOOD TIME

and give the name to the headman unless She went awaywith him . What curs are these Sikhs !Af ter that news I swam always with a little sharp

knife in my belt, and evil would it have been for a manhad he stayed me . I knew not the face of H irnam

Singh, but I would have killed any who came betweenme and Her.Upon a night in the beginning of the Rains I was

minded to go across to Pateera, albeit the river wasangry. Now the nature of the B arhwi is this, Sahib :In twenty breaths it comes down from the Hills a wallthree feet high, and I have seen it, between the lighting of a fire and the cooking of a chupatty, grow from arunnel to a sister of the Jumna .

When I left this bank there was a shoal a half -miledown

,and I made shift to fetch it and draw breath

there ere going forward ; for I felt the hands of theriver heavy upon my heels . Yet what will a youngmannot do for Love

’s sake? There was but little lightfrom the stars, and mid-way to the shoal a branch ofthe stinking deodar tree brushed my mouth as I swam .

Thatwas a Sign of heavy rain in the foot-hillsand beyond ,for the deodar is a strong tree, not easily shaken fromthe hillsides . I made haste, the river aiding me, butere I had touched the shoal , the pulse of the stream beat,as it were, within me and around, and, behold, the shoalwas gone and I rode high on the crest of a wave thatran from bank to bank. Has the Sahib ever been castinto much water that fights and will not let a man usehis limbs? To me, my head upon the water, it seemedas though there were naught butwater to the world’s end,and the river drave me with its driftwood . A man isa very little thing in the belly of a flood . And this

27 7

IN FLOOD TIME

flood, though I knew it not, was the Great Flood aboutwhich men talk still . My liver was dissolved and I laylike a log upon my back in the fear of Death. Therewere living things in the water, crying and howlinggrievously beasts of the forest and cattle, and oncethe voice of a man asking for help . But the rain cameand lashed the water white, and I heard no more savethe roar of the boulders below and the roar of the rainabove . Thus I was whirled down-stream, wrestling forthe breath in me . It is very hard to die when one is

young . Can the Sahib, standing here, see the railwaybridge? Look, there are the lights of the mail-traingoing to Peshawar ! The bridge is now twenty feetabove the river, but upon that night the water was roaring against the lattice-work, and against the latticecame I feet first . But much driftwood was piled thereand upon the piers, and I took no great hurt . Only theriver pressed me as a strong man presses a weaker.Scarcely could I take hold of the lattice-work and crawlto the upper boom . Sahib, the water was foam ingacross the rails a foot deep ! Judge therefore whatmanner of flood it must have been . I could not hear .I could not see . I could but he on the boom and pan tfor breath .

After a while the rain ceased and there came'

out in thesky certain new washed stars, and by their light I sawthat there was no end to the black water as far as theeye could travel, and the water had risen upon the rails .There were dead beasts in the driftwood on the piers,and others caught by the neck in the lattice-work, andothers not yet drowned who strove to find a foothold onthe lattice-work buffaloes and kine, and wild pig, anddeer one or two, and snakes and jackals past all count

278


IN FLOOD TIME

have sunk : the cold was in my marrow, and my fleshwas ribbed and sodden on my bones . But he had nofear who had known the uttermost of the power of theriver ; and I let him go where he chose . At last wecame into the power of a side-current that set to theright bank, and I strove with my feet to draw with it .But the dead man swung heavily in the whirl, and Ifeared that some branch had struck him and that hewould sink . The tops of the tamarisk brushed myknees, so I knew we were come into flood-water abovethe crops, and, after, I let down my legs and feltbottom the ridge of a field and , after, the deadman stayed upon a knoll under a fig

-tree, and I drew mybody from the water rejoicing .

Does the Sahib know whither the backwash of theflood had hom e me? To the knoll which is the easternboundary-mark of the village of Pateera ! N0 otherplace . I drew the dead man up on the grass for theservice that be had done me, and also because I knewnot whether I should need him again . Then I went,crying thrice like a jackal, to the appointed place, whichwas near the byre of the headm an ’s house . But myLove was already there, weeping . She feared that theflood had swept my but at the B arhwi Ford . When Icame softly through the ankle-deep water, She thoughtit was a ghost and would have fled, but I put my armsround Her, and I was no ghost in those days, thoughI am an old man now. Ho ! ho ! Dried corn, intruth . Maize without juice . Ho ! ho ! l

I grieve to say that the Warden of the B arhwi Fordis responsible here for two very bad puns in the vem acu

lar. R . K .

280

IN FLOOD TIME

I told Her the story of the breaking of the B arhwiBridge, and She said that I was greater than mortalman, for none may cross the B arhwi in full flood, and Ihad seen what never man had seen before . Hand inhand we went to the knoll where the dead lay, and Ishowed Her by what help I had made the ford . Shelooked also upon the body under the stars, for the latterend of the night was clear , and hid Her face in Herhands, crying :

‘ It is the body of Hirnam Singh !’

I saidThe swine is of more use dead than living, my Beloved,

’

and She said : ‘ Surely, for he has saved the dearest life inthe world to my love . None the less, he cannot stayhere, for that would bring Shame upon me .

’

The bodywas not a gun-shot from Her door.Then said I , rolling the body with my hands : God

hath judged between us, Hirnam Singh, that thy bloodmight not be upon my head . Now, whether I havedone thee a wrong in keeping thee from the bum ingghat, do thou and the crows settle together.

’

So I casthim adrift into the flood-water, and hewas drawn out tothe Open, ever wagging his thick black beard like apriest under the pulpit-board . And I saw no more ofH irnam Singh .

Before the breaking of the day we two parted, and Imoved towards such of the jungle as was not flooded .

With the full light I sawwhat I had done in the darkness,and the bones of my body were loosened in my flesh, forthere ran two kos of raging water between the village ofPateera and the trees of the far bank, and, in the middle,the piers of the B arhwi Bridge showed like broken teethin the jaw of an old man . Norwas there any life uponthe waters neither birds nor boats, but only an armyof drowned things bullocks and horses and men

28 1

IN FLOOD TIME

and the riverwas redder than blood from the clay of thefoot-hills . Never had I seen such a flood never sincethat year have I seen the like and, O Sahib, no manliving had done what I had done . There was no returnfor me that day . Not for all the lands of the headmanwould I venture a second time without the shield ofdarkness that cloaks danger. I went a kos up the riverto the houSe of a blacksmith, saying that the flood hadswept me from my but, and they gave me food . Sevendays I stayed with the blacksmith, till a boat came andI returned to my house . There was no trace of wall, orroof, or floor—naught but a patch of slimymud . Judge,therefore, Sahib, how far the river must have risen .

Itwaswritten that I Should not die either in my house,or in the heart of the B arhwi, or under the wreck of theB arhwi Bridge, for God sent down B irnam Singh twodays dead

,though I know not how the man died , to be

my buoy and support . Hirnam Singh has been in Hellthese twenty years, and the thought of that night mustbe the flower of his torment.Listen, Sahib ! The river has changed its voice . It

is going to sleep before the dawn , to which there is yetone hour. With the light it will come down afresh .

How do I know? Have I been here thirty years without knowing the voice of the river as a father knows thevoice of his son? Every moment it is talking lessangrily . I swear that there will be no danger for onehour or

,perhaps, two . I cannot answer for the mom

ing . Be quick, Sahib ! I will call Ram Pershad, and

he will not turn back this time . I s the paulin tightlycorded upon all the baggage? Ohe, mahout with a mud

head , the elephant for the Sahib, and tell them on thefar side that there will be no crossing after daylight .

282


THE SENDING OF DANA DA

When the Devil rides on your chest remember thelow-caste man . Native Proverb.

NGE upon a time, some people in India made anew Heaven and a new Earth out of broken teacups, a missing brooch or two, and a hair-brush .

These were hidden under bushes, or stuffed into holes inthe hillside, and an entire Civil Service of subordinateGods used to find or mend them again ; and every onesaid : ‘There are more things in Heaven and Earth thanare dreamt of in our philosophy.

’ Several other thingshappened also, but the Religion never seemed to getmuch beyond its first manifestations ; though it addedan air-line postal service, and orchestra! effects in orderto keep abreast of the times and choke off competition .

This Religion was too elastic for ordinary use. Itstretched itself and embraced pieces of everything thatthe medicine-men of all ages have manufactured . I f

approved of and stole from Freemasonry ; looted theLatter-day Rosicrucians of half their pet words ; tookany fragments of Egyptian philosophy that it found inthe ‘Encyclopaedia Britannica ’

; annexed asmany of theVedas as had been translated into [bench or English,

284


and talked of all the rest ; built in the German versionsof what is left of the Zend Avesta ; encouraged White,Gray, and Black Magic, including spiritualism, palm is

try, fortune-telling by cards, hot chestnuts, doublekernelled nuts, and tallow droppings ; would haveadopted Voodoo and Oboe had it known anything aboutthem, and Showed itself, in every way, one of the mostaccommodating arrangements that had ever been invented since the birth of the Seas.When it was in thorough working order, with all the

machinery, down to the subscriptions, complete, DanaDa came from nowhere, with nothing in his hands, andwrote a chapter in its history which has hitherto beenunpublished . He said that his first name was Dana,and his second was Da . Now, setting aside Dana ofthe ‘New York Sun,

’ Dana is a Bhil name, and Da fits

no native of India unless you accept the Bengali De asthe original spelling. Da is Lap or Finnish ; and DanaDa was neither Finn, Chin, Bhil , Bengali, Lap, Nair,Gond, Romaney, Magh , B okhariot, Kurd, Armenian,

Levantine, Jew, Persian, Punj abi, Madrasi, Parsee, noranything else known to ethnologists . He was simplyDana Da, and declined to give further information . Forthe sake of brevity and as roughly indicating his origin,he was called ‘The Native . ’ He might have been theoriginal Old Man of the Mountains, who is saidto be the only authorised head of the Tea-cup Creed .

Some people said that be was ; but Dana Da used tosmile and deny any connection with the cult, explain

ing that he was an ‘ Independent Experimenter .’

As I have said, he came from nowhere, with his handsbehind his back, and studied the Creed for three weeks,sitting at the feet of those best competent to explain its

285


mysteries . Then he laughed aloud and went away, butthe laugh m ight have been either of devotion or densron .

When he returned he was without money, but hispride was unabated . He declared that he knew moreabout the Things in Heaven and Earth than those whotaught him , and for this contumacy was abandonedaltogether.His next appearance in public lifewas at a big canton

ment in Upper India, and he was then telling fortuneswith the help of three leaden dice, a very dirty old cloth,and a little tin box of opium pills . He told better fortunes when he was allowed half a bottle of whisky ; butthe things which he invented on the opium were quiteworth the money. He was in reduced circumstances .

Among other people’s he told the fortune of an Englishman who had once been interested in the Simla Creed ,but who, later on , had married and forgotten all his

knowledge in the study of babies and things . TheEnglishm an allowed Dana Da to tell a fortune forcharity’s sake, and gave him five rupees, a dinner, andsome old clothes . When he had eaten, Dana Da professed gratitude, and asked if there were anything hecould do for his host in the esoteric line .

Is there any one that you love? ’ said Dana Da . TheEnglishman loved his wife, but had no desire to drag hernam e into the conversation . He therefore shook hishead .

‘ Is there any one that you hate? ’ said Dana Da.

The Englishman said that there were several men whomhe hated deeply .

‘

Very good,’ said Dana Da, upon whom the whisky

and the opium were beginning to tell . Only give me286


THE SENDING OF DANA DA‘ I could have chosen no better man myself,

’ said he .

‘ I will see that he finds the Sending about his path andabout his bed .

He lay down on the hearth-rug, turned up the whitesof his eyes, shivered all over, and began to snort . Thiswas Magic, or Opium, or the Sending, or all three .When he opened his eyes he vowed that the Sending hadstarted upon the warpath, and was at that momentflying up to the town where Lone Sahib lives .

Giveme my ten rupees,’ said Dana Da wearily, and

write a letter to Lone Sahib, telling him , and all whobelieve with him, that you and a friend are using apower greater than theirs . They will see that you arespeaking the truth .

’

He departed unsteadily, with the promise of somemore rupees if anything came of the Sending.

The Englishman sent a letter to Lone Sahib, couchedin what he remembered of the terminology of the Creed .

He wrote : ‘ I also, in the days of what you held to be mybacksliding, have obtained Enlightenment, and withEnl ightenment has come Power.

’ Then he grew so

deeply mysterious that the recipient of the letter couldmake neither head nor tail of it, and was propor tionately impressed ; for be fancied that his friend had hecome a ‘

fifth-rounder.’ When aman is a fifth-rounder ’

he can do more than Slade and Houdin combined .

Lone Sahib read the letter in five different fashions,and was beginning a sixth interpretation when his bearerdashed in with the news that there was a eat on the bed.

Now if there was one thing that Lone Sahib hated morethan another, it was a cat . He scolded the bearer fornot turning it out of the house . The bearer said that hewas afraid . All the doors of the bedroom had been

288


shut throughout the morning, and no real cat could

possibly have entered the room . He would prefer notto meddle with the creature .Lone Sahib entered the room gingerly, and there, on

the pillow of his bed, sprawled and whimpered a weewhite kitten ; not a jummome, frisky little beast, but aslug-like crawler with its eyes barely Opened and its

paws lacking strength or direction a kitten thatought to have been in a basket with its mamma . LoneSahib caught it by the scruff of its neck, handed it overto the sweeper to be drowned, and fined the bearerfour annas .That evening, as he was reading in his room, he fan

cied that he saw somethingmoving about on the hearthrug, outside the circle of light from his reading-lamp .

When the thing began to myowl he realised that it wasa kitten a wee white kitten, nearly blind and verym iserable . He was seriously angry, and spoke bitterlyto his bearer, who said that there was no kitten in theroom when he brought in the lame and real kittens oftender age generally had mother-cats in attendance .

‘ If the Presence will go out into the verandah andlisten,

’ said the bearer,‘he will hear no cats . How,

therefore, can the kitten on the bed and the kitten onthe hearth-rug be real kittens? ’

Lone Sahib went out to listen , and the bearer followedhim , but there was no sound of any one mewing for herchildren . He returned to his room, having hurled thekitten down the hillside, and wrote out the incidents ofthe day for the benefit of his co-religionists . Thosepeople were so absolutely free from superstition thatthey ascribed anything a little out of the common toAgencies . AS it was their business to know all about

289

THE SENDING OF DAN A DA

the Agencies, they were on terms of almost indecentfamiliarity with Manifestations of every kind . Theirletters dropped from the ceiling unstamped and

Spiri ts used to squatter up and down their staircasesall night ; but they had never come into contact withkittens . Lone Sahib wrote out the facts, noting thehour and the m inute, as every Psychical Observer isbound to do, and appending the Englishm an

’

s letter,because it was the most mysterious document and

might have had a bearing upon anything in this worldor the next . An outsider would have translated all thetangle thus : ‘Look out ! You laughed at me once, andnow I am going to make you sit up .

’

Lone Sahib ’s co-religionists found that meaning in it ;but their translation was refined and full of foursyllable words . They held a sederunt, and were filledwith tremulous joy, for, in spite of their familiarity withall the other worlds and cycles, they had a very humanawe of things sent from Ghostland . They met in LoneSahib ’s room in shrouded and sepulchral gloom, andtheir conclave was broken up by a clinking among thephoto-frames on the mantel-piece . A wee white kitten,nearly blind , was Iooping and writhing itself betweenthe clock and the candlesticks . That stopped all investigations or doubtings . Here was the Manifestationin the flesh . It was, so far as could be seen, devoid ofpurpose, but it was a Manifestation of undoubtedauthenticity .

They drafted a Round Robin to the Englishman, thebackslider of old days, adjuring him in the interests ofthe Creed to explain whether there was any connectionbetween the

,

embodiment of some Egyptian God orother [I have forgotten the name! and his communica

290


THE SENDING OF DAN A DA

When a man who hates cats wakes up in the morningand finds a little squirm ing kitten on his breast, or putshis hand into his ulster-pocket and finds a little halfdead kitten where his gloves should be, or opens histrunk and finds a vile kitten among his dress-shirts, or

goes for a long ride with his mackintosh strapped on hissaddle-bow and shakes a little squawling kitten from its

folds when he Opens it, or goes out to dinner and finds alittle blind kitten under his chair, or stays at home andfinds a writhing kitten under the quilt, or wrigglingamong his boots, or hanging head downwards in histobacco-j ar, or being mangled by his terrier in the verandah, when such a man finds one kitten, neithermore nor less, once a day in a place where no kittenrightly could or should be, he is naturally upset . Whenhe dare not murder his daily trove because he believesit to be a Manifestation, an Emissary, an Embodimentand balf-a-dozen other things all out of the regularcourse of nature, he is more than upset . He is actually distressed . Some of Lone Sahib’s co-religioniststhought that he was a highly-favoured individual ; butmany said that if he had treated the first kitten withproper respect as suited a Toth-R a-Tum-SennacheribEmbodiment all this trouble would have beenaverted . They compared him to the Ancient Mariner,but none the less they were proud of him and proud ofthe Englishman who had sent the Manifestation . Theydid not call it a Sending, because Icelandic magic wasnot in their programme .

After sixteen kittens, that is to say after one fortnight, for there were three kittens on the first day toirnpress the fact of the Sending, the whole camp wasuplifted by a letter it came flying through a window

292


from the Old Man of the Mountains the Head ofall the Creed explaining the Manifestation in themost beautiful language and soaking up all the creditof it for himself . The Englishman, said the letter, wasnot there at all . Hewas a backslider without Power orAsceticism, who could not even rai se a table by force ofvolition, much less project an army of kittens throughspace . The entire arrangement, said the letter, wasstrictly orthodox, worked and sanctioned by the highestAuthorities within the pale of the Creed . There wasgreat joy at this, for some of the weaker brethren, seeingthat an outsider who had been working on independentlines could create kittens, whereas their own rulers hadnever gone beyond crockery and broken at bestwere showing a desire to break line on their own trail .In fact, there was the promise of a schism . A secondRound Robin was drafted to the Englishman, beginning :‘

0 Scoffer,’ and ending with a selection of curses from

the Rites of Mizraim and Memphis, and the Commination of Jugana, who was a

‘

fifth-rounder,’ upon whose

name an upstart‘

third-rounder ’ once traded . A papalexcomm unication is a billet-doux compared to theCommination of Jugana . The Englishman had beenproved, under the hand and seal of the Old Man of theMountains, to have appropriated Virtue and pretendedto have Power which, in reality, belonged only to theSupreme Head . Naturally the Round Robin did notspare him .

He handed the letter to Dana Da to translate intodecent English . The effect on Dana Da was curi ous .At first he was furiously angry, and then he laughed forfive minutes .

‘

I had thought,’ he said,

‘ that they would have come293


to me . In another week I would have shown that Isent the Sending, and they would have discrowned theOld Man of the Mountains, who has sent this Sendingof mine . Do you do nothing. The time has come forme to act . Write as I dictate, and I will put them toshame . But give me ten more rupees . ’

At Dana Da’

s dictation the Englishman wrotenothing less than a formal challenge to the Old Man ofthe Mountains . It wound up : ‘And if this Manifestation be from your hand, then let it go forward ; but if itbe from my hand, I will that the Sending shall cease intwo days

’ time . On that day there shall be twelvekittens and thenceforward none at all . The peopleshall judge between us . ’ This was signed by Dana D a,who added pentacles and pentagrams, and a crux ansataand half-a-dozen swastikas, and a Triple Tau to hisname, j ust to Show that he was all he laid claim to be .

The challenge was read out to the gentlemen and

ladies, and they remembered then that Dana Da hadlaughed at them some years ago . It was officiallyannounced that the Old Man of the Mountains wouldtreat the matter with contempt, Dana Da being an

Independent Investigator without a single ‘ round’

atthe back of him . But this did not soothe his people.

They wanted to see a fight . They were very humanfor all their spirituality. Lone Sahib, who was reallybeing worn out with kittens, submitted meekly to hisfate . He felt that he was being ‘kittened to prove thepower of Dana Da,

’

as the poet says .When the stated day dawned the shower of kittensbegan . Some were white and some were tabby, andall were about the same loathsome age . Three were onhis hearth-rug, three in his bathroom, and the other six

294


THE SENDING OF DAN A DA‘ and if I die before I spend them, bury them with me.

’

The silver was counted out while Dana Dawas fightingwith Death . H is hand closed upon the money and hesmiled a grim smile .

Bend low,

’ he whispered . The Englishman bent.Bunnia Mission-school expelled box-wallah

(peddler) Ceylon pear l-merchant all mine Englisheducation outcasted, and made up name Dana DaEngland with Am erican thought-re ading man and—and— you gave me ten rupees several times I gave theSahib ’s bearer two-eight a month for cats little,little cats . I wrote, and he put them about veryclever man . Very few kittens now in the bazar. Ask

Lone Sahib’s sweeper’s wife . ’

So saying, Dana Da gasped and passed away in to aland where, if all be true, there are no materialisationsand the making of new creeds is discouraged .

But consider the gorgeous simplicity of it all !

296

ON THE CITY WALL

Then she let them down by a cord through the window ; for her house was upon the town-wall, and she

dwelt upon the wall . Joshua ii . 1 5 .

ALUN is a member of the most ancient professionin the world . Lilith was her very-great-grandmamma, and that was before the days of Eve, as

every one knows . In the West, people say rude thingsabout Lalun’

s profession, and write lectures about it,and distribute the lectures to young persons in orderthat Morality may be preserved . In the East, wherethe profession is hereditary, descending from mother todaughter, nobody wri tes lectures or takes any notice ;and that is a distinct proof of the inability of the Eastto manage its own affairs .Lalun

’

s real husband, for even ladies of Lalun’

s

profession in the East must have husbands, was a bigjujube-tree Her Mamma, who had married a fig-tree,spent ten thousand rupees on Lalun

’

s wedding, whichwas blessed by forty-seven clergymen of Mamm a’sChurch, and distributed five thousand rupees in charityto the poor. And that was the custom of the land .

The advantages of having a jujube-tree for a husband297

ON THE CITY WALL

are obvious . You cannot hurt his feelings, and he looksimposing .

Lalun’

s husband stood on the plain outside the Citywalls, and Lalun

’

s housewas upon the east wall facingthe river. If you fell from the broad window-seat youdropped thirty feet sheer into the City Ditch. But if

you stayed where you should and looked forth, you sawall the cattle of the City being driven down to water,the students of the Government College playing cricket,the high grass and trees that fringed the river-bank, thegreat sand-bars that ribbed the river, the red tom bs ofdead Emperors beyond the river, and very far awaythrough the blue heat-haze a glint of the snows of theHimalayas .Wal i Dad used to lie in the window-seat for hours at a

time watching this view. He was a young Muhamm a

dan who was suff ering acutely from education of theEnglish variety and knew it . His father had sent himto a Mission-school to get wisdom, and Wali Dad hadabsorbed more than ever his father or the Missionari esintended he should . When his father died, Wali Dadwas independent and spent two years experimentingwith the creeds of the Earth and reading books that areof no use to anybody.

After he had made an unsuccessful attempt to enterthe Roman Catholic Church and the Presbyterian foldat the same time (the Missionaries found him out andcalled him names, but they did not understand histrouble) , he discovered Lalun on the City wall and hecame the most constant of her few adm irers . He

possessed a head that English artists at home wouldrave over and paint amid irnpossible surroundings a

face that female novelists would use with delight298


ON THE CITY WALL

the administration of the Empire . Year by year E ngland sends out fresh drafts for the first fighting-line,which is officially called the Indian Civil Service .

These die, or kill themselves by overwork, or are

worried to death, or broken in health and hope in orderthat the land may be protected from death and sickn ess,famine and war, and may eventually become capableof standing alone . It will never stand alone, but theidea is a pretty one, and men are willing to die for it, andyearly the work of pushing and coaxing and scoldingand petting the country into good living goes forward .

If an advance be made, all credit is given to the native,while the Englishmen stand back and wipe their foreheads . I f a failure occurs, the Englishmen step forwardand take the blame . Overmuch tenderness of this kindhas bred a strong belief among many natives that thenative is capable of adm inistering the country, and

many devout Englishmen believe this also, because thetheory is stated in beautiful English with all the latestpolitical colour.There be other men who, though uneducated, see

visions and dream dreams, and they, too , hOpe to

adm inister the country in their own way that is tosay, with a garnish of Red Sauce . Such men must existamong two hundred million people, and, if they are notattended to, may cause trouble and even break the

great idol called Pax Britannic, which, as the newspapers say, lives between Peshawar and Cape Comorin.

Were the Day of Doom to dawn tom orrow, you wouldfind the Supreme Government ‘ taking measures toallay popular excitement,

’ and putting guards upon thegraveyards that the Dead might troop forth orderly.

The youngest Civilian would arrest Gabriel on his own

300

ON THE CITY WALL

responsibility if the Ar changel could not produce aDeputy Commissioner

’

s permissionto ‘make music orother noises,

’ as the license says .Whence it is easy to see that mere men of the flesh

who would create a tumult must fare badly at the handsof the Supreme Government . And they do . There isno outward Sign of excitement ; there is no confusion ;there is no knowledge . When due and sufficient reasonshave been given, weighed and approved, the machinerymoves forward, and the dreamer of dreams and the seerof visions is gone from his friends and following. Heenjoys the hospitality of Government ; there is no te

striction upon his movements within certain limits ; buthe must not confer any more with his brother dreamers .Once in every six months the Supreme Governmentassures itself that he is well and takes formal acknowledgment of his existence . No one protests against hisdetention, because the few people who know about itare in deadly fear of seeming to know him ; and never asingle newspaper takes up his case or organises demonstrations on his behalf, because the newspapers of Indiahave got behind that lying proverb which says the Penis mightier than the Sword, and can walk delicately .

So now you know as much as you ought about WaliDad, the educational mixture, and the Supreme Govemment .Lalun has not yet been described . She would need,

so Wal i Dad says, a thousand pens of gold and inkscented with musk . She has been variously comparedto the Moon, the Dil Sagar Lake, a spotted quail, agazelle, the Sun on the Desert of Kutch, the Dawn, theStars, and the young bamboo . These comparisonsimply that she is beautiful exceedingly according to the

301

ON THE CITY WALL

native standards, which are practically the sam e asthose of the West . Her eyes are black and her hair isblack, and her eyebrows are black as leeches ; hermouth is tiny and says witty things ; her hands are tinyand have saved much money ; her feet are tiny and havetrodden on the naked hearts of many men . But, as

Wali Dad sings : ‘ Lalun is Lalun, and when you havesaid that, you have only come to the Beginnings ofKnowledge .

’

The little house on the City wall was just big enoughto hold Lalun, and her maid, and a pussy-cat with asilver collar. A big pink and blue cut-glass chandelierhung from the ceiling of the reception room . A prettyNawab had given Lalun the horror, and she kept it forpoliteness’ sake . The floor of the room was of polishedchunam , white as curds . A latticed window of carvedwood was set in one wall ; there was a profusion ofsquabby pluffy cushions and fat carpets everywhere,and Lalun ’

s silver buqa, studded with turquoises, had aspecial little carpet all to its shining self. Wali Dad wasnearly as permanent a fixture as the chandelier. As Ihave said, he lay in the window-seat and meditated onLife and Death and Lalun specially Lalun . Thefeet of the young men of the City tended to her doorwaysand then retired, for Lalun was a particular maiden,slow of speech , reserved of mind, and not in the leastinclined to orgies which were nearly certain to end instrife .

‘ If I am of no value, I am unworthy of thishonour,

’ said Lalun .

‘ If I am of value, they are unworthy of Me .

’

And that was a crooked sentence .In the long hot nights of latter April and May all the

City seemed to assemble in Lalun ’

s little white room tosmoke and to talk . Shiahs of the grimmest and most

302


ON THE CITY WALL

head .

‘They have ordered the 1 1 8th to go in its stead .

That Regiment goes to Lucknow in three months unlessthey give a fresh order.

’

‘That is so,’ said Wali Dad, without a shade of doubt .

Can you, with your telegram s and your newspapers, dobetter? Always hearing and telling some new thing,

’

he went on .

‘My friend, has your God ever smitten aEuropean nation for gossiping in the bazars? Indiahas gossiped for centuries always standing in thebazars until the soldiers go by. Therefore you are

here to-day instead of starving in your own country.

I am not a Muhamm adan — I am a Product— a

Demnition Product . That also I owe to you and yours :that I cannot make an end to my sentence withoutquoting from your authors . ’ He pulled at the buqaand mourned , half feelingly, half in earnest, for theshattered hopes of his youth . Wali Dad was alwaysmourning over something or other the country ofwhich he despaired, or the creed in which he had lostfaith, or the life of the English, which he could by nomeans understand .

Lalun never mourned . She played little songs on thesitar, and to hear her sing, O Peacock, cry again,

’ wasalways a fresh pleasure . She knew all the songs thathave ever been sung, from the war-songs of the South,

that make the old men angry with the young men andthe young men angry with the State, to the love-songsof the North, where the swords whinny—whicker likeangry kites in the pauses between the kisses, and thePasses fill with armed men, and the Lover is torn fromhis Beloved and cries, Ai l Ai l Ai l everrnore. She

knew how to make up tobacco for the huqa so that itsmelt like the Gates of Paradise and waited you gently

304

ON THE CITY WALL

through them . She could embroider strange things ingold and silver, and dance softly with the moonlightwhen it came in at the window . Also she knew thehearts of men, and the heart of the City, and whosewives were faithful and whose untrue, and more of thesecrets of the Government Offices than are good to beset down in this place . N asiban , her maid , said thather jewelry was worth ten thousand pounds, and that,some night, a thief would enter and murder her for itspossession ; but Lalun said that all the City would tearthat thief lim b from limb, and that he, whoever he was,knew it .So she took her sitar and sat in the window-seat, and

sang a song of old days that had been sung by a girl ofher profession in an armed camp on the eve of a greatbattle the day before the Fords of the Jumna ran redand Sivaj i fled fiftymiles to Delhi with a Toorkh stallionat his horse’s tail and another Lalun on his saddle-bow.

It was what men call a Mahratta laonee, and it said

‘Their warrior forces ChirnnajccBefore the Peishwa led,

The Children of the Sun and FireBehind him turned and fled .

’

And the chorus said

‘With them there fought who rides so freeWith sword and turban red,

The warri or-youth who earns his feeAt peril of his head .

’

‘At peril of his head,’ said Wali Dad in English to me .

‘Thanks to your Government, all our heads are protected, and with the educational facilities at my

305

ON THE CITY WALL

command ’

his eyes twinkled wickedly ‘ I might bea distinguished member of the local administration .

Perhaps, in time, I might even be a member of a Legislative Council .

’

‘

Don ’t speak English,’ said Lalun, bending over her

sitar af resh . The chorus went out from the City wallto the blackened wall of Fort Am ara which dom inatesthe City. No man knows the precise extent of FortAmara . Three kings built it hundreds of years ago,and they say that there are miles of underground roomsbeneath its walls . It is peopled with many ghosts, adetachment of Garrison Artillery, and a Company ofInfantry . In its prime it held ten thousand men and

filled its ditches with corpses .‘At peril of his head,

’ sang Lalun again and again .

A head moved on one of the Ramparts the grayhead of an old man and a voice, rough as shark-skinon a sword-hilt, sent back the last line of the chorus andbroke into a song that I could not understand, thoughLalun and Wali Dad listened intently.

‘

What is it? ’ I asked .

‘Who is it? ’

‘A consistent man,’ said Wali Dad .

‘He fought youin ’

46, when he was a warrior-youth ; refought you in’

5 7 , and he tried to fight you in ’

7 1 , but you had learnedthe trick of blowing men from guns too well . N ow heisold ; but he would still fight if he could .

’

‘ Is he a Wahabi, then? Why should he answer to aMahratta laonee if he be Wahabi or Sikh? ’ said I .

‘ I do not know,

’ said Wali Dad .

‘He has lost, perhaps, his religion . Perhaps he wishes to be a King.

Perhaps he is a King . I do not know his name . ’

‘That is a lie, Wal i Dad . If you know his career youmust know his name . ’

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ON THE CITY WALL

dri f ted down to the Club, where I found him and in

quired of him whether it was really true that a politicalprisoner had been added to the attractions of the Fort .The Subaltern explained at great length, for this wasthe first time that he had held Comm and of the Fort,and his glory lay heavy upon him .

‘Yes,’ said he,

‘ a man was sent in to me about a weekago from down the line a thorough gentleman, whoever he is . Of course I did all I could for him . He hadhis two servants and some Silver cooking-pots, and helooked for all the world like a native officer. I calledhim Subadar Sahib ; just as well to be on the safe side

y’

know.

“ Look here, Subadar Sahib,” I said ,

“you’rehanded over to my authority, and I

’m supposed toguard you . Now I don’t want to make your life hard,

but you must make things easy for me . All the Fort isat your disposal , from the flagstaff to the dry ditch, andI shall be happy to entertain you in any way I can , butyou mustn ’t take advantage of it . Give me your wordthat you won ’t try to escape, Subadar Sahib, and I

’

ll

give you my word that you shall have no heavy guardput over you .

” I thought the best way of getting athim was by going at him straight, y

’

know; and it was,by Jove ! The old man gave me his word, and movedabout the Fort as contented as a sick crow. He

’

s arummy chap always asking to be told where he isand what the buildings about him are. I had to Sign a

slip of blue paper when he turned up , acknowledgingreceipt of his body and all that, and I

’

m responsible,y

’

know, that he doesn’t get away. Queer thing, though ,

looking after a Johnnie old enough to be your grandfather, isn

’t it? Come to the Fort one of these dayand See him? ’

308

ON THE CITY WALL

For reasons which will appear, I never went to theFort while Khem Singh was then within its wal ls . Iknew birn only as a gray head seen from Lalun

’

s window a gray head and a harsh voice . But nativestold me that, day by day, as he looked upon the fairlands round Amara, his memory came back to him and,with it, the old hatred against the Government that hadbeen nearly effaced in far-off Burma . So he raged upand down the west face of the Fort from morning tillnoon and from evening till the night, devising vainthings in his heart, and creaking war-songs when Lalunsang on the City wall . As he grew more acquaintedwith the Subaltern he unburdened his old heart of someof the passions that had withered it . ‘ Sahib,

’ he usedto say, tapping his stick against the parapet,

‘when Iwas a young man I was one of twenty thousand horsemen who came out of the City and rode round the plainhere . Sahib, I was the leader of a hundred, then of athousand, then of five thousand, and now !

’ hepointed to his two servants . ‘But from the beginningto to-day I would cut the throats of all the Sahibs in theland if I could . Hold me fast, Sahib, lest I get awayand return to those who would follow me . I forgotthem when I was in Burma, but now that I am in myown country again , I remember everything .

’

Do you remember that you have given me yourHonour not to make your tendance a hard matter? saidthe Subaltern .

‘

Yes, to you, only to you, Sahib,’ said Khem Singh .

‘To you because you are of a pleasant countenance .

I f my turn comes again, Sahib, I will not hang you norcut your throat . ’

‘Thank you,’ said the Subaltern gravely, as he looked

309

ON THE CITY WALL

along the line of guns that could pound the City to

powder in half an hour. ‘Let us go into our ownquarters, Khem Singh . Come and talk with me af terdinner. ’

Khem Singh would sit on his own cushion at theSubaltern’s feet, drinking heavy, scented ani se-seedbrandy in great gulps, and telling strange stories ofFort Amara, which had been a palace in the old days, ofBegum s and Ranees tortured to death ay, in the veryvaulted chamber that now served as a Mess-room ;would tell stories of Sobraon. that made the Subaltern ’scheeks flush and tingle with pride of race, and of theKuka rising from which so much was expected and theforeknowledge of which was shared by a hundredthousand souls . But he never told tales of

’

5 7 because ,

as he said, he was the Subaltern’s guest, and

’

5 7 is ayear that no man, Black or White, cares to speak of.Once only, when the anise-seed brandy had slightlyaffected his head, he said :

‘ Sahib, speaking now of amatter which lay between Sobraon and the affair of theKukas, it was ever a wonder to us that you stayed yourhand at all, and that, having stayed it, you did notmake the land one prison . Now I hear from withoutthat you do great honour to all men of our country andby your own hands are destroying the Terror of yourName which is your strong rock and defence . This isa foolish thing. Will oil and water mix? Now in

’

5 7‘ I was not born then, Subadar Sahib,

’ said the Subaltern , and Khem Singh reeled to his quarters .The Subaltern would tell me of these conversationsat the Club, and my desire to see Khem Singh increased .

But Wali Dad, sitting in the window-seat of the houseon the City wall, said that it would be a cruel thing to

31 0


ON THE CITY WALL

forgot that the world goes forward in fifteen years, andmany Subalterns are promoted to Captaincies .

‘The Captain-pig is in charge of the Fort? ’

said

Khem Singh to his native guard every morning. And

the native guard said : ‘

Yes, Subadar Sahib,’

in deference to his age and his air of distinction ; but they didnot know who he was .In those days the gathering in Lalun

’

s little whiteroom was always large and talked more than before .

‘The Greeks,’ said Wali Dad, who had been borrow

ing my books,‘ the inhabitants of the city of Athens

,

where they were always hearing and telling some newthing, rigorously secluded their women who werefools . Hence the glorious institution of the heterodoxwomen is it not? who were am using and not fools.All the Greek philosophers delighted in their company.

Tell me, my friend, how it goes now in Greece and theother places upon the Continent of Europe. Are yourwomen-folk also fools?

’

‘Wali Dad,’ I said ,

‘you never speak to us about yourwomen-folk and we never speak about ours to you .

That is the bar between us .’

‘

Y es,’ said Wali Dad,

‘ it is curious to think that ourcommon meeting-place should be here, in the house of acommon how do you call her?

’ He pointed withthe pipe-mouth to Lalun .

‘Lalun is nothing but Lalun,

’ I said, and that wasperfectly true . ‘But if you took your place in theworld, Wali Dad, and gave up dreaming dreams

‘ I might wear an English coat and trouser. I mightbe a leading Muhammadan pleader. I might be re

ceived even at the Commissioner’s tennis-parties, where

the English stand on one side and the natives on the31 2

ON THE CITY WALL

other, in order to promote social intercourse throughoutthe Empire . Heart’s Heart,

’ said he to Lalun quickly,the Sahib says that I ought to quit you .

’

The Sahib is always talking stupid talk,’

returnedLalun with a laugh .

‘ In this house I am a Queen andthou art a King. The Sahib

’

she put her arms aboveher head and thought for a moment ‘ the Sahib shallbe our Vizier thine and mine, Wali D ad becausehe has said that thou shouldst leave me.

’

Wali Dad laughed irnmoderately, and I laughed too .‘Be it so,

’ said be.

‘My friend, are you willing to takethis lucrative Government appointment? Lalun, whatshall his pay be? ’

But Lalun began to Sing, and for the rest of the timethere was no hope of getting a sensible answer from heror Wali Dad . When the one stopped, the other beganto quote Persian poetry with a triple pun in every otherline Some of it was not strictly proper, but it was allvery funny, and it only cam e to an end when a fat person in black, with gold pince-nez, sent up his name toLalun, and Wali Dad dragged me into the twinklingnight to walk in a big rose-garden and talk heresiesabout Religion and Governments and a man

’

s careerin life .The Mohurrum , the great mourning-festival of theMuhammadans, was close at hand, and the things thatWali Dad said about religious fanaticism would havesecured his expulsion from the loosest-thinking Muslimsect. There were the rose-bushes round us, the starsabove us, and from every quarter of the City came theboom of the big Mohurrum drums . You must knowthat the City is divided in fairly equal proportionsbetween the Hindus and the Musalmans, and where

31 3

ON THE CITY WALL

both creeds belong to the fighting races, a big religiousfestival gives ample chance for trouble . When theycan that is to say, when the authorities ar e weakenough to allow it the Hindus do their best to arrangesome minor feast day of their own in time to clash withthe period of general mourning for the martyr s Hasanand Hussain, the heroes of the Mohurrum . Gilt andpainted paper presentations of their tombs are hom e

with shouting and wailing, music, torches, and yells ,through the principal thoroughfares of the City ; whichfakements are called tazias. Their passage is rigorouslylaid down beforehand by the Police, and detachmentsof Police accompany each tazia, lest the Hindus shouldthrow bricks at it and the peace of the Queen and theheads of Her loyal subjects should thereby be broken .

Mohurrum time in a ‘ fighting town means anxiety toall the officials, because, if a riot breaks out, the officialsand not the rioters are held responsible . The formermust foresee everything, and while not making theirprecautions ridiculously elaborate, must see that theyare at least adequate .

‘Listen to the drums ! ’ said Wali Dad .

‘That is theheart of the people empty and making much noise .How, think you, will the Mohurrum go this year ? Ithink that there will be trouble . ’

He turned down a side-street and left me alone withthe stars and a sleepy Police patrol . Then I went tobed and dreamed that Wali Dad had sacked the Cityand I was made Vizier, with Lalun

’

s silver buqa formark of office .All day the Mohurrum drums beat in the City, and

all day deputations of tearful Hindu gentlemen besieged the Deputy Commissioner with assurances that

31 4


ON THE CITY WALL

near ly sure that there will be trouble to-night,’

he said .

‘All the City thinks so, and Vox Populi is Vox Dei, asthe Babus say . Now I tell you that at the com er of thePadshahi Gate you

,

will find my horse all this night i f

you want to go about and to see things . It is a mostdisgraceful exhibition . Where is the pleasure of sayingYa Hasan, Ya Hussain twenty thousand tim es in a

night?All the processions there were two-and-twenty of

them were now well within the City walls . The

drums were beating afresh, the crowd were howling‘Ya Hasan ! Ya Hussain and beating their breasts ,the brass bands were playing their loudest, and at everycorner where space allowed, Muhammadan preacherswere telling the lamentable story of the death of theMartyrs . It was immssible to move except with thecrowd, for the streets were not more than twenty feetwide . In the Hindu quarters the shutters of all theshops were up and cross-barred . As the first tazia, agorgeous erection ten feet high, was borne aloft on theshoulders of a score of stout men into the semi-darknessof the Gully of the Horsemen, a brickbat crashed throughits talc and tinsel sides .

‘ Into thy hands, 0 Lord !’ murmured Wali Dad pro

fanely, as a yell went up from behind, and a nativeofficer of Police jammed his horse through the crowd .

Another brickbat followed, and the tazia staggered andswayed where it had stopped .

‘

Go on ! In the name of the Sirkar, go forward !’

shouted the Policeman ; but there was an ugly crackingand splintering of shutters, and the crowd halted, withoaths and growlings, before the house whence the brickbat had been thrown.

ON THE CITY WALL

Then, without any warning, broke the storm notonly in the Gully of the Horsemen, but in half-a-dozenother places . The tazias rocked like ships at sea, thelong pole-torches dipped and rose round them while themen shouted : The Hindus are dishonouri ng the tazias !Strike ! stri ke ! Into their temples for the Faith The

six or eight Policemen with each tazia drew their batons,

and struck as long as they could in the hope of forcingthe mob forward, but they were overpowered, and as

contingents of Hindus poured into the streets, the fightbecame general . Half a mile away where the taziaswere yet untouched the drums and the shrieks of YaHasan ! Ya Hussain ! continued, but not for long.

The priests at the com ers of the streets knocked the legsfrom the bedsteads that supported their pulpits andsmote for the Faith, while stones fell from the silenthouses upon friend and foe, and the packed streetsbellowed : ‘

D in ! D in ! Din !’

A tazia caught fire,and was dropped for a flaming barrier between Hinduand Musalman at the com er of the Gully. Then thecrowd surged forward, and Wali Dad drew me close tothe stone pillar of a well .

‘ It was intended from the beginning ! he shouted inmy ear, with more heat than blank unbelief should beguilty of. ‘The bricks were carried up to the housesbeforehand . These swine of Hindus ! We shall begutting kine in their temples to-night lTazia after tazia, some burning, others torn to pieces,hurried past us and the mob with them howling, shri eking, and stri king at the house doors in their flight . Atlast we saw the reason of the rush . Hugonin , theAssistant District Superintendent of Police, a boy oftwenty, had got together thirty constables and was

31 7

ON THE CITY WALL

forcing the crowd through the streets. His old grayPolice-horse showed no Sign of uneasiness as it wasspurred breast-ou into the crowd, and the long dog-whipwith which he had armed himselfwas never still .They know we haven ’t enough Police to hold ’em

,

’

he cried as he passed me, mopping a cut on his face .

‘They know we haven ’t ! Aren’t any of the men fromthe Club coming down to help? Get on, you sonsof burnt fathers The dog-whip cracked across thewrithing backs, and the constables smote afresh withbaton and gun-butt . With these passed the lights andthe shouting, and Wal i Dad began to swear under hisbreath . From Fort Amara shot up a single rocket ;then two side by side . It was the signal for troops .Petitt, the Deputy Commissioner, covered with dust

and sweat, but calm and gently smiling, cantered up theclean-swept street in rear of the main body of the rioters .‘No one killed yet, he shouted .

‘ I’

ll keep ’em on therun till dawn ! Don ’t let ’em halt, Hugonin ! Trot’em about till the troops come ’

The science of the defence lay solely in keeping themob on the move . If they had breathing-space theywould halt and fire a house, and then the work of testoring order would be more difficult, to say the least ofit . Flames have the same effect on a crowd as bloodhas on a wild beast .Word had reached the Club, and men in eveningdress were beginn ing to show themselves and lend ahand in heading off and breaking up the shouting masseswith stirrup-leathers, whips, or chance-found staves .They were not very often attacked, for the ri oters hadsense enough to know that the death of a Europeanwould not mean one hanging but many, and possibly

31 8


ON THE CITY WALL

rendezvous quietly near the Fort, showed no signs ofbeing impressed . Two companies of Native Infantry

,

a squadron of Native Cavalry, and a company of

British Infantry were kicking their heels in the shadowof the East face, waiting for orders to march in . I amsorry to say that they were all pleased, unholily pleased ,

at the chance of what they called ‘ a little fun .

’ Thesenior officers, to be sure, grumbled at having been keptout of bed, and the English troops pretended to be sulky ,

but there was j oy in the hearts of all the subaltem s, andwhispers ran up and down the line : ‘No ball-cartridgeswhat a beastly shame !

’

D’

you think the beggar s willreally stand up to us?

’

HOpe I shall meet mymoneylender there . I owe himmore than I can afford . Oh

,

they won ’t let us even unsheathe swords . ’ ‘Hurrah !Up goes the fourth market . Fall in, there !

’

The Garrison Artillery, who to the last cheri shed awild hope that they might be allowed to bombard theCity at a hundred yards’ range, lined the parapet abovethe East gateway and cheered themselves hoarse as theBritish Infantry doubled along the road to the MainGate of the City. The Cavalry cantered on to thePadshahi Gate, and the Native Infantrymarched slowlyto the Gate of the Butchers. The surprise was intendedto be of a distinctly unpleasant nature, and to come ontop of the defeat of the Police, who had been just ableto keep the Muhammadans from firing the houses of afew leading Hindus . The bulk of the riot lay in thenorth and north-west wards. The cast and south-east

were by this time dark and silent, and I rode hastily toLalun

’

s house, for Iwished to tell her to send some one in

search of Wali Dad . The house was unlighted, but the

door was open, and I climbed upstairs in the darkness.

320

ON THE CITY WALL

One small lamp in the white room showed Lalun and hermaid leaning half out of the window, breathing heavilyand evidently pulling at something that refused to come .

‘Thou art late very late,’ gasped Lalun without

turning her head .

‘Help us now, 0 Fool, if thou hastnot spent thy strength howling among the tazias. Pull !N asiban and I can no more ! 0 Sahib, is it you? TheHindus have been hunting an old Muhammadan roundthe Ditch with clubs . If they find him again they willkill him . Help us to pull him up .

’

I put my hands to the long red silk waist-cloth thatwas hanging out of the window, and we three pulled andpulled with all the strength at our comm and . Therewas something very heavy at the end, and it swore in anunknown tongue as it kicked against the City wal l .

‘Pull, oh, pull !’ said Lalun at the last . A pair of

brown hands grasped the window-sill and a venerableMuhammadan tumbled upon the floor, very much outof breath . His jaws were tied up, his turban had fallenover one eye, and he was dusty and angry .

Lalun hid her face in her hands for an instant and saidsomething about Wali Dad that I could not catch .

Then, to my extreme gratification, she threw herarms round my neck and murmured pretty things. Iwas in no haste to stop her ; and N asiban , being a handmaiden of tact, turned to the big jewel-chest that standsin the corner of the white room and rummaged amongthe contents . The Muhammadan sat on the floor andglared .

One service more, Sahib, since thou hast come soopportunely,

’ said Lalun .

‘Wilt thou ’ it isvery niceto be thou-cd by Lalun ‘ take thi s old man across theCity the troops are everywhere, and they might hurt

32 1

ON THE CITY WALL

him , for he is old to the Kumharsen Gate? There Ithink he may find a carriage to take him to his house .

He is a friend of mine, and thou art more than afriend therefore I ask this .

’

N asiban bent over the old man, tucked somethinginto his belt, and I raised him up , and led him into thestreets . In crossing from the east to the west of theCity there was no chance of avoiding the troops and thecrowd . Long before I reached the Gully of the Horsemen I heard the shouts of the British Infantry cryingcheeri ly :

‘

Hutt, ye beggars ! Hutt, ye devils ! Getalong ! Go forward, there !

’ Then followed the ringingof rifle-butts and shrieks of pain . The troops werehanging the bare toes of the mob with their gun-buttsfor not a bayonet had been fixed . My companion

mumbled and jabbered as we walked on until we werecarried back by the crowd and had to force our way tothe troops . I caught him by the wrist and felt a banglethere the iron bangle of the Sikhs but I had nosuspicions, for Lalun had only ten minutes before puther arms round me . Thri ce we were carried back bythe crowd , and when we made our way past the BritishInfantry it was to meet the Sikh Cavalry drivinganother mob before them with the butts of their lances.

‘What are these dogs? ’ said the old man .

Sikhs of the Cavalry, Father,’ I said, and we edged

our way up the line of horses two abreast and found theDeputy Commissioner, his helmet smashed on his head,surrounded by a knot of men who had come down fromthe Club as amateur constables and had helped thePolice mightily .

‘We’ll keep ’em on the run till dawn,’ said Petitt.

‘Who’s your villainous friend?’

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ON THE CITY WALL

British soldiers, joining arms, swept down the sidegullies, their rifles on their backs, stamping, with shouting and song, upon the toes of Hindu and Musalman .

Never was religious enthusiasm more systematicallysquashed ; and never were poor breakers of the peacemore utterly weary and footsore . They were routedout of holes and com ers, from behind well-pillars andbyres, and hidden to go to their houses. If they had nohouses to go to, so much the worse for their toes .On returning to Lalun

’

s door I stumbled over a manat the threshold . He was sobbing hysterically and hisarms flapped like the wings of a goose . It was WaliDad, Agnostic and Unbeliever, shoeless, turbanless,and frothing at the mouth, the flesh on his chest bruisedand bleeding from the vehemence with which he hadsmitten himself. A broken torch-handle lay by hisside, and his quivering lips murmured,

‘Ya Hasan !Ya Hussain ! ’ as I stooped over him . I pushed him afew steps up the staircase, threw a pebble at Lalun

’

s

City window and hurried home .

Most of the streets were very still, and the cold windthat comes before the dawn whistled down them . Inthe centre of the Square of the Mosque a man was bending over a corpse . The skull had been smashed in bygun-butt or bam boo-stave .

“ It is expedient that one man should die for thepeople,

” said Petitt grimly, raising the shapeless head.

These brutes were beginning to show their teeth toomuch .

’

And from afar we could hear the soldiers singing TwoLovely Black Eyes, as they drove the remnant of therioters within doors .Of course you can guess what happened? I was not

324

ON THE CITY WALL

so clever. When the news went abroad that KhemSingh had escaped from the Fort, I did not, since I wasthen living this story, not wri ting it, connect myself, orLalun, or the fat gentleman of the gold pince-nez, withhis disappearance . Nor did it strike me that Wali Dadwas the man who Should have conveyed him across theCity, or that Lalun

’

s arms round my neck were putthere to hide the money that N asiban gave to KhemSingh, and that Lalun had used me and my white faceas even a better safeguard than Wali Dad, who provedhimself so untrustworthy . All that I knew at thetime was that, when Fort Amara was taken up with theri ots, Khem Singh profited by the confusion to get away,and that his two Sikh guards also escaped .

But later on I received full enlightenment ; and so didKhem Singh . He fled to those who knew him in theold days, but many of them were dead and more werechanged, and all knew something of the Wrath of theGovernment . He went to the young men, but theglamour of his name had passed away, and they wereentering native regiments or Government offices, andKhem Singh could give them neither pension, decorations, nor influence nothing but a glorious deathwith their back to themouth of a gun . He wrote lettersand made promises, and the letters fell into bad hands ,and a wholly insignificant subordinate officer of Policetracked them down and gained promotion thereby .

Moreover, Khem Singh was old, and anise-seed brandywas scarce, and he had left his silver cooking-pots inFort Am ara with his nice warm bedding, and the gentleman with the gold pince-nez was told by Those whohad employed him that Khem Singh as a popular leaderwas not worth the money paid .

325

ON THE CITY WALL‘Great is the mercy of these fools of English ! ’

sa idKhem Singh when the situation was put before him .

‘ I will go back to Fort Amara of my own free will a ndgain honour. Give me good clothes to return in .

So, at his own time, Khem Singh knocked at thewicket-gate of the Fort and walked to the Captain an d

the Subaltern, who were nearly gray-headed on accou n tof correspondence that daily arrived from Sim la marked‘

Private . ’

‘

I have come back, Captain Sahib,’ said Khem Singh .

‘Put no more guards over me . It is no good out

yonder . ’

A week later I saw him for the first time to my knowledge, and he made as though there were an understanding between us.

‘

It was well done, Sahib,’ said he,

‘ and greatly Iadmired your astuteness thus boldly facing the troopswhen I , whom they would have doubtless torn to pieces,was with you . Now there is a man in Fort Ooltagarhwhom a bold man could with ease help to escape . Thisis the position of the Fort as I draw it on the sandBut I was thinking how I had becomeLalun

’

s Vizierafter all .

TH E E ND

Plain Tales From the Hills 1886 1887 Soldiers Three - Forgotten Books

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