by
A COLLECTION OF STORIES
SETTING FORTH CERTAIN PASSAGES IN THE LIVES AND ADVENTURES OF PRIVATES TERENCE MULVANEY, STANLEY
ORTHERIS, AND JOHN LEAROYD
We be Soldiers Three |
Praise be, a danst doesnt come as often as Ordly-Room, or, by this an that, Orthris, me son, I wud be the dishgrace av the Rigmint instid av the brightest jool in uts crown.
Hand the Colonels pet noosance, said Ortheris. But wot makes you curse your rations? This ere fizzy stuffs good enough.
Stuff, ye oncivilised pagin! Tis champagne were dhrinkin now. Tisnt that I am set agin. Tis this quare stuff wid the little bits av black leather in ut. I misdoubt I will be disthressinly sick wid ut in the mornin. Fwhat is ut?
Goose liver, I said, climbing on the top of the carriage, for I knew that it was better to sit out with Mulvaney than to dance many dances.
Goose liver is ut? said Mulvaney. Faith, Im thinkin thim that makes ut wud do betther to cut up the Colonel. He carries a power av liver undher his right arrum whin the days are warm an the nights chill. He wud give thim tons an tons av liver. Tis he sez so. Im 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 the Fort Ditch, Ortheris explained. Said there was too much beer in the barrick waterbutts for a God-fearin man. You was lucky in gettin orf with wot you did, Mulvaney.
Say you so? Now Im pershuaded I was cruel hard treated, seein fwhat Ive done for the likes av him in the days whin me eyes were wider opin than they are now. Man alive, for the Colonel to whip me on the peg in that way! Me that have saved the repitation av a ten times betther man than him. Twas ne-fariousan that manes a power av evil!
Never mind the nefariousness, I said. Whose reputation did you save?
Mores the pity, twasnt my own, but I tuk more throuble wid ut than av ut was. Twas just my way, messin wid fwhat was no business av mine. Hear now! He settled himself at ease on the top of the carriage. Ill tell you all about ut. Av coorse I will name no names, for theres wan thats an orfcers lady now, that was in ut, and no more will I name places, for a man is thracked by a place.
Eyah! said Ortheris lazily, but this is a mixed story wots comin.
Wanst upon a time, as the childher-books say, I was a recruity.
Was you though? said Ortheris. Now thats extryordinary!
Orthris, said Mulvaney, av you opin thim lips av yours agin, I will, savin your presince, sorr, take you by the slack av your trousers an heave you.
Im mum, said Ortheris. Wot appened when you was a recruity?
I was a betther recruity than you iver was or will be, but thats neither here nor there. Thin I became a 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 womans eye. I did that! Orthris, ye scrub, fwhat are ye sniggerin at? Do you misdoubt me?
Devil a doubt! said Ortheris; but Ive eard summat like that before!
Mulvaney dismissed the impertinence with a lofty wave of his hand and continued:
An the orfcers av the Rigmint I was in in thim days was orfcersgran men, wid a manner on em, an a way wid em such as is not made these daysall but wanwan o the captns. A bad dhrill, a wake voice, an a limp legthim three things are the signs av a bad man. You bear that in your mind, Orthris, me son.
An the Colonel av the Rigmint had a daughtherwan av thim lamb-like, bleatin, pick-me-up-an-carry-me-or-Ill-die gurls such as was made for the natural prey av men like the Captn, who was iverlastin payin coort to her, though the Colonel he said time an over, Kape out av the brutes way, me dear. But he niver had the heart for to send her away from the throuble, bein a widower an she their wan child.
Stop a minute, Mulvaney, said I; how in the world did you come to know these things?
How did I come? said Mulvaney, with a scornful grunt. Bekaze Im turned durin the Quanes pleasure to a lump av wood, lookin out straight forninst me, wid aacandelabbrum in me hand, for you to pick your kyards out av, must I not see nor feel? Av coorse I du! Up me back, an in me boots, an in the short hair av the neckthats where I kape me eyes whin Im on jooty an the reglar wans are fixed. Know! Take my word for it, sorr, ivrything an a great dale more is known in a rigmint; or fwhat wud be the use av a Mess-Sargint, or a Sargints wife doin wet-nurse to the Majors baby! To reshume. He was a bad dhrill was this Captna rotten bad dhrillan whin first I ran, me eye over him, I sez to mesilf: Me Militia bantam! I sez. Me cock av a Gosport dunghill twas from Portsmouth he came to ustheres combs to be cut, sez I, an by the grace av God, tis Terence Mulvaney will cut thim.
So he wint menowdherin, and minandherin, an blandandherin roun an about the Colonels daughther, an she, poor innocint, lookin at him like a Commssariat bullock looks at the Compny cook. Hed a dhirty little scrub av a black moustache, an he twisted an turned ivry wurrud he used as av he found ut too sweet for to spit out. Eyah! He was a tricky man an a liar by natur. Some are born so. He was wan. I knew he was over his belt in money borrowed from natives; besides a lot av other matthers which, in regard for your presince, sorr, I will oblitherate. A little av fwhat I knew, the Colonel knew, for he wud have none av him, an that, Im thinkin, by fwhat happened aftherwards, the Captn knew.
Wan day, bein mortial idle, or they wud niver ha thried ut, the Rigmint gave amshure theatricalsorfcers an orfcers ladies. Youve seen the likes time an agin, sorr, an poor fun tis for thim that sit in the back row an stamp wid their boots for the honour av the Rigmint. I was told off for to shif the scenes, haulin up this an draggin down that. Light work ut was, wid lashins av beer and the gurl that dhressed the orfcers ladiesbut she died in Aggra twelve years gone, an me tongues gettin the betther av me. They was actin a play thing called Sweethearts, which you may ha heard av, an the Colonels daughther she was a ladys maid. The Captn was a bhoy called BroomSpread Broom was his name in the play. Thin I sawut come out in the actinfwhat I niver saw before, an that was that he was no gentleman. They was too much together, thim two, a-whishperin behind the scenes I shifted, an some av what they said I heard; for I was deathblue death an ivyon the comb-cuttin. He was iverlastinly oppressin her to fall in wid some sneakin schame av his, an she was thryin to stand out agin him, but not as though she was set in her will. I wonder now in thim days that me ears did not grow a yard on me head wid listnin. But I looked straight forninst me an hauled up this an dragged down that, such as was me jooty, an the orfcers ladies sez one to another, thinkin I was out av listen-reach: Fwhat an obligin young man is this Corpril Mulvaney! I was a Corpril then. I was rejuced aftherwards, but, no matther, I was a Corpril wanst.
Well, this Sweethearts business wint on like most amshure theatricals, an barrin fwhat I suspicioned, twasnt till the dhress-rehearsal that I saw for certain that thim twohe the blayguard, an she no wiser than she shud ha beenhad put up an e-vasion.
A what? said I.
E-vasion! Fwhat you call an elopemint. E-vasion I calls it, bekaze, exceptin whin tis right an natural an proper, tis wrong an dhirty to steal a mans wan child, she not knowin her own mind. There was a Sargint in the Commssariat who set my face upon e-vasions. Ill tell you about that
Stick to your bloomin Captains, Mulvaney, said Ortheris; Commssariat 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 Rigmint, an the Colonel was the best orfcer commandin in Asia; so fwhat he said an I said was mortial truth. We knew that the Captn was bad, but, for reasons which I have already oblitherated, I knew more than me Colonel. I wud ha rolled out his face wid the butt av me rifle before permittin av him to steal the gurl. Saints knew av he wud ha married her, and av he didnt she wud be in great tormint, an the divil av a scandal. But I niver sthruck, niver raised me hand on me shuperior orfcer; an that was a merricle now I come to considher ut.
Mulvaney, the dawns risin, said Ortheris, an were no nearer ome than we was at the beginnin. Lend me your pouch. Mines all dust.
Mulvaney pitched his pouch over, and Ortheris filled his pipe 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 flat as a toad under a painted cottage thing. They was talkin in whishpers, an she was shiverin an gaspin like a fresh-hukked fish. Are you sure youve got the hang av the manewvers? sez he, or wurruds to that effec, as the coort-martial sez. Sure as death, sez she, but I misdoubt tis crool hard on my father. Damn your father! sez he, or anyways twas fwhat he thought. The arrangemint is as clear as mud. Jungi will drive the carrge afther alls over, an you come to the station, cool an aisy, in time for the two oclock thrain, where Ill be wid your kit. Faith, thinks I to mesilf, thin theres a ayah in the business to!
A powerful bad thing is a ayah. Dont you niver have any thruck wid wan. Thin he began sootherin her, an all the orfcers an orfcers ladies left, an they put out the lights. To explain the theory av the flight, as they say at Muskthry, you must ondhersthand that afther this Sweethearts nonsinse was ended, there 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 hed go to the station wid the gurls kit at the end av the first piece. Twas the kit that flusthered me, for I knew for a Captn to go trapesin about the Impire wid the Lord knew fwhat av a truso on his arrum was nefarious, an wud be worse than easin the flag, so far as the talk aftherwards wint.
Old on, Mulvaney. Wots truso? said Ortheris.
Youre an oncivilised man, me son. Whin a gurls married, all her kit an countrements are truso, which manes weddin-portion. An tis the same whin shes runnin away, even wid the biggest blayguard on the Arrmy List.
So I made me plan av campaign. The Colonels house was a good two miles away. Dennis, sez I to my Colour-Sargint, av you love me lend me your kyart, for me heart is bruk an me feet is sore wid trampin 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 to their Sweethearts for the first scene, which was a long wan, I slips outside and into the kyart. Mother av Hivin! but I made that horse walk, an we came into the Colonels compound as the Divil wint through Athlonein standin leps. There was no one there excipt the servints, an I wint round to the back an found the gurls ayah.
Ye black brazen Jezebel, sez I, sellin your masthers honour for five rupeespack up all the Miss Sahibs kit an look slippy! Captn Sahibs order, sez I. Going to the station we are, I sez, an wid that I laid me finger to me nose an looked the schamin sinner I was.
Bote acchy, sez she; so I knew she was in the business, an I piled up all the sweet talk Id iver learnt in the bazars on to this she-bullock, an prayed av her to put all the quick she knew into the thing. While she packed, I stud outside an sweated, for I was wanted for to shif the second scene. I tell you, a young gurls e-vasion manes as much baggage as a rigmint on the line av march! Saints help Denniss springs, thinks I, as I bundled the stuff into the thrap, for Ill have no mercy!
Im comin too, sez the ayah.
No, you dont, sez I. Laterpechy! You baito where you are. Ill pechy come an bring you sart, along with me, you maraudhinniver mind fwhat I called her.
Thin I wint for the Gaff, an by the special ordhers av Providence, for I was doin a good work, ye will ondersthand, Denniss springs hild toight. Now, whin the Captn goes for that kit, thinks I, hell be throubled. At the ind av Sweethearts off the Captn runs in his kyart to the Colonels house, an I sits down on the steps an laughs. Wanst an agin I slipped in to see how the little piece was goin, an whin ut was near endin I stepped out all among the carrges an sings out very softly, Jungi! Wid that a carrge began to move, an I waved to the dhriver. Hitherao! sez I, an he hitheraoed till I judged he was at proper distance, an thin I tuk him, fair an square betune the eyes, all I knew for good or bad, an he dhropped wid a guggle like the Canteen beer-engine whin uts runnin low. Thin I ran to the kyart an tuk out all the gurls kit an piled it into the carrge, the sweat runnin down me face in dhrops. Go home, sez I, to Denniss sais. Yell find a man close here. Very sick he is. Take him away, an av you iver say wan wurrud about fwhat youve dekkoed, Ill marrow you till your own wife wont sumjao who you are! Thin I heard the stampin av feet at the ind av the play, an I ran in to let down the curtain. Whin they all came out the gurl thried to hide herself behind wan av the pillars, an sez Jungi in a voice that wudnt ha scared a hare. I run over to Jungis carrge an tuk up the lousy old horse-blanket on the box, wrapped me head an the rest av me in ut, an dhruv up to where she was.
Miss Sahib, sez I. Going to the station? Captain Sahibs order! an widout a sign she jumped in all among her own kit.
I laid to an dhruv like steam to the Colonels house before the Colonel was there, an she screamed an I thought she was goin off. Out comes the ayah, saying all sorts av things about the Captn havin come for the kit an gone to the station.
Take out the luggage, you divil, sez I, or Ill murther you!
The lights av the thraps wid people comin from the Gaff was showin across the prade-ground, an, by this an that, the way thim two wimmen worked at the bundles an thrunks was a caution! I was dyin to help, but, seein I didnt want to be known, I sat wid the blanket roun me an coughed an thanked the Saints there was no moon that night.
Whin all was in the house again, I niver asked for bukshish but dhruv tremenjus in the oppsite way from the other carrges an put out my lights. Prisintly I saw a naygur-man wal lowin in the road. I slipped down before I got to him, for I suspicioned Providence was wid me all through that night. Twas Jungi, his nose smashed in flat, all dumb sick as ye plaze. Denniss man must have tilted him out av the thrap. Whin he came to, Hutt! sez I, but he began to howl.
You black lump av dhirt, I sez, is this the way you dhrive your gharri? That tikka has been owin an fere-owin all over the bloomin country this whole bloomin night, an you as mut-walla as Daveys Sow. Get up, you hog! sez I, louder, for I heard the wheels av a thrap in the dhark. Get up an light your lamps, or youll be run into! This was on the road to the railway station.
Fwhat the divils this? sez the Captns voice in the dhark, an I cud judge he was in a latherin rage.
Gharri dhriver here, dhrunk, sorr, sez I. Ive found his gharri sthrayin about cantonmints, an now Ive found him.
Oh! sez the Captn; fwhats his name? I stooped down an pretended to listen.
He sez his names Jungi, sorr, sez I.
Hould my harse, sez the Captn 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 I sez, Stop, sorr, or youll murther him! That dhrew all 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, Im thinkin that more than wan wud be beaten to a jelly for this nights workthat niver came off at all, sorr, as you see! Now, thinks I to mesilf, Terence Mulvaney, youve cut your own throat, for hell sthrike, an youll knock him down for the good av his sowl an your own iverlastin dishgrace!
But the Captn niver said a single wurrud. He choked where he stud, an thin he went into his thrap widout sayin good-night, an I wint back to barricks.
And then? said Ortheris and I together.
That was all, said Mulvaney; niver another wurrud did I hear av the whole thing. All I know was that there was no e-vasion, an that was fwhat I wanted. Now, I put ut to you, sorr, is ten days C.B. a fit an a proper tratemint for a man that has behaved as me?
Well, anyow, said Ortheris, twerent this ere Colonels daughter, an you was blazin copped when you tried to wash in the Fort Ditch.
That, said Mulvaney, finishing the champagne, is a shuparfluous an impartnint observashin.
Suppose she had hit us, said a man from Saigon. Then we should have gone down, answered the chief officer sweetly. Beastly thing to go down in a fog, said a young gentleman who was travelling for pleasure. Chokes a man both ways, y know. We were comfortably gathered in the smoking-room, the weather being too cold to venture on the deck. Conversation naturally turned upon accidents of fog, the horn tooting significantly in the pauses between the tales. I heard of the wreck of the Eric, the cutting down of the Strathnairn within half a mile of harbour, and the carrying away of the bow plates of the Sigismund outside Sandy Hook.
It is astonishing, said the man from Saigon, how many true stories are put down as sea yarns. It makes a man almost shrink from telling an anecdote.
Oh, please dont shrink on our account, said the smoking-room with one voice.
Its not my own story, said the man from Saigon. A fellow on a Massageries boat told it me. He had been third officer of a sort on a Geordie trampone of those lumbering, dish-bottomed coal-barges where the machinery is tied up with a string and the plates are rivetted with putty. The way he told his tale was this. The tramp had been creeping along some sea or other with a chart ten years old and the haziest sort of chronometers when she got into a fogjust such a fog as we have now.
Here the smoking-room turned round as one man, and looked through the windows.
In the mans own words, just when the fog was thickest, the engines broke down. They had been doing this for some weeks, and we were too weary to care. I went forward of the bridge, and leaned over the side, wondering where I should ever get something that I could call a ship, and whether the old hulk would fall to pieces as she lay. The fog was as thick as any London one, but as white as steam. While they were tinkering at the engines below, I heard a voice in the fog about twenty yards from the ships side, calling out, Can you climb on board if we throw you a rope? That startled me, because I fancied we were going to be run down the next minute by a ship engaged in rescuing a man overboard. I shouted for the engine-room whistle; and it whistled about five minutes, but never the sound of a ship could we hear. The ships boy came forward with some biscuit for me. As he put it into my hand, I heard the voice in the fog, crying out about throwing us a rope. This time it was the boy that yelled, Ship on us! and off went the whistle again, while the men in the engine-roomit generally took the ships crew to repair the Hespas enginestumbled upon deck to know what we were doing. I told them about the hail, and we listened in the smother of the fog for the sound of a screw. We listened for ten minutes, then we blew the whistle for another ten. Then the crew began to call the ships boy a fool, meaning that the third mate was no better. When they were going down below, I heard the hail the third time, so did the ships boy. There you are, I said, it is not twenty yards from us. The engineer sings out, I heard it too! Are you all asleep? Then the crew began to swear at the engineer; and what with discussion, argument, and a little swearing,for there is not much discipline on board a tramp,we raised such a row that our skipper came aft to enquire. I, the engineer, and the ships boy stuck to our tale. Voices or no voices, said the captain, youd better patch the old engines up, and see if youve got enough steam to whistle with. Ive a notion that weve got into rather too crowded ways.
The engineer stayed on deck while the men went down below. The skipper hadnt got back to the chart-room before I saw thirty feet of bowsprit hanging over the break of the focsle. Thirty feet of bowsprit, sir, doesnt belong to anything that sails the seas except a sailing-ship or a man-of-war. I speculated quite a long time, with my hands on the bulwarks, as to whether our friend was soft wood or steel plated. It would not have made much difference to us, anyway; but I felt there was more honour in being rammed, you know. Then I knew all about it. It was a ram. We opened out. I am not exaggeratingwe opened out, sir, like a cardboard box. The other ship cut us two-thirds through, a little behind the break of the focsle. Our decks split up lengthways. The mizzen-mast bounded out of its place, and we heeled over. Then the other ship blew a fog-horn. I remember thinking, as I took water from the port bulwark, that this was rather ostentatious after she had done all the mischief. After that, I was a mile and a half under sea, trying to go to sleep as hard as I could. Some one caught hold of my hair, and waked me up. I was hanging to what was left of one of our boats under the lee of a large English ironclad. There were two men with me; the three of us began to yell. A man on the ship sings out, Can you climb on board if we throw you a rope? They werent going to let down a fine new man-of-wars boat to pick up three half-drowned rats. We accepted the invitation. We climbedI, the engineer, and the ships boy. About half an hour later the fog cleared entirely; except for the half of the boat away in the offing, there was neither stick nor string on the sea to show that the Hespa had been cut down.
And what do you think of that now? said the man from Saigon.
Never again will the long lazy evenings return wherein Ortheris, whistling softly, moved surgeon-wise among the captives of his craft at the bottom of the well; when Learoyd sat in the niche, giving sage counsel on the management of tykes, and Mulvaney, from the crook of the overhanging pipal, waved his enormous boots in benediction above our heads, delighting us with tales of Love and War, and strange experiences of cities and men.
Ortherislanded at last in the little stuff bird-shop for which your soul longed; Learoydback again in the smoky, stone-ribbed North, amid the clang of the Bradford looms; Mulvaneygrizzled, tender, and very wise Ulysses, sweltering on the earthworks of a Central India linejudge if I have forgotten old days in the Trap! ...
Orthris, as allus thinks he knaws more than other foaks, said she wasnt a real laady, but nobbut a Hewrasian. Ah dont gainsay as her culler was a bit doosky like. But she was a laady. Why, she rode iv a carriage, an good osses, too, an her air was that oiled as you could see your faice in it, an she wore dimond rings an a goold chain, an silk an satin dresses as mun ha cost a deal, for it isnt a cheap shop as keeps enough o one pattern to fit a figure like hers. Her naame was Mrs. DeSussa, an t waay I coom to be acquainted wi her was along iv our Colonels Laadys dog Rip.
Ahve seen a vast o dogs, but Rip was t prettiest picter iv a cliver fox-tarrier at iver I set eyes on. He cud do owt yo like but speeak, an t Colonels Laady set more store by him than if he hed been a Christian. She hed bairns iv her awn, but they was i England, and Rip seemed to get all t coodlin an pettin as belonged to a bairn by good rights.
But Rip wor a bit on a rover, an hed a habit 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 didnt care an kept on gooin his rounds, wi his taail a-waggin as if he were flag-signallin to t world at large at he was gettin on nicely, thank yo, and hows yosen? An then t Colonel, as was noa sort iv a hand wi a dog, tees him oop. A real clipper iv a dog, an its noa wonder yon laady, Mrs. DeSussa, should tek a fancy tiv him. Theers one o t Ten Commandments says yo maunt cuvvet your neebors ox nor his jackass, but it doesnt say nowt about his tarrier dogs, an happen thots t reason why Mrs. DeSussa cuvveted Rip, tho she went to church reglar along wi her husband, who was soa mich darker at if he hednt such a good coaat tiv his back yo might ha called him a black man and nut tell a lee nawther. They said he addled his brass i jute; an hed a rare lot on it.
Well, yo see, when they teed Rip oop, t poor awd lad didnt enjoy very good ealth. Soa t Colonels Laady sends for me as ad a naame for bein knowledgeable about a dog, an axes whats ailin wi him.
Why, says I, hes getten 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. Its low, mum, says I, is rats, but its t nature iv a dog. An soas coottin round an meetin another dog or two an passin t time o day, an hevvin a bit on a turn-up wi him like a Christian.
Soa she says her dog maunt niver fight an noa Christians iver fought.
Then whats a soldier for? says I; an I explains to her t contrairy qualities iv a dog, at, when yo coom to think ont, is one o t curusest things as is. For they larn to behave theirsens like gentlemen born, fit for t fost o coompanythey tell me t Widdy hersen is fond iv a good dog and knaws one when she sees it as well as onnybody: then on t other hand a-tewin round after cats an gettin mixed oop i all manners o blackguardly street-rows, an killin rats, an fightin like divils.
T Colonels Laady says: Well, Learoyd, I doant agree wi yo, but yore right in a way o speeakin, an Ah should like yo to tek Rip out a-walkin wi yo sometimes; but yo maunt let him fight, nor chaase cats, nor do nowt orrid. An them was her very wods.
Soa Rip an me gooes out a-walkin o evenins, he bein a dog as did credit tiv a man, an I catches a lot o rats an we hed a bit iv a match on in an awd dry swimmin-bath at back o t cantonments, an it was none so long afore he was as bright as a button again. He hed a waay o flyin at them big yaller pariah dogs as if he was a harrow offan a bow, an though his weight were nowt, he tuk em so suddint-like they rolled ovver like skittles in a halley, an when they coot he stretched after em as if he were rabbit-runnin. Saame wi cats when he cud get t cat agaate o runnin.
One evenin, him an me was trespassin ovver a compound wall after one of them mongooses at hed started, an we was busy grubbin round a prickle-bush, an when we looks oop there was Mrs. DeSussa wi a parasel ovver her shoulder, a-watchin us. Oh my! she sings out. Theres that lovelee dog! Would he let me stroke him, Mister Soldier?
Ay, he would, mum, says I, for hes fond o laadies coompany. Coom here, Rip, an speeak to this kind laady. An Rip, seein at t mongoose hed getten clean awaay, cooms oop like t gentleman he was, niver a hauporth shy nor okkord.
Oh, you beautifulyou prettee dog! she says, clippin an chantin her speech in a waay them sooart has o their awn; I would like a dog like you. You are so verree loveleeso awfullee prettee, an all thot sort o talk, at a dog o sense mebbe thinks nowt on, tho hell bide it by reason o his breedin.
An then I meks him joomp ovver my swaggercane, an shek hands, an beg, an lie dead, an a lot o them tricks as laadies teeaches dogs, though I doant haud wi it mysen, for its mekkin a fool o a good dog to do such-like.
An at lung length it cooms out at shed been thrawin sheeps eyes, as t sayin is, at Rip for many a daay. Yo see, her childer was grown up, an shed nowt mich to do, an wor allus fond iv a dog. Soa she axes me if Id tek somethin to drink. An we gooes into t drawn-room wheer her usband was a-settin. They meks a gurt fuss ovver t dog an I has a bottle o aale an he gev me a handful o cigars.
Soa Ah coomed awaay, but t awd lass sings out: Oh, Mister Soldier, please coom again and bring that prettee dog.
Ah didnt let on to t Colonels Laady about Mrs. DeSussa, an Rip he says nowt nawther; an I gooes again, an ivry time there was a good drink an a handful o good smooakes. An Ah telled t awd lass a heeap more about Rip than Ahd ever heeard. How he tuk t fost prize at Lunnon dog-show an cost thotty-three pounds fower shillin from t man as bred him; at his own brother was t propputty o t Prince o Wailes, an at he had a pedigree as long as a Dooks. An she lapped it all oop an wor niver tired o admirin him. But when t awd lass took to givin me money an Ah seed at she wor gettin fair fond about t dog, Ah began to suspicion summat. Onnybody may give a soldier t price iv a pint in a friendly waay an theers no arm done, but when it cooms to five rupees slipt into your hand, sly like, why, its what t lectioneerin fellows calls bribery an corruption. Specially when Mrs. DeSussa thrawed hints how t cold weather would soon be ovver, an she wor gooin to Munsoorie Pahar an we wor gooin to Rawalpindi, an she would niver see Rip onny more onless somebody she knawed on would be kind tiv her.
Soa I tells Mulvaaney an Orthris 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 frind Learoyd, but Ill purtect your innocence. Ill save ye from the wicked wiles av that wealthy ould woman, an Ill go wid ye this evenin an spake to her the wurruds 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 yosen, while Orthris 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 yosen on the butt av a satin chair, as if Terence Mulvaney was not the aquil av anybody who thrades in jute!
Let alone me, sticks in Orthris, but thats like life. Them wots really fitted to decorate society get no show, while a blunderin Yorkshireman like you
Nay, says I, its none o t blunderin Yorkshireman she wants; its Rip. Hes t gentleman this journey.
Soa t next daay, Mulvaaney an Rip an me gooes to Mrs. DeSussas, an t Irishman bein a strainger she wor a bit shy at fost. But yove heeard Mulvaaney talk, an yo may believe as he fairly bewitched t awd lass wal she let out at she wanted to tek Rip awaay wi her to Munsoorie Pahar. Then Mulvaaney changes his tune an axes her solemn-like if shed thowt o t consequences o gettin two poor but honest soldiers sent t Andamning Islands. Mrs. DeSussa began to cry, so Mulvaaney turns round oppen t other tack and smooths her down, allowin at Rip ud be a vast better off in t Hills than down i Bengal, an twor a pity he shouldnt go wheer he was so well beliked. And soa he went on, backin an fillin an workin up t awd lass wal she felt as if her life wornt worth nowt if she didnt hev t dog.
Then of a suddint he says: But ye shall have him, marm, for Ive a feelin heart, not like this could-blooded Yorkshireman. But twill cost ye not a penny less than three hundher rupees.
Dont yo believe him, mum, says I. T Colonels Laady wouldnt tek five hundred for him.
Who said she would? says Mulvaaney. Tis not buyin him I mane, but for the sake o this kind, good laady, Ill do what I never dreamt to do in my life. Ill stale him!
Dont saay steeal, says Mrs. DeSussa; he shall hev the happiest home. Dogs often get lost, yo know, and then they stray, an he likes me an I like him as I niver liked a dog yet, an I must hev him. If I got him at t last minute I cud carry him off to Munsoorie Pahar and nobody would niver knaw.
Now an again Mulvaaney looked acrost at me, an tho I could mek nowt o what he was after, I concluded to tek his leead.
Well, mum, I says, I never thowt to coom down to dog-steealin, but if my comraade sees how it cud be done to oblige a laady like yosen, Im nut t man to hod back, tho its a bad business Im thinkin, an three hundred rupees is a poor set-off again t chance iv them Damning Islands as Mulvaaney talks on.
Ill mek it three-fifty, says Mrs. DeSussa. Only let me hev t dog!
So we let her persuade us, an she teks Rips measure theer an then, an sent to Hamiltons to order a silver collar again t time when he was to be her verree awn, which was to be t daay she set off for Munsoorie Pahar.
Sitha, Mulvaaney, says I, when we was out side, yore niver goin to let her hev Rip!
An wud ye disappoint a poor old woman? says he. She shall have a Rip.
An wheers he to come thro? says I.
Learoyd, my man, he sings out, youre a pretty man av your inches an a good comrade, but your head is made av duff. Isnt our frind Orthris a Taxidermist, an a rale artist wid his cliver white fingers? An fwhats a Taxidermist but a man who can thrate shkins? Do ye mind the white dog that belongs to the Canteen Sargint, bad cess to himhe thats lost half his time an snarlin the rest? He shall be lost for good now; an do ye mind that hes the very spit in shape an size av the Colonels, barrin that his tail is an inch too long, an he has none av the colour that divarsifies the rale Rip, an his timper is that av his masther an worse? But fwhat is an inch on a dogs tail? An fwhat to a professional like Orthris is a few ringstraked shpots av black, brown, an white? Nothin at all, at all.
Then we meets Orthris, an that little man, bein sharp as a needle, seed his waay through t business in a minute. An he went to work a-practisin air-dyes the very next daay, beginnin on some white rabbits he hed, an then he drored all Rips markins on t back of a white Commissariat bullock, so as to get his and in an be sure of his cullers; shadin off brown into black as nateral as life. If Rip hed a fault it was too mich markin, but it was straingely reglar, an Orthris settled himsen to make a fost-rate job on it when he got haud o t Canteen Sargints dog. Theer niver was sich a dog as thot for bad timper, an it did nut get noa better when his tail hed to be fettled a inch an a haalf shorter. But they may talk o theer Royal Academies as they like. I niver seed a bit o animal paintin to beat t copy as Orthris made iv Rips marks, wal t picter itself was snarlin all t time an tryin to get at Rip standin theer to be copied as good as goold.
Orthris allus hed as much conceit on himsen as would lift a balloon, an he wor so pleeased wi his sham Rip he wor for tekkin him to Mrs. DeSussa before she went awaay. But Mulvaaney an me stopped thot, knowin Orthriss work, though niver so cliver, was nobbut skin-deep.
An at last Mrs. DeSussa fixed t daay for startin to Munsoorie Pahar. We was to tek Rip to t staashun i a basket an hand him ovver just when they was ready to start, an then shed give us t brassas wor greed upon.
An my wod! It wor high time she wor off, for them air-dyes upon t curs back took a vast iv paintin to keep t reet culler, tho Orthris spent a matter o seven rupees six annas i t best drooggist shops i Calcutta.
An t Canteen Sargint was lookin for is dog everywheer; an, wi bein teed oop, t beasts timper got waur 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 gev her t basket. Orthris, for pride iv his work, axed us to let him coom along wi us, an he cudnt 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 showed his teeth, so Mulvaaney shuts down t lid an says: Yell be careful, marm, whin ye tek him out. Hes disaccustomed to travellin by t railway, an hell be sure to want his rale mistress an his frind Learoyd, so yell make allowance for his feelins at fost.
She would do all thot an more for the dear, good Rip, an she would nut oppen t basket till they were miles awaay, for fear onnybody should recognise him, an we wor real good an kind soldier-men, we wor, an she honds me a bundle o notes, an then cooms oop a few of her relations an friends to say goodbyenut more than seventy-five there wasntan we coots awaay . . . .
What coom to t three hundred an fifty rupees? Thots what I can scarcelins tell yo, but we melted itwe melted it. It was share an share alike, for Mulvaaney said: If Learoyd got hoult av Mrs. DeSussa first, sure twas I that remimbered the Sargints dog just in the nick av time, an Orthris was the artist av janius that made a work av art out av that ugly piece av ill-natur. Yet, by way av a thank-offerin that I was not led into felony by that wicked ould woman, Ill send a thrifle to Father Victor for the poor people hes always beggin for.
But me an Orthris, he bein Cockney an I bein pretty far north, did nut see it i t saame waay. Wed getten t brass, an we meaned to keep it. An soa we didfor a short time.
Noa, noa, we niver heeard a wod more o t awd lass. Our Rigmint went to Pindi, an t Canteen Sargint he got himself another tyke insteead o t one at got lost so reglar, an wor lost for good at last.
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 the passage he would give him command of a gang of coolies for old sakes sake. The pay was eighty-five rupees a month, and Dinah Shadd said that if Terence did not accept she would make his life a basted purgathory. Therefore the Mulvaneys came out as civilians, which was a great and terrible fall; though Mulvaney tried to disguise it by saying that he was Kernel on the railway line, an a consequinshal man.
He wrote me an invitation, on a tool-indent form, to visit him; and I came down to the funny little construction bungalow at the side of the line. Dinah Shadd had planted peas about and about, and nature had spread all manner of green stuff round the place. There was no change in Mulvaney except the change of clothing, which was deplorable, but could not be helped. He was standing upon his trolly, haranguing a gangman, and his shoulders were as well drilled and his big, thick chin was as clean-shaven as ever.
Im a civilian now, said Mulvaney. Cud you tell that I was iver a martial man? Dont answer, Sorr, av youre strainin betune a complimint an a lie. Theres no houldin Dinah Shadd now shes got a house av her own. Go inside, an dhrink tay out av chiny in the drrrrawin-room, an thin well dhrink like Christians undher the tree here. Scutt, ye naygur-folk! Theres a Sahib come to call on me, an thats more than hell iver do for you onless you run! Get out, an go on pilin up the earth, quick, till sundown.
When we three were comfortably settled under the big sisham in front of the bungalow, and the first rush of questions and answers about Privates Ortheris and Learoyd and old times and places had died away, Mulvaney said, reflectively: Glory be, theres no prade to-morrow, an no bun-headed Corpril-bhoy to give you his lip. An yit I dont know. Tis harrd to be something ye niver were an niver meant to be, an all the ould days shut up along wid your papers. Eyah! Im growin rusty, an tis the will av God that a man mustnt serve his Quane for time an all.
He helped himself to a fresh peg, and sighed furiously.
Let your beard grow, Mulvaney, said I, and then you wont be troubled with those notions. Youll be a real civilian.
Dinah Shadd had told me in the drawing-room of her desire to coax Mulvaney into letting his beard grow. Twas so civilian-like, said poor Dinah, who hated her husbands hankering for his old life.
Dinah Shadd, youre a dishgrace to an honust, clane-scraped man! said Mulvaney, without replying to me. Grow a beard on your own chin, darlint, and lave my razors alone. Theyre all that stand betune me and dis-ris-pect-ability. Av I didnt shave, I wud be torminted wid an outrajis thurrst; for theres nothin so dhryin to the throat as a big billy-goat beard waggin undher the chin. Ye wudnt have me dhrink always, Dinah Shadd? By the same token, youre kapin me crool dhry now. Let me look at that whiskey.
The whiskey was lent and returned, but Dinah Shadd, who had been just as eager as her husband in asking after old friends, rent me with:
I take shame for you, Sorr, coming down herethough the Saints know youre as welkim as the daylight whin you do comean upsettin Terences head wid your nonsense aboutabout fwhats much betther forgotten. He bein a civilian now, an you niver was aught else. Can you not let the Arrmy rest? Tis not good for Terence.
I took refuge by Mulvaney, for Dinah Shadd has a temper of her own.
Let belet be, said Mulvaney. Tis only wanst in a way I can talk about the ould days. Then to meYe say Dhrumshticks is well, an his lady tu? I niver knew how I liked the gray garron till I was shut av him an Asia.Dhrumshticks was the nickname of the Colonel commanding Mulvaneys old regiment. Will you be seein him again? You will. Thin tell himMulvaneys eyes began to twinkletell him wid Privit
Mister, Terence, interrupted Dinah Shadd.
Now the Divil an all his angils an the Firmament av Hiven fly away wid the Mister, an the sin av makin me swear be on your confession, Dinah Shadd! Privit, I tell ye. Wid Privit Mulvaneys best obedience, that but for me the last time-expired wud be still pullin hair on their way to the sea.
He threw himself back in the chair, chuckled, and was silent.
Mrs. Mulvaney, I said, please take up the whiskey, and dont let him have it until he has told the story.
Dinah Shadd dexterously whipped the bottle away, saying 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 bankmintIve taught the hoppers how to kape step an stop screechinwhin a head-gangman comes up to me, wid about two inches av shirt-tail hanging round his neck an a disthressful light in his oi. Sahib, sez he, theres a regmint an a half av soldiers up at the junction, knockin red cinders out av ivrything an ivrybody! They thried to hang me in my cloth, he sez, an there will be murdher an ruin an rape in the place before nightfall! They say theyre comin down here to wake us up. What will we do wid our women-folk?
Fetch my throlly! sez I; my hearts sick in my ribs for a wink at anything wid the Quanes uniform on ut. Fetch my throlly, an six av the jildiest men, and run me up in shtyle.
He tuk his best coat, said Dinah Shadd, reproachfully.
Twas to do honour to the Widdy. I cud ha done no less, Dinah Shadd. You and your digresshins interfere wid the coorse av the narrative. Have you iver considhered fwhat I wud look like wid me head shaved as well as me chin? You bear that in your mind, Dinah darlin.
I was throllied up six miles, all to get a shquint at that draf. I knew twas a spring draf goin home, for theres no rigmint hereabouts, mores the pity.
Praise the Virgin! murmured Dinah Shadd. But Mulvaney did not hear.
Whin I was about three-quarters av a mile off the rest-camp, powtherin along fit to burrst, I heard the noise av the men, an, on my sowl, Sorr, I cud catch the voice av Peg Barney bellowin like a bison wid the belly-ache. You remimber Peg Barney that was in D Compnya red, hairy scraun, wid a scar on his jaw? Peg Barney that cleared out the Blue Lights Jubilee meetin wid the cook-room mop last year?
Thin I knew ut was a draf av the Ould Rigmint, an I was conshumed wid sorrow for the bhoy that was in charge. We was harrd scrapins at any time. Did I iver tell you how Horker Kelley wint into clink nakid as Phoebus Apollonius, wid the shirts av the Corpril an file undher his arrum? An he was a moild man! But Im digresshin. Tis a shame both to the rigmints and the Arrmy sendin down little orfcer bhoys wid a draf av strong men mad wid liquor an the chanst av gettin shut av India, an niver a punishment thats fit to be given right down an away from cantonmints to the dock! Tis this nonsinse. Whin I am servin my time, Im undher the Articles av War, an can be whipped on the peg for thim. But whin Ive served my time, Im a Reserve man, an the Articles av War havent any hould on me. An orfcer cant do anythin to a time-expired savin confinin him to barricks. Tis a wise riglation, bekaze a time-expired does not have any barricks; bein on the move all the time. Tis a Solomon av a riglation, is that. I wud like to be inthroduced to the man that made ut. Tis easier to get colts from a Kibbereen horse-fair into Galway than to take a bad draf over ten miles av counthry. Consiquintly that riglationfor fear that the men wud be hurt by the little orfcer bhoy. No matther. The nearer my throlly came to the rest-camp, the woilder was the shine, an the louder was the voice of Peg Barney. Tis good I am here, thinks I to mysilf, for Peg alone is employmint for two or three. He bein, I well knew, as copped as a dhrover.
Faith, that rest-camp was a sight! The tent-ropes was all skew- nosed, an the pegs looked as dhrunk as the menfifty av thimthe scourins, an rinsins, an Divils lavins av the Ould Rigmint. I tell you, Sorr, they were dhrunker than any men youve ever seen in your mortial life. How does a draf get dhrunk? How does a frog get fat? They suk ut in through their shkins.
There was Peg Barney sittin on the groun in his shirtwan shoe off an wan shoe onwhackin a tent-peg over the head wid his boot, an singin fit to wake the dead. Twas no clane song that he sung, though. Twas the Divils Mass.
Whats that? I asked.
Whin a bad egg is shut av the Army, he sings the Divils Mass for a good riddance; an that manes swearin at ivrything from the Commandher-in-Chief down to the Room-Corpril, such as you niver in your days heard. Some men can swear so as to make green turf crack! Have you iver heard the Curse in an Orange Lodge? The Divils 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 that cud tell Peg was dhrunk as a coot.
Good mornin, Peg, I sez, whin he dhrew breath afther dursin the Adjtint-Genral; Ive put on my best 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 lousy civilian!
Wid that he begins cursin ould Dhrumshticks, being so full he dane disrernimbers the Brigade-Major an the Judge-Advokit- Genral.
Do you not 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 Ill tear the hide off your back wid a shovel whin Ive stopped singin.
Say you so, Peg Barney? sez I. Tis clear as mud youve forgotten me. Ill assist your autobiography. Wid that I stretched Peg Barney, boot an all, an wint into the camp. An awful sight ut was!
Wheres the orfcer in charge av the detachment? sez I to Scrub Greenethe manest little worm that ever walked.
Theres no orfcer, ye ould cook, sez Scrub; were a bloomin Republic.
Are you that? sez I; thin Im OConnell the Dictator, an by this you will larn to kape a civil tongue in your rag-box.
Wid that I stretched Scrub Greene an wint to the orfcers tent. Twas a new little bhoynot wan Id iver seen before. He was sittin in his tent, purtendin not to ave ear av the racket.
I salutedbut 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.
Cant I help, Sorr? sez I; tis a strong mans job theyve given you, an youll be wantin help by sundown. He was a bhoy wid bowils, that child, an a rale gintleman.
Sit down, sez he.
Not before my orfcer, sez I; an I tould him fwhat my service was.
Ive heard av you, sez he. You tuk the town av Lungtungpen nakid.
Faith, thinks I, thats Honour an Glory; for twas Liftnint Brazenose did that job. Im wid ye, Sorr, sez I, if Im av use. They shud niver ha sent you down wid the draf. Savin your presince, Sorr, I sez, tis only Liftnint Hackerston in the Ould Rigmint can manage a Home draf.
Ive niver had charge of men like this before, sez he, playin wid the pens on the table; an I see by the Riglations
Shut your oi to the Riglations, Sorr, I sez, till the throopers into blue wather. By the Riglations youve got to tuck thim up for the night, or theyll be runnin foul av my coolies an makin a shiverarium half through the counthry. Can you trust your non-coms, Sorr?
Yes, sez he.
Good, sez I; therell be throuble before the night. Are you marchin, Sorr?
To the next station, sez he.
Betther still, sez I; therell be big throuble.
Cant be too hard on a Home draf, sez he; the great thing is to get thim in-ship.
Faith, youve larnt the half av your lesson, Sorr, sez I, but av you shtick to the Riglations youll niver get thim inship at all, at all. Or there wont be a rag av kit betune thim whin you do.
Twas a dear little orfcer bhoy, an by way av kapin his heart up, I tould him fwhat I saw wanst 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 orfcer that theyd made wade into the slush an pitch things out av the boats for their Lord High Mightinesses. That made me orfcer bhoy woild wid indignation.
Soft an aisy, Sorr, sez I; youve niver had your draf in hannd since you left cantonmints Wait till the night, an your work will be ready to you. Wid your permission, Sorr, I will investigate the camp, an talk to me ould frinds. Tis no manner av use thryin to shtop the divilmint now.
Wid that I wint out into the camp an inthrojuced mysilf to ivry man sober enough to remimber me. I was some wan in the ould days, an the bhoys was glad to see meall excipt Peg Barney wid a eye like a tomata five days in the bazar, an a nose to match. They come round me an shuk me, an I tould thim I was in privit employ wid an income av me own, an a drrrawin-room fit to bate the Quanes; an wid me lies an me shtories an nonsinse ginrally, I kept em quiet in wan way an another, knockin roun the camp. Twas bad even thin whin I was the Angil av Peace.
I talked to me ould non-comsthey was soberan betune me an thim we wore the draf over into their tents at the proper time. The little orfcer bhoy he comes round, dacint an civil-spoken as might be.
Rough quarters, men, sez he, but you cant look to be as comfortable as in barricks. We must make the best av things. Ive shut my eyes to a dale av dogs thricks today, an now there must be no more av ut.
No more we will. Come an have a dhrink, me son, sez Peg Barney, staggerin where he stud. Me little orfcer bhoy kep his timper.
Youre a sulky swine, you are, sez Peg Barney, an at that the men in the tent began to laugh.
I tould you me orfcer bhoy had bowils. He cut Peg Barney as near as might be on the eye that Id squshed whin we first met. Peg wint spinnin acrost the tent.
Peg him out, Sorr, sez I, in a whishper.
Peg him out! sez me orfcer bhoy, up loud, just as if twas battalion prade an he pickin his wurrds from the Sargint.
The non-coms tuk Peg Barneya howlin handful he wasan in three minuts he was pegged outchin down, tight-dhrawnon his stummick, a tent-peg to each arm an leg, swearin fit to turn a naygur white.
I tuk a peg an jammed ut into his ugly jawBite on that, Peg Barney, I sez; the night is settin frosty, an youll be wantin divarsion before the mornin. But for the Riglations youd be bitin on a bullet now at the thriangles, Peg Barney, sez I.
All the draf was out av their tents watchin Barney bein pegged.
Tis agin the Riglations! 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 me orfcer bhoy, niver losin his timper; an the non-coms wint in and pegged out Scrub Greene by the side av Peg Barney.
I cud see that the draf was comin roun. The men stud not knowin fwhat to do.
Get to your tents! sez me orfcer bhoy. Sargint, put a sinthry 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 excipt the stip av the sinthry over the two, an Scrub Greene blubberin like a child. Twas a chilly night, an faith, ut sobered Peg Barney.
Just before Revelly, me orfcer bhoy comes out an 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 to make his orfcer undherstand 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 cud I hear.
I wint to the ould Colour-Sargint and I sez:Let me die in glory, sez I. Ive seen a man this day!
A man he is, sez ould Hother; the drafs as sick as a herrin. Theyll all go down to the sea like lambs. That bhoy has the bowils av a cantonmint av Ginrals.
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, bully-damned em down to the dock, till they cudnt call their sowls their own. From the time they left me eye till they was tween decks, not wan av thim was more than dacintly dhrunk. An by the Holy Articles av War, whin they wint aboord they cheered him till they cudnt spake, an that, mark you, has not come about wid a draf in the mimry av livin man! You look to that little orfcer bhoy. He has bowils. Tis not ivry child that wud chuck the Riglations to Flanders an stretch Peg Barney on a wink from a brokin an dilapidated ould carkiss like mysilf. Id be proud to serve
Terence, youre a civilian, said Dinah Shadd warningly.
So I amso I am. Is ut likely I wud forget ut? But he was a gran bhoy all the same, an Im only a mud-tipper wid a hod on me shoulthers. The whiskeys in the heel av your hand, Sorr. Wid your good lave well dhrink to the Ould Rigmintthree fingersstandin up!
And we drank.
Tale provoked tale, and each tale more beer. Even dreamy Learoyds eyes began to brighten, and he unburdened himself of a long history in which a trip to Malham Cove, a girl at Pateley Brigg, a ganger, himself, and a pair of clogs were mixed in a drawling tangle.
An soa Ah coots heead oppen from t chin to t hair, an he was abed for t matter o a month, concluded Learoyd pensively.
Mulvaney came out of a reveriehe was lying downand flourished his heels in the air. Youre a man, Learoyd, said he critically, but youve only fought wid men, an thats an ivryday expayrience; but Ive stud up to a ghost, an that was not an ivryday expayrience.
No? said Ortheris, throwing a cork at him. You git up an address the ouseyou an yer expayriences. Is it a bigger one nor usual?
Twas the livin truth! answered Mulvaney, stretching out a huge arm and catching Ortheris by the collar. Now where are ye, me son? Will ye take the Wurrud av the Lorrd out av my mouth another time? He shook him to emphasise the question.
No, somethin else, though, said Ortheris, making a dash at Mulvaneys pipe, capturing it, and holding it at arms length; Ill chuck it acrost the Ditch if you dont let me go!
Ye maraudhin haythen! Tis the only cutty I iver loved. Handle her tinder or Ill chuck you acrost the nullah. If that poipe was brukAh Give her back to me, sorr!
Ortheris had passed the treasure to my hand. It was an absolutely perfect clay, as shiny as the black ball at Pool. I took it reverently, but I was firm.
Will you tell us about the ghost-fight if I do? I said.
Is ut the shtory thats throublin you? Av coorse I will. I mint to all along. I was only gettin at ut my own way, as Popp Doggie said whin they found him thryin to ram a cartridge down the muzzle. Orthris, 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 the divil av a man?
You did, said Learoyd with a childish gravity that made Ortheris yell with laughter, for Mulvaney was always impressing upon us his great merits in the old days.
Did I iver tell you, Mulvaney continued calmly, that I was wanst more av a divil than I am now?
Merria! You dont mean it? said Ortheris.
Whin I was CorprilI was rejuced aftherwardsbut, as I say, whin I was Corpril, I was the divil av a man.
He was silent for nearly a minute, while his mind rummaged among old memories and his eye glowed. He bit upon the pipe-stem and charged into his tale.
Eyah! They was great times. Im ould now. Me hides wore off in patches; sinthry-go has disconceited me, an Im married tu. But Ive had my dayIve had my day, an nothin can take away the taste av that! Oh, my time past, whin I put me fut through ivry livin wan av the Tin Commandmints betune 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 uts overuts over, an twill niver come back to me; not though I prayed for a week av Sundays. Was there any wan in the Ould Rigmint to touch Corpril Terence Mulvaney whin that same was turned out for sedukshin? I niver met him. Ivry woman that was not a witch was worth the runnin afther in those days, an ivry man was my dearest frind orI had stripped to him an we knew which was the betther av the tu.
Whin I was Corpril I wud not ha changed wid the Colonelno, nor yet the Commandherin-Chief. I wud be a Sargint. There was nothin I wud not be! Mother av Hivin, look at me! Fwhat am I now?
We was quartered in a big cantonminttis no manner av use namin names, for ut might give the barricks disreputationan I was the Imperor av the Earth in me own mind, an wan or to wimmen thought the same. Small blame to thim. Afther we had lain there a year, Bragin, the Colour-Sargint av E Compny, wint an took a wife that was ladys maid to some big lady in the station. Shes dead now, is Annie Bragindied in child-bed at Kirpa Tal, or ut may ha been Almorahsivinnine years gone, an Bragin he married agin. But she was a pretty woman whin Bragin inthrojuced her to cantonmint society. She had eyes like the brown av a buttherflys wing whin the sun catches ut, an a waist no thicker than me arrum, an a ,little sof button av a mouth I wud ha gone through all Asia bristlin wid baynits to get the kiss av. An her hair was as long as the tail av the Colonels chargerforgive me mentionin that blundherin baste in the same mouthful wid Annie Braginbut twas all shpun gowld, an time was whin a lock av ut was more than dimonds to me. There was niver pretty woman yet, an Ive had thruck wid a few, cud open the door to Annie Bragin.
Twas in the Cathlic Chapel I saw her first, me eye rollin round as usual to see fwhat was to be seen. Youre too good for Bragin, me love, thinks I to mesilf, but thats a mistake I can put straight, or me name is not Terence Mulvaney.
Now take me wurrud for ut, you Orthris there an Learoyd, an kape out av the Married Quartersas I did not. No good iver comes av ut, an theres always the chance av your bein found wid your face in the dirt, a long picket in the back av your head, an your hands playin the fifes on the tread av another mans doorstep. Twas so we found OHara, he that Rafferty killed six years gone, whin he wint to his death wid his hair oiled, whistlin Larry ORourke betune his teeth. Kape out av the Married Quarters, I say, as I did not. Tis onwholesim, Tis dangerous, an tis ivrything else thats bad, butO my sowl, tis swate while ut lasts!
I was always hangin about there whin I was off jooty an Bragin wasnt, but niver a swate word beyon ordinar did I get from Annie Bragin. Tis the pervarsity av the sect, sez I to mesilf, an gave me cap another cock on me head an straightened me backtwas the back av a Dhrum-Major in those daysan wint off as tho I did not care, wid all the wimmen in the Married Quarters laughin. I was pershuadedmost bhoys are, Im thinkinthat no woman born av woman cud stand agin me av I hild up me little finger. I had good cause for to think that waytill I met Annie Bragin.
Time an agin whin I was blandandherin in the dusk a man wud go past me as quiet as a cat. Thats quare, thinks I, for I am, or I shud be, the only man in these parts. Now what divilmint can Annie be up to? Thin I called myself a blayguard for thinkin 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 disrespect to you, who is that Corpril manI had seen the shtripes though I cud niver get sight av his facewho is that Corpril man that comes in always whin Im goin away?
Mother av God! sez she, turnin as white as my belt; have you seen him too?
Seen him! sez I; av coorse I have. Did ye wish me not to see him, forwe were standin talkin in the dhark, outside the veranda av Bragins quartersyoud betther tell me to shut me eyes. Onless Im mistaken, hes come now.
An, sure enough, the Corpril man was walkin to us, hangin his head down as though he was ashamed av himsilf.
Good night, Mrs. Bragin, sez I, very cool. Tis not for me to interfere wid your a-moors; but you might manage some things wid more dacincy. Im 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. I had not tuk ten paces before Annie Bragin was hangin on to my arrum, an I cud feel that she was shakin all over.
Shtay wid me, Mister Mulvaney, sez she. Youre flesh and blood, at the leastare ye not?
Im all that, sez I, an my anger wint in a flash. Will I want to be asked twice, Annie?
Wid that I slipped my arrum round her waist, for, begad, I fancied she had surrindered at discretion, an the honours av war were mine.
Fwhat nonsinse is this? sez she, dhrawin hersilf up on the tips av her dear little toes. Wid the mothers milk not dhry on your impident mouth! Let go! she sez.
Did ye not say just now that I was flesh and blood? sez I. I have not changed since, I sez; and I kep my arrum where ut was.
Your arrums to yoursilf! sez she, an her eyes sparkild.
Sure, tis only human natur, sez I; an I kep my arrum where ut was.
Natur or no natur, says she, you take your arrum away or Ill tell Bragin, an hell alter the natur av your head. Fwhat dyou take me for? she sez.
A woman, sez I; the prettiest in barricks.
A wife, sez she. The straightest in cantonmints!
Wid that I dropped my arrum, fell back to 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 shuts her hand tight, thumb down over the knuckle, take up your hat an go. Youll 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 cant,go on! Shes not past reasonin wid.
Well, as I was sayin, I fell back, saluted, an was goin away.
Shtay wid me, she sez. Look! Hes comin agin.
She pointed to the veranda, an by the Hoight av Impartnince, the Corpril man was comin out av Bragins quarters.
Hes done that these five evenins past, sez Annie Bragin. Oh, fwhat will I do!
Hell not do ut agin, sez I, for I was fightin mad.
Kape away from a man that has been a thrifle crossed in love till the fevers died down. He rages like a brute baste.
I wint up to the man in the veranda, manin, as sure as I sit, to knock the life out av him. He slipped into the open. Fwhat are you doin philandherin 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 mournful an melancolious, as if he thought I wud be sorry for him: I cant find her, sez he.
My troth, sez I, youve lived too longyou an your seekins an findins in a dacint married womans quarters! Hould up your head, ye frozen thief av Genesis, sez I, an youll find all you want an more!
But he niver hild up, an I let go from the shoulther to where the hair is short over the eyebrows.
Thatll do your business, sez I, but it nearly did mine instid. I put me bodyweight behind the blow, but I hit nothing at all, an near put me shoulther out. The Corpril man was not there, an Annie Bragin, who had been watchin from the veranda, throws up her heels, an carries on like a cock whin his necks wrung by the dhrummer-bhoy. I wint back to her, for a livin woman, an a woman like Annie Bragin, is more than a prade-groun full av ghosts. Id niver seen a woman faint before, an I stud like a shtuck calf, askin her whether she was dead, an prayin her for the love av me, an the love av her husband, an the love av the Virgin, to opin her blessed eyes agin, an callin mesilf all the names undher the canopy av Hivin for plaguin her wid my miserable a-moors whin I ought to ha stud betune her an this Corpril man that had lost the number av his mess.
I misremimber fwhat nonsinse I said, but I was not so far gone that I cud not hear a fut on the dirt outside. Twas Bragin comin in, an by the same token Annie was comin to. I jumped to the far end av the veranda an looked as if butther wudnt melt in my mouth. But Mrs. Quinn, the Quartermasters wife that was, had tould Bragin about my hangin round Annie.
Im not plazed wid you, Mulvaney, sez Bragin, unbucklin his sword, for he had been on jooty.
Thats bad hearin, I sez, an I knew that me pickets were dhriven in. What for, Sargint? sez I.
Come outside, sez he, an Ill show you why.
Im willin, I sez; but my shtripes are none so ould that I can afford to lose thim. Tell me now, who do I go out wid? sez I.
He was a quick man an a just, an saw fwhat I wud be afther. Wid Mrs. Bragins husband, sez he. He might ha known by me askin that favour that I had done him no wrong.
We wint to the back av the arsenal an I stripped to him, an for ten minuts twas all I cud do to prevent him killin himsilf agin my fistes. He was mad as a dumb dogjust frothin wid rage; but he had no chanst wid me in reach, or learnin, 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 afther the other, smash through the low gyard that hed been taught whin he was a bhoy, an the eyebrow shut down on the cheek-bone like the wing av a sick crow.
Will you hear reason now, brave man? sez I.
Not whoile I can speak, sez he, staggerin up blind as a stump. I was loath to du ut, but I wint round an swung into the jaw side-on an shifted ut a half-pace to the lef.
Will ye hear reason now? sez I. I cant keep my timper much longer, an tis like I will hurt you.
Not whoile I can stand, he mumbles out av one corner av his mouth. So I closed an threw himblind, dumb, an sick, an jammed the jaw straight.
Youre an ould fool, Mister Bragin, sez I.
Youre a young thafe, sez he, an youve bruk my heart, you an Annie betune you!
Thin he began cryin like a child as he lay. I was sorry as I had niver been before. Tis an awful thing to see a strong man cry.
Ill swear on the Cross! sez I.
I care for none av your oaths, sez he.
Come back to your quarters, sez I, an if you dont believe the livin, begad, you shall listen to the dead, I sez.
I hoisted him an tuk him back to his quarters. Mrs. Bragin, sez I, heres a man that you can cure quicker than me.
Youve shamed me before my wife, he whimpers.
Have I so? sez I. By the look on Mrs. Bragins face I think Im for a dhressin-down worse than I gave you.
An I was! Annie Bragin was woild wid indignation. There was not a name that a dacint woman cud use that was not given my way. Ive had my Colonel walk roun me like a cooper roun a cask for fifteen minuts in Ordly-Room, bekaze I wint into the Corner Shop an unstrapped lewnatic; but all that I iver tuk from his tongue was ginger-pop to fwhat Annie tould 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 Im a blayguard an youre an honust woman; but will you tell him av wan service that I did you?
As I finished speakin the Corpril man came up to the veranda, and Annie Bragin shquealed. The moon was up, an we cud see his face.
I cant find her, sez the Corpril man, an wint out like the puff av a candle.
Saints stand betune us an evil! sez Bragin, crossin himsilf; thats Flahy av the Tyrone.
Who was he? I sez, for he has given me a dale av fightin this day.
Bragin tould us that Flahy was a Corpril who lost his 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, hes been hookin out av Purgathory to kape company wid Mrs. Bragin ivry evenin for the last fortnight. You may tell Mrs. Quinn, wid my love, for I know that shes been talkin to you, an youve been listenin, that she ought to ondhersthand the differ twixt a man an a ghost. Shes had three husbands, sez I, an youve got a wife too good for you. Instid av which you lave her to be boddered by ghosts anan all manner av evil spirruts. Ill niver go talkin in the way av politeness to a mans wife agin. Good night to you both, sez I; an wid that I wint away, havin fought wid woman, man, an Divil all in the heart av an hour. By the same token I gave Father Victor wan rupee to say a mass for Flahys soul, me havin dishcommoded him by shtickin my fist into his systim.
Your ideas of politeness seem rather large, Mulvaney, I said.
Thats as you look at ut, said Mulvaney calmly. Annie Bragin niver cared for me. For all that, I did not want to leave anythin behin me that Bragin cud take hould av to be angry wid her aboutwhin an honust wurrud cud ha cleared all up. Theres nothing like opin-spakin. Orthris, ye scutt, let me put me eye to that bottle, for my throats as dhry as whin I thought I wud get a kiss from Annie Bragin. An thats fourteen years gone!
Eyah! Corks own city an the blue sky above utan the times that wasthe times that was!
It was Mulvaney who was speaking. The time was one oclock of a stifling June night, and the place was the main gate of Fort Amara, most desolate and least desirable of all fortresses in India. What I was doing there at that hour is a question which only concerns MGrath the Sergeant of the Guard, and the men on the gate.
Slape, said Mulvaney, is a shuparfluous necessity. This Gyardll shtay lively till relieved. He himself was stripped to the waist; Learoyd on the next bedstead was dripping from the skinful of water which Ortheris, clad only in white trousers, had just sluiced over his shoulders; and a fourth private was muttering uneasily as he dozed open-mouthed in the glare of the great guard-lantern. The heat under the bricked archway was terrifying.
The worrst night that iver I remimber. Eyah! Is all Hell loose this tide?said Mulvaney. A puff of burning 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. Itll go orf in a minute.
Ah doant care. Ah would not care, but ma heart is plaayin tivvy-tivvy on ma ribs. Let ma die! Oh, leave ma die! groaned the huge Yorkshireman, who was feeling the heat acutely, being of fleshy build.
The sleeper under the lantern roused for a moment and raised himself on his elbow. Die and be damned then! he said. Im damned and I cant die!
Whos that? I whispered, for the voice was new to me.
Gentleman born, said Mulvaney; Corpril wan year, Sargint nex. Red-hot on his Cmission, but dhrinks like a fish. Hell be gone before the cowld weathers here. So!
He slipped his boot, and with the naked toe just touched the trigger of his Martini. Ortheris misunderstood the movement, and the next instant the Irishmans rifle was dashed aside, while Ortheris stood before him, his eyes blazing with reproof.
You! said Ortheris. My Gawd, you! If it was you, wot would we do?
Kape quiet, little man, said Mulvaney, putting him aside, but very gently; Tis not me, nor will ut be me whoile Dinah Shadds here. I was but showin somethin.
Learoyd, bowed on his bedstead, groaned, and the gentleman-ranker sighed in his sleep. Ortheris took Mulvaneys tendered pouch, and we three smoked gravely for a space while the dust-devils danced on the glacis and scoured the red-hot plain.
Pop? said Ortheris, wiping his forehead.
Dont tantalise wid talkin av dhrink, or Ill shtuff you into your own breech-block anfire you off! grunted Mulvaney.
Ortheris chuckled, and from a niche in the veranda produced six bottles of gingerade.
Where did ye get ut, ye Machiavel? said Mulvaney. Tis no bazar pop.
Ow do I know wot the orfcers drink? answered Ortheris. Arst the mess-man.
Yell have a Disthrict Coort-Martial settin on ye yet, me son, said Mulvaney, buthe opened a bottleI will not report ye this time. Fwhats in the mess-kid is mint for the belly, as they say, specially whin that mate is dhrink. Heres luck! A bloody war or ano, weve got the sickly season. War, thin!he waved the innocent pop to the four quarters of heaven. Bloody war! North, East, South, an West Jock, ye quakin hayrick, come an dhrink.
But Learoyd, half mad with the fear of death presaged in the swelling veins of his neck, was begging his Maker to strike him dead, and fighting for more air between his prayers. A second time Ortheris drenched the quivering body with water, and the giant revived.
An Ah divnt see thot a mon is i fettle for gooin on to live; an Ah divnt see thot there is owt for t livin for. Hear now, lads I Ahm tiredtired. Theres nobbut watter i ma bones. Leave ma die!
The hollow of the arch gave back Learoyds broken whisper in a bass boom. Mulvaney looked at me hopelessly, but I remembered how the madness of despair had once fallen upon Ortheris, that weary, weary afternoon on the banks of the Khemi River, and how it had been exorcised by the skilful magician Mulvaney.
Talk, Terence! I said, or we shall have Learoyd slinging loose, and hell be worse than Ortheris was. Talk! Hell answer to your voice.
Almost before Ortheris had deftly thrown all the rifles of the guard on Mulvaneys bedstead, the Irishmans voice was uplifted as that of one in the middle of a story, and, turning to me, he said:
In barricks or out av it, as you say, sorr, an Irish rigmint is the divil an more. Tis only fit for a young man wid eddicated fisteses. Oh, the crame av disrupshin is an Irish rigmint, an rippin, tearin, ragin scattherers in the field av war! My first rigmint was IrishFaynians an rebils to the heart av their marrow was they, an so they fought for the Widdy betther than most, bein contrairyIrish. They was the Black Tyrone. Youve heard av thim, sorr?
Heard of them! I knew the Black Tyrone for the choicest collection of unmitigated blackguards, dog-stealers, robbers of hen-roosts, assaulters of innocent citizens, and recklessly daring heroes in the Army List. Half Europe and half Asia has had cause to know the Black Tyronegood luck be with their tattered Colours as Glory has ever been
They was hot pickils an ginger! I cut a mans head to deep wid me belt in the days av me youth, an, afther some circumstances which I will oblitherate, I came to the Ould Rigmint, bearin the character av a man wid hands an feet. But, as I was goin to tell you, I fell acrost the Black Tyrone agin wan day whin we wanted thim powerful bad. Orthris, me son, fwhat was the name av that place where they sint wan compny av us an wan av the Tyrone roun a hill an down agin, all for to tache the Paythans something theyd niver learned before? Afther Ghuzni twas.
Dont know what the bloomin Paythans called it. We called it Silvers Theayter. You know that, sure!
Silvers Theatreso twas. A gut betwix two hills, as black as a bucket, an as thin as a gurls waist. There was over-many Paythans for our convaynience in the gut, an begad they called thimsilves a Reservebein impident by natur! Our Scotchies an lashins av Gurkys was poundin into some Paythan rigmints, I think Twas. Scotchies an Gurkys are twins bekaze theyre so onlike, an they get dhrunk together whin God plazes. As I was sayin, they sint wan compny av the Ould an wan av the Tyrone to double up the hill an clane out the Paythan Reserve. Orfcers was scarce in thim days, fwhat wid dysintry an not takin care av thimsilves, an we was sint out wid only wan orfcer for the compny; but he was a Man that had his feet beneath him an all his teeth in their sockuts.
Who was he? I asked.
Captain ONeilOld CrookCruik-na-bul-leenhim that I tould ye that tale av whin he was in Burma. Hah! He was a Man. The Tyrone tuk a little orfcer bhoy, but divil a bit was he in command, as Ill dimonsthrate prisintly. 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 mothers care av us always. Rowl some rocks on thim by way av visitin-kyards. We hadnt rowled more than twinty bowlders, an the Paythans was beginnin to swear tremenjus, whin the little orfcer bhoy av the Tyrone shqueaks out acrost the valley: Fwhat the divil an all are you doin, shpoilin the fun for my men? Do ye not see theyll stand?
Faith, thats a rare pluckt wan! sez Crook. Niver mind the rocks, men. Come along down an take tay wid thim!
Theres 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 at the Base, he, av coorse, was not there.
Thots a lie! said Learoyd, dragging his bedstead nearer. Ah gotten thot theer, an you knaw it, Mulvaaney. He threw up his arms, and from the right armpit ran, diagonally through the fell of his chest, a thin white line terminating near the fourth left rib.
My minds goin, said Mulvaney, the unabashed. Ye were there. Fwhat was I thinkin av? Twas another man, av coorse. Well, youll remimber thin, Jock, how we an the Tyrone met wid a bang at the bottom an got jammed past all movin among the Paythans?
Ow! It was a tight ole. I was squeezed till I thought Id bloomin well bust, said Ortheris, rubbing his stomach meditatively.
Twas no place for a little man, but wan little manMulvaney put his hand on Ortheriss shouldersaved the life av me. There we shtuck, for divil a bit did the Paythans flinch, an divil a bit dare we; our business bein to clear em out. An the most exthryordinar thing av all was that we an they just rushed into each others arrums, an there was no firin for a long time. Nothin but knife an baynit when we cud get our hands free: an that was not often. We was breast-on to thim, an the Tyrone was yelpin behind av us in a way I didnt see the lean av at first. But I knew later, an so did the Paythans.
Knee to knee! sings out Crook, wid a laugh whin the rush av our comin into the gut shtopped, an he was huggin a hairy great Paythan, neither bein able to do anything to the other, tho both was wishful.
Breast to breast! he sez, as the Tyrone was pushin us forward closer an closer.
An hand over back! sez a Sargint that was behin. I saw a sword lick out past Crooks ear, an the Paythan was tuk in the apple av his throat like a pig at Dromeen Fair.
Thank ye, Brother Inner Guard, sez Crook, cool as a cucumber widout salt. I wanted that room. An he went forward by the thickness av a mans body, havin turned the Paythan undher him. The man bit the heel off Crooks boot in his death-bite.
Push, men! sez Crook. Push, ye paper-backed beggars! he sez. Am I to pull ye through? So we pushed, an we kicked, an we swung, an we swore, an the grass bein slippery, our heels wudnt bite, an God help the front-rank man that wint down that day!
Ave you ever bin in the Pit hentrance o the Vic. on a thick night? interrupted Ortheris. It was worse nor that, for they was goin one way, an we wouldnt ave it. Leastaways, I adnt much to say.
Faith, me son, ye said ut, thin. I kep this little man betune my knees as long as I cud, but he was pokin roun wid his baynit, blindin an stiffen feroshus. The divil of a man is Orthris in a ructionarent ye? said Mulvaney.
Dont make game! said the Cockney. I knowed I wasnt no good then, but I guv em compot from the lef flank when we opened out. No! he said, bringing down his hand with a thump on the bedstead, a baynit aint no good to a little manmight as well ave a bloomin fishin-rod! I ate a clawin, maulin mess, but gimme a breech thats wore out a bit an hamminition one year in store, to let the powder kiss the bullet, an put me somewheres where I aint trod on by ulking swine like you, an selp me Gawd, I could bowl you over five times outer seven at height undred. Would yer try, you lumberin Hirishman?
No, ye wasp. Ive seen ye do ut. I say theres nothin better than the baynit, wid a long reach, a double twist av ye can, an a slow recover.
Dom the baynit, said Learoyd, who had been listening intently. Look a-here! He picked up a rifle an inch below the foresight with an underhanded action, and used it exactly as a man would use a dagger.
Sitha, said he softly, thots better than owt, for a mon can bash t faace wi thot, an, if he divnt, he can breeak t forearm o t guaard. Tis nut i t books, though. Gie me t butt.
Each does ut his own way, like makin love, said Mulvaney quietly; the butt or the baynit or the bullet accordin to the natur av the man. Well, as I was sayin, we shtuck there breathin in each others faces an swearin powerful; Orthris cursin the mother that bore him bekaze he was not three inches taller.
Prisintly he sez: Duck, ye lump, an I can get at a man over your shoulther!
Youll blow me head off, I sez, throwin my arrum clear; go through under my arrumpit, ye bloodthirsty little scutt, sez I, but dont shtick me or Ill wring your ears round.
Fwhat was ut ye gave the Paythan man forninst me, him that cut at me whin I cudnt move hand or foot? Hot or cowld was ut?
Cold, said Ortheris, up an under the rib-jints. E come down flat. Best for you e did.
Thrue, me son! This jam thing that Im talkin about lasted for five minuts good, an thin we got our arrums clear an wint in. I misremimber exactly fwhat I did, but I didnt want Dinah to be a widdy at the depot. Thin, afther some promishcuous hackin we shtuck agin, an the Tyrone behin was callin us dogs an cowards an all manner av names; we barrin their way.
Fwhat ails the Tyrone? thinks I. Theyve the makins av a most convanient fight here.
A man behind me sez beseechful an in a whisper: Let me get at thim! For the love av Mary, give me room beside ye, ye tall man!
An who are you thats so anxious to be kilt? sez I, widout turnin my head, for the long knives was dancin in front like the sun on Donegal Bay whin uts rough.
Weve seen our. dead, he sez, squeezin into me; our dead that was men two days gone! An me that was his cousin by blood cud not bring Tim Coulan off! Let me get on, he sez, let me get to thim or Ill run ye through the back!
My troth, thinks I, if the Tyrone have seen their dead, God help the Paythans this day! An thin I knew why the Tyrone was ragin behind us as they was.
I gave room to the man, an he ran forward wid the Haymakers Lift on his baynit an swung a Paythan clear off his feet by the belly-band av the brute, an the iron bruk at the lockin-ring.
Tim Coulan ll slape aisy to-night, sez he wid a grin; an the next minut his head was in two halves and he wint down grinnin 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 all, his sword-arrum swingin like a pump-handle an his revolver spittin like a cat. But the strange thing av ut was the quiet that lay upon. Twas like a fight in a drameexcipt for thim that was dead.
Whin I gave room to the Irishman I was expinded an 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. Im goin to be onwell! Faith, they gave me room at the wurrud, though they wud not ha given room for all Hell wid the chill off. When I got clear, I was, savin your presince, sorr, outrajis sick bekaze I had dhrunk heavy that day.
Well an far out av harm was a Sargint av the Tyrone sittin on the little orfcer bhoy who had stopped Crook from rowlin the rocks. Oh, he was a beautiful bhoy, an the long black curses was slidin out av his innocint mouth like morninjew from a rose!
Fwhat have you got there? sez I to the Sargint.
Wan av Her Majestys bantams wid his spurs up, sez he. Hes goin to Coort-Martial me.
Let me go! sez the little orfcer bhoy. Let me go and command me men! manin thereby the Black Tyrone which was beyond any commandeven av they had made the Divil Field-Orfcer.
His father howlds my mothers cow-feed in Clonmel, sez the man that was sittin on him. Will I go back to his mother an tell her that Ive let him throw himsilf away? Lie still, ye little pinch of dynamite, an Coort-Martial me aftherwards.
Good, sez I; Tis the likes av him makes the likes av the Commandher-in-Chief, but we must presarve thim. Fwhat dyou want to do, sorr.? sez I, very politeful.
Kill the beggarskill the beggars! he shqueaks, his big blue eyes brimmin wid tears.
An howll ye do that? sez I. Youve shquibbed off your revolver like a child wid a cracker; you can make no play wid that fine large sword av yours; an your hands shakin like an asp on a leaf. Lie still and grow, sez I.
Get back to your compny, sez he; youre insolint!
All in good time, sez I, but Ill have a dhrink first.
Just thin Crook comes up, blue an white all over where he wasnt red.
Wather! sez he; Im dead wid drouth! Oh, but its a gran day!
He dhrank half a skinful, and the rest he tilts into his chest, an it fair hissed on the hairy hide av him. He sees the little orfcer bhoy undher the Sargint.
Fwhats yonder? sez he.
Mutiny, sorr, sez the Sargint, an the orfcer bhoy begins pleadin pitiful to Crook to be let go; but divil a bit wud Crook budge.
Kape him there, he sez; Tis no childs work this day. By the same token, sez he, Ill confishcate that iligant nickel-plated scent-sprinkler av yours, for my own has been vomitin dishgraceful!
The fork av his hand was black wid the backspit av the machine. So he tuk the orfcer bhoys revolver. Ye may look, sorr, but, by my faith, theres a dale more done in the field than iver gets into Field Ordhers!
Come on, Mulvaney, sez Crook; is this a Coort-Martial? The two av us wint back together into the mess an the Paythans was still standin up. They was not too impartnint though, for the Tyrone was callin wan to another to remimber Tim Coulan.
Crook holted outside av the strife an looked anxious, his eyes rowlin roun.
Fwhat is ut, sorr? sez I; can I get ye anything?
Wheres a bugler? sez he.
I wint into the crowdour men was dhrawin breath behin the Tyrone, who was fightin like sowls in tormintan prisintly I came acrost little Frehan, our bugler bhoy, pokin roun among the best wid a rifle an baynit.
Is amusin yoursilf fwhat youre paid for, ye limb? sez I, catchin him by the scruff. Come out av that an attind to your jooty, I sez; but the bhoy was not plazed.
Ive got wan, sez he, grinnin, big as you, Mulvaney, an fair half as ugly. Let me go get another.
I was dishplazed at the personability av that remark, so I tucks him under my arrum an carries him to Crook, who was watchin how the fight wint. Crook cuffs him till the bhoy cries, an thin sez nothin for a whoile.
The Paythans began to flicker onaisy, an our men roared. Opin ordher! Double! sez Crook. Blow, child, blow for the honour av the British Arrmy!
That bhoy blew like a typhoon, an the Tyrone an we opind out as the Paythans bruk, an I saw that fwhat had gone before wud be kissin an huggin to fwhat was to come. Wed dhruv thim into a broad part av the gut whin they gave, an thin we opind out an fair danced down the valley, dhrivin thim before us. Oh, twas lovely, an stiddy, too! There was the Sargints on the flanks av what was left av us, kapin touch, an the fire was runnin from flank to flank, an the Paythans was dhroppin. We opind out wid the widenin av the valley, an whin the valley narrowed we closed agin like the shticks on a ladys fan, an at the far ind av the gut where they thried to stand, we fair blew them off their feet, for we had expinded very little ammunition by reason av the knife-work.
I used thirty rounds goin down that valley, said Ortheris, an it was gentlemans work. Might a done it in a white andkerchief an pink silk stockins, that part. Hi was on in that piece.
You cud ha heard the Tyrone yellin a mile away, said Mulvaney, an twas all their Sargints cud do to get thim off. They was madmadmad! Crook sits down in the quiet that fell whin we had gone down the valley, an covers his face wid his hands. Prisintly we all came back agin accordin to our naturs and disposishins, for they, mark you, show through the hide av a man in that hour.
Bhoys I bhoys!sez Crook to himsilf. I misdoubt we cud ha engaged at long range an saved betther 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 kissed ut, spittin blood like a whale; Captain dear, sez he, if wan or two in the shtalls have been dishcommoded, the gallery have enjoyed the performinces av a Roshus.
Thin I knew that man for the Dublin dockrat he waswan av the bhoys that made the lessee av Silvers Theatre grey before his time wid tearin out the bowils av the benches an throwin thim into the pit. So I passed the wurrud that I knew whin I was in the Tyrone an we lay in Dublin. I dont know who twas, I whishpers, an I dont care, but anyways Ill knock the face av you, Tim Kelly.
Eyah! sez the man, was you there too? Well call ut Silvers Theatre. Half the Tyrone, knowin the ould place, tuk ut up: so we called ut Silvers Theatre.
The little orfcer bhoy av the Tyrone was thremblin an cryin. He had no heart for the Coort-Martials that he talked so big upon. Yell do well later, sez Crook, very quiet, for not bein allowed to kill yoursilf for amusemint.
Im a dishgraced man! sez the little orfcer bhoy.
Put me undher arrest, sorr, if you will, but, by my sowl, Id do ut agin sooner than face your mother wid you dead, sez the Sargint that had sat on his head, standin to attenshin an salutin. But the young wan only cried as tho his little heart was breakin.
Thin another man av the Tyrone came up, wid the fog av fightin on him.
The what, Mulvaney?
Fog av fightin. You know, sorr, that, like makin love, ut takes each man diffrint. Now, I cant help bein powerful sick whin Im in action. Orthris, here, niver stops swearin from ind to ind, an the only time that Learoyd opins his mouth to sing is whin he is messin wid other peoples heads; for hes a dhirty fighter is jock. Recruities sometime cry, an sometime they dont know fwhat they do, an sometime they are all for cuttin throats an such-like dhirtiness; but some men get heavy-dead-dhrunk on the fightin. This man was. He was staggerin, an his eyes were half shut, an we cud hear him dhraw breath twinty yards away. He sees the little orfcer bhoy, an comes up, talkin thick an drowsy to himsilf. Blood the young whelp! he sez; Blood the young whelp; an wid that he threw up his arrums, 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 was rotten, 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 orfcer bhoy. He was for givin wan divil wather and layin him aisy against a rock. Be careful, sorr, sez I; a wounded Paythans worse than a live wan. My troth, before the words was out av me mouth, the man on the ground fires at the orfcer 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 orfcer bhoy turned very white, for the hair av half his head was singed away.
I tould you so, sorr I sez I; an, afther that, whin he wanted to help a Paythan I stud wid the muzzle contagious to the ear. They dared not do anythin but curse. The Tyrone was growlin like dogs over a bone that has been taken away too soon, for they had seen their dead an they wanted to kill ivry sowl on the ground. Crook tould thim that hed blow the hide off any man that misconducted himsilf; but, seeing that ut was the first time the Tyrone had iver seen their dead, I do not wondher they was on the sharp. Tis a shameful sight! Whin I first saw ut I wud niver ha given quarter to any man north of the Khyberno, nor woman either, for the wimmen used to come out afther dharkAuggrh!
Well, evenshually we buried our dead an tuk away our wounded, an come over the brow av the hills to see the Scotchies an the Gurkys takin tay with the Paythans in bucketsfuls. We were a gang av dissolute ruffians, for the blood had caked the dust, an the sweat had cut the cake, an our baynits was hangin like butchers steels betune our legs, an most av us was marked one way or another.
A Staff Orfcer man, clane as a new rifle, rides up an sez: What damned scarecrows are you?
A compny av Her Majestys Black Tyrone an wan av the Ould Rigmint, sez Crook very quiet, givin our visitors the flure as twas.
Oh! sez the Staff Orfcer. Did you dislodge that Reserve?
No! sez Crook, an the Tyrone laughed.
Thin fwhat the divil have ye done?
Disthroyed ut, sez Crook, an he took us on, but not before Toomey that was in the Tyrone sez aloud, his voice somewhere in his stummick Fwhat in the name av misfortune does this parrit widout a tail mane by shtoppin the road av his betthers?
The Staff Orfcer wint blue, an Toomey makes him pink by changin to the voice av a minowdherin woman an sayin: Come an kiss me, Major dear, for me husbands at the wars an Im all alone at the depot.
The Staff Orfcer wint away, an I cud see Crooks shoulthers shakin.
His Corpril checks Toomey. Lave me alone, sez Toomey, widout a wink. I was his batman before he was married an he knows fwhat I mane, av you dont. Theres nothin like livin in the hoight av society. Dyou remimber that, Orthris?
Yuss. Toomey, e died in orspital, next week it was, cause I bought arf his kit; an I remember after that
GUARRD, TURN OUT!
The Relief had come; it was four oclock. Ill catch a kyart for you, sorr, said Mulvaney, diving hastily into his accoutrements. Come up to the top av the Fort an well pershue our invistigations into MGraths shtable. The relieved guard strolled round the main bastion on its way to the swimming-bath, and Learoyd grew almost talkative. Ortheris looked into the Fort Ditch and across the plain. Ho! its weary waitin for Ma-ary! he hummed; but Id like to kill some more bloomin Paythans before my times up. War! Bloody war! North, East, South, and West.
Amen, said Learoyd slowly.
Fwhats here? said Mulvaney, checking at a blur of white by the foot of the old sentry-box. He stooped and touched it. Its NorahNorah MTaggart! Why, Nonie darlin, fwhat are ye doin out av your mothers bed at this time?
The two-year-old child of Sergeant MTaggart must have wandered for a breath of cool air to the very verge of the parapet of the Fort Ditch. Her tiny nightshift was gathered into a wisp round her neck and she moaned in her sleep. See there! said Mulvaney; poor lamb! Look at the heatrash on the innocint shkin av her. Tis hardcrool hard even for us. Fwhat must it be for these? Wake up, Nonie, your mother will be woild about you. Begad, the child might ha fallen into the Ditch!
He picked her up in the growing light, and set her on his shoulder, and her fair curls touched the grizzled stubble of his temples. Ortheris and Learoyd followed snapping their fingers, while Norah smiled at them a sleepy smile. Then carolled Mulvaney, clear as a lark, dancing the baby on his arm:
If any young man should marry you, Say nothin about the joke; That aver ye slep in a sinthry-box, Wrapped up in a soldiers cloak. |
Though, on my sowl, Nonie, he said gravely, there was not much cloak about you. Niver mind, you wont dhress like this ten years to come. Kiss your frinds an run along to your mother.
Nonie, set down close to the Married Quarters, nodded with the quiet obedience of the soldiers child, but, ere she pattered off over the flagged path, held up her lips to be kissed by the Three Musketeers. Ortheris wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and swore sentimentally! Learoyd turned pink; and the two walked away together. The Yorkshireman lifted up his voice and gave in thunder the chorus of The Sentry-Box, while Ortheris piped at his side.
Bin to a bloomin sing-song, you two? said the Artilleryman, who was taking his cartridge down to the Morning Gun. Youre over merry for these dashed days.
I bid ye take care o the brat, said he, For it comes of a noble race, |
Learoyd bellowed. The voices died out in the swimming-bath.
Oh, Terence! I said, dropping into Mulvaneys speech, when we were alone, its you that have the Tongue!
He looked at me wearily; his eyes were sunk in his head, and his face was drawn and white. Eyah! said he; Ive blandandhered thim through the night somehow, but can thim that helps others help thimsilves? Answer me that, sorr!
And over the bastions of Fort Amara broke the pitiless day.
Now, the Mother Superior of a Convent and the Colonel of a British Infantry Regiment would be justly shocked at any comparison being made between their respective charges. But it is a fact that, under certain circumstances, Thomas in bulk can be worked up into ditthering, rippling hysteria. He does not weep, but he shows his trouble unmistakably, and the consequences get into the newspapers, and all the good people who hardly know a Martini from a Snider say: Take away the brutes ammunition!
Thomas isnt a brute, and his business, which is to look after the virtuous people, demands that he shall have his ammunition to his hand. He doesnt wear silk stockings, and he really ought to he supplied with a new Adjective to help him to express his opinions; but, for all that, he is a great man. If you call him the heroic defender of the national honor one day, and a brutal and licentious soldiery the next, you naturally bewilder him, and he looks upon you with suspicion. There is nobody to speak for Thomas except people who have theories to work off on him; and nobody understands Thomas except Thomas, and he does not always know what is the matter with himself.
That is the prologue. This is the story:
Corporal Slane was engaged to be married to Miss Jhansi MKenna, whose history is well known in the regiment and elsewhere. He had his Colonels permission, and, being popular with the men, every arrangement had been made to give the wedding what Private Ortheris called eeklar. It fell in the heart of the hot weather, and, after the wedding, Slane was going up to the Hills with the Bride. None the less, Slanes grievance was that the affair would be only a hired-carriage wedding, and he felt that the eeklar of that was meagre. Miss MKenna did not care so much. The Sergeants wife was helping her to make her wedding-dress, and she was very busy. Slane was, just then, the only moderately contented man in barracks. 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, and for the rest of the day they could lie on their backs and smoke Canteen-plug and swear at the punkah-coolies. They enjoyed a fine, full flesh meal in the middle of the day, and then threw themselves down on their cots and sweated and slept till it was cool enough to go out with their towny, whose vocabulary contained less than six hundred words, and the Adjective, and whose views on every conceivable question they had heard many times 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 hours a day in a temperature of 96 degrees or 98 degrees in the shade, running up sometimes to 103 degrees at midnight. Very few men, even though they get a pannikin of flat, stale, muddy beer and hide it under their cots, can continue drinkmg for six hours a day. One man tried, but he died, and nearly the whole regiment went to his funeral because it gave them something to do. It was too early for the excitement of fever or cholera. The men could only wait and wait and wait, and watch the shadow of the barrack creeping across the blinding white dust. That was a gay life.
They lounged about cantonmentsit was too hot for any sort of game, and almost too hot for viceand fuddled themselves in the evening, and filled themselves to distension with the healthy nitrogenous food provided for them, and the more they stoked the less 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 nothing else to think of. The tone of the repartees changed, and instead of saying light-heartedly: Ill knock your silly face in, men grew laboriously polite and hinted that the cantonments were not big enough for themselves and their enemy, and that there would he more space 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 long time been worrying Simmons in an aimless way. It gave him occupation. The two had their cots side by side, and would sometimes spend a long afternoon swearing at each other; but Simmons was afraid of Losson and dared not challenge him to a fight. He thought over the words in the hot still nights, and half the hate he felt toward Losson be vented on the wretched punkah-coolie.
Losson bought a parrot in the bazar, and put it into a little cage, and lowered the cage into the cool darkness of 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 other things entirely unfit for publication. He was a big gross man, and he shook like a jelly when the parrot had the sentence correctly. Simmons, however, shook with rage, for all the room were laughing at himthe parrot was such a disreputable puff of green feathers and it looked so human when it chattered. Losson 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, Losson used to say, scratching the parrots head; ye ear that, Sim? And Simmons used to turn over on his stomach and make answer: I ear. Take eed you dont ear something one of these days.
In the restless nights, after he had been asleep all day, fits of blind rage came upon Simmonr and held him till he trembled all over, while he thought in how many different ways he would slay Losson. Sometimes he would picture himself trampling the life out of the man, with heavy ammunition-boots, and at others smashing in his face with the butt, and at others jumping on his shoulders and dragging the head back till the neckbone cracked. Then his mouth would feel hot and fevered, and he would reach out for another sup of the beer in the pannikin.
But the fancy that came to him most frequently and stayed with him longest was one connected with the great roll of fat under Lossons right ear. He noticed it first on a moonlight night, and thereafter it was always 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 rifle on it and blow away all the head in a flash. Losson had no right to be sleek and contented and well-to-do, when he, Simmons, was the butt of the room. Some day, perhaps, he would show those who laughed at the Simmons, ye so-oor joke, that he was as good as the rest, and held a mans life in the crook of his forefinger. When Losson snored, Simmons hated him more bitterly than ever. Why should Losson be able to sleep when Simmons had to stay awake hour after hour, tossing and turning on the tapes, with the dull liver pain gnawing into his right side and his head throbbing and aching after Canteen? He thought over this for many nights, and the world became unprofitable to him. He even blunted his naturally fine appetite with beer and tobacco; and all the while the parrot talked at and made a mock of him.
The heat continued and the tempers wore away more quickly than before. A Sergeants wife died of heatapoplexy in the night, and the rumor ran abroad that it was cholera. Men rejoiced openly, hoping that it would spread and send them into camp. But that was a false alarm.
It was late on a Tuesday evening, and the men were waiting in the deep double verandas for Last Posts, when Simmons went to the box at the foot of his bed, took out his pipe, and slammed the lid down with a bang that echoed through the deserted barrack like the crack of a rifle. Ordinarily speaking, the men would have taken no notice; but their nerves were fretted to fiddle-strings. They jumped up, and three or four clattered into the barrack-room only to find Simmons kneeling by his box.
Ow! Its you, is it? they said and laughed foolishly. We thought twas
Simmons rose slowly. If the accident had so shaken his fellows, what would not the reality do?
You thought it wasdid you? And what makes you think? he said, lashing himself into madness as he went on; to Hell with your thinking, ye dirty spies.
Simmons, ye so-oor, chuckled the parrot in the veranda, sleepily, recognizing a well-known voice. Now that was absolutely all.
The tension snapped. Simmons fell back on the arm-rack deliberately,the men were at the far end of the room,and took out his rifle and packet of ammunition. Dont go playing the goat, Sim! said Losson. Put it down, but there was a quaver in his voice. Another man stooped, slipped his boot and hurled it at Simmons head. The prompt answer was a shot which, fired at random, found its billet in Lossons throat. Losson fell forward without a word, and the others scattered.
You thought it was! yelled Simmons. Youre drivin me to it! I tell you youre drivin me to it! Get up, Losson, an dont lie shammin thereyou an your blasted parrit that druv me to it!
But there was an unaffected reality about Lossons pose that showed Simmons what he had done. The men were still clamoring on the veranda. Simmons appropriated two more packets of ammunition and ran into the moonlight, muttering: Ill make a night of it. Thirty rouns, 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 veranda, but the bullet flew high, and landed in the brickwork with a vicious phwit that made some of the younger ones turn pale. It is, as musketry theorists observe, one thing to fire and another to be fired at.
Then the instinct of the chase flared up. The news spread from barrack to barrack, and the men doubled out 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 curse in the direction of his pursuers.
Ill learn you to spy on me! he shouted; Ill learn you to give me dorgs names! Come on the ole lot O you! Colonel John Anthony Deever, C.B.!he turned toward the Infantry Mess and shook his rifleyou think yourself the devil of a manbut I tell you that if you Put your ugly old carcass outside O that door, Ill 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. Im the crack shot of the ole bloomin battalion. In proof of which statement Simmons fired at the lighted windows of the mess-house.
Private Simmons, E Compny, on the Cavalry prade-ground, Sir, with thirty rounds, said a Sergeant breathlessly to the Colonel. Shootin right and lef, Sir. Shot Private Losson. Whats 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 dont want my step in that way, Colonel. Hes as dangerous as a mad dog.
Shoot him like one, then, said the Colonel, bitterly, if he wont take his chance, My regiment, too! If it had been the Towheads I could have under stood.
Private Simmons had occupied a strong position near a well on the edge of the parade-ground, and was defying the regiment to come on. The regiment was not anxious to comply, for there is small honor in being shot by a fellow-private. Only Corporal Slane, rifle in hand, threw himself down on the ground, and wormed his way toward the well.
Dont shoot, said he to the men round him; like as not youll hit me. Ill catch the beggar, livin.
Simmons ceased shouting for a while, and the noise of trap-wheels could be heard across the plain. Major Oldyne Commanding the Horse Battery, was coming back from a dinner in the Civil Lines; was driving after his usual customthat is to say, as fast as the horse could go.
A orfcer! A blooming spangled orfcer, shrieked Simmons; Ill make a scarecrow of that orfcer! The trap stopped.
Whats this? demanded the Major of Gunners. You there, drop your rifle.
Why, its Jerry Blazes! I aint got no quarrel with you, Jerry Blazes. Pass frien, an alls well!
But Jerry Blazes had not the faintest intention of passing a dangerous murderer. He was, as his adoring Battery swore long and fervently, without knowledge of fear, and they were surely the best judges, for Jerry Blazes, it was notorious, had done his possible to kill a man each time the Battery went out.
He walked toward Simmons, with the intention of rushing him, and knocking him down.
Dont make me do it, Sir, said Simmons; I aint got nothing agin you. Ah! you would?the Major broke into a runTake 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: hut here was a helpless body to his hand. Should be slip in another cartridge, and blow off the head, or with the butt smash in the white face? He stopped to consider, and a cry went up from the far side of the parade-ground: Hes killed Jerry Blazes! But in the shelter of the well-pillars Simmons was safe except when he stepped out to fire. Ill blow yer andsome ead off, Jerry Blazes, said Simmons, reflectively. Six an three is nine an one is ten, an that leaves me another nineteen, an one for myself. He tugged at the string of the second packet of ammunition. Corporal Slane crawled out of the shadow of a bank into the moonlight.
I see you! said Simmons. Come a bit furder on an Ill do for you.
Im comm, said Corporal Slane, briefly; youve done a bad days work, Sim. Come out ere an come back with me.
Come to, laugbed Simmons, sending a cartridge home with his thumb. Not before Ive settled you an Jerry Blazes.
The Corporal was lying at full length in the dust of the parade-ground, a rifle under him. Some of the less-cautious men in the distance shouted: Shoot im! Shoot im, Slane !
You move and or foot, Slane, said Simmons, an Ill kick Jerry Blazes ead in, and shoot you after.
I aint movin, said the Corporal, raising his head; you darent it a man on is legs. Let go o Jerry Blazes an come out o that with your fistes. Come an it me. You darent, you bloomin dog-shooter!
I dare.
You lie, you man-sticker. You sneakin, Sheeny butcher, you lie. See there! Slane kicked the rifle away, and stood up in the peril of his life. Come on, now!
The temptation was more than Simmons could resist, for the Corporal in his white clothes offered a perfect mark.
Dont misname me, shouted Simmons, firing as he spoke. The shot missed, and the shooter, blind with rage, threw his rifle down and rushed at Slane from the protection of the well. Within striking distance, he kicked savagely at Slanes stomach, but the weedy Corporal knew something of Simmonss weakness, and knew, too, the deadly guard for that kick. Bowing forward and drawing up his right leg till the heel of the right foot was set some three inches above the inside of the left knee-cap, he met the blow standing on one legexactly as Gonds stand when they meditateand ready for the fall that would follow. There was an oath, the Corporal fell over his own left as shinbone met shinbone, and the Private collapsed, his right leg broken an inch above the ankle.
Pity you dont know that guard, Sim, said Slane, spitting out the dust as he rose. Then raising his voice Come an take him orf. Ive bruk is leg. This was not strictly true, for the Private had accomplished his own downfall, since it is the special merit of that leg-guard that the harder the kick the greater the kickers discomfiture.
Slane walked to Jerry Blazes and hung over him with ostentatious anxiety, while Simmons, weeping with pain, was carried away. Ope you aint urt badly, Sir, said Slane. The Major had fainted, and there was an ugly, ragged hole through the top of his arm. Slane knelt down and murmured. Selp me, I believe es dead. Well, if that aint my blooming luck all over!
But the Major was destined to lead his Battery afield for many a long day with unshaken nerve. He was removed, and nursed and petted into convalescence, while the Battery discussed the wisdom of capturing Simmons, and blowing him from a gun. They idolized their Major, and his reappearance on parade brought about a scene nowhere provided for in the Army Regulations.
Great, too, was the glory that fell to Slanes share. The Gunners would have made him drunk thrice a day for at least a fortnight. Even the Colonel of his own regiment complimented him upon his coolness, and the local paper called him a hero. These things did not puff him up. When the Major offered him money and thanks, the virtuous Corporal took the one and put aside the other. But he had a request to make and prefaced it with many a Beg ypardon, Sir. Could the Major see his way to letting the Slane MKenna wedding be adorned by the presence of four Battery horses to pull a hired barouche? The Major could, and so could the Battery. Excessively so. It was a gorgeous wedding.
Wot did I do it for? said Corporal Slane. For the orses o course. Jhansi aint a beauty to look at, but I wasnt goin to ave a hired turn-out. Jerry Blazes? If I adnt a wanted something, Sim might ha blowed Jerry Blazes blooming ead into Hirish stew for aught Id a cared.
And they hanged Private Simmonshanged him as high as Haman in hollow square of the regiment; and the Colonel said it was Drink; and the Chaplain was sure it was the Devil; and Simmons fancied it was both, but he didnt know, and only hoped his fate would be a warning to his companions; and half a dozen intelligent publicists wrote six beautiful leading articles on The Prevalence of Crime in the Army.
But not a soul thought of comparing the bloody-minded Simmons to the squawking, gaping schoolgirl with which this story opens.
For instance, Ortheris was sitting on the drawbridge of the main gate of Fort Amara, with his hands in his pockets and his pipe, bowl down, in his mouth. Learoyd was lying at full length on the turf of the glacis, kicking his heels in the air, and I came round the corner and asked for Mulvaney.
Ortheris spat into the Ditch and shook his head. No good seein im now, said Ortheris; es a bloomin camel. Listen.
I heard on the flags of the veranda opposite to the cells, which are close to the Guard-Room, a measured step that I could have identified out of the tramp of an army. There were twenty paces crescendo, a pause, and then twenty diminuendo.
Thats im, said Ortheris; my Gawd, thats im! All for a bloomin button you could see your face in an a bit o lip that a bloomin Harkangel would a guv back.
Mulvaney was doing pack-drill-was compelled, that is to say, to walk up and down for certain hours in full marching order, with rifle, bayonet, ammunition, knapsack, and overcoat. And his offence was being dirty on parade! I nearly fell into the Fort Ditch with astonishment and wrath, for Mulvaney is the smartest man that ever mounted guard, and would as soon think of turning out uncleanly as of dispensing with his trousers.
Who was the Sergeant that checked him, I asked.
Mullins, o course, said Ortheris. There aint no other man would whip im on the peg so. But Mullins aint a man. Es a dirty little pig scraper, thats wot e is.
What did Mulvaney say? Hes not the make of man to take that quietly.
Say! Bin better for im if ed shut is mouth. Lord, ow we laughed! Sargint, e sez, ye say Im dirty. Well, sez e, when your wife lets you blow your own nose for yourself, perhaps youll know wot dirt is. Youre himperfecly eddicated, Sargint, sez e, an then we fell in. But after prade, e was up an Mullins was swearin imself black in the face at Ordly-Room that Mulvaney ad called im a swine an Lord knows wot all. You know Mullins. Ell ave is ead broke in one o these days. Es too big a bloomin liar for ordnary consumption. Three hours can an kit, sez the Colonel; not for bein dirty on prade, 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 never speaks to the Colonel for fear o gettin imself fresh copped.
Mullins, a very young and very much married Sergeant, whose manners were partly the result of innate depravity and partly of imperfectly digested Board School, came over the bridge, and most rudely asked Ortheris what he was doing.
Me? said Ortheris. Ow! Im waiting for my Cmission. Seed it comin along yit?
Mullins turned purple and passed on. There was the sound of a gentle chuckle from the glacis where Learoyd lay.
E expects to get his Cmission some day, explained Ortheris. Gawd elp the Mess that ave to put their ands into the same kiddy as im! Wot time dyou make it, sir? Fower! Mulvaneyll be out in arf an hour. You dont want to buy a dorg, sir, do you? A pup you can trustarf Rampur by the Colonels greyound.
Ortheris, I answered sternly, for I knew what was in his mind, do you mean to say that
I didnt mean to arx money o you, anyow, said Ortheris. Id a sold you the dorg good an cheap, butbutI know Mulvaneyll want somethin after weve walked im orf, an I aint got nothin, nor e asnt neither. Id sooner sell you the dorg, sir. Strewth I would!
A shadow fell on the drawbridge, and Ortheris began to rise into the air, lifted by a huge hand upon his collar.
Onnything but t braass, said Learoyd quietly, as he held the Londoner over the Ditch. Onnything but t braass, Orthris, ma son! Ahve got one rupee eight annas ma own. He showed two coins, and replaced Ortheris on the drawbridge rail.
Very good, I said; where are you going to?
Goin to walk im orf wen e comes outtwo miles or three or fower, said Ortheris.
The footsteps within ceased. I heard the dull thud of a knapsack falling on a bedstead, followed by the rattle of arms. Ten minutes later, Mulvaney, faultlessly dressed, his lips tight and his face as black as a thunderstorm, stalked into the sunshine on the drawbridge. Learoyd and Ortheris sprang from my side and closed in upon him, both leaning towards him as horses lean upon the pole. In an instant they had disappeared down the sunken road to the cantonments, and I was left 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 figures of the Three Musketeers grow smaller and smaller across the plain. They were walking as fast as they could put foot to the ground, and their heads were bowed. They fetched a great compass round the parade-ground, skirted the Cavalry lines, and vanished in the belt of trees that fringes the low land by the river.
I followed slowly, and sighted themdusty, sweating, but still keeping up their long, swinging trampon the river bank. They crashed through the Forest Reserve, headed towards the Bridge of Boats, and presently established themselves on the bow of one of the pontoons. I rode cautiously till I saw three puffs of white smoke rise and die out in the clear evening air, and knew that peace had come again. At the bridge-head they waved me forward with gestures of welcome.
Tie up your orse, shouted Ortheris, an come on, sir. Were all goin ome in this ere bloomin boat.
From the bridge-head to the Forest Officers bungalow is but a step. The mess-man was there, and would see that a man held my horse. Did the Sahib require aught elsea peg, or beer? Ritchie Sahib had left half-a-dozen bottles of the latter, but since the Sahib was a friend of Ritchie Sahib, and he, the mess-man, was a poor man
I gave my order quietly, and returned to the bridge. Mulvaney had taken off his boots, and was dabbling his toes in the water; Learoyd was lying on his back on the pontoon; and Ortheris was pretending to row with a big bamboo.
Im an ould fool, said Mulvaney reflectively, dhraggin you two out here bekaze I was undher the Black Dogsulkin like a child. Me that was sodgerin when Mullins, an be damned to him, was shquealin on a counterpin for five shillin a weekan that not paid! Bhoys, Ive tuk you five miles out av natural pivarsity. Phew!
Wots the odds as long as youre appy? said Ortheris, applying himself afresh to the bamboo. As well ere as anywhere else.
Learoyd held up a rupee and an eight-anna bit, and shook his head sorrowfully. Five miles from t Canteen, all along o Mulvaaneys blaasted pride.
I know ut, said Mulvaney penitently. Why will ye come wid me? An yet I wud be mortial sorry av ye did notany timethough I am ould enough to know betther. But I will do penance. I will take a dhrink av wather.
Ortheris squeaked shrilly. The butler of the Forest bungalow was standing near the railings with a basket, uncertain how to clamber down to the pontoon.
Might a knowd youd a got liquor out o bloomin desert, sir, said Ortheris gracefully to me. Then to the mess-man: Easy with them there bottles. Theyre worth their weight in gold. Jock, ye long-armed beggar, get out o that an hike em down.
Learoyd had the basket on the pontoon in an instant, and the Three Musketeers gathered round it with dry lips. They drank my health in due and ancient form, and thereafter tobacco tasted sweeter than ever. They absorbed all the beer, and disposed themselves in picturesque attitudes to admire the setting sunno man speaking for a while.
Mulvaneys head dropped upon his chest, and we thought that he was asleep.
What on earth did you come so far for? I whispered to Ortheris.
To walk im orf, o course. When, es been checked we allus walks im orf. E aint fit to be spoke to those timesnor e aint fit to leave alone neither. So we takes im till e is.
Mulvaney raised his head, and stared straight into the sunset. I had my rifle, said he dreamily, an I had my baynit, an Mullins came round the corner, an he looked in my face an grinned dishpiteful. You cant blow your own nose, sez he. Now, I cannot tell fwhat Mullinss expayrience may ha been, but, Mother av God, he was nearer to his death that minut than I have iver been to mineand thats less than the thicknuss av a hair!
Yes, said Ortheris calmly, youd look fine with all your buttons took orf, an the Band in front o you, walkin roun slow time. Were both front-rank men, me an Jock, when the Rigments in ollow square. Bloomin fine youd look. The Lord giveth an the Lord taketh awai,Heasy with that there drop!Blessed be the naime o the Lord. He gulped in a quaint and suggestive fashion.
Mullins! Whats Mullins? said Learoyd slowly. Ahd taake a coompny o Mullinsesma hand behind me. Sitha, Mulvaaney, dont be a fool.
You were not checked for fwhat you did not do, an made a mock av afther. Twas for less than that the Tyrone wud ha sent OHara 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.
This ould fool whos sorry he did not shtick that pig Mullins. His head dropped again. When he raised it he shivered and put his hands on the shoulders of his two companions.
Yeve walked the Divil out av me, bhoys, said he.
Ortheris shot out the red-hot dottle of his pipe on the back of the hairy fist. They say Ells otter than that, said he, as Mulvaney swore aloud. You be warned so. Look yonder!he pointed across the river to a ruined templeMe an you an imhe indicated me by a jerk of his headwas there one day when Hi made a bloomin show o myself. You an im stopped me doin suchan Hi was ony wishful for to desert. You are makin a bigger bloomin show o yourself now.
Dont mind him, Mulvaney, I said; Dinah Shadd wont let you hang yourself yet awhile, and you dont intend to try it either. Lets hear about the Tyrone and OHara. Rafferty shot him for fooling with his wife. What happened before that?
Theres no fool like an ould fool. Ye know ye can do anythin wid me whin Im talkin. Did I say I wud like to cut Mullinss liver out? I deny the imputashin, for fear that Orthris here wud report meAh! You wud tip me into the river, wud you? Set quiet, little man. Anyways, Mullins is not worth the throuble av an extry prade, an I will trate him wid outrajis contimpt. The Tyrone an OHara! OHara an the Tyrone, begad! Ould days are hard to bring back into the mouth, but theyre always inside the head.
Followed a long pause.
OHara was a Divil. Though I saved him, for the honour av the Rigmint, from his death that time, I say it now. He was a Divila long, bould, black-haired Divil.
Which way? asked Ortheris. Wimmen.
Then I know another.
Not more than in reason, if you mane me, ye warped walkin-shtick. I have been young, an for why shud I not have tuk what I cud? Did I iver, whin I was Corpril, use the rise av my rankwan step an that taken away, mores the sorrow an the fault av me!to prosecute nefarious inthrigues, as OHara did? Did I, whin I was Corpril, lay my spite upon a man an make his life a dogs life from day to day? Did I lie, as OHara lied, till the young wans in the Tyrone turned white wid the fear av the Judgment av God killin thim all in a lump, as ut killed the woman at Devizes? I did not! I have sinned my sins an I have made my confesshin, an Father Victor knows the worst av me. OHara was tuk, before he cud spake, on Raffertys door stip, an no man knows the worst av him. But this much I know!
The Tyrone was recruited any fashion in the ould days. A draf from Connemaraa draf from Portsmoutha draf from Kerry, an that was a blazin bad drafhere, there, and ivrywherebut the large av thim was IrishBlack Irish. Now there are Irish an Irish. The good are good as the best, but the bad are wurrse than the wurrst. Tis this way. They clog together in pieces as fast as thieves, an no wan knows fwhat they will do till wan turns informer an the gang is bruk. But ut begins agin, a day later, meetin in holes an corners an swearin bloody oaths an shtickin a man in the back an runnin away, an thin waitin for the blood-money on the reward papersto see if uts worth enough. Those are the Black Irish, an tis they that bring dishgrace upon the name av Ireland, an thim I wud killas I nearly killed wan wanst.
But to reshume. My roomtwas before I was marriedwas wid twelve av the scum av the earththe pickins av the gutthermane men that wud neither laugh nor talk nor yet get dhrunk as a man shud. They thried some av their dogs thricks on me, but I dhrew a line round my cot, an the man that thransgressed ut wint into hospital for three days good.
OHara had put his spite on the roomhe was my Colour-Sargintan nothing cud we do to plaze him. I was younger than I am now, an I tuk fwhat I got in the way av dhressing-down and punishmint-dhrill wid me tongue in me cheek. But it was diffrint wid the others, an why I cannot say, excipt that some men are borrun mane an go to dhirty murther where a fist is more than enough. Afther a whoile, they changed their chune to me an was desprit frienlyall twelve av thim cursin OHara in chorus.
Eyah! sez I, OHaras a divil and Im not for denyin ut, but is he the only man in the wurruld? Let him go. Hell get tired av findin our kit foul an our coutrements on properly kep.
We will not let him go, sez they.
Thin take him, sez I, an a dashed poor yield you will get for your throuble.
Is he not misconductin himsilf wid Slimmys wife? sez another.
Shes common to the Rigmint, sez I. Fwhat has made ye this particlar on a suddint?
Has he not put his spite on the roomful av us? Can we do anythin that he will not check us for? sez another.
Thats thrue, sez I.
Will ye not help us to do aught, sez anothera big bould man like you?
I will break his head upon his shoulthers av he puts hand on me, sez I. I will give him the lie av he says that Im dhirty, an I wud not mind duckin him in the Artillery troughs if ut was not that Im thryin for me shtripes.
Is that all ye will do? sez another. Have ye no more spunk than that, ye blood-dhrawn calf?
Blood-dhrawn I may be, says I, gettin back to my cot an makin my line round ut; but ye know that the man who comes acrost this mark will be more blood-dhrawn than me. No man gives me the name in my mouth, I sez. Ondhersthand, I will have no part wid you in anythin ye do, nor will I raise my fist to my shuperior. Is any wan comin 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 ondacintly dhrunk in my legs. My head was all reasonable.
Houligan, I sez to a man in E Compny that was by way av bein a frind av mine; Im overtuk from the belt down. Do you give me the touch av your shoulther to presarve me formashin an march me acrost the ground into the high grass. Ill sleep ut off there, sez I; an Houliganhes dead now, but good he was whoile he lastedwalked wid me, givin me the touch whin I wint wide, ontil we came to the high grass, an, my faith, sky an earth was fair rowlin undher me. I made for where the grass was thickust, an there I slep off my liquor wid an aisy conscience. I did not desire to come on the 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 me mouth. I had not learned to hould my liquor wid comfort in thim days. Tis little betther I am now. I will get Houligan to pour a bucket over my head, thinks I, an I wud ha risen, but I heard some wan say: Mulvaney can take the blame av ut for the backslidin hound he is.
Oho! sez I, an me head ringing like a guard-room gong: fwhat is the blame that this young man must take to oblige Tim Vulmea? For twas Tim Vulmea that shpoke.
I turned on me belly an crawled through the grass, a bit at a time, to where the spache came from. There was the twelve av my room sittin down in a little patch, the dhry grass wavin above their heads an the sin av black murther in their hearts. I put the stuff aside to get clear view.
Fwhats that? sez wan man, jumpin up.
A dog, says Vulmea. Youre a nice hand to this job! As I said, Mulvaney will take the blameav ut comes to a pinch.
Tis harrd to swear a mans life away, sez a young wan.
Thank ye for that, thinks I. Now, fwhat the divil are you paragins conthrivin agin me?
Tis as aisy as dhrinkin your quart, sez Vulmea. At sivin or thereon, OHara will come acrost to the Married Quarters, goin to call on Slimmys wife, the swine! Wan av us ll pass the wurrud to the room an we shtart the divil an all av a shinelaughin an crackin on an trowin our boots about. Thin OHara will come to give us the ordher to be quiet, the more by token bekaze the room lamp will be knocked over in the larkin. He will take the straight road to the ind door where theres the lamp in the veranda, an thatll bring him clear agin the light as he shtands. He will not be able to look into the dhark. Wan av us will loose off, an a close shot ut will be, an shame to the man that misses. Twill be Mulvaneys rifle, she that is at the head av the racktheres no mishtakin that long-shtocked, cross-eyed bitch even in the dhark.
The thief misnamed my ould firin-piece out av jealousyI was pershuaded av thatan ut made me more angry than all.
But Vulmea goes on: OHara will dhrop, an by the time the lights lit agin, therell be some six av us on the chest av Mulvaney, cryin murther an rape. Mulvaneys cot is near the ind door, an the shmokin rifle will be lyin undher him whin weve knocked him over. We know, an all the Rigmint knows, that Mulvaney has given OHara more lip than any man av us. Will there be any doubt at the Coort-Martial? Wud twelve honust sodger-bhoys swear away the life av a dear, quiet, swate-timpered man such as is Mulvaneywid his line av pipe-clay roun his cot, threatenin us wid murther av we overshtepped ut, as we can truthful testify?
Mary, Mother av Mercy! thinks I to mesilf; ut is this to have an unruly mimber an fistes fit to use! The hounds!
The big dhrops ran down my face, for I was wake wid the liquor an had not the full av my wits about me. I laid sthill an heard thim workin thimsilves up to swear me life away by tellin tales av ivry time I had put my mark on wan or another; an, my faith, they was few that was not so dishtinguished. Twas all in the way av fair fight, though, for niver did I raise my hand excipt whin they had provoked me to ut.
Tis all well, sez wan av thim, but whos to do this shootin?
Fwhat matther? sez Vulmea. Tis Mulvaney will do thatat the Coort-Martial.
He will so, sez the man, but whose hand is put to the thrigger
Wholl do ut? sez Vulmea, lookin round, but divil a man answered. They began to dishpute till Kiss, that was always playin Shpoil Five, sez: Thry the kyards! Wid that he opind his tunic an tuk out the greasy palammers, an they all fell in wid the notion.
Deal on! sez Vulmea, wid a big rattlin oath, an the Black Curse av Shielygh come to the man that will not do his jooty as the kyards say. Amin!
Black Jack is the masther, sez Kiss, dealin. Black Jack, sorr, I shud expaytiate to you, is the Ace av Shpades which from time immimorial has been intimately connect wid battle, murther, an suddin death.
Wanst Kiss dealt, an there was no sign, but the men was whoite wid the workins av their sowls. Twice Kiss dealt, an there was a grey shine on their cheeks like the mess av an egg. Three times Kiss dealt, an they was blue. Have ye not lost him? sez Vulmea, wipin the sweat on him; lets ha done quick! Quick ut is, sez Kiss, throwin him the kyard; an ut fell face up on his kneeBlack Jack!
Thin they all cackled wid laughin. Jooty thrippence, sez wan av thim, an damned cheap at that price! But I cud see they all dhrew a little away from Vulmea an lef him sittin playin wid the kyard. Vulmea sez no wurrud for a whoile but licked his lipscat-ways. Thin he threw up his head an made the men swear by ivry oath known to stand by him not alone in the room but at the, Coort-Martial that was to set on me! He tould off five av the biggest to stretch me on my cot whin the shot was fired, an another man he tould off to put out the light, an yet another to load my rifle. He wud not do that himsilf; an that was quare, for twas but a little thing considherin.
Thin they swore over agin that they wud not bethray wan another, an crep out av the grass in diffrint ways, two by two. A mercy ut was that they did not come on me. I was sick wid fear in the pit av me stummicksick, sick, sick! Afther they was all gone, I wint back to Canteen an called for a quart to put a thought in me. Vulmea was there, dhrinkin heavy, an politeful to me beyond reason. Fwhat will I do?fwhat will I do? thinks I to mesilf whin Vulmea wint away.
Prisintly the Armrer-Sargint comes in stiffin an crackin on, not plazed wid any wan, bekaze the Martini-Henry bein new to the Rigmint in those days we used to play the mischief wid her arrangemints. Twas a long time before I cud get out av the way av thryin to pull back the backsight an turnin her over afther firinas if she was a Snider.
Fwhat tailor-men do they give me to work wid? sez the Armrer-Sargint. Heres Hogan, his nose flat as a table, laid by for a week, an ivry Compny sendin their arrums in knocked to small shivreens.
Fwhats wrong wid Hogan, Sargint? sez I.
Wrong! sez the Armrer-Sargint; I showed him, as though I had been his mother, the way av shtrippin a Tini, an he shtrup her clane an aisy. I tould him to put her to agin an fire a blank into the blow-pit to show how the dhirt hung on the groovin. He did that, but he did not put in the pin av the fallin-block, an av coorse whin he fired he was strook by the block jumpin clear. Well for him twas but a blanka full charge wud ha cut his eye out.
I looked a thrifle wiser than a boiled sheeps head. Hows that, Sargint? sez I.
This way, ye blundherin man, an dont you be doin ut, sez he. Wid that he shows me a Waster actionthe breech av her all cut away to show the insidean so plazed he was to grumble that he dimonsthrated fwhat Hogan had done twice over. An that comes av not knowin the wepping youre provided wid, sez he.
Thank ye, Sargint, sez I; I will come to you agin for further informashin.
Ye will not, sez he. Kape your claninrod away from the breech-pin or you will get into throuble.
I wint outside an I cud ha danced wid delight for the grandeur av ut. They will load my rifle, good luck to thim, whoile Im away, thinks I, and back I wint to the Canteen to give thim their clear chanst.
The Canteen was fillip wid men at the ind av the day. I made feign to be far gone in dhrink, an, wan by wan, all my roomful came in wid Vulmea. I wint away, walkin thick an heavy, but not so thick an heavy that any wan cud ha tuk me. Sure an thrue, there was a kyartridge gone from my pouch an lyin snug in my rifle. I was hot wid rage agin them all, and I worried the bullet out wid me teeth as fast as I cud, the room bein empty. Then I tuk my boot an the clanin-rod and knocked out the pin av the fallinblock. Oh, twas music whin that pin rowled on the flure! I put ut into my pouch an shtuck a dab av dhirt on the holes in the plate, puttin the fallin-block back. Thatll do your business, Vulmea, sez I, lyin aisy on me cot. Come an sit on me chest, the whole room av you, an I will take you to me bosom for the biggest divils that iver cheated halter. I wud have no mercy on Vulmea. His eye or his lifelittle I cared
At dusk they came back, the twelve av thim, an they had all been dhrinkin. I was shammin sleep on the cot. Wan man wint outside in the veranda. Whin he whishtled they began to rage roun the room an carry on tremenjus. But I niver want to hear men laugh as they didsky-larkin too! Twas like mad jackals.
Shtop that blasted noise! sez OHara in the dark, an pop goes the room lamp. I cud hear OHara runnin up an the rattlin av my rifle in the rack an the men breathin heavy as they stud roun my cot. I cud see OHara in the light av the veranda lamp, an thin I heard the crack av my rifle. She cried loud, poor darlint, bein mishandled. Next minut five men were houldin me down. Go aisy, I sez; fwhats ut all about?
Thin Vulmea, on the flure, raised a howl you cud hear from wan ind av cantonmints to the other. Im dead, Im butchered, Im blind! sez he. Saints have mercy on my sinful sowl! Sind for Father Constant! Oh, sind for Father Constant an let me go clane! By that I knew he was not so dead as I cud ha wished.
OHara picks up the lamp in the veranda wid a hand as stiddy as a rest. Fwhat damned dogs thrick is this av yours? sez he, and turns the light on Tim Vulmea that was shwimmin in blood from top to toe. The fallin-block had sprung free behin a full charge av powthergood care I tuk to bite down the brass afther takin out the bullet, that there might be somethin to give ut full worth-an had cut Tim from the lip to the corner av the right eye, lavin the eyelid in tatthers, an so up an along by the forehead to the hair. Twas more av a rakin plough, if you will ondhersthand, than a clane cut; an niver did I see a man bleed as Vulmea did. The dhrink an the stew that he was in pumped the blood strong. The minut the men sittin on my chest heard OHara spakin they scatthered each wan to his cot, an cried out very politeful: Fwhat is ut, Sargint?
Fwhat is ut! sez OHara, shakin Tim. Well an good do you know fwhat ut is, ye skulkin ditch-lurkin dogs! Get a dooli, an take this whimperin scutt away. There will be more heard av ut than any av you will care for.
Vulmea sat up rockin his head in his hand an moanin for Father Constant.
Be done! sez OHara, dhraggin him up by the hair. Youre none so dead that you cannot go fifteen years for thryin to shoot me.
I did not, sez Vulmea; I was shootin mesilf.
Thats quare, sez OHara, for the front av my jackut is black wid your powther. He tuk up the rifle that was still warm an began to laugh. Ill make your life Hell to you, sez he, for attempted murther an kapin your rifle onproperly. Youll be hanged first an thin put undher stoppages for four fifteen. The rifles done for, sez he.
Why, tis my rifle! sez I, comin up to look. Vulmea, ye divil, fwhat were you doin wid heranswer me that?
Lave me alone, sez Vulmea; Im dyin!
Ill wait till youre betther, sez I, an thin we two will talk ut out umbrageous.
OHara pitched Tim into the dooli, none too tinder, but all the bhoys kep by their cots, which was not the sign av innocint men. I was huntin ivrywhere for my fallin-block, but not findin ut at all. I niver found ut.
Now fwhat will I do? sez OHara, swinging the veranda light in his hand an lookin down the room. I had hate and contimpt av OHara an I have now, dead tho he is, but for all that will I say he was a brave man. He is baskin in Purgathory this tide, but I wish he cud hear that, whin he stud lookin down the room an the bhoys shivered before the eye av him, I knew him for a brave man an I liked him so.
Fwhat will I do? sez OHara agin, an we heard the voice av a woman low an sof in the veranda. Twas Slimmys wife, come over at the shot, sittin on wan av the benches an scarce able to walk.
0 Denny!Denny, dear, sez she, have they kilt you?
OHara looked down the room agin an showed his teeth to the gum. Thin he spat on the flure.
Youre not worth ut, sez he. Light that lamp, ye dogs, an wid that he turned away, an I saw him walkin off wid Slimmys wife; she thryin to wipe off the powther-black on the front av his jackut wid her handkerchief. A brave man you are, thinks Ia brave man an a bad woman.
No wan said a wurrud for a time. They was all ashamed, past spache.
Fwhat dyou think he will do? sez wan av thim at last. He knows were all in ut.
Are we so? sez I from my cot. The man that sez that to me will be hurt. I do not know, sez I, fwhat ondherhand divilmint you have conthrived, but by fwhat Ive seen I know that you cannot commit murther wid another mans riflesuch shakin cowards you are. Im goin to slape, I sez, an you can blow my head off whoile I lay. I did not slape, though, for a long time. Can ye wonder?
Next morn the news was through all the Rigmint, an there was nothin that the men did not tell. OHara reports, fair an aisy, 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 the impartnince to say that he was on the shpot at the time an cud certify that ut was an accidint! You might ha knocked my roomful down wid a straw whin they heard that. Twas lucky for thim that the bhoys were always thryin to find out how the new rifle was made, an a lot av thim had come up for aisin the pull by shtickin bits av grass an such in the part av the lock that showed near the thrigger. The first issues of the Tinis was not covered in, an I mesilf have aised the pull av mine time an agin. A light pull is ten points on the range to me.
I will not have this foolishness! sez the Colonel. I will twist the tail off Vulmea! sez he; but whin he saw him, 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. 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 punishmint.
OHara gave no reason for fwhat hed said, an all my roomful were too glad to ask, tho he put his spite upon thim more wearin than before. Wan day, howiver, he tuk me apart very polite, for he cud be that at his choosin.
Youre a good sodger, tho youre a damned insolint man, sez he.
Fair wurruds, Sargint, sez I, or I may be insolint agin.
Tis not like you, sez he, to lave your rifle in the rack widout the breech-pin, for widout the breech-pin she was whin Vulmea fired. I shud ha found the 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 my sowl, my life wud be worth just as much to me av I tould you whether ut was or was not? Be thankful the bullet was not there, I sez.
Thats thrue, sez he, pulling his moustache; but I do not believe that you, for all your lip, were in that business.
Sargint, sez I, I cud hammer the life out av a man in ten minuts wid my fistes if that man dishplazed me; for I am a good sodger, an I will be threated as such, an whoile my fistes are my own theyre strong enough for all the work I have to do. They do not fly back towards me! sez I, lookin him betune the eyes.
Youre a good man, sez he, lookin me betune the eyesan oh, he was a gran-built man to see!youre a good man, he sez, an I cud wish, for the pure frolic av ut, that I was not a Sargint, or that you were not a Privit; an you will think me no coward whin I say this thing.
I do not, sez I. I saw you whin Vulmea mishandled the rifle. But, Sargint, I sez, take the wurrud from me now, spakin as man to man wid the shtripes off, tho tis little right I have to talk, me bein fwhat I am by natur. This time ye tuk no harm, an next time ye may not, but, in the ind, so sure as Slimmys wife came into the veranda, so sure will ye take harman bad harm. Have thought, Sargint, sez I. Is ut worth ut?
Yere a bould man, sez he, breathin harrd. A very bould man. But I am a bould man tu. Do you go your ways, Privit Mulvaney, an I will go mine.
We had no further spache thin or afther, but, wan by another, he drafted the twelve av my room out into other rooms an got thim spread among the Compnies, for they was not a good breed to live together, an the Compny Orfcers saw ut. They wud ha shot me in the night av they had known fwhat I knew; but that they did not.
An, in the ind, as I said, OHara met his death from Rafferty for foolin wid his wife. He wint his own way too wellEyah, too well! Shtraight to that affair, widout turnin to the right or to the lef, he wint, an may the Lord have mercy on his sowl. Amin!
Ear! ear! said Ortheris, pointing the moral with a wave of his pipe. An this is im oo would be a bloomin Vulmea all for the sake of Mullins an a bloomin button! Mullins never went after a woman in his life. Mrs. Mullins, she saw im one day
Ortheris, I said hastily, for the romances of Private Ortheris are all too daring for publication, look at the sun. Its a quarter past six!
Oh, Lord! Three-quarters of an hour for five an a arf miles! Well 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 trotted steadily through the shadows by an unfrequented road.
At the turn into the cantonments we heard carriage wheels. It was the Colonels barouche, and in it sat the Colonels wife and daughter. I caught a suppressed chuckle, and my beast sprang forward with a lighter step.
The Three Musketeers had vanished into the night.
MISS DEERCOURT. And he said: I shall never forget this dance, and, of course, I said: Oh, how can you be so silly! Do you think he meant anything, dear?
MISS THREEGAN. (Extracting long lavender silk stocking from the rubbish.) You know him better than I do.
MISS D. Oh, do be sympathetic, Minnie! Im sure he does. At least I would be sure if he wasnt always riding with that odious Mrs. Hagan.
MISS T. I suppose so. How does one manage to dance through ones heels first? Look at thisisnt it shameful? (Spreads stocking-heel on open hand for inspection.)
MISS D. Never mind that! You cant mend it. Help me with this hateful bodice. Ive run the string so, and Ive run the string so, and I cant make the fulness come right. Where would you put this? (Waves lilies of the valley.)
MISS T. As high up on the shoulder as possible.
MISS D. Am I quite tall enough? I know it makes May Older look lopsided.
MISS T. Yes, but May hasnt your shoulders. Hers are like a hock-bottle.
BEARER. (Rapping at door.) Captain Sahib aya.
MISS D. (Jumping up wildly, and hunting for bodice, which she has discarded owing to the heat of the day.) Captain Sahib! What Captain Sahib? Oh, good gracious, and Im only half dressed! Well, I shant bother.
MISS T. (Calmly.) You neednt. It isnt for us. Thats Captain Gadsby. He is going for a ride with Mamma. He generally comes five days out of the seven.
AGONIZED VOICE. (From an inner apartment.) Minnie, run out and give Captain Gadsby some tea, and tell him I shall be ready in ten minutes; and, O Minnie, come to me an instant, theres a dear girl!
MISS T. Oh, bother! (Aloud.) Very well, Mamma.
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 wont let it out. Where are my bangles? (Rummager on the toilet-table, and dabs at her hair with a brush in the interval.)
MISS D. Who is this Captain Gadsby? I dont think Ive met him.
MISS T. You must have. He belongs to the Harrar set. Ive danced with him, but Ive never talked to him. Hes a big yellow man, just like a newly-hatched chicken, with an enormous moustache. He walks like this (imitates Cavalry swagger), and he goes HaHmmm! deep down in his throat when he cant think of anything to say. Mamma likes him. I dont.
MISS D. (Abstractedly.) Does he wax that moustache?
MISS T. (Busy with Powder-puff.) Yes, I think so. Why?
MISS D. (Bending over the bodice and sewing furiously.) Oh, nothingonly
MISS T. (Sternly.) Only what? Out with it, Emma.
MISS D. Well, May Olgershes engaged to Mr. Charteris, you knowsaidPromise you wont repeat this?
MISS T. Yes, I promise. What did she say?
MISS D. Thatthat being kissed (with a rush) with a man who didnt wax his moustache waslike eating an egg without salt.
MISS T. (At her full height, with crushing scorn.) May Olger is a horrid, nasty Thing, and you can tell her I said so. Im glad she doesnt belong to my setI must go and feed this man! Do I look presentable?
MISS D. Yes, perfectly. Be quick and hand him over to your Mother, and then we can talk. I shall listen at the door to hear what you say to him.
MISS T. Sure I dont care. Im not afraid of Captain Gadsby.
In proof of this swings into the drawing-room with a mannish stride followed by two short steps, which Produces the effect of a restive horse entering. Misses CAPTAIN GADSBY, who is sitting 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.) Good evening, Captain Gadsby. Mamma told me to say that she will be ready in a few minutes. Wont you have some tea? (Aside.) I hope Mamma will be quick. What am I to say to the creature? (Aloud and abruptly.) Milk and sugar?
CAPT. G. No sugar, tha-anks, and very little milk. HaHmmm.
MISS T. (Aside.) If hes going to do that, Im lost. I shall laugh. I know I shall!
CAPT. G. (Pulling at his moustache and watching it sideways down his nose.) HaHmmm. (Aside.) Wonder what the little beast can talk about. Must make a shot at it.
MISS T. (Aside.) Oh, this is agonizing. I must say something.
BOTH TOGETHER. Have you been
CAPT. G. I beg your pardon. You were going to say
MISS T. (Who has been watching the moustache with awed fascination.) Wont you have some eggs?
CAPT. G. (Looking bewilderedly at the tea-table.) Eggs! (Aside.) O Hades! She must have a nursery-tea at this hour. Spose theyve wiped her mouth and sent her to me while the Mother is getting on her duds. (Aloud.) No, thanks.
MISS T. (Crimson with confusion.) Oh! I didnt mean that. I wasnt thinking of moueggs for an instant. I mean salt. Wont you have some sasweets? (Aside.) Hell think me a raving lunatic. I wish Mamma would come.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) It was a nursery-tea and shes ashamed of it. By Jove! She doesnt look half bad when she colors up like that. (Aloud, helping himself from the dish.) Have you seen those new chocolates at Pelitis?
MISS T. No, I made these myself. What are they like?
CAPT. G. These! De-licious. (Aside.) And thats a fact.
MISS T. (Aside.) Oh, bother! hell think Im fishing for compliments. (Aloud.) No, Pelitis of course.
CAPT. G. (Enthusiastically.) Not to compare with these. How dyou make them? I cant get my khansamah to understand the simplest thing beyond mutton and fowl.
MISS T. Yes? Im not a khansamah, you know. Perhaps you frighten him. You should never frighten a servant. He loses his head. Its very bad policy.
CAPT. G. Hes so awfly stupid.
MISS T. (Folding her hands in her lap.) You should call him quietly and say: O khansamah jee!
CAPT. G. (Getting interested.) Yes? (Aside.) Fancy that little featherweight saying, O khansamah jee to my bloodthirsty Mir Khan!
MISS T. Then you should explain the dinner, dish by dish.
CAPT. G. But I cant speak the vernacular.
MISS T. (Patronizingly.) You should pass the Higher Standard and try.
CAPT. G. I have, but I dont seem to be any the wiser. Are you?
MISS T. I never passed the Higher Standard. But the khansamah is very patient with me. He doesnt get angry when I talk about sheeps topees, or order maunds of grain when I mean seers.
CAPT. G. (Aside with intense indignation.) Id like to see Mir Khan being rude to that girl! Hullo! Steady the Buffs! (Aloud.) And do you understand about horses, too?
MISS T. A littlenot very much. I cant doctor them, but I know what they ought to eat, and I am in charge of our stable.
CAPT. G. Indeed! You might help me then. What ought 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 Simla allowanceneither more nor less. And a grass-cut gets six rupees. Thats better than buying grass in the bazar.
CAPT. G. (Admiringly.) How do you know?
MISS T. I have tried both ways.
CAPT. G. Do you ride much, then? Ive never seen you on the Mall.
MISS T. (Aside.) I havent passed him more than fifty times. (Aloud.) Nearly every day.
CAPT. G. By Jove! I didnt know that. HaHmmm (Pulls at his mousache and is silent for forty seconds.)
MISS T. (Desperately, and wondering what will happen next.) It looks beautiful. I shouldnt touch it if I were you. (Aside.) Its all Mammas fault for not coming before. I will be rude!
CAPT. G. (Bronzing under the tan and bringing down his hand very quickly.) Eh! What-at! Oh, yes! Ha! Ha! (Laughs uneasily.) (Aside.) Well, of all the dashed cheek! I never had a woman say that to me yet. She must be a cool hand or elseAh! that nursery-tea!
VOICE FROM THE UNKNOWN. Tchk! Tchk! Tchk!
CAPT. G. Good gracious! Whats that?
MISS T. The dog, I think. (Aside.) Emma has been listening, and Ill never forgive her!
CAPT. G. (Aside.) They dont keep dogs here. (Aloud.) Didnt sound like a dog, did it?
MISS T. Then it must have been the cat. Lets go into the veranda. What a lovely evening it is!
Steps into veranda and looks out across the hills into sunset. The Captain follows. |
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Superb eyes! I wonder that I never noticed them before! (Aloud.) Theres going to he a dance at Viceregal Lodge on Wednesday. Can you spare me one?
MISS T. (Shortly.) No! I dont want any of your charity-dances. You only ask me because Mamma told you to. I hop and I bump. You know I do!
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Thats true, but little girls shouldnt understand these things. (Aloud.) No, on my word, I dont. You dance beautifully.
MISS T. Then why do you always stand out after half a dozen turns? I thought officers in the Army didnt tell fibs.
CAPT. G. It wasnt a fib, believe me. I really do want the pleasure of a dance with you.
MISS T. (Wickedly.) Why? Wont Mamma dance with you any more?
CAPT. G. (More earnestly than the necessity demands.) I wasnt 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 something else.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Well! I wonder what shell say next. Ive never known a woman treat me like this before. I might bDash it, I might be an Infantry subaltern! (Aloud.) Oh, please dont trouble. Im not worth thinking about. Isnt your Mother ready yet?
MISS T. I should think so; but promise me, Captain Gadsby, you wont take poor dear Mamma twice round Jakko any more. It tires her so.
CAPT. G. She says that no exercise tires her.
MISS T. Yes, but she suffers afterward. You dont know what rheumatism is, and you oughtnt to keep her out so late, when it gets chill in the evenings.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Rheumatism. I thought she came off her horse rather in a bunch. Whew! One lives and learns. (Aloud.) Im sorry to hear that. She hasnt mentioned it to me.
MISS T. (Flurried.) Of course not! Poor dear Mamma never would. And you mustnt say that I told you either. Promise me that you wont. Oh, Captain Gadsby, promise me you wont!
CAPT. G. I am dumb, orI shall be as soon as youve given me that dance, and anotherif you can trouble yourself to think about me for a minute.
MISS T. But you wont like it one little bit. Youll be awfully sorry afterward.
CAPT. G. I shall like it above all things, and I shall only be sorry that I didnt get more. (Aside.) Now what in the world am I saying?
MISS T. Very well. You will have only yourself to thank if your toes are trodden on. Shall we say Seven?
CAPT. G. And Eleven. (Aside.) She cant be more than eight stone, but, even then, its an absurdly small foot. (Looks at his own riding boots.)
MISS T. Theyre beautifully shiny. I can almost see my face in them.
CAPT. G. I was thinking whether I should have to go on crutches for the rest of my life if you trod on my toes.
MISS T. Very likely. Why not change Eleven for a square?
CAPT. G. No, please! I want them both waltzes. Wont you write them down?
MISS T. I dont get so many dances that I shall confuse them. You will be the offender.
CAPT. G. Wait and see! (Aside.) She doesnt dance perfectly, perhaps, but
MISS T. Your tea must have got cold by this time. Wont you have another cup?
CAPT. G. No, thanks. Dont you think its pleasanter out in the veranda? (Aside.) I never saw hair take that color in the sunshine before. (Aloud.) Its like one of Dicksees pictures.
MISS T. Yes! Its a wonderful sunset, isnt it? (Bluntly.) But what do you know about Dicksees pictures?
CAPT. G. I go Home occasionally. And I used to know the Galleries. (Nervously.) You mustnt think me only a Philistine witha moustache.
MISS T. Dont! Please dont. Im so sorry for what I said then. I was horribly rude. It slipped out before I thought. Dont you know the temptation to say frightful and shocking things just for the mere sake of saying them? Im afraid I gave way to it.
CAPT. G. (Watching the girl as she flushes.) I think I know the feeling. It would be terrible if we all yielded to it, wouldnt it? For instance, I might say
POOR DEAR MAMMA. (Entering, habited, hatted, and booted.) Ah, Captain Gadsby? Sorry to keep you waiting. Hope you havent been bored. My little girl been talking to you?
MISS T. (Aside.) Im not sorry I spoke about the rheumatism. Im not! Im NOT! I only wished Id mentioned the corns too.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) What a shame! I wonder how old she is. It never occurred to me before. (Aloud.) Weve been discussing Shakespeare and the musical glasses in the veranda.
MISS T. (Aside.) Nice man! He knows that quotation. He isnt a Philistine with a moustache. (Aloud.) Good-bye, Captain Gadsby. (Aside.) What a huge hand and what a squeeze! I dont suppose he meant it, but he has driven the rings into my fingers.
POOR DEAR MAMMA. Has Vermillion come round yet? Oh, yes! Captain Gadsby, dont you think that the saddle is too far forward? (They pass into the front veranda.)
CAPT. G. (Aside.) How the dickens should I know what she prefers? She told me that she doted on horses. (Aloud.) I think it is.
MISS T. (Coming out into front veranda.) Oh! Bad Buldoo! I must speak to him for this. He has taken up the curb two links, and Vermillion hates that. (Passes out and to horses head.)
CAPT. G. Let me do it!
MISS. T. No, Vermillion understands me. Dont you, old man? (Looses curb-chain skilfully, and pats horse on nose and throttle.) Poor Vermillion! Did they want to cut his chin off? There!
Captain Gadsby watches the interlude with undisguised admiration. |
POOR DEAR MAMMA. (Tartly to Miss T.) Youve 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 hampered by too tight gauntlets.) Captain Gadsby!
CAPTAIN GADSBY stoops and makes the foot-rest. POOR DEAR MAMMA blunders, halts too long, and breaks through it. |
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Cant hold up eleven stone forever. Its all your rheumatism. (Aloud.) Cant imagine why I was so clumsy. (Aside.) Now Little Featherweight would have gone up like a bird.
They ride out of the garden. The Captain falls back. |
CAPT. G. (Aside.) How that habit catches her under the arms! Ugh!
POOR DEAR MAMMA. (With the worn smile of sixteen seasons, the worse for exchange.) Youre dull this afternoon, Captain Gadsby.
CAPT. G. (Spurring up wearily.) Why did you keep me waiting so long?
Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
GILDED YOUTH. (Sitting on railings opposite Town Hall.) Hullo, Gandy! Been trotting out the Gorgonzola! We all thought it was the Gorgan youre mashing.
CAPT. G. (With withering emphasis.) You young cub! What the does it matter to you?
Proceeds to read GILDED YOUTH a lecture on discretion and
deportment, which crumbles latter like a Chinese Lantern. Departs
fuming.
(FURTHER INTERVAL OF FIVE WEEKS.)
SCENE.Exterior of New Simla Library on a foggy evening. MISS THREECAN and MISS DEERCOURT meet among the rickshaws. Miss T. is carrying a bundle of books under her left arm |
MISS D. (Level intonation.) Well?
MISS T. (Ascending intonation.) Well?
MISS D. (Capturing her friends left arm, taking away all the books, placing books in rickshaw, returning to arm, securing hand by third finger and investigating.) Well! You bad girl! And you never told me.
MISS T. (Demurely.) Hehehe only spoke yesterday afternoon.
MISS D. Bless you, dear! And Im to be bridesmaid, arent I? You know you promised ever so long ago.
MISS T. Of course. Ill tell you all about it to-morrow. (Gets into rickshaw.) O Emma!
MISS D. (With intense interest.) Yes, dear?
MISS T. (Piano.) Its quite trueabouttheegg.
MISS D. What egg?
MISS T. (Pianissimo prestissimo.) The egg without the salt. (Porte.) Chalo ghar ko jaldi, jhampani! (Go home, jhampani.)
SCENE.Smoking-room of the Degchi Club. Time, 10.30 p.m. of a stuffy night in the Rains. Four men dispersed in picturesque attitudes and easy-chairs. To these enter BLAYNE of the Irregular Moguls, in evening dress. |
BLAYNE. Phew! The Judge ought to be hanged in his own store-godown. Hi, khitmatgar! Poora whiskey-peg, to take the taste out of my mouth.
CURTISS.(Royal Artillery.) Thats it, is it? What the deuce made you dine at the Judges? You know his bundobust.
BLAYNE. Thought it couldnt be worse than the Club, but Ill swear he buys ullaged liquor and doctors it with gin and ink (looking round the room.) Is this all 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 the Rains, and gets drunk on chlorodyne in between. Good little chap, though. Any one at the Judges, Blayne?
BLAYNE. Cockley and his memsahib looking awfully white and fagged. Female girlcouldnt catch the nameon her way to the Hills, under the Cockleys chargethe Judge, and Markyn fresh from Simladisgustingly fit.
CURTISS. Good Lord, how truly magnificent! Was there enough ice? When I mangled garbage there I got one whole lumpnearly as big as a walnut. What had 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, that reminds me! I know I hadnt come across just for the pleasure of your society. News! Great news! Markyn told me.
DOONE. Whos dead now?
BLAYNE. No one that I know of; but Gaddys hooked at 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 o God! Our Phillup! Its been given out up above.
MACKESY. (Barrister-at-Law.) Huh! Women will give out anything. What does accused say?
BLAYNE. Markyn told me that he congratulated him warilyone hand held out, tother ready to guard. Gaddy turned pink and said it was so.
CURTISS. Poor old Gaddy! They all do it. Whos she? Lets hear the details.
BLAYNE. Shes a girldaughter of a Colonel Somebody.
DOONE. Simlas stiff with Colonels daughters. Be more explicit.
BLAYNE. Wait a shake. What was her name? Threesomething. Three
CURTISS. Stars, perhaps. Gaddy knows that brand.
BLAYNE. ThreeganMinnie Threegan.
MACKESY. Threegan. Isnt she a little bit of a girl with red hair?
BLAYNE. Bout thatfrom what from what Markyn said.
MACKESY. Then Ive met her. She was at Lucknow last season. Owned a permanently juvenile Mamma, and danced damnably. I say, Jervoise, you knew the Threegans, didnt you?
JERVOISE. (Civilian of twenty-five years service, waking up from his doze.) Eh? Whats that? Knew who? How? I thought I was at Home, confound you!
MACKESY. The Threegan girls engaged, so Blayne says.
JERVOISE. (Slowly.) Engagedengaged! Bless my soul! Im getting an old man! Little Minnie Threegan engaged. It was only the other day I went home with them in the Suratno, the Massilia and she was crawling about on her hands and knees among the ayahs. Used to call me the Tick Tack Sakib because I showed her my watch. And that was in Sixty-Sevenno, Seventy. Good God, how time flies! Im an old man. I remember when Threegan married Miss Derwentdaughter of old Hooky Derwentbut that was before your time. And so the little babys engaged to have a little baby of her own! Whos the other fool?
MACKESY. Gadsby of the Pink Hussars.
JERVOISE. Never met him. Threegan lived in debt, married in debt, and ll die in debt. Must be glad to get the girl off his hands.
BLAYNE. Gaddy has moneylucky devil. Place at Home, too.
DOONE. He comes of first-class stock. Cant quite understand his being caught by a Colonels daughter, and (looking cautiously round room.) Black Infantry at that! No offence to you, Blayne.
BLAYNE. (Stiffly.) Not much, tha-anks.
CURTISS. (Quoting motto of Irregular Moguls.) We are what we are, eh, old man? But Gaddy was such a superior animal as a rule. Why didnt he go Home and pick his wife there?
MACKESY. They are all alike when they come to the turn into the straight. About thirty a man begins to get sick of living alone
CURTISS. And of the eternal muttony-chop in the morning.
DOONE. Its a dead goat as a rule, but go on, Mackesy.
MACKESY. If a mans once taken that way nothing will hold him, Do you remember Benoit of your service, Doone? They transferred him to Tharanda when his time came, and he married a platelayers daughter, or something of that kind. She was the only female about the place.
DOONE. Yes, poor brute. That smashed Benoits chances of promotion altogether. Mrs. Benoit used to ask Was you goin to the dance this evenin?
CURTISS. Hang it all! Gaddy hasnt married beneath him. Theres no tarbrush in the family, I suppose.
JERVOISE. Tar-brush! Not an anna. You young fellows talk as though the man was doing the girl an honor in marrying her. Youre all too conceitednothings good enough for you.
BLAYNE. Not even an empty Club, a dam bad dinner at the Judges, and a Station as sickly as a hospital. Youre quite right. Were a set of Sybarites.
DOONE. Luxurious dogs, wallowing in
CURTISS. Prickly heat between the shoulders. Im covered with it. Lets 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 yesterdayone diedand if we have a third, out we go. Is there any shooting at Beora, Doone?
DOONE. The countrys under water, except the patch by the Grand Trunk Road. I was there yesterday, looking at a bund, and came across four poor devils in their last stage. Its rather bad from here to Kuchara.
CURTISS. Then were pretty certain to have a heavy go of it. Heigho! I shouldnt mind changing places with Gaddy for a while. Sport with Amaryllis in the shade of the Town Hall, and all that. Oh, why doesnt somebody come and marry me, instead of letting me go into cholera-camp?
MACKESY. Ask the Committee.
CURTISS. You ruffian! Youll stand me another peg for that. Blayne, what will you take? Mackesy is fine on moral grounds. Done, have you any preference?
DOONE. Small glass Kümmel, please. Excellent carminative, these days. Anthony told me so.
MACKESY. (Signing voucher for four drinks.) Most unfair punishment. I only thought of Curtiss as Actaeon being chivied round the billiard tables by the nymphs of Diana.
BLAYNE. Curtiss would have to import his nymphs by train. Mrs. Cockleys the only woman in the Station. She wont leave Cockley, and hes doing his best to get her to go.
CURTISS. Good, indeed! Heres Mrs. Cockleys health. To the only wife in the Station and a damned brave woman!
OMNES. (Drinking.) A damned brave woman
BLAYNE. I suppose Gaddy will bring his wife here at the end of the cold weather. They are going to be married almost immediately, I believe.
CURTISS. Gaddy may thank his luck that the Pink Hussars are all detachment and no headquarters this hot weather, or hed be torn from the arms of his love as sure as death. Have you ever noticed the thorough-minded way British Cavalry take to cholera? Its because they are so expensive. If the Pinks had stood fast here, they would have been out in camp a month ago. Yes, I should decidedly like to be Gaddy.
MACKESY. Hell go Home after hes married, and send in his paperssee if he doesnt.
BLAYNE. Why shouldnt he? Hasnt he money? Would any one of us be here if we werent paupers?
DOONE. Poor old pauper! What has become of the six hundred you rooked from our table last month?
BLAYNE. It took unto itself wings. I think an enterprising tradesman got some of it, and a shroff gobbled the restor 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 dont think Id deal with a shroff either.
MACKESY. (Yawning.) Oh, its a sweet life! I wonder whether matrimony would make it sweeter.
CURTISS. Ask Cockleywith his wife dying by inches!
BLAYNE. Go home and get a fool of a girl to come out towhat is it Thackeray says?the splendid palace of an Indian pro-consul.
DOONE. Which reminds me. My quarters leak like a sieve. I had fever last night from sleeping in a swamp. And the worst of it is, one cant do anything to a roof till the Rains are over.
CURTISS. Whats wrong with you? You havent eighty rotting Tommies to take into a running stream.
DOONE. No: but Im mixed boils and bad language. Im a regular Job all over my body. Its sheer poverty of blood, and I dont see any chance of getting richereither way.
BLAYNE. Cant you take leave?
DOONE. Thats the pull you Army men have over us. Ten days are nothing in your sight. Im so important that Government cant find a substitute if I go away. Ye-es, Id like to be Gaddy, whoever his wife may be.
CURTISS. Youve 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 youre right. Im thinking of Mrs. Cockley. The womans an absolute wreck.
DOONE. Exactly. Because she stays down here. The only way to keep her fit would be to send her to the Hills for eight monthsand 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 Dehra Doones, with a fine Mussoorie chi-chi accent to bring home for the holidays.
CURTISS. And a pair of be-ewtiful sambhur-horns for Doone to wear, free of expense, presented by
DOONE. Yes, its an enchanting prospect. By the way, the rupee hasnt done falling yet. The time will come when we shall think ourselves lucky if we only lose half our pay.
CURTISS. Surely a thirds loss enough. Who gains by the arrangement? Thats what I want to know.
BLAYNE. The Silver Question! Im going to bed if you begin squabbling Thank Goodness, heres Anthonylooking like a ghost.
Enter ANTHONY, Indian Medical Staff, very white and tired. |
ANTHONY. Evening, Blayne. Its raining in sheets. Whiskey peg lao, khitmatgar. The roads are something ghastly.
CURTISS. Hows Mingle?
ANTHONY. Very bad, and more frightened. I handed him over to Fewton. Mingle might just as well have called him in the first place, instead of bothering me.
BLAYNE. Hes a nervous little chap. What has he got, this time?
ANTHONY. Cant quite say. A very bad tummy and a blue funk so far. He asked me at once if it was cholera, and I told him not to be a fool. That soothed him.
CURTIS. Poor devil! The funk does half the business in a man of that build.
ANTHONY. (Lighting a cheroot.) I firmly believe the funk will kill him if he stays down. You know the amount of trouble hes been giving Fewton for the last three weeks. Hes doing his very best to frighten himself into the grave.
GENERAL CHORUS. Poor little devil! Why doesnt he get away?
ANTHONY. Cant. He has his leave all right, but hes so dipped he cant take it, and I dont think his name on paper would raise four annas. Thats in confidence, though.
MACKESY. All the Station knows it.
ANTHONY. I suppose I shall have to die here, he said, squirming all across the bed. Hes quite made up his mind to Kingdom Come. And I know he has nothing more than a wet-weather tummy if he could only keep a hand on himself.
BLAYNE. Thats bad. Thats very bad. Poor little Miggy. Good little chap, too. I say
ANTHONY. What do you say?
BLAYNE. Well, look hereanyhow. If its like thatas you sayI say fifty.
CURTISS. I say fifty.
MACKESY. I go twenty better.
DOONE. Bloated Croesus of the Bar! I say fifty. Jervoise, what do you say? Hi! Wake up!
JERVOISE. Eh? Whats that? Whats that?
CURTISS. We want a hundred rupees from you. Youre a bachelor drawing a gigantic income, and theres a man in a hole.
JERVOISE. What man? Any one dead?
BLAYNE. No, but hell die if you dont give the hundred. Here! Heres a peg-voucher. You can see what weve signed for, and Anthonys man will come round to-morrow to collect it. So there will be no trouble.
JERVOISE. (Signing.) One hundred, E.M.J. There you are (feebly). It isnt one of your jokes, is it?
BLAYNE. No, it really is wanted. Anthony, you were the biggest poker-winner last week, and youve defrauded the tax-collector too long. Sign!
ANTHONY. Lets see. Three fifties and a seventy-two twenty-three twentysay four hundred and twenty. Thatll give him a month clear at the Hills. Many thanks, you men. Ill send round the chaprassi to-morrow.
CURTISS. You must engineer him taking the stuff, and of course you mustnt
ANTHONY. Of course. It would never do. Hed weep with gratitude over his evening drink.
BLAYNE. Thats just what he would do, damn him. Oh! I say, Anthony, you pretend to know everything. Have you heard about Gaddy?
ANTHONY. No. Divorce Court at last?
BLAYNE. Worse. Hes engaged!
ANTHONY. How much? He cant be!
BLAYNE. He is. Hes going to be married in a few weeks. Markyn told me at the Judges this evening. Its pukka.
ANTHONY. You dont say so? Holy Moses! Therell be a shine in the tents of Kedar.
CURTISS. Regiment cut up rough, think you?
ANTHONY. Dont 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 the world than I thought?
DOONE. You dont look pretty when you are trying to keep a secret. You bloat. Explain.
ANTHONY. Mrs. Herriott!
BLAYNE. (After a long pause, to the room generally.) Its my notion that we are a set of fools.
MACKESY. Nonsense. That business was knocked on the head last season. Why, young Mallard
ANTHONY. Mallard was a candlestick, paraded as such. Think awhile. Recollect last season and the talk then. Mallard or no Mallard, did Gaddy ever talk to any other woman?
CURTISS. Theres something in that. It was slightly noticeable now you come to mention it. But shes at Naini Tat and hes at Simla.
ANTHONY. He had to go to Simla to look after a globe-trotter relative of hisa person with a title. Uncle or aunt.
BLAYNE. And there he got engaged. No law prevents a man growing tired of a woman.
ANTHONY. Except that he mustnt do it till the woman is tired of him. And the Herriott woman was not that.
CURTISS. She may be now. Two months of Naini Tal works wonders.
DOONE. Curious thing how some women carry a Fate with them. There was a Mrs. Deegie in the Central Provinces whose men invariably fell away and got married. It became a regular proverb with us when I was down there. I remember three men desperately devoted to her, and they all, one after another, took wives.
CURTISS. Thats odd. Now I should have thought that Mrs. Deegies influence would have led them to take other mens wives. It ought to have made them afraid of the judgment of Providence.
ANTHONY. Mrs. Herriott will make Gaddy afraid of something more than the judgment of Providence, I fancy.
BLAYNE. Supposing things are as you say, hell be a fool to face her. Hell sit tight at Simla.
ANTHONY. Shouldnt be a bit surprised if he went off to Naini to explain. Hes an unaccountable sort of man, and shes likely to be a more than unaccountable woman.
DOONE. What makes you take her character away so confidently?
ANTHONY. Primum tempus. Gaddy was her first and a woman doesnt allow her first man to drop away without expostulation. She justifies the first transfer of affection to herself by swearing that it is forever and ever. Consequently
BLAYNE. Consequently, we are sitting here till past one oclock, talking scandal like a set of Station cats. Anthony, its all your fault. We were perfectly respectable till you came in. Go to bed. Im off, Good-night all.
CURTISS. Past one! Its past two by Jove, and heres the khit coming for the late charge. Just Heavens! One, two, three, four, five rupees to pay for the pleasure of saying that a poor little beast of a woman is no better than she should be. Im ashamed of myself. Go to bed, you slanderous villains, and if Im sent to Beora to-morrow, be prepared to hear Im dead before paying my card account!
SCENEA Naini Tal dinner for thirty-four. Plate, wines, crockery, and khitmatgars care fully calculated to scale of Rs. 6000 per mensem, less Exchange. Table split lengthways by bank of flowers. |
MRS. HERRIOTT. (After conversation has risen to proper pitch.) Ah! Didnt see you in the crush in the drawing-room. (Sotto voce.) Where have you been 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. Youve no notion how your voice carries. (Aside.) So much for shirking the written explanation. Itll have to be a verbal one now. Sweet prospect! How on earth am I to tell her that I am a respectable, engaged member of society and its all over between us?
MRS. H. Ive a heavy score against you. Where were you at the Monday Pip? Where were you on Tuesday? Where were you at the Lamonts tennis? I was looking everywhere.
CAPT. G. For me! Oh, I was alive somewhere, I suppose. (Aside.) Its for Minnies sake, but its going to be dashed unpleasant.
MRS. H. Have I done anything to offend you? I never meant it if I have. I couldnt help going for a ride with the Vaynor man. It was promised a week before you came up.
CAPT. G. I didnt know
MRS. H. It really was.
CAPT. G. Anything about it, I mean.
MRS. H. What has upset you today? All these days? You havent been near me for four whole daysnearly one hundred hours. Was it kind of you, Pip? And Ive been looking forward so much to your coming.
CAPT. G. Have you?
MRS. H. You know I have! Ive been as foolish as a schoolgirl about it. I made a little calendar and put it in my card-case, and every time the twelve oclock 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 hasnt brought you nearer. You seem farther away than ever. Are you sulking about something? 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 menu-card.)
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 didnt see. (Turns right again.) Is anything in me changed at all?
CAPT. G. For Goodnesss sake go on with your dinner! You must eat something. Try one of those cutlet arrangements. (Aside.) And I fancied she had good shoulders, once upon a time! What an ass a man can make of himself!
MRS. H. (Helping herself to a paper frill, seven peas, some stamped carrots and a spoonful of gravy.) That isnt an answer. Tell me whether I have done anything.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) If it isnt ended here there will be a ghastly scene some-where else. If only Id written to her and stood the racketat long range! (To Khitmatgar.) Han! Simpkin do.[Yes. Champagne.] (Aloud.) Ill tell you later on.
MRS. H. Tell me now. It must be some foolish misunderstanding, and you know that there was to be nothing of that sort between us. We of all people in the world, cant afford it. Is it the Vaynor man, and dont you like to say so? On my honor
CAPT. G. I havent given the Vaynor man a thought.
MRS. H. But how dyou know that I havent?
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Heres my chance and may the Devil help me through with it. (Aloud and measuredly.) Believe me, I do not care how often or how tenderly you think of the Vaynor man.
MRS. H. I wonder if you mean that.Oh, what is the good of squabbling and pretending to misunderstand when you are only up for so short a time? Pip, dont be a stupid!
Follows a pause, during which he crosses his left leg over his right and continues his dinner. |
CAPT. G. (In answer to the thunderstorm in her eyes.) Cornsmy worst.
MRS. H. Upon my word, you are the very rudest man in the world! Ill never do it again.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) No, I dont think you will; but I wonder what you will do before its all over. (To Khitmatgar.) Thorah ur Simpkin do. [A little more champagne.]
MRS. H. Well! Havent you the grace to apologize, bad man?
CAPT. G. (Aside.) I mustnt let it drift back now. Trust a woman for being as blind as a bat when she wont see.
MRS. H. Im waiting; or would you like me to dictate a form of apology?
CAPT. G. (Desperately.) By all means dictate.
MRS. H. (Lightly.) Very well. Rehearse your several Christian names after me and go on: Profess my sincere repentance.
CAPT. G. Sincere repentance.
MRS. H. For having behaved
CAPT. G. (Aside.) At last! I wish to Goodness shed look away. For having behavedas I have behaved, and declare that I am thoroughly and heartily sick of the whole business, and take this opportunity of making clear my intention of ending it, now, henceforward, and forever. (Aside.) If any one had told me I should be such a blackguard!
MRS. H. (Shaking a spoonful of potato chips into her plate.) Thats not a pretty joke.
CAPT. G. No. Its a reality. (Aside.) I wonder if smashes of this kind are always so raw.
MRS. H. Really, Pip, youre getting more absurd every day.
CAPT. G. I dont think you quite understand me. Shall I repeat it?
MRS. H. No! For pitys sake dont do that. Its too terrible, even in fur.
CAPT. G. Ill let her think it over for a while. But I ought to be horsewhipped.
MRS. H. I want to know what you meant by what you 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 wouldnt look at me. (Aloud and very slowly, his eyes on his plate.) Dyou remember that evening in July, before the Rains broke, when you said that the end would have to come sooner or laterand you wondered for which of us it would come first?
MRS. H. Yes! I was only joking. And you swore that, as long as there was breath in your body, it should never come. And I believed you.
CAPT. G. (Fingering menu-card.) Well, it has. Thats all.
A long pause, during which MRS. H. bows her head and rolls the bread-twist into little pellets; G. stares at the oleanders. |
MRS. H. (Throwing back her head and laughing naturally.) They train us women well, dont they, Pip?
CAPT. G. (Brutally, touching shirt-stud.) So far as the expression goes. (Aside.) It isnt in her nature to take things quietly. Therell be an explosion yet.
MRS. H. (With a shudder.) Thank you. B-but even Red Indians allow people to wriggle when theyre being tortured, I believe. (Slips fan from girdle and fans slowly: rim of fan level with chin.)
PARTNER ON LEFT. Very close tonight, isnt 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, oughtnt they? (Turns, dropping fan and raising eyebrows.)
CAPT. G. Its all right. (Aside.) Here comes the storm!
MRS. H. (Her eyes on the tablecloth: fan ready in right hand.) It was very cleverly managed, Pip, and I congratulate you. You sworeyou never contented yourself with merely saying a thingyou swore that, as far as lay in your power, youd make my wretched life pleasant for me. And youve denied me the consolation of breaking down. I should have done itindeed I should. A woman would hardly have thought of this refinement, my kind, considerate friend. (Fan-guard as before.) You have explained things so tenderly and truthfully, too! You havent spoken or written a word of warning, and you have let me believe in you till the last minute. You havent condescended to give me your reason yet. No! A woman could not have managed it half so well. Are there many men like you in the world?
CAPT. G. Im sure I dont know. (To Khitmatgar.) Ohé! Simpkin do.
MRS. H. You call yourself a man of the world, dont you? Do men of the world behave like Devils when they a woman the honor to get tired of her?
CAPT. G. Im sure I dont know. Dont speak so loud!
MRS. H. Keep us respectable, O Lord, whatever happens. Dont be afraid of my compromising you. Youve chosen your ground far too well, and Ive been properly brought up. (Lowering fan.) Havent you any pity, Pip, except for yourself?
CAPT. G. Wouldnt it be rather impertinent of me to say that Im sorry for you?
MRS. H. I think you have said it once or twice before. Youre growing very careful of my feelings. My God, Pip, I was a good woman once! You said I was. Youve made me what I am. What are you going to do with me? What are you going to do with me? Wont you say that you are sorry? (Helps herself to iced asparagus.)
CAPT. G. I am sorry for you, if you want the pity of such a brute as I am. Im awfly sorry for you.
MRS. H. Rather tame for a man of the world. Do you think that that admission clears you?
CAPT. G. What can I do? I can only tell you what I think of myself. You cant think worse than that?
MRS. H. Oh, yes, I can! And now, will you tell me the reason of all this? Remorse? Has Bayard been suddenly conscience-stricken?
CAPT. G. (Angrily, his eyes still lowered.) No! The thing has come to an end on my side. Thats all. Mafeesh!
MRS. H. Thats all. Mafeesh! As though I were a Cairene Dragoman. You used to make prettier speeches. Dyou remember when you said?
CAPT. G. For Heavens sake dont bring that back! Call me anything you like and Ill admit it
MRS. H. But you dont care to be reminded of old lies? If I could hope to hurt you one-tenth as much as you have hurt me to-nightNo, I wouldnt-I couldnt do itliar though you are.
CAPT. G. Ive spoken the truth.
MRS. H. My dear Sir, you flatter yourself. You have lied over the reason. Pip, remember that I know you as you dont know yourself. You have heen everything to me, though you are (Fan-guard.) Oh, what a contemptible Thing it is! And so you are merely tired of me?
CAPT. G. Since you insist upon my repeating itYes.
MRS. H. Lie the first. I wish I knew a coarser word. Lie seems so in-effectual in your case. The fire has just died out and there is no fresh one? Think for a minute, Pip, if you care whether I despise you more than I do. Simply Mafeesh, is it?
CAPT. G. Yes. (Aside.) I think I deserve this.
MRS. H. Lie number two. Before the next glass chokes you, tell me her name.
CAPT. G. (Aside. ) Ill make her pay for dragging Minnie into the business! (Aloud.) Is it likely?
MRS. H. Very likely if you thought that it would flatter your vanity. Youd cry my name on the house-tops to make people turn round.
CAPT. G. I wish I had. There would have been an end to this business.
MRS. H. Oh, no, there would notAnd so you were going to be virtuous and blasé, were you? To come to me and say: Ive done with you. The incident is cloosed. I ought to be proud of having kept such a man so long.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) It only remains to pray for the end of the dinner. (Aloud.) You know what I think of myself.
MRS. H. As its the only person in he 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 cant keep you back! And youre goingthink of it, Pipto throw me over for another woman. And you swore that all other women werePip, my Pip! She cant care for you as I do. Believe me, she cant. Is it any one that I know?
CAPT. G. Thank Goodness it isnt. (Aside.) I expected a cyclone, but not an earthquake.
MRS. H. She cant! Is there anything that I wouldnt do for youor havent done? And to think that I should take this trouble over you, knowing what you are! Do you despise me for it?
CAPT. G. (Wiping his mouth to hide a smile.) Again? Its entirely a work of charity on your part.
MRS. H. Ahhh! But I have no right to resent it.Is she better-looking than I? Who was it said?
CAPT. G. Nonot that!
MRS. H. Ill be more merciful than you were. Dont you know that all women are alike?
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Then this is the exception that proves the rule.
MRS. H. All of them! Ill tell you anything you like. I will, upon my word! They only want the admirationfrom anybodyno matter whoanybody! But there is always one man that they care for more than any one else in the world, and would sacrifice all the others to. Oh, do listen! Ive kept the Vaynor man trotting after me like a poodle, and he believes that he is the only man I am interested in. Ill tell you what he said to me.
CAPT. G. Spare him. (Aside.) I wonder what his version is.
MRS. H. Hes been waiting for me to look at him all through dinner. Shall I do it, and you can see what an idiot he looks?
CAPT. G. But what imports the nomination of this gentleman?
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 intense devotion, and the stolidity of a Bntish dining countenance.)
CAPT. G. (Critically.) He doesnt look pretty. Why didnt you wait till the spoon was out of his mouth?
MRS. H. To amuse you. Shell make an exhibition of you as Ive made of him; and people will laugh at you. Oh, Pip, cant you see that? Its as plain as the noonday Sun. Youll be trotted about and told lies, and made a fool of like the others. I never made a fool of you, 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 couldnt have done it if I hadnt cared for you so much. I have spoken the truth.
CAPT. G. It doesnt alter the situation.
MRS. H. (Passionately.) Then she has said that she cares for you! Dont believe her, Pip. Its a lieas bad as yours to me!
CAPT. G. Ssssteady! Ive a notion that a friend of yours is looking at you.
MRS. H. He! I hate him. He introduced you to me.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) And some people would like women to assist in making the laws. Introduction to imply condonement. (Aloud.) Well, you see, if you can remember so far back as that, I couldnt, in common politeness, refuse the offer.
MRS. H. In common politeness! We have got beyond that!
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Old ground means fresh trouble. (Aloud.) On my honor
MRS. H. Your what? Ha, ha!
CAPT. G. Dishonor, then. Shes not what you imagine. I meant to
MRS. H. Dont tell me anything about her! She wont care for you, and when you come back, after having made an exhibition of yourself, youll find me occupied with
CAPT. G. (Insolently.) You couldnt while I am alive. (Aside.) If that doesnt bring her pride to her rescue, nothing will.
MRS. H. (Drawing herself up.) Couldnt do it? I? (Softening.) Youre right. I dont believe I couldthough you are what you area coward and a liar in grain.
CAPT. G. It doesnt hurt so much after your little lecturewith demonstrations.
MRS. H. One mass of vanity! Will nothing ever touch you in this life? There must be a Hereafter if its only for the benefit of But you will have it all to yourself.
CAPT. G. (Under his eyebrows.) Are you certain of that?
MRS. H. I shall have had mine in this life; and it will serve me right.
CAPT. G. But the admiration that you insisted on so strongly a moment ago? (Aside.) Oh, I am a brute!
MRS. H. (Fiercely.) Will that console me for knowing that you will go to her with the same words, the same arguments, and thethe same pet names you used to me? And if she cares for you, you two will laugh over my story. Wont that be punishment heavy enough even for meeven for me?And its all useless. Thats another punishment.
CAPT. G. (Feebly.) Oh, come! Im not so low as you think.
MRS. H. Not now, perhaps, but you will be. Oh, Pip, if a woman flatters your vanity, theres nothing on earth that you would not tell her; and no meanness that you would not do. Have I known you so long without knowing that?
CAPT. G. If you can trust me in nothing elseand I dont see why I should be trustedyou can count upon my holding my tongue.
MRS. H. If you denied everything youve said this evening and declared it was all in fun (a long pause), Id trust you. Not otherwise. All I ask is, dont tell her my name. Please dont. A man might forget: a woman never would. (Looks up table and sees hostess beginning to collect eyes.) So its all ended, through no fault of mineHavent I behaved beautifully? Ive accepted your dismissal, and you managed it as cruelly as you could, and I have made you respect my sex, havent I? (Arranging gloves and fan.) I only pray that shell know you some day as I know you now. I wouldnt be you then, for I think even your conceit will be hurt. I hope shell pay you back the humiliation youve brought on me. I hopeNo. I dont! I cant give you up! I must have something to look forward to or I shall go crazy. When its all over, come back to me, come back to me, and youll find that youre my Pip still!
CAPT. G. (Very clearly.) False move, and you pay for it. Its a girl!
MRS. H. (Rising.) Then it was true! They said but I wouldnt insult you by asking. A girl! I was a girl not very long ago. Be good to her, Pip. I daresay she believes in you.
Goes out with an uncertain smile. He watches her through the door, and settles into a chair as the men redistribute themselves. |
CAPT. G. Now, if there is any Power who looks after this world, will He kindly tell me what I have done? (Reaching out for the claret, and half aloud.) What have I done?
SCENE.A bachelors bedroom-toilet-table arranged with unnatural neatness. CAPTAIN GADSBY asleep and snoring heavily. Time, 10:30 a.m.a glorious autumn day at Simla. Enter delicately CAPTAIN MAFFLIN of GADSBYs regiment. Looks at sleeper, and shakes his head murmuring Poor Gaddy. Performs violent fantasia with hair-brushes on chairback. |
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 and cooing for ever so long; and Im here!
CAPT. G. (Sitting up and yawning.) Mornin. This is awfly good of you, old fellow. Most awfly good of you. Dont know what I should do without you. Pon my soul, I dont. Havent slept a wink all night.
CAPT. M. I didnt get in till half-past eleven. Had a look at you then, and you seemed to be sleeping as soundly as a condemned criminal.
CAPT. G. Jack, if you want to make those disgustingly worn-out jokes, youd better go away. (With portentous gravity.) Its the happiest day in my life.
CAPT. M. (Chuckling grimly.) Not by a very long chalk, my son. Youre going through some of the most refined torture youve ever known. But be calm. I am with you. Shun! Dress!
CAPT. G. Eh! Wha-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, dont do that! Youll see me through, wont you? Ive been mugging up that beastly drill, and cant remember a line of it.
CAPT. M. (Overturning G.s uniform.) Go and tub. Dont bother me. Ill give you ten minutes to dress in.
Interval, filled by the noise as of one splashing in the bath-room. |
CAPT. G. (Emerging from dressing-room.) What time is it?
CAPT. M. Nearly eleven.
CAPT. G. Five hours more. O Lord!
CAPT. M. (Aside.) First sign of funk, that. Wonder if its going to spread. (Aloud.) Come along to breakfast.
CAPT. G. I cant eat anything. I dont want any breakfast.
CAPT. M. (Aside.) So early! (Aloud) Captain Gadsby, I order you to eat breakfast, and a dashed good breakfast, too. None of your bridal airs and graces with me!
Leads G. downstairs and stands over him while he eats two chops. |
CAPT. G. (Who has looked at his watch thrice in the last five minutes.) What time is it?
CAPT. M. Time to come for a walk. Light up.
CAPT. G. I havent smoked for ten days, and I wont now. (Takes cheroot which M. has cut for him, and blows smoke through his nose luxuriously.) We arent going down the Mall, are we?
CAPT. M. (Aside.) Theyre all alike in these stages. (Aloud.) No, my Vestal. Were going along the quietest road we can find.
CAPT. G. Any chance of seeing Her?
CAPT. M. Innocent! No! Come along, and, if you want me for the final obsequies, dont cut my eye out with your stick.
CAPT. G. (Spinning round.) I say, isnt She the dearest creature that ever walked? Whats the time? What comes after wilt thou take this woman?
CAPT. M. You go for the ring. Rclect itll be on the top of my right-hand little finger, and just be careful how you draw it off, because I shall have the Vergers fees somewhere in my glove.
CAPT. G. (Walking forward hastily.) D the Verger! Come along! Its past twelve and I havent seen Her since yesterday evening. (Spinning round again.) Shes an absolute angel, Jack, and Shes a dashed deal too good for me. Look here, does She come up the aisle on my arm, or how?
CAPT. M. If I thought that there was the least chance of your remembering anything for two consecutive minutes, Id tell you. Stop passaging about like that!
CAPT. G. (Halting in the middle of the road.) I say, Jack.
CAPT. M. Keep quiet for another ten minutes if you can, you lunatic; and walk!
The two tramp at five miles an hour for fifteen minutes. |
CAPT. G. Whats the time? How about the cursed wedding-cake and the slippers? They dont throw em about in church, do they?
CAPT. M. In-variably. The Padre leads off with his boots.
CAPT. G. Confound your silly soul! Dont make fun of me. I cant stand it, and I wont!
CAPT. M. (Untroubled.) So-ooo, old horse Youll have to sleep for a couple of hours this afternoon.
CAPT. G. (Spinning round.) Im not going to be treated like a dashed child. Understand that
CAPT. M. (Aside.) Nerves gone to fiddle-strings. What a day were having! (Tenderly putting his hand on G.s shoulder.) My David, how long have you known this Jonathan? Would I come up here to make a fool of youafter all these years?
CAPT. G. (Penitently.) I know, I know, Jackbut Im as upset as I
can be. Dont mind what I say. Just hear me run through the drill
and see if Ive got it all right:
To have and to hold for better or
worse, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world
without end, so help me God. Amen.
CAPT. M. (Suffocating with suppressed laughter.) Yes. Thats about the gist of it. Ill prompt if you get into a hat.
CAPT. G. (Earnestly.) Yes, youll stick by me, Jack, wont you? Im awfully happy, but I dont mind telling you that Im in a blue funk!
CAPT. M. (Gravely.) Are you? I should never have noticed it. You dont look like it.
CAPT. G. Dont I? Thats all right. (Spinning round.) On my soul and honor, Jack, Shes the sweetest little angel that ever came down from the sky. There isnt 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! Thats all you wild asses of bachelors are fit for.
CAPT. M. (Drawling.) You never would wait for the troop to come up. You arent quite married yet, yknow.
CAPT. G. Ugh! That reminds me. I dont believe I shall be able to get into any boots Lets go home and try em on (Hurries forward.)
CAPT. M. Wouldnt be in your shoes for anything that Asia has to offer.
CAPT. G. (Spinning round.) That just shows your hideous blackness of soulyour dense stupidityyour brutal narrow-mindedness. Theres only one fault about you. Youre the best of good fellows, and I dont know what I should have done without you, butyou arent married. (Wags his head gravely.) Take a wife, Jack.
CAPT. M. (With a face like a wall.) Ya-as. Whose for choice?
CAPT. G. If youre going to be a blackguard, Im going onWhats the time?
CAPT. M. (Hums.)
An since twas very clear we drank only ginger-beer, Faith, there must ha been some stingo in the ginger. |
Come back, you maniac. Im going to take you home, and youre 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 Im in!
CAPT. M. You are. Ill get you a peg and youll go to sleep.
They return and M. compounds a four-finger peg. |
CAPT. G. O bus! bus! Itll make me as drunk as an owl.
CAPT. M. Curious thing, twont have the slightest effect on you. Drink it off, chuck yourself down there, and go to bye-bye.
CAPT. G. Its absurd. I shant sleep, I know I shant!
Falls into heavy doze at end of seven minutes. CAPT. M. watches him tenderly. |
CAPT. M. Poor old Gaddy! Ive seen a few turned off before, but never one who went to the gallows in this condition. Cant tell how it affects em, though. Its the thoroughbreds that sweat when theyre backed into double-harness.And thats the man who went through the guns at Amdheran like a devil possessed of devils. (Leans over G.) But this is worse than the guns, old palworse than the guns, isnt it? (G. turns in his sleep, and M. touches him clumsily on the forehead.) Poor, dear old Gaddy! Going like the rest of emgoing like the rest of emFriend that sticketh closer than a brothereight years. Dashed bit of a slip of a girleight weeks! Andwheres your friend? (Smokes disconsolately till church clock strikes three.)
CAPT. M. Up with you! Get into your kit.
CAPT. G. Already? Isnt it too soon? Hadnt I better have a shave?
CAPT. M. No! Youre all right. (Aside.) Hed hack his chin to pieces.
CAPT. C. Whats the hurry?
CAPT. M. Youve got to be there first.
CAPT. C. To be stared at?
CAPT. M. Exactly. Youre part of the show. Wheres the burnisher? Your spurs are in a shameful state.
CAPT. G. (Gruffly.) Jack, I be damned if you shall do that for me.
CAPT. M. (More gruffly.) Dry up and get dressed! If I choose to clean your spurs, youre under my orders.
CAPT. G. dresses. M. follows suit. |
CAPT. M. (Critically, walking round.) Myes, youll do. Only dont look so like a criminal. Ring, gloves, feesthats all right for me. Let your moustache alone. Now, if the ponies are ready, well go.
CAPT. G. (Nervously.) Its much too soon. Lets light up! Lets have a peg! Lets
CAPT. M. Lets make bally asses of ourselves!
BELLS. (Without.)
Goodpeopleall To prayerswe call. |
CAPT. M. There go the bells! Come onunless youd rather not. (They ride off.)
BELLS.
We honor the King And Brides joy do bring Good tidings we tell, And ring the Deads knell. |
CAPT. G. (Dismounting at the door of the Church.) I say, arent we much too soon? There are no end of people inside. I say, arent we much too late? Stick by me, Jack! What the devil do I do?
CAPT. M. Strike an attitude at the bead of the aisle and wait for Her. (G. groans as M. wheels him into position before three hundred eyes.)
CAPT. M. (Imploringly.) Gaddy, if you love me, for pitys sake, for the Honor of the Regiment, stand up! Chuck yourself into your uniform! Look like a man! Ive got to speak to the Padre a minute. (G. breaks into a gentle Perspiration.) Stand up! If you wipe your face Ill never be your best man again. Stand up! (G. Trembles visibly.)
CAPT. M. (Returning.) Shes commg now. Look out when the music starts. Theres 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 oer Eden, That earliest marriage day, The primal marriage-blessing, It hath not passed away. |
CAPT. M. (Watching G.) By Jove! He is looking well. Didnt think he had it in him.
CAPT. G. How long does this hymn go on for?
CAPT. M. It will be over directly. (Ansiously.) Beginning to bleach and gulp. Hold on, Gabby, and think o the Regiment.
CAPT. G. (Measuredly.) I say theres a big brown lizard crawling up that wall.
CAPT. M. My Sainted Mother! The last stage of collapse!
Bride comes up to left of altar, lifts her eyes once to G., who is suddenly smitten mad. |
CAPT. G. (To himself again and again.) Little Featherweights a womana woman! And I thought She was a little girl.
CAPT. M. (In a whisper.) Form the haltinward wheel.
CAPT. G. Obeys mechanically and the ceremony proceeds. |
PADRE. . . . only unto her as ye both shall live?
CAPT. G. (His throat useless.) Hahmmm!
CAPT. M. Say you will or you wont. Theres no second deal here.
Bride gives response with perfect coolness, and is given away by the father. |
CAPT. G. (Thinking to show his learning.) Jack give me away now, quick!
CAPT. M. Youve given yourself away quite enough. Her right hand, man! Repeat! Repeat! Theodore Philip. Have you forgotten your own name?
CAPT. G. stumbles through Affirmation, which Bride repeats without a tremor. |
CAPT. M. Now the ring! Follow the Padre! Dont pull off my glove! Here it is! Great Cupid, hes found his voice.
CAPT. G. repeats Troth in a voice to be heard to the end of the Church and turns on his heel. |
CAPT. M. (Desperately.) Rein back! Back to your troop! Tisnt half legal yet.
PADRE. . . . joined together let no man put asunder.
CAPT. G. paralyzed with fear jibs after Blessing. |
CAPT. M. (Quickly.) On your own frontone length. Take her with you. I dont come. Youve nothing to say. (CAPT. G. jingles 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 do well and are not afraid with any amazement.
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.) Eh! Whaat?
CAPT. M. (Taking one pace to Bride.) If you dont, I shall.
CAPT. G. (Interposing an arm.) Not this journey!
General kissing, in which CAPT. G. is pursued by unknown female. |
CAPT. G. (Faintly to M.) This is Hades! Can I wipe my face now?
CAPT. M. My responsibility has ended. Better ask Missis Gadsby.
CAPT. G. winces as though shot and procession is Mendelssohned out of Church to house, where usual tortures take place over the wedding-cake. |
CAPT. M. (At table.) Up with you, Gaddy. They expect a speech.
CAPT. G. (After three minutes agony.) HaHmmm. (Thunders of applause.)
CAPT. M. Doocid good, for a first attempt. Now go and change your kit while Mamma is weeping overthe Missus. (CAPT. G. disappears. CAPT. M. starts up tearing his hair.) Its not half legal. Where are the shoes? Get an ayah.
AYAH. Missie Captain Sahib done gone band karo all the jutis.
CAPT. M. (Brandishing scab larded sword.) Woman, produce those shoes Some one lend me a bread-knife. We mustnt crack Gaddys head more than it is. (Slices heel off white satin slipper and puts slipper up his sleeve.) Where is the Bride? (To the company at large.) Be tender with that rice. Its a heathen custom. Give me the big bag.
Bride slips out quietly into rickshaw and departs toward the sun-set. |
CAPT. M. (In the open.) Stole away, by Jove! So much the worse for Gaddy! Here he is. Now Gaddy, thisll be livelier than Amdberan! Wheres your horse?
CAPT. G. (Furiously, seeing that the women are out of an earshot.) Where the is my Wife?
CAPT. M. Half-way to Mahasu by this time. Youll have to ride like Young Lochinvar.
Horse comes round on his hind legs; refuses to let G. handle him. |
CAPT. G. Oh you will, will you? Get round, you bruteyou hogyou beast! Get round!
Wrenches horses head over, nearly breaking lower jaw: swings himself into saddle, and sends home both spurs in the midst of a spattering gale of Best Patna. |
CAPT. M. For your life and your loveride, GaddyAnd God bless you!
Throws half a pound of rice at G. who disappears, bowed forward on the saddle, in a cloud of sun-lit dust. |
CAPT. M. Ive lost old Gaddy. (Lights cigarette and strolls off, singing absently):
You may carve it on his tombstone, You may cut it on 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 like cholera. Wonder wholl be the next victim.
White satin slipper slides from his sleeve and falls at his feet. Left wondering. |
SCENE.Thymy grass-plot at back of the Mahasu dak-bungalow, overlooking little wooded valley. On the left, glimpse of the Dead Forest of Fagoo; on the right, Simla Hills. In background, line of the Snows. CAPTAIN GADSBY, now three weeks a husband, is smoking the pipe of peace on a rug in the sunshine. Banjo and tobacco-pouch on rug. Overhead the Fagoo eagles. MRS. G. comes out of bungalow. |
MRS. G. My husband!
CAPT. G. (Lazily, with intense enjoyment.) Eh, wha-at? Say that again.
MRS. G. Ive written to Mamma and told her that we shall be back on the 17th.
CAPT. G. Did you give her my love?
MRS. G. No, I kept all that for myself. (Sitting down by his side.) I thought you wouldnt mind.
CAPT. G. (With mock sternness.) I object awfly. 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.
CAPT. G. Youll be called anything I choose. Has it ever occurred to you, Madam, that you are my Wife?
MRS. G. It has. I havent ceased wondering at it yet.
CAPT. G. Nor I. It seems so strange; and yet, somehow, it doesnt. (Confidently.) You see, it could have been no-one else.
MRS. G. (Softly.) No. No-one elsefor me or for you. It must have been all arranged from the beginning. Phil, tell me again what made you care for me.
CAPT. G. How could I help it? You were you, you know.
MRS. G. Did you ever want to help it? Speak the truth!
CAPT. G. (A twinkle in his eye.) I did, darling, just at the first. But only at the very first. (Chuckles.) I called youstoop low and Ill whispera little beast. Ho! Ho! Ho!
MRS. G. (Taking him by the moustache and making him sit up.) Alittlebeast! Stop laughing over your crime! And yet you had thetheawful cheek to propose to me!
CAPT. G. Id changed my mind then. And you werent 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-colored muslin gown thing, you lookedyou did indeed, dearsuch an absurd little mite. And I didnt know what to say to you.
MRS. G. (Twisting moustache.) So you said little beast. Upon my word, Sir! I called you a Crrrreature, but I wish now I had called you something worse.
CAPT. G. (Very meekly.) I apologize, but youre hurting me awfly. (Interlude.) Youre welcome to torture me again on those terms.
MRS. G. Oh, why did you let me do it?
CAPT. G. (Looking across valley.) No reason in particular, butif it amused you or did you any goodyou mightwipe those dear little boots of yours on me.
MRS. G. (Stretching out her hands.) Dont! Oh, dont! Philip, my King, please dont talk like that. Its how I feel. Youre so much too good for me. So much too good!
CAPT. G. Me! Im not fit to put my arm around you. (Puts it round.)
MRS. G. Yes, you are. But Iwhat have I ever done?
CAPT. G. Given me a wee bit of your heart, havent you, my Queen!
MRS. G. Thats nothing. Any one would do that. They couldnt help it.
CAPT. G. Pussy, youll make me horribly conceited. Just when I was beginning to feel so humble, too.
MRS. G. Humble! I dont believe its in your character.
CAPT. G. What do you know of my character, Impertinence?
MRS. G. Ah, but I shall, shant I, Phil? I shall have time in all the years and years to come, to know everything about you; and there will be no secrets between us.
CAPT. G. Little witch! I believe you know me thoroughly already.
MRS. G. I think I can guess. Youre selfish?
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.) Dyou know that were two solemn, serious, grown-up people
CAPT. G. (Tilting her straw hat over her eyes.) You grown-up! Pooh! Youre a baby.
MRS. G. And were talking nonsense.
CAPT. G. Then lets go on talking nonsense. I rather like it. Pussy, Ill tell you a secret. Promise not to repeat?
MRS. G. Yees. Only to you.
CAPT. G. I love you.
MRS. G. Re-ally! For how long?
CAPT. G. Forever and ever.
MRS. G. Thats a long time.
CAPT. G. Think so? Its the shortest I can do with.
MRS. G. Youre getting quite clever.
CAPT. G. Im talking to you.
MRS. G. Prettily turned. Hold up your stupid old head and Ill pay you for it.
CAPT. G. (Affecting supreme contempt.) Take it yourself if you want it.
MRS. G. Ive a great mind toand I will! (Takes it and is repaid with interest.)
CAPT. G. Little Featherweight, its my opinion that we are a couple of idiots.
MRS. G. Were the only two sensible people in the world. Ask the eagle. Hes coming by.
CAPT. G. Ah! I dare say hes seen a good many sensible people at Mahasu. They say that those birds live for ever so long.
MRS. G. How long?
CAPT. G. A hundred and twenty years.
MRS. G. A hundred and twenty years! O-oh! And in 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. Only you and II and youin the whole wide, wide world until the end. (Sees the line of the Snows.) How big and quiet the hills look! Dyou think they care for us?
CAPT. G. Cant say Ive consulted em particularly. I care, and thats enough for me.
MRS. G. (Drawing nearer to him.) Yes, nowbut afterward. Whats that little black blur on the Snows?
CAPT. G. A snowstorm, forty miles away. Youll see it move, as the wind carries it across the face of that spur and then it will be all gone.
MRS. G. And then it will be all gone. (Shivers.)
CAPT. G. (Anriously.) Not chilled, pet, are you? Better let me get your cloak.
MRS. G. No. Dont leave me, Phil. Stay here. I believe I am afraid. Oh, why are the hills so horrid! Phil, promise me that youll always love me.
CAPT. G. Whats the trouble, darling? I cant promise any more than I have; but Ill promise that again and again if you like.
MRS. G. (Her head on his shoulder.) Say it, thensay it! N-nodont! Thetheeagles would laugh. (Recovering.) My husband, youve married a 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 mineself?
CAPT. G. Because she is both. (Piteously.) Im not clever, dear, and I dont think I can make myself understood properly.
MRS. G. I understand. Pip, will you tell me something?
CAPT. G. Anything you like. (Aside.) I wonder whats coming now.
MRS. G. (Haltingly, her eyes lowered.) You told me once in the old dayscentunes and centuries agothat you had been engaged before. I didnt say anythingthen.
CAPT. G. (Innocently.) Why not?
MRS. G. (Raising her eyes to his.) Becausebecause I was afraid of losing you, my heart. But nowtell about itplease.
CAPT. G. Theres nothing to tell. I was awfly old thennearly two and twentyand she was quite that.
MRS. G. That means she was older than you. I shouldnt like her to have been younger. Well?
CAPT. G. Well, I fancied myself in love and raved about a bit, andoh, yes, by Jove! I made up poetry. Ha! Ha!
MRS. G. You never wrote any for me! What happened?
CAPT. G. I came out here, and the whole thing went phut. She wrote to say that there had been a mistake, and then she married.
MRS. G. Did she care for you much?
CAPT. G. No. At least she didnt show it as far as I remember.
MRS. G. As far as you rememberl Do you remember her name? (Hears it and bows her head.) Thank you, my husband.
CAPT. G. Who but you had the right? Now, Little Featherweight, have you ever been mixed up in any dark and dismal tragedy?
MRS. G. If you call me Mrs. Gadsby, praps Ill tell.
CAPT. G. (Throwing Parade rasp into his voice.) Mrs. Gadsby, confess!
MRS. G. Good Heavens, Phil! I never knew that you could speak in that terrible voice.
CAPT. G. You dont know half my accomplishments yet. Wait till we are settled in the Plains, and Ill show you how I bark at my troop. You were going to say, darling?
MRS. G. II dont like to, after that voice. (Tremulously.) Phil, never you dare to speak to me in that tone, whatever I may do!
CAPT. G. My poor little love! Why, youre shaking all over. I am so sorry. Of course I never meant to upset you Dont tell me anything, Im a brute.
MRS. G. No, you arent, and I will tellThere was a man.
CAPT. G. (Lightly.) Was there? Lucky man!
MRS. G. (In a whisper.) And I thougbt I cared for him.
CAPT. G. Still luckier man! Well?
MRS. G. And I thought I cared for himand I didntand then you cameand I cared for you very, very much indeed. Thats all. (Face hidden.) You arent angry, are you?
CAPT. G. Angry? Not in the least. (Aside.) Good Lord, what have I done to deserve this angel?
MRS. G. (Aside.) And he never asked for the name! How funny men are! But perhaps its as well.
CAPT. G. That man will go to heaven because you once thought you cared for him. Wonder if youll ever drag me up there?
MRS. G. (Firmly.) Shant go if you dont.
CAPT. G. Thanks. I say, Pussy, I dont know much about your religious beliefs. You were brought up to believe in a heaven and all that, werent you?
MRS. G. Yes. But it was a pincushion heaven, with hymn-books in all the pews.
CAPT. G. (Wagging his head with intense conviction.) Never mind. There is a pukka heaven.
MRS. G. Where do you bring that message from, my prophet?
CAPT. G. Here! Because we care for each other. So its all right.
MRS. G. (As a troop of langurs crash through the branches.) So its all right. But Darwin says that we came from those!
CAPT. G. (Placidly.) Ah! Darwin was never in love with an angel. That settles it. Sstt, you brutes! Monkeys, indeed! You shouldnt read those books.
MRS. G. (Folding her hands.) If it pleases my Lord the King to issue proclamation.
CAPT. G. Dont, dear one. There are no orders between us. Only Id rather you didnt. They lead to nothing, and bother peoples heads.
MRS. G. Like your first engagement.
CAPT. G. (With an immense calm.) That was a necessary evil and led to you. Are you nothing?
MRS. G. Not so very much, am I?
CAPT. G. All this world and the next to me.
MRS. G. (Very softly.) My boy of boys! Shall I tell you something?
CAPT. G. Yes, if its not dreadfulabout other men.
MRS. G. Its about my own bad little self.
CAPT. G. Then it must be good. Go on, dear.
MRS. G. (Slowly.) I dont know why Im telling you, Pip; but if ever you marry again (Interlude.) Take your hand from my mouth or Ill bite! In the future, then rememberI dont know quite how to put it!
CAPT. G. (Snorting indignantly.) Dont try. Marry again, 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. Because a womanyes, I am a womancant forget.
CAPT. G. By Jove, how do you know that?
MRS. G. (Confusedly.) I dont. Im only guessing. I amI wasa silly little girl; but I feel that I know so much, oh, so very much more than you, dearest. To begin with, Im your wife.
CAPT. G. So I have been led to believe.
MRS. G. And I shall want to know every one of your secretsto share everything you know with you. (Stares round desperately.)
CAPT. G. So you shall, dear, so you shallbut dont look like that.
MRS. G. For your own sake dont stop me, Phil. I shall never talk to you in this way again. You must not tell me! At least, not now. Later on, when Im an old matron it wont matter, but if you love me, be very good to me now; for this part of my life I shall never 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? Thatthat voice, and what you said about the engagement
CAPT. G. But you asked to be told that, darling.
MRS. G. And thats why you shouldnt have told me! You must be the Judge, and, oh, Pip, dearly as I love you, I shant 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 bothsay so, Pussybut we shall understand each other better every day; and I think Im beginning to see now. How in the world did you come to know just the importance of giving me just that lead?
MRS. G. Ive told you that I dont 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 Mafilin was right! They know, and wewere blind all of us. (Lightly.) Getting a little beyond our depth, dear, arent we? Ill remember, and, if I fail, let me be punished as I deserve.
MRS. G. There shall be no punishment. Well start into life together from hereyou and Iand no one else.
CAPT. G. And no one else. (A pause.) Your eyelashes are all wet, Sweet? Was there ever such a quaint little Absurdity?
MRS. G. Was there ever such nonsense talked before?
CAPT. G. (Knocking the ashes out of his pipe.) Tisnt what we say, its what we dont say, that helps. And its all the profoundest philosophy. But no one would understandeven if it were put into a book.
MRS. G. The idea! Noonly we ourselves, or people like ourselvesif there are any people like us.
CAPT. G. (Magisterially.) All people, not like ourselves, are blind idiots.
MRS. G. (Wiping her eyes.) Do you think, then, that there are any people as happy as we are?
CAPT. G. Must beunless weve appropriated all the happiness in the world.
MRS. G. (Looking toward Simla.) Poor dears! Just fancy if we have!
CAPT. G. Then well hang on to the whole show, for its a great deal too jolly to loseeh, wife o mine?
MRS. G. O Pip! Pip! How much of you is a solemn, married man and how much a horrid slangy schoolboy?
CAPT. G. When you tell me how much of you was eighteen last birthday and how much is as old as the Sphinx and twice as mysterious, perhaps Ill attend to you. Lend me that banjo. The spirit moveth me to jowl at the sunset.
MRS. G. Mind! Its not tuned. Ah! How that jars!
CAPT. G. (Turning pegs.) Its amazingly different to keep a banjo to proper pitch.
MRS. G. Its the same with all musical instruments, What shall it be?
CAPT. G. Vanity, and let the hills hear. (Sings through the first and half of the second verse. Turning to MRS. G.) Now, chorus! Sing, Pussy!
BOTH TOGETHER. (Con brio, to the horror of the monkeys who are settling for the night.)
I clasped my true Loves tender hand and answered frank and freeee If this be Vanity whod be wise? If this be Vanity whod be wise? If this be Vanity whod be wiise (crescendo) Vanity let it be! |
MRS. G. (Defiantly to the grey of the evening sky.) Vanity let it be!
ECHO. (From the Fagoo spur.) Let it be!
SCENE.The GADSBYS bungalow in the Plains. Time, 11 a.m. on a Sunday morning. CAPTAIN GADSBY, in his shirt-sleeves, is bending over a complete set of Hussars equipment, from saddle to picketing-rope, which is neatly spread over the floor of his study. He is smoking an unclean briar, and his forehead is puckered with thought. |
CAPT. G. (To himself, fingering a headstall.) Jacks an ass. Theres enough brass on this to load a muleand, if the Americans know anything about anything, it can be cut down to a bit only. Dont want the watering-bridle, either. Humbug!Half a dozen sets of chains and pulleys for one horse! Rot! (Scratching his head.) Now, lets consider it all over from the beginning. By Jove, Ive forgotten the scale of weights! Neer mind. Keep the bit only, and eliminate every boss from the crupper to breastplate. No breastplate at all. Simple leather strap across the breastlike the Russians. Hi! Jack never thought of that!
MRS. G. (Entering hastily, her hand bound in a cloth.) Oh, Pip, Ive scalded my hand over that horrid, horrid Tiparee jam!
CAPT. G. (Absently.) Eb! Wha-at?
MRS. G. (With round-eyed reproach.) Ive scalded it aw-fully! Arent you sorry? And I did so want that jam to jam properly.
CAPT. G. Poor little woman! Let me kiss the place and make it well. (Unrolling bandage.) You small sinner! Wheres that scald? I cant see it.
MRS. G. On the top of the little finger. There!Its a most normous big burn!
CAPT. G. (Kissing little finger.) Baby! Let Hyder look after the jam. You know I dont 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. Im busy.
MRS. G. (Calmly settling herself in long chair.) So I see. What a mess youre making! Why have you brought all that smelly leather stuff into the house?
CAPT. G. To play with. Do you mind, dear?
MRS. G. Let me play too. Id like it.
CAPT. G. Im afraid you wouldnt. PussyDont you think that jam will burn, or whatever it is that jam does when its not looked after by a clever little housekeeper?
MRS. G. I thought you said Hyder could attend to it. I left him in the veranda, stirringwhen I hurt myself 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, with just a lee-tle care, with-out weakening anything. Farriery is all rot in incompetent hands. Whats the use of a shoe-case when a mans scouting? He cant stick it on with a licklike a stampthe shoe! Skittles!
MRS. G. Whats skittles? Pah! What is this leather cleaned with?
CAPT. G. Cream and champagne andlook here, dear, do you really want to talk to me about anything important?
MRS. G. No. Ive done my accounts, and I thought Id like to see what youre doing.
CAPT. G. Well, love, now youve seen andwould you mind? That is to sayMinnie, I really am busy.
MRS. G. You want me to go?
CAPT. G, Yes, dear, for a little while. This tobacco will hang in your dress, and saddlery doesnt interest you.
MRS. G. Everything you do interests me, Pip.
CAPT. G. Yes, I know, I know, dear. Ill tell you all about it some day when Ive put a head on this thing. In the meantime
MRS. G. Im to be turned out of the room like a troublesome child?
CAPT. G. No-o. I dont mean that exactly. But, you see, I shall be tramping up and down, shifting these things to and fro, and I shall be in your way. Dont you think so?
MRS. G. Cant I lift them about? Let me try. (Reaches forward to troopers saddle.)
CAPT. G. Good gracious, child, dont touch it. Youll hurt yourself. (Picking up saddle.) Little girls arent expected to handle numdahs. Now, where would you like it put? (Holds saddle above his head.)
MRS. G. (A break in her voice.) Nowhere. Pip, how good you areand how strong! Oh, whats that ugly red streak inside your arm?
CAPT. G. (Lowering saddle quickly.) Nothing. Its a mark of sorts. (Aside.) And Jacks coming to tiffin with his notions all cut and dried!
MRS. G. I know its a mark, but Ive never seen it before. It runs all up the arm. What is it?
CAPT. G. A cutif you want to know.
MRS. G. Want to know! Of course I do! I cant have my husband cut to pieces in this way. How did it come? Was it an accident? Tell me, Pip.
CAPT. G. (Grimly.) No. Twasnt an accident. I got itfrom a manin Afghanistan.
MRS. G. In action? Oh, Pip, and you never told me!
CAPT. G. Id forgotten all about it.
MRS. G. Hold up your arm! What a horrid, ugly scar! Are you sure it doesnt hurt now! How did the man give it you?
CAPT. G. (Desperately looking at his watch.) With a knife. I came downold Van Loo did, thats to sayand fell on my leg, so I couldnt run. And then this man came up and began chopping at me as I sprawled.
MRS. G. Oh, dont, dont! Thats enough!Well, what happened?
CAPT. G. I couldnt get to my holster, and Mafflin came round the corner and stopped the performance.
MRS. G. How? Hes such a lazy man, I dont believe he did.
CAPT. G. Dont you? I dont think the man had much doubt about it. Jack cut his head off.
MRS. G. Cuthisheadoff! With one blow, as they say in the books?
CAPT. G. Im not sure. I was too interested in myself to know much about it. Anyhow, the head was off, and Jack was punching old Van Loo in the ribs to make him get up. Now you know all about it, dear, and now
MRS. G. You want me to go, of course. You never told me about this, though Ive been married to you for ever so long; and you never would have told me if I hadnt found out; and you never do tell me anything about yourself, or what you do, or what you take an interest in.
CAPT. G. Darling, Im always with you, arent I?
MRS. G. Always in my pocket, you were going to say. I know you are; but you are always thinking away from me.
CAPT. G. (Trying to hide a smile.) Am I? I wasnt aware of it. Im awfly sorry.
MRS. G. (Piteously.) Oh, dont make fun of me! Pip, you know what I mean. When you are reading one of those things about Cavalry, by that idiotic Princewhy doesnt he be a Prince instead of a stable-boy?
CAPT. G. Prince Kraft a stable-boyOh, my Aunt! Never mind, dear. You were going to say?
MRS. G. It doesnt matter; you dont care for what I say. Onlyonly you get up and walk about the room, staring in front of you, and then Mafflin comes in to dinner, and after Im in the drawmg-room I can hear you and him talking, and talking, and talking, about things I cant understand, andoh, I get so tired and feel so lonely!I dont want to complain and be a trouble, Pip; but I do indeed I do!
CAPT. G. My poor darling! I never thought of that. Why dont 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 shouldnt be amused. You know I only want you.
CAPT. G. And you have me surely, Sweetheart?
MRS. G. I have not! Pip why dont you take me into your life?
CAPT. G. More than I do? That would be difficult, dear.
MRS. G. Yes, I suppose it wouldto you. Im no help to youno companion to you; and you like to have it so.
CAPT. G. Arent you a little unreasonable, Pussy?
MRS. G. (Stamping her foot.) Im the most reasonable woman in the worldwhen Im treated properly.
CAPT. G. And since when have I been treating you improperly?
MRS. G. Alwaysand since the beginning. You know you have.
CAPT. G. I dont; but Im 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? Is 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, Ive one notion and Jack has another, but we are both agreed that all this equipment is about thirty pounds too heavy. The thing is how to cut it down without weakening any part of it, and, at the same time, allowing the trooper to carry everything he wants for his own comfortsocks and shirts and things of that kind.
MRS. G. Why doesnt he pack them in a little trunk?
CAPT. G. (Kissing her.) Oh, you darling! Pack them in a little trunk, indeed! Hussars dont carry trunks, and its a most important thing to make the horse do all the carrying.
MRS. G. But why need you bother about it? Youre not a trooper.
CAPT. G. No; but I command a few score of him; and equipment is nearly everything in these days.
MRS. G. More than me?
CAPT. G. Stupid! Of course not; but its a matter that Im tremendously interested in, because if I or Jack, or I and Jack, work out some sort of lighter saddlery and all that. its possible that we may get it adopted.
MRS. G. How?
CAPT. G. Sanctioned at Home, where they will make a sealed patterna pattern that all the saddlers must copyand so it will be used by all the regiments.
MRS. G. And that interests you?
CAPT. G. Its part of my profession, yknow, and my profession is a good deal to me. Everything in a soldiers equipment is important, and if we can improve that equipment, so much the better for the soldiers and for us.
MRS. G. Whos us?
CAPT. G. Jack and I; only Jacks notions are too radical. Whats that big sigh for, Minnie?
MRS. G. Oh, nothingand youve kept all this a secret from me! Why?
CAPT. G. Not a secret, exactly, dear. I didnt say anything about it to you because I didnt think it would amuse you.
MRS. G. And am I only made to be amused?
CAPT. G. No, of course. I merely mean that it couldnt interest you.
MRS. G. Its your work andand if youd let me, Id count all these things up. If they are too heavy, you know by how much they are too heavy, and you must have a list of things made out to your scale of lightness, and
CAPT. G. I have got both scales somewhere in my head; hut its hard to tell how light you can make a head-stall, for instance, until youve actually had a model made.
MRS. G. But if you read out the list, I could copy it down, and pin it up there just above your table. Wouldnt that do?
CAPT. G. It would be awfly nice, dear, but it would be giving you trouble for nothing. I cant work that way. I go by rule of thumb. I know the present scale of weights, and the other onethe one that Im trying to work towill shift and vary so much that I couldnt be certain, even if I wrote it down.
MRS. G. Im so sorry. I thought I might help. Is there anything else that I could be of use in?
CAPT. G. (Looking round the room.) I cant think of anything. Youre always helping me you know.
MRS. G. Am I? How?
CAPT. G. You are of course, and as long as youre near meI cant explain exactly, but its in the air.
MRS. G. And thats why you wanted to send me away?
CAPT. G. Thats only when Im trying to do workgrubby work like this.
MRS. G. Mafflins better, then, isnt he?
CAPT. G. (Rashly.) Of course he is. Jack and I have been thinking along the same groove for two or three years about this equipment. Its our hobby, and it may really be useful some day.
MRS. G. (After a pause.) And thats all that you have away from me?
CAPT. G. It isnt very far away from you now. Take care the oil on that bit doesnt come off on your dress.
MRS. G. I wishI wish so much that I could really help you. I believe I couldif I left the room. But thats not what I mean.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Give me patience! I wish she would go. (Aloud.) I assure you you cant do anything for me, Minnie, and I must really settle down to this. Wheres my pouch?
MRS. G. (Crossing to writing-table.) Here you are, Bear. What a mess you keep your table in!
CAPT. G. Dont touch it. Theres a method in my madness, though you mightnt 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 among the Troop papers? Be careful.
MRS. G. Why? I shant disturb anything. Good gracious! I had no idea that you had anything to do with so many sick horses.
CAPT. G. Wish I hadnt, but they insist on falling sick. Minnie, if I were you I really should not investigate those papers. You may come across something that you wont like.
MRS. G. Why will you always treat me like a child? I know Im not displacing the horrid things.
CAPT. G. (Resignedly.) Very well, then. Dont blame me if anything happens. Play with the table and let me go on with the saddlery. (Slipping hand into trousers-pocket.) Oh, the deuce!
MRS. G. (Her back to G.) Whats that for?
CAPT. G. Nothing. (Aside.) Theres not much in it, but I wish Id torn it up.
MRS. G. (Turning over contents of table.) I know youll hate me for this; but I do want to see what your work is like. (A pause.) Pip, what are farcy-buds?
CAPT. G. Hab! Would you really like to know? They arent pretty things.
MRS. G. This Journal of Veterinary Science says they are of absorbing interest. Tell me.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) It may turn her attention.
Gives a long and designedly loathsome account of glanders and farcy. |
MRS. G. Oh, thats enough. Dont go on!
CAPT. G. But you wanted to knowThen these things suppurate and matterate and spread
MRS. G. Pin, youre making me sick! Youre a horrid, disgusting schoolboy.
CAPT. G. (On his knees among the bridles.) You asked to be told. Its not my fault if you worry me into talking about horrors.
MRS. G. Why didnt you sayNo?
CAPT. G. Good Heavens, child! Have you come in here simply to bully me?
MRS. G. I bully you? How could I! Youre so strong. (Hysterically.) Strong enough to pick me up and put me outside the door and leave me there to cry. Arent you?
CAPT. G. It seems to me that youre an irrational little baby. Are you quite well?
MRS. G. Do I look ill? (Returning to table). Who is your lady friend with the big grey envelope and the fat monogram outside?
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Then it wasnt locked up, confound it. (Aloud.) God made her, therefore let her pass for a woman. You remember what farcybuds are like?
MRS. G. (Showing envelope.) This has nothing to do with them. Im going to open it. May I?
CAPT. G. Certainly, if you want to. Id sooner you didnt though. I dont ask to look at your letters to the Deercourt girl.
MRS. G. Youd better not, Sir! (Takes letter from envelope.) Now, may I look? If you say no, I shall cry.
CAPT. G. Youve never cried in my knowledge of you, and I dont believe you could.
MRS. G. I feel very like it to-day, Pip. Dont be hard on me. (Reads letter.) It begins in the middle, without any Dear Captain Gadsby, or anything. How funny!
CAPT. G. (Aside.) No, its not Dear Captain Gadsby, or anything, now. How funny!
MRS. G. What a strange letter! (Reads.) And so the moth has come too near the candle at last, and has been singed intoshall I say Respectability? I congratulate him, and hope he will be as happy as he deserves to be. What does that mean? Is 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 sortsa Mrs. Herriottwife 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 youngas young as me. I knew one who was younger.
CAPT. G. Then it couldnt have been Mrs. Herriott. She was old enough to have been your mother, dear.
MRS. G. I remember now. Mrs. Scargill was talking about her at the Dutfins tennis, before you came for me, on Tuesday. Captain Mafflin said she was a dear old woman. Do you know, I think Mafflin is a very 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 he literally stepped into it. Some of the tea spirted over my dressthe grey one. I meant to tell you about it before.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) There are the makings of a strategist about Jack though his methods are coarse. (Aloud.) Youd better get a new dress, then. (Aside.) Let us pray that that will turn her.
MRS. G. Oh, it isnt stained in the least. I only thought that Id tell you. (Returning to letter.) What an extraordinary person! (Reads.) But need I remind you that you have taken upon yourself a charge of wardshipwhat in the world is a charge of wardship?which as you yourself know, may end in Consequences
CAPT. G. (Aside.) Its safest to let em see everything as they come across it; but seems to me that there are exceptions to the rule. (Aloud.) I told you that there was nothing to be gained from rearranging my table.
MRS. G. (Absently.) What does the woman mean? She goes on talking about Consequencesalmost inevitable Consequences with a capital Cfor half a page. (Flushing scarlet.) Oh, good gracious! How abominable!
CAPT. G. (Promptly.) Do you think so? Doesnt it show a sort of motherly interest in us? (Aside.) Thank Heaven. Harry always wrapped her meaning up safely! (Aloud.) Is it absolutely necessary to go on with the letter, darling?
MRS. G. Its impertinent its simply horrid. What right has this woman to write in this way to you? She oughtnt to.
CAPT. G. When you write to the Deercourt girl, I notice that you generally fill three or four sheets. Cant you let an old woman babble on paper once in a way? She means well.
MRS. G. I dont care. She shouldnt write, and if she did, you ought to have shown me her letter.
CAPT. G. Cant you understand why I kept it to myself, or must I explain at lengthas I explained the farcybuds?
MRS. G. (Furiously.) Pip I hate you! This is as bad as those idiotic saddle-bags on the floor. Never mind whether it would please me or not, you ought to have given it to me to read.
CAPT. G. It comes to the same thing. You took it yourself.
MRS. G. Yes, but if I hadnt taken it, you wouldnt have said a word. I think this Harriet Herriottits like a name in a bookis an interfering old Thing.
CAPT. G. (Aside.) So long as you thoroughly understand that she is old, I dont much care what you think. (Aloud.) Very good, dear. Would you like to write and tell her so? Shes seven thousand miles away.
MRS. G. I dont want to have anything to do with her, but you ought to have told me. (Turning to last page of letter.) And she patronizes me, too. Ive never seen her! (Reads.) I do not know how the world stands with you; in all human probability I shall never know; but whatever I may have said before, I pray for her sake more than for yours that all may be well. I have learned what misery means, and I dare not wish that any one dear to you should share my knowledge.
CAPT. G. Good God! Cant you leave that letter alone, or, at least, cant you refrain from reading it aloud? Ive been through it once. Put it back on the desk. Do you hear me?
MRS. G. (Irresolutely.) I shshant! (Looks at G.s eyes.) Oh, Pip, please! I didnt mean to make you angryDeed, I didnt. Pip, Im so sorry. I know Ive wasted your time
CAPT. G. (Grimly.) You have. Now, will you be good enough to goif there is nothing more in my room that you are anxious to pry into?
MRS. G. (Putting out her hands.) Oh, Pip, dont look at me like that! Ive never seen you look like that before and it huurts me! Im sorry. I oughtnt to have been here at all, andandand- (sobbing.) Oh, be good to me! Be good to me! Theres only youanywhere!
Breaks down in long chair, hiding face in cushions. |
CAPT. G. (Aside.) She doesnt know how she flicked me on the raw. (Aloud, bending over chair.) I didnt mean to be harsh, dearI didnt really. You can stay here as long as you please, and do what you please. Dont cry like that. Youll make yourself sick. (Aside.) What on earth has come over her? (Aloud.) Darling, whats the matter with you?
MRS. G. (Her face still hidden.) Let me golet me go to my own room. Onlyonly say you arent angry with me.
CAPT. G. Angry with you, love! Of course not. I was angry with myself. Id lost my temper over the saddleryDont hide your face, Pussy. I want to kiss it.
Bends lower, Mrs. G. slides right arm round his neck. Several interludes and much sobbing. |
MRS. G. (In a whisper.) I didnt mean about the jam when I came in to tell you
CAPT. G. Bother the jam and the equipment! (Interlude.)
MRS. G. (Still more faintly.) My finger wasnt scalded at all. Iwanted to speak to you aboutaboutsomething else, andI didnt know how.
CAPT. G. Speak away, then. (Looking into her eyes.) Eb! Wha-at? Minnie! Here, dont go away! You dont mean?
MRS. G. (Hysterically, backing to portiere and hiding her face in its folds.) Thethe Almost Inevitable Consequences! (Flits through portière as G. attempts to catch her, and bolts herself in her own room.)
CAPT. G. (His arms full of portière.) Oh! (Sitting down heavily in chair.) Im a brutea piga bully, and a blackguard. My poor, poor little darling! Only made to be amused?
SCENE.The GADSBYS bungalow in the Plains, in June. Punkah-coolies asleep in veranda where CAPTAIN GADSBY is walking up and down. DOCTORS trap in porch. JUNIOR CHAPLAIN drifting generally and uneasily through the house. Time, 3:4O A.M. Heat 94° in veranda. |
DOCTOR. (Coming into veranda and touching G. on the shoulder.) You had better go in and see her now.
CAPT. G. (The color of good cigar-ash.) Eh, wha-at? Oh, yes, of course. What did you say?
DOCTOR. (Syllable by syllable.) Gointotheroomandseeher. She wants to speak to you. (Aside, testily.) I shall have him on my hands next.
JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. (In half-lighted dining room.) Isnt there any?
DOCTOR. (Savagely.) Hsh, 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 leastat least. Man alive, hell kill you if you go in there! What are you bothering him for?
JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. (Coming into veranda.) Ive given him a stiff brandy-peg. He wants it. Youve forgotten him for the last ten hours andforgotten yourself too.
G. enters bedroom, which is lit by one night-lamp. Ayah on the floor pretending to be asleep. |
VOICE. (From the bed.) All down the streetsuch bonfires! Ayah, go and put them out! (Appealingly.) How can I sleep with an installation of the C.I.E. in my room? Nonot C.I.E. Something else. What was it?
CAPT. G. (Trying to control his voice) Minnie, Im here. (Bending over bed.) Dont you know me, Mmnie? Its meits Philits your husband.
VOICE. (Mechanically.) Its meits Philits your husband.
CAPT. G. She doesnt know me!Its your own husband, darling.
VOICE. Your own husband, darling.
AYAH. (With an inspiration.) Memsahib understanding all I saying.
CAPT. G. Make her understand me thenquick!
AYAH. (Hand on MRS. G.s forehead.) Memsahib! Captain Sahib here.
VOICE. Salaem do. (Fretfully.) I know Im not fit to be seen.
AYAH. (Aside to G.) Say marneen same at breakfash.
CAPT. G. Good morning, little woman. How are we to-day?
VOICE. Thats Phil. Poor old Phil. (Viciously.) Phil, you fool, I cant see you. Come nearer.
CAPT. G. Minnie! Minnie! Its meyou know me?
VOICE. (Mockingly.) Of course I do. Who does not know the man who was so cruel to his wifealmost the only one he ever had?
CAPT. G. Yes, dear. Yesof course, of course. But wont you speak to bim? He wants to speak to you so much.
VOICE. Theyd never let him in. The Doctor would give darwaza band even if he were in the house. Hell never come. (Despairingly.) O Judas! Judas! Judas!
CAPT. G. (Putting out his arms.) They have let him in, and he always was in the house Oh, my lovedont you know me?
VOICE. (In a half chant.) And it came to pass at the eleventh hour that this poor soul repented. It knocked at the gates, but they were shuttight as a plastera great, burning plaster They had pasted our marriage certificate all across the door, and it was made of red-hot ironpeople really ought to be more careful, you know.
CAPT. G. What am I to do? (Taking her in his arms.) Minnie! speak to meto Phil.
VOICE. What shall I say? Oh, tell me what to say before its too late! They are all going away and I cant say anything.
CAPT. G. Say you know me! Only say you know me!
DOCTOR. (Who has entered quietly.) For pitys sake dont take it too much to heart, Gadsby. Its this way sometimes. They wont recognize. They say all sorts of queer thingsdont you see?
CAPT. G. All right! All right! Go away now; shell recognize me; youre bothering her. She mustmustnt she?
DOCTOR. She will before Have I your leave to try?
CAPT. G. Anything you please, so long as shell know me. Its only a question of hours, isnt it?
DOCTOR. (Professionally.) While theres life theres hope yknow. But dont build on it.
CAPT. G. I dont. Pull her together if its possible. (Aside.) What have I done to deserve this?
DOCTOR. (Bending over bed.) Now, Mrs. Gadsby! We shall be all right tomorrow. You must take it, or I shant let Phil see you. It isnt nasty, is it?
VOICE. Medicines! Always more medicines! Cant you leave me alone?
CAPT. G. Oh, leave her in peace, Doc!
DOCTOR. (Stepping back,aside.) May I be forgiven if Ive done wrong. (Aloud.) In a few minutes she ought to be sensible; but I darent tell you to look for anything. Its only
CAPT. G. What? Go on, man.
DOCTOR. (In a whisper.) Forcing the last rally.
CAPT. G. Then leave us alone.
DOCTOR. Dont mind what she says at first, if you can. Theythey they turn against those they love most sometimes in this.Its hard, but
CAPT. G. Am I her husband or are you? Leave us alone for what time we have together.
VOICE. (Confidentially.) And we were engaged quite suddenly, Emma. I assure you that I never thought of it for a moment; but, oh, my little Me!I dont know what I should have done if he hadnt proposed.
CAPT. G. She thinks of that Deercourt girl before she thinks of me. (Aloud.) Minnie!
VOICE. Not from the shops, Mummy dear. You can get the real leaves from Kaintu, and (laughing weakly) never mind about the blossomsDead white silk is only fit for widows, and I wont wear it. Its as bad as a winding sheet. (A long pause.)
CAPT. G. I never asked a favor yet. If there is anybody to listen to me, let her know meeven if I die too!
VOICE. (Very faintly.) Pip, Pip dear.
CAPT. G. Im here, darling.
VOICE. What has happened? Theyve been bothering me so with medicines and things, and they wouldnt let you come and see me. I was never ill before. Am I ill now?
CAPT. G. Youyou arent quite well.
VOICE. How funny! Have I been ill long?
CAPT. G. Some days; but youll be all right in a little time.
VOICE. Do you think so, Pip? I dont feel well andOh! what have they done to my hair?
CAPT. G. I ddont know.
VOICE. Theyve cut it off. What a shame!
CAPT. G. It must have been to make your head cooler.
VOICE. Just like a boys wig. Dont I look horrid?
CAPT. G. Never looked prettier in your life, dear. (Aside.) How am I to ask her to say good-bye?
VOICE. I dont feel pretty. I feel very ill. My heart wont work. Its nearly dead inside me, and theres a funny feeling in my eyes. Everything seems the same distanceyou and the almirah and the table inside my eyes or miles away. What does it mean, Pip?
CAPT. G. Youre a little feverish, Sweetheartvery feverish. (Breaking down.) My love! my love! How can I let you go?
VOICE. I thought so. Why didnt you tell me that at first?
CAPT. G. What?
VOICE. That I am going todie.
CAPT. G. But you arent! You shant.
AYAH to punkah-coolie. (Stepping into veranda after a glance at the bed. ). Punkah chor do! [Stop pulling the punkah.]
VOICE. Its hard, Pip. So very, very hard after one yearjust one year.
(Wailing.) And Im only twenty. Most girls arent even married at twenty. Cant they do anything to help me? I dont want to die.
CAPT. G. Hush, dear. You wont.
VOICE. Whats the use of talking? Help me! Youve never failed me yet. Oh, Phil, help me to keep alive. (Feverishly.) I dont believe you wish me to live. You werent a bit sorry when that horrid Baby thing died. I wish Id killed it!
CAPT. G. (Drawing his hand across his forehead.) Its more than a mans meant to bearits not right. (Aloud.) Minnie, love, Id die for you if it would help.
VOICE. No more death. Theres enough already. Pip, dont you die too.
CAPT. G. I wish I dared.
VOICE. It says: Till Death do us part. Nothing after thatand so it would be no use. It stops at the dying. Why does it stop there? Only such a very short life, too. Pip, Im sorry we married.
CAPT. G. No! Anything but that, Min!
VOICE. Because youll forget and Ill forget. Oh, Pip, dont forget! I always loved you, though I was cross sometimes. If I ever did anything that you didnt like, say you forgive me now.
CAPT. G. You never did, darling. On my soul and honor you never did. I havent a thing to forgive you.
VOICE. I sulked for a whole week about those petunias. (With a laugh.) What a little wretch I was, and how grieved you were! Forgive me that, Pip.
CAPT. G. Theres nothing to forgive. It was my fault. They were too near the drive. For Gods sake dont talk so, Minnie! Theres such a lot to say and so little time to say it in.
VOICE. Say that youll always love meuntil the end.
CAPT. G. Until the end. (Carried away.) Its a lie. It must be, because weve loved each other. This isnt the end.
VOICE. (Relapsing into semi-delirium.) My Church-service has an ivory-cross on the back, and it says so, so it must be true. Till Death do us part.but thats a lie. (With a parody of G.s manner.) A damned lie! (Recklessly.) Yes, I can swear as well as a Trooper, Pip. I cant make my head think, though. Thats because they cut off my hair. How can one think with ones head all fuzzy? (Pleadingly.) Hold me, Pip! Keep me with you always and always. (Relapsing.) But if you marry the Thorniss girl when Im dead, Ill come back and howl under our bedroom window all night. Oh, bother! Youll think Im a jackall. Pip, what time is it?
CAPT. G. A little before the dawn, dear.
VOICE. I wonder where I shall be this time to-morrow?
CAPT. G. Would you like to see the Padre?
VOICE. Why should I? Hed tell me that I am going to heaven; and that wouldnt be true, because you are here. Do you recollect when he upset the cream-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 you really couldnt tell unless you were told. Lets call him in and ask.
CAPT. G. (Gravely.) No. I dont think hed like that. Your head comfy, Sweetheart?
VOICE. (Faintly with a sigh of contentment.) Yes! Gracious, Pip, when did you shave last? Your chins worse than the barrel of a musical box.No, dont lift it up. I like it. (A pause.) You said youve never cried at all. Youre crying all over my cheek.
CAPT. G. III cant help it, dear.
VOICE. How funny! I couldnt cry now to save my life. (G. shivers.) I want to sing.
CAPT. G. Wont it tire you? Better not, perhaps.
VOICE. Why? I wont be bothered about. (Begins in a hoarse quaver):
Minnie bakes oaten cake, Minnie brews ale, All because her Johnnies coming home from the sea. (Thats parade, Pip.)
And she grows red as a rose, who was so pale;And Are you sure the church-clock goes? says she. |
(Pettishly.) I knew I couldnt take the last note. How do the bass chords run? (Puts out her hands and begins playing piano on the sheet.)
CAPT. G. (Catching up hands.) Ahh! Dont do that, Pussy, if you love me.
VOICE. Love you? Of course I do. Who else should it be? (A pause.)
VOICE. (Very clearly.) Pip, Im gomg now. Somethings choking me cruelly. (Indistinctly.) Into the darkwithout you, my heartBut its a lie, dearwe mustnt believe it.Forever and ever, living or dead. Dont let me go, my husbandhold me tight.They cantwhatever happens. (A cough.) Pipmy Pip! Not for alwaysandsosoon! (Voice ceases.)
Pause of ten minutes. G. buries his face in the side of the bed while AYAH bends over bed from opposite side and feels MRS. G.s breast and forehead. |
CAPT. G. (Rising.) Doctor Sahib ko salaam do. [Ask the doctor to come.]
AYAH. (Still by bedside, with a shriek.) Ai! Ai! Tutaphuta! My Memsahib! Not gettingnot have got!Pusseena agya! [The sweat has come.] (Fiercely to G.) TUM jao Doctor Sahib ko jaldi! (You go to the DOCTOR.) Oh, my Memsahib!
DOCTOR. (Entering hastily.) Come away, Gadsby. (Bends over bed.) Eb! The DevWhat inspired you to stop the punkab? Get out, mango awaywait outside! Go! Here, Ayah! (Over his shoulder to G.) Mind I promise nothing.
The dawn breaks as G. stumbles into the garden. |
CAPT. M. (Reining up at the gate on his way to parade and very soberly.) Old man, how goes?
CAPT. G. (Dazed.) I dont quite know. Stay a bit. Have a drink or something. Dont run away. Youre just getting amusing. Ha! ha!
CAPT. M. (Aside.) What am I let in for? Gaddy has aged ten years in the night.
CAPT. G. (Slowly, fingering chargers headstall.) Your curbs 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 finally stands staring toward the veranda. The day brightens. |
DOCTOR. (Knocked out of professional gravity, tramping across flower-beds and shaking Gs hands.) Ititsits!Gadsby, theres a fair chancea dashed fair chance. The flicker, yknow. The sweat, yknow I saw how it would be. The punkab, yknow. Deuced clever woman that ayah of yours. Stopped the punkab just at the right time. A dashed good chance! Noyou dont go in. Well pull her through yet I promise on my reputationunder Providence. Send a man with this note to Bingle. Two heads better than one. Specially the ayah! Well pull her round. (Retreats hastily to house.)
CAPT. G. (His head on neck of M.s charger.) Jack! I bub-bu- believe, Im going to make a bu-bub-bloody exhibitiod of byself.
CAPT. M. (Sniffing openly and feelmg in his left cuff.) I b-b-believe, Ib doing it already. Old bad, what cad I say? Ib as pleased asCod dab you, Caddy! Youre one big idiot and Ib adother. (Pulling himself together.) Sit tight! Here comes the Devil-dodger.
JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. (Who is not in the Doctors confidence.) Wewe are only men in these things, Gadsby. I know that I can say nothing now to help
CAPT. M. (fealously.) Then dont say it. Leave him alone. Its not bad enough to croak over. Here, Gaddy, take the chit to Bingle and ride hell-for-leather. Itll do you good. I cant go.
JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. Do him good! (Smiling.) Give me the chit and Ill drive. Let him lie down. Your horse is blocking my cartplease!
CAPT. M. (Slowly without reining back.) I beg your pardonIll apologize. On paper if you like.
JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. (Flicking M.s charger.) Thatll do, thanks. Turn in, Gadsby, and Ill bring Bingle backahemhell-for-leather.
CAPT. M. (Solus.) It would have served me right if hed cut me across the face. He can drive too. I shouldnt care to go that pace in a bamboo cart. What a faith he must have in his Makerof harness! Come hup, you brute! (Gallops off to parade, blowing his nose, as the sun rises.)
MRS. G. (Very white and pinched, in morning wrapper at break fast table.) How big and strange the room looks, and how glad I am to see it again! What dust, though! I must talk to the servants. Sugar, Pip? Ive almost forgotten. (Seriously.) Wasnt I very ill?
CAPT. G. Iller than I liked. (Tenderly.) Oh, you bad little Pussy, what a start you gave me!
MRS. G. Ill never do it again.
CAPT. G. Youd better not. And now get those poor pale cheeks pink again, or I shall be angry. Dont try to lift the urn. Youll upset it. Wait. (Comes round to head of table and lifts urn.)
MRS. G. (Quickly.) Khitmatgar, bowarchikhana see kettly lao. [Butler, get a kettle from the cook-house.] (Drawing down G.s face to her own.) Pip dear, 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.) Im going to give Junda a sari.
CAPT. G. I gave her fifty dibs.
MRS. G. So she told me. It was a normous reward. Was I worth it? (Several interludes.) Dont! Heres the khitmatgar.Two lumps or one Sir?
SCENE.The GADSBYS bungalow in the Plains, on a January morning. MRS. G. arguing with bearer in back veranda. CAPT. M. rides up. |
CAPT. M. Mornin, Mrs. Gadsby. Hows the Infant Phenomenon and the Proud Proprietor?
MRS. G. Youll find them in the front veranda; go through the house. Im Martha just now.
CAPT. M. Cumbered about with cares of Khitmutgars? I fly.
Passes into front veranda, where GADSBY is watching GADSBY JUNIOR, aged ten months, crawling about the matting. |
CAPT. M. Whats the trouble, Gaddyspoiling an honest mans Europe morning this way? (Seeing G. JUNIOR.) By Jove, that yearlings comm on amaxingly! Any amount of bone below the knee there.
CAPT. G. Yes, hes a healthy little scoundrel. Dont you think his hairs growing?
CAPT. M. Lets have a look. Hi! Hst Come here, General Luck, and well report on you.
MRS. G. (Within.) What absurd name will you give him next? Why do you call him that?
CAPT. M. Isnt he our Inspector-General of Cavalry? Doesnt he come down in his seventeen-two perambulator every morning the Pink Hussars parade? Dont wriggle, Brigadier. Give us your private opinion on the way the third squadron went past. Trifle ragged, weren t they?
CAPT. G. A bigger set of tailors than the new draft I dont wish to see. Theyve given me more than my fair shareknocking the squadron out of shape. Its sickening!
CAPT. M. When youre in command, youll do better, young un. Cant you walk yet? Grip my finger and try. (To G.) Twont hurt his hocks, will it?
CAPT. G. Oh, no. Dont let him flop, though, or hell lick all the blacking off your boots.
MRS. G. (Within.) Whos destroying my sons character?
CAPT. M. And my Godsons. Im ashamed of you, Gaddy. Punch your father in the eye, Jack! Dont you stand it! Hit him again!
CAPT. G. (Sotto voce.) Put the Butcha down and come to the end of the veranda. Id rather the Wife didnt hearjust now.
CAPT. M. You look awfly serious. Anything wrong?
CAPT. G. Depends on your view entirely. I say, Jack, you wont think more hardly of me than you can help, will you? Come further this way.The fact of the matter is, that Ive made up my mindat least Im thinking seriously ofcutting the Service.
CAPT. M. Hwhatt?
CAPT. G. Dont shout. Im going to send in my papers.
CAPT. M. You! Are you mad?
CAPT. G. Noonly married.
CAPT. M. Look here! Whats the meaning of it all? You never intend to leave us. You cant. Isnt the best squadron of the best regiment of the best cavalry in all the world good enough for you?
CAPT. G. (Jerking his head over his shoulder.) She doesnt seem to thrive in this God-forsaken country, and theres the Butcha to be considered and all that, you know.
CAPT. M. Does she say that she doesnt like India?
CAPT. G. Thats the worst of it. She wont for fear of leaving me.
CAPT. M. What are the Hills made for?
CAPT. G. Not for my wife, at any rate.
CAPT. M. You know too much, Gaddy, andI dont like you any the better for it!
CAPT. G. Never mind that. She wants England, and the Butcha would be all the better for it. Im going to chuck. You dont understand.
CAPT. M. (Hotly.) I understand this One hundred and thirty-seven new horse to be licked into shape somehow before Luck comes round again; a hairy-heeled draft wholl give more trouble than the horses; a camp next cold weather for a certainty; ourselves the first on the roster; the Russian shindy ready to come to a head at five minutes notice, and you, the best of us all, backing out of it all! Think a little, Gaddy. You wont do it.
CAPT. G. Hang it, a man has some duties toward his family, I suppose.
CAPT. M. I remember a man, though, who told me, the night after Amdheran, when we were picketed under Jagai, and hed left his swordby the way, did you ever pay Ranken for that sword?in an Utmanzais headthat man told me that hed stick by me and the Pinks as long as he lived. I dont blame him for not sticking by meIm not much of a manbut I do blame him for not sticking by the Pink Hussars.
CAPT. G. (Uneasily.) We were little more than boys then. Cant you see, Jack, how things stand? Tisnt as if we were serving for our bread. Weve all of us, more or less, got the filthy lucre. Im luckier than some, perhaps. Theres no call for me to serve on.
CAPT. M. None in the world for you or for us, except the Regimental. If you dont choose to answer to that, of course
CAPT. G. Dont be too hard on a man. You know that a lot of us only take up the thing for a few years and then go back to Town and catch on with the rest.
CAPT. M. Not lots, and they arent some of Us.
CAPT. G. And then there are ones affairs at Home to be consideredmy place and the rents, and all that. I dont suppose my father can last much longer, and that means the title, and so on.
CAPT. M. Fraid you wont 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 spose I should be a Marquis of sorts. Any fool can be that; but it needs men, Gaddymen like youto lead flanking squadrons properly. Dont you delude yourself into the belief that youre going Home to take your place and prance about among pink-nosed Kabuli dowagers. You arent built that way. I know better.
CAPT. G. A man has a right to live his life as happily as he can. You arent married.
CAPT. M. Nopraise be to Providence and the one or two women who have had the good sense to jawab me.
CAPT. G. Then you dont know what it is to go into your own room and see your wifes head on the pillow, and when everything else is safe and the house shut up for the night, to wonder whether the roof-beams wont give and kill her.
CAPT. M. (Aside.) Revelations first and second! (Aloud.) So-o! I knew a man who got squiffy at our Mess once and confided to me that he never helped his wife on to her horse without praying that shed break her neck before she came back. All husbands arent alike, you see.
CAPT. G. What on earth has that to do with my case? The man must ha been mad, or his wife as bad as they make em.
CAPT. M. (Aside.) No fault of yours if either werent all you say. Youve forgotten the time when you were insane about the Herriott woman. You always were a good hand at forgetting. (Aloud.) Not more mad than men who go to the other extreme. Be reasonable, Gaddy. Your roof-beams are sound enough.
CAPT. G. That was only a way of speaking. Ive been uneasy and worried about the Wife ever since that awful business three years agowhenI nearly lost her. Can you wonder?
CAPT. M. Oh, a shell never falls twice in the same place. Youve paid your toll to misfortunewhy should your Wife be picked out more than anybody elses?
CAPT. G. I can talk just as reasonably as you can, but you dont understandyou dont understand. And then theres the Butcha. Deuce knows where the ayah takes him to sit in the evening! He has a bit of a cough. Havent you noticed it?
CAPT. M. Bosh! The Brigadiers jumping out of his skin with pure condition. Hes got a muzzle like a rose-leaf and the chest of a two-year-old. Whats demoralized you?
CAPT. G. Funk. Thats the long and the short of it. Funk!
CAPT. M. But what is there to funk?
CAPT. G. Everything. Its ghastly.
CAPT. M. Ah! I see.
You dont want to fight, And by Jingo when we do, Youve got the kid, youve got the Wife, Youve got the money, too. |
Thats about the case, eh?
CAPT. G. I suppose thats it. But its not for myself. Its because of them. At least I think it is.
CAPT. M. Are you sure? Looking at the matter in a cold-blooded light, the Wife is provided for even if you were wiped out tonight. She has an ancestral home to go to, money and the Brigadier to carry on the illustrious name.
CAPT. G. Then it is for myself or because they are part of me. You dont see it. My lifes so good, so pleasant, as it is, that I want to make it quite safe. Cant you understand?
CAPT. M. Perfectly. Shelter-pit for the Offcers charger, as they say in the Line.
CAPT. G. And I have everything to my hand to make it so. Im sick of the strain and the worry for their sakes out here; and there isnt a single real difficulty to prevent my dropping it altogether. Itll only cost meJack, I hope youll never know the shame that Ive been going through for the past six months.
CAPT. M. Hold on there! I dont wish to be told. Every man has his moods and tenses sometimes.
CAPT. G. (Laughing brtterly.) Has he? What do you call craning over to see where your near-fore lands?
CAPT. M. In my case it means that I have been on the Considerable Bend, and have come to parade with a Head and a Hand. It passes in three strides.
CAPT. G. (Lowering voice.) It never passes wth me, Jack. Im always thinking about it. Phil Gadsby funking a fall on parade! Sweet picture, isnt it! Draw it for me.
CAPT. M. (Gravely.) Heaven forbid! A man like you cant be as bad as that. A fall is no nice thing, but one never gives it a thought.
CAPT. G. Doesnt one? Wait till youve got a wife and a youngster of your own, and then youll know how the roar of the squadron behind you turns you cold all up the back.
CAPT. M. (Aside.) And this man led at Amdheran after Bagal Deasin went under, and we were all mixed up together, and he came out of the snow dripping like a butcher. (Aloud.) Skittles! The men can always open out, and you can always pick your way more or less. We havent the dust to bother us, as the men have, and whoever heard of a horse stepping on a man?
CAPT. G. Neveras long as he can see. But did they open out for poor Errington?
CAPT. M. Oh, this is childish!
CAPT. G. I know it is, worse than that. I dont care. Youve ridden Van Loo. Is he the sort of brute to pick his wayspecially when were coming up in column of troop with any pace on?
CAPT. M. Once in a Blue Moon do we gallop in column of troop, and then only to save time. Arent three lengths enough for you?
CAPT. G. Yesquite enough. They just allow for the full development of the smash. Im talking like a cur, I know: but I tell you that, for the past three months, Ive felt every hoof of the squadron in the small of my back every time that Ive led.
CAPT. M. But, Gaddy, this is awful!
CAPT. G. Isnt it lovely? Isnt it royal? A Captain of the Pink Hussars watering up his charger before parade like the blasted boozing Colonel of a Black Regiment!
CAPT. M. You never did!
CAPT. G. Once Only. He squelched like a mussuck, and the Troop-Sergeant-Major cocked his eye at me. You know old Haffys eye. I was afraid to do it again.
CAPT. M. I should think so. That was the best way to rupture old Van Loos tummy, and make him crumple you up. You knew that.
CAPT. G. I didnt care. It took the edge off him.
CAPT. M. Took the edge off him? Gaddy, youyouyou mustnt, you know! Think of the men.
CAPT. G. Thats another thing I am afraid of. Dyou spose they know?
CAPT. M. Lets hope not; but theyre deadly quick to spot skirm-little things of that kind. See here, old man, send the Wife Home for the hot weather and come to Kashmir with me. Well start a boat on the Dal or cross the Rhotangshoot ibex or loafwhich you please. Only come! Youre a bit off your oats and youre talking nonsense. Look at the Colonelswag-bellied rascal that he is. He has a wife and no end of a bow-window of his own. Can any one of us ride round himchalkstones and all? I cant, and I think I can shove a crock along a bit.
CAPT. G. Some men are different. I havent any nerve. Lord help me, I havent the nerve! Ive taken up a hole and a half to get my knees well under the wallets. I cant help it. Im so afraid of anything happening to me. On my soul, I ought to be broke in front of the squadron, for cowardice.
CAPT. M. Ugly word, that. I should never have the courage to own up.
CAPT. G. I meant to lie about my reasons when I began, butIve got out of the habit of lying to you, old man. Jack, you wont?But I know you wont.
CAPT. M. Of course not. (Half aloud.) The Pinks are paying dearly for their Pride.
CAPT. G. Eh! What-at?
CAPT. M. Dont you know? The men have called Mrs. Gadsby the Pride of the Pink Hussars ever since she came to us.
CAPT. G. Tisnt her fault. Dont think that. Its all mine.
CAPT. M. What does she say?
CAPT. G. I havent exactly put it before her. Shes the best little woman in the world, Jack, and all thatbut she wouldnt counsel a man to stick to his calling if it came between him and her. At least, I think
CAPT. M. Never mind. Dont tell her what you told me. Go on the Peerage and Landed-Gentry tack.
CAPT. G. Shed see through it. Shes five times cleverer than I am.
CAPT. M. (Aside.) Then shell accept the sacrifice and think a little bit worse of him for the rest of her days.
CAPT. G. (Absentlty.) I say, do you despise me?
CAPT. M. Queer way of putting it. Have you ever been asked that question? Think a minute. What answer used you to give?
CAPT. G. So bad as that? Im not entitled to expect anything more, but its a bit hard when ones best friend turns round and
CAPT. M. So I have found. But you will have consolationsBailiffs and Drains and Liquid Manure and the Primrose League, and, perhaps, if youre lucky, the Colonelcy of a Yeomanry Cav-al-ry Regimentall uniform and no riding, I believe. How old are you?
CAPT. G. Thirty-three. I know its
CAPT. M. At forty youll be a fool of a J.P. landlord. At fifty youll own a bath-chair, and The Brigadier, if he takes after you, will be fluttering the dovecotes ofwhats the particular dunghill youre going to? Also, Mrs. Gadsby will be fat.
CAPT. G. (Limply.) This is rather more than a joke.
CAPT. M. Dyou think so? Isnt cutting the Service a joke? It generally takes a man fifty years to arrive at it. Youre quite right, though. It is more than a joke. Youve managed it in thirty-three.
CAPT. G. Dont make me feel worse than I do. Will it satisfy you if I own that I am a shirker, a skrim-shanker, and a coward?
CAPT. M. It will not, because Im the only man in the world who can talk to you like this without being knocked down. You mustnt take all that Ive said to heart in this way. I only spokea lot of it at leastout of pure selfishness, because, becauseOh, damn it all, old man,I dont know what I shall do without you. Of course, youve got the money and the place and all thatand there are two very good reasons why you should take care of yourself.
CAPT. G. Doesnt make it any sweeter. Im backing outI know I am. I always had a soft drop in me somewhereand I darent risk any danger to them.
CAPT. M. Why in the world should you? Youre bound to think of your familybound to think. Er-hmm. If I wasnt a younger son Id go toobe shot if I wouldnt I!
CAPT. G. Thank you, Jack. Its a kind lie, but its the blackest youve told for some time. I know what Im doing, and Im going into it with my eyes open. Old man, I cant help it. What would you do if you were in my place?
CAPT. M. (Aside.) Couldnt conceive any woman getting permanently between me and the Regiment. (Aloud.) Cant say. Very likely I should do no better. Im sorry for youawfly sorrybut if thems your sentiments, I believe, I really do, that you are acting wisely.
CAPT. G. Do you? I hope you do. (In a whisper.) Jack, be very sure of yourself before you marry. Im an ungrateful ruffian to say this, but marriageeven as good a marriage as mine has beenhampers a mans work, it cripples his sword-arm, and oh, it plays Hell with his notions of duty. Sometimesgood and sweet as she issometimes I could wish that I had kept my freedomNo, I dont mean that exactly.
MRS. G. (Coming down veranda.) What are you wagging your head over Pip?
CAPT. M. (Turning quickly.) Me, as usual. The old sermon. Your husband is recommending me to get married. Never saw such a one-ideaed man.
MRS. G. Well, why dont you? I dare say you would make some woman very happy.
CAPT. G. Theres the Law and the Prophets, Jack. Never mind the Regiment. Make a woman happy. (Aside.) O Lord!
CAPT. M. Well see. I must be off to make a Troop Cook desperately unhappy. I wont have the wily Hussar fed on Government Bullock Train shinbones(Hastily.) Surely black ants cant be good for The Brigadier. Hes picking em off the matting and eating em. Here, Señor Comandante Don Grubbynuse, come and talk to me. (Lifts G. JUNIOR in his arms.) Want my watch? You wont be able to put it into your mouth, but you can try. (G. JUNIOR drops watch, breaking dial and hands.)
MRS. G. Oh, Captain Mafflin, I am so sorry! Jack, you bad, bad little villain. Ahhh!
CAPT. M. Its not the least consequence, I assure you. Hed treat the world in the same way if he could get it into his hands. Everythings made to be played, with and broken, isnt it, young un?
CAPT. G. Regimental shop as usual.
MRS. G. The Regiment! Always the Regiment. On my word, I sometimes feel jealous of Mafflin.
CAPT. G. (Wearily.) Poor old Jack? I dont think you need. Isnt it time for the Butcha to have his nap? Bring a chair out here, dear. Ive got some thing to talk over with you.
WHAT is the moral? Who rides may read. When the night is thick and the tracks are blind A friend at a pinch is a friend indeed, But a fool to wait for the laggard behind. Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne, He travels the fastest who travels alone.
White hands cling to the tightened rein,
One may fall but he falls by himself
Wherefore the more ye be holpen and stayed |
I am to go with you? Your favour is great. Will there be picket-room in the compound? I have three horses and the bundles and the horseboy. Moreover, remember that the police here hold me a horse-thief. What do these Lowland bastards know of horse-thieves? Do you remember that time in Peshawur when Kamal hammered on the gates of Jumrudmountebank that he wasand lifted the Colonels horses all in one night? Kamal is dead now, but his nephew has taken up the matter, and there will be more horses a-missing if the Khyber Levies do not look to it.
The Peace of God and the favour of His Prophet be upon this house and all that is in it I Shafiz Ullah, rope the mottled mare under the tree and draw water. The horses can stand in the sun, but double the felts over the loins. Nay, my friend, do not trouble to look them over. They are to sell to the Officer-fools who know so many things of the horse. The mare is heavy in foal; the grey is a devil unlicked; and the dunbut you know the trick of the peg. When they are sold I go back to Pubbi, or, it may be, the Valley of Peshawur.
O friend of my heart, it is good to see you again. I have been bowing and lying all day to the Officer-Sahibs in respect to those horses; and my mouth is dry for straight talk. Auggrh! Before a meal tobacco is good. Do not join me, for we are not in our own country. Sit in the veranda and I will spread my cloth here. But first I will drink. In the name of God returning thanks, thrice! This is sweet water, indeedsweet as the water of Sheoran when it comes from the snows.
They are all well and pleased in the NorthKhoda Baksh and the others. Yar Khan has come down with the horses from Kurdistansix-and thirty head only, and a full half pack-poniesand has said openly in the Kashmir Serai that you English should send guns and blow the Amir into Hell. There are fifteen tolls now on the Kabul road; and at Dakka, when he thought he was clear, Yar Khan was stripped of all his Balkh stallions by the Governor! This is a great injustice, and Yar Khan is hot with rage. And of the others: Mahbub Ali is still at Pubbi, writing God knows what. Tugluq Khan is in jail for the business of the Kohat Police Post. Faiz Beg came down from Ismail-ki-Dhera with a Bokhariot belt for thee, my brother, at the closing of the year, but none knew whither thou hadst gone: there was no news left behind. The Cousins have taken a new run near Pakpattan to breed mules for the Government carts, and there is a story in the Bazar of a priest. Oho! Such a salt tale! Listen
Sahib, why do you ask that? My clothes are fouled because of the dust on the road. My eyes are sad because of the glare of the sun. My feet are swollen because I have washed them in bitter water, and my cheeks are hollow because the food here is bad. Fire burn your money! What do I want with it? I am rich. I thought you were my friend. But you are like the othersa Sahib. Is a man sad? Give him money, say the Sahibs. Is he dishonoured? Give him money, say the Sahibs. Hath he a wrong upon his head? Give him money, say the Sahibs. Such are the Sahibs, and such art thoueven thou.
Nay, do not look at the feet of the dun. Pity it is that I ever taught you to know the legs of a horse. Footsore? Be it so. What of that? The roads are hard. And the mare footsore? She bears a double burden, Sahib.
And now, I pray you, give me permission to depart. Great favour and honour has the Sahib done me, and graciously has he shown his belief that the horses are stolen. Will it please him to send me to the Thana? To call a sweeper and have me led away by one of these lizard-men? I am the Sahibs friend. I have drunk water in the shadow of his house, and he has blackened my face. Remains there anything more to do? Will the Sahib give me eight annas to make smooth the injury andcomplete the insult?
Forgive me, my brother. I knew notI know not nowwhat I say. Yes, I lied to you! I will put dust on my headand I am an Afridi! The horses have been marched footsore from the Valley to this place, and my eyes are dim, and my body aches for the want of sleep, and my heart is dried up with sorrow and shame. But as it was my shame, so by God the Dispenser of Justiceby Allah-al-Mumit!it shall be my 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 I pay thee back with lies and ingratitudeas a Pathan. Listen now! When the grief of the soul is too heavy for endurance it may be a little eased by speech; and, moreover, the mind of a true man is as a well, and the pebble of confession dropped therein sinks and is no more 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 daughters for silver? Come back with me to the North and be among men once more. Come back, when this matter is accomplished and I call for thee! The bloom of the peach-orchards is upon all the Valley, and here is only dust and a great stink. There is a pleasant wind among the mulberry trees, and the streams are bright with snow-water, and the caravans go up and the caravans go down, and a hundred fires sparkle in the gut of the Pass, and tent-peg answers hammer-nose, and pack-horse squeals to pack-horse across the drift-smoke of the evening. It is good in the North now. Come back with me. Let us return to our own people! Come
The Abazai are dogs and their women the servants of sin. There was a lover of her own people, but of that her father told me naught. My friend, curse for me in your prayers, as I curse at each praying from the Fakr to the Isha, the name of Daoud Shah, Abazai, whose head is still upon his neck, whose hands are still upon his wrists, who has done me dishonour, who has made my name a laughing-stock among the women of Little Malikand.
I went into Hindustan at the end of two monthsto Cherat. I was gone twelve days only; but I had said that I would be fifteen days absent. This I did to 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 my house; and it was the voice of Daoud Shah, and the song that he sang was Dray wara yow deeAll three are one. It was as though a heel-rope had been slipped round my heart and all the Devils were drawing it tight past endurance. I crept silently up the hill-road, but the fuse of my matchlock was wetted with the rain, 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, the woman opened the door, and I came nearer, crawling on my belly among the rocks. I had only my to my hand. But a stone slipped under my foot, and the two looked down the hillside, and he, leaving his matchlock, fled from my anger, because he was afraid for the life that was in him. But the woman moved not till I stood in front of her, crying: O woman, what is this that thou hast done? And she, void of fear, though she knew my thought, laughed, saying: It is a little thing. I loved him, and thou art a dog and cattlethief coming by night. Strike! And I, being still blinded by her beauty, for, O my friend, the women of the Abazai are very fair, said: Hast thou no fear? And she answered: Nonebut only the fear that I do not die. Then said I Have no fear. And she bowed her head, and I smote it off at the neck-bone so that it leaped between my feet. Thereafter the rage of our people came upon me, and I hacked off the breasts, that the men of Little Malikand might know the crime, and cast the body into the watercourse that flows to the Kabul River. Dray wara yow dee! Dray wara yow dee! The body without the head, the soul without light, and my own darkling heartall three are oneall three are one!
That night, making no halt, I went to Ghor and demanded news of Daoud Shah. Men said He is gone to Pubbi for horses. What wouldst thou of him? There is peace between the villages. I made answer: Ay! The peace of treachery and the love that the Devil Atala bore to Gurel. So I fired thrice into the tower-gate and laughed and went my way.
In those hours, brother and friend of my hearts heart, the moon and the stars were as blood above me, and in my mouth was the taste of dry earth. Also, I broke no bread, and my drink was the rain of the valley of Ghor upon my face.
At Pubbi I found Mahbub Ali, the writer, sitting upon his charpoy, and gave up my arms according to your Law. But I was not grieved, for it was in my heart that I should kill Daoud Shah with my bare hands thusas a man strips a bunch of raisins. Mahbub Ali said: Daoud Shah has even now gone hot-foot to Peshawur, and he will pick up his horses upon the road to Delhi, for it is said that the Bombay Tramway Company are buying horses there by the truckload; eight horses to the truck. And that was a true saying.
Then I saw that the hunting would be no little thing, for the man was gone into your borders to save himself against my wrath. And shall he save himself so? Am I not alive? Though he run northward to the Dora and the snow, or southerly to the Black Water, I will follow him, as a lover follows the footsteps of his mistress, and coming upon him I will take him tenderlyAho! so tenderly!in my arms, saying: Well hast thou done and well shalt thou be repaid. And out of that embrace Daoud Shah shall not go forth with the breath in his nostrils. Auggrh! Where is the pitcher? I am as thirsty as a mother mare in the first month.
Your Law! What is your Law to me? When the horses fight on the runs do they regard the boundary pillars; or do the kites of Ali Musjid forbear because the carrion lies under the shadow of the Ghor Kuttri? The matter began across the Border. It shall finish where God pleases. Here; in my own country; or in Hell. All three are one.
Listen now, sharer of the sorrow of my heart, and I will tell of the hunting. I followed to Peshawur from Pubbi, and I went to and fro about the streets of Peshawur like a houseless dog, seeking for my enemy. Once I thought that I saw him washing his mouth in the conduit in the big square, but when I came up he was gone. It may be that it was he, and, seeing my face, he had fled.
A girl of the bazar said that he would go to Nowshera. I said: O hearts 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, and I will wait for his coming. And the girl said: O Pathan, look into my eyes! And I turned, leaning upon her breast, and looked into her eyes, swearing that I spoke the very Truth of God. But she answered Never friend waited friend with such eyes. Lie to God and the Prophet, but to a woman ye cannot lie. Get hence! There shall no harm befall Daoud Shah by cause of me.
I would have strangled that girl but for the fear of your Police; and thus the hunting would have come to naught. Therefore I only laughed and departed, and she leaned over the window-bar in the night and mocked me down the street. Her name is Jamun. When I have made my account with the man I will return to Peshawur andher lovers shall desire her no more for her beautys sake. She shall not be Jamun, but Ak, the cripple among trees. Ho! ho! Ak shall she be!
At Peshawur I bought the horses and grapes, and the almonds and dried fruits, that the reason of my wanderings might be open to the Government, and that there might be no hindrance upon the road. But when I came to Nowshera he was gone; and I knew not where to go. I stayed one day at Nowshera, and in the night a Voice spoke in my ears as I slept among the horses. All night it flew round my head and would not cease from whispering. I was upon my belly, sleeping as the Devils sleep, and it may have been that the Voice was the voice of a Devil. It said: Go south, and thou shalt come upon Daoud Shah. Listen, my brother and chiefest among friendslisten! Is the tale a long one? Think how it was long to me. I have trodden every league of the road from Pubbi to this place; and from Nowshera my guide was only the Voice and the lust of vengeance.
To the Uttock I went, but that was no hindrance to me. Ho! ho! A man may turn the word twice, even in his trouble. The Uttock was no uttock [obstacle] to me; and I heard the Voice above the noise of the waters beating on the big rock, saying: Go to the right. So I went to Pindigheb, and in those days my sleep was taken from me utterly, and the head of the woman of the Abazai was before me night and day, even as it had fallen between my feet. Dray wara yow dee! Dray wara yow dee! Fire, ashes, and my couch, all three are oneall three are one!
Now I was far from the winter path of the dealers who had gone to Sialkot, and so south by the rail and the Big Road to the line of cantonments; but there was a Sahib in camp at Pindigheb who bought from me a white mare at a good price, and told me that one Daoud Shah had passed to Shahpur with horses. Then I saw that the warning of the Voice was true, and made swift to come to the Salt Hills. The Jhelum was in flood, but I could not wait, and, in the crossing, a bay stallion was washed down and drowned. Herein was God hard to menot in respect of the beast, of that I had no carebut in this snatching. While I was upon the right bank urging the horses into the water, Daoud Shah was upon the left; forAlghias! Alghias!the hoofs of my mare scattered the hot ashes of his fires when we came up the hither bank in the light of morning. But he had fled. His feet were made swift by the terror of Death. And I went south from Shahpur as the kite flies. I dared not turn aside lest I should miss my vengeancewhich is my right. From Shahpur I skirted by the Jhelum, for I thought that he would avoid the Desert of the Rechna. But, presently, at Sahiwal, I turned away upon the road to Jhang, Samundri, and Gugera, till, upon a night, the mottled mare breasted the fence of the rail that runs to Montgomery. And that place was Okara, and the head of the woman of the Abazai lay upon the sand between my feet.
Thence I went to Fazilka, and they said that I was mad to bring starved horses there. The Voice was with me, and I was not mad, but only wearied, because I could not find Daoud Shah. It was written that I should not find him at Rania nor Bahadurgarh, and I came into Delhi from the west, and there also I found him not. My friend, I have seen many strange things in my wanderings. I have seen the Devils rioting across the Rechna as the stallions riot in spring. I have heard the Djinns calling to each other from holes in the sand, and I have seen them pass before my face. There are no Devils, say the Sahibs? They are very wise, but they do not know all things about Devils orhorses. Ho! ho! I say to you who are laughing at my misery, that I have seen the Devils at high noon whooping and leaping on the shoals of the Chenab. And was I afraid? My brother, when the desire of a man is set upon one thing alone, he fears neither God nor Man nor Devil. If my vengeance failed, I would splinter the Gates of Paradise with the butt of my gun, or I would cut my way into Hell with my knife, and I would call upon Those who Govern there for the body of Daoud Shah. What love so deep as hate?
Do not speak. I know the thought in your heart. Is the white of this eye clouded? How does the blood beat at the wrist? There is no madness in my flesh, but only the vehemence of the desire that has eaten me up. Listen!
South of Delhi I knew not the country at all. Therefore I cannot say where I went, but I passed through many cities. I knew only that it was laid upon me to go south. When the horses could march no more, I threw myself upon the earth and waited till the day. There was no sleep with me in that journeying; and that was a heavy burden. Dost thou know, brother of mine, the evil of wakefulness that cannot breakwhen the bones are sore for lack of sleep, and the skin of the temples twitches with weariness, and yetthere is no sleepthere is no sleep? Dray wara yow dee! Dray wara yow dee! The eye of the Sun, the eye of the Moon, and my own unrestful eyesall three are oneall three are one!
There was a city the name whereof I have forgotten, and there the Voice called all night. That was ten days 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 thee to my comfort, and the increase of friendship. This is a good omen. By the joy of looking upon thy face the weariness has gone from my feet, and the sorrow of my so long travel is forgotten. Also my heart is peaceful; 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 back to his Hills when the spring warns. And shall he see those hills of our country? Surely I shall overtake him! Surely my vengeance is safe! Surely God hath him in the hollow of His hand against my claiming! There shall no harm befall Daoud Shah till I come; for I would fain kill him quick and whole with the life sticking firm in his body. A pomegranate is sweetest when the cloves break away unwilling from the rind. Let it be in the daytime, that I may see his face, and my delight may be crowned.
And when I have accomplished the matter and my Honour is made clean, I shall return thanks unto God, the Holder of the Scales of the Law, and I shall sleep. From the night, through the day, and into the night again I shall sleep; and no dream shall trouble me.
And now, O my brother, the tale is all told. Ahi! Ahi! Alghias! Ahi!
Yet if ever a man merited good treatment of the Gods it was the Reverend Justus, one time of Heidelberg, who, on the faith of a call, went into the wilderness and took the blonde, blue-eyed Lotte with him. We will these Heathen now by idolatrous practices so darkened better make, said Justus in the early days of his career. Yes, he added with conviction, they shall good be and shall with their hands to work learn. For all good Christians must work. And upon a stipend more modest even than that of an English lay-reader, Justus Krenk kept house beyond Kamala and the gorge of Malair, beyond the Berbulda River close to the foot of the blue hill of Panth on whose summit stands the Temple of Dungarain the heart of the country of the Buria Kolthe naked, good-tempered, timid, shameless, lazy Buria Kol.
Do you know what life at a Mission outpost means? Try to imagine a loneliness exceeding that of the smallest station to which Government has ever sent youisolation that weighs upon the waking eyelids and drives you by force headlong into the labours of the day. There is no post, there is no one of your own colour to speak to, there are no roads: there is, indeed, food to keep you alive, but it is not pleasant to eat; and whatever of good or beauty or interest there is in your life, must come from yourself and the grace that may be planted in you.
In the morning, with a patter of soft feet, the converts, the doubtful, and the open scoffers troop up to the veranda. You must be infinitely kind and patient, and, above all, clear-sighted, for you deal with the simplicity of childhood, the experience of man, and the subtlety of the savage. Your congregation have a hundred material wants to be considered; and it is for you, as you believe in your personal responsibility to your Maker, to pick out of the clamouring crowd any grain of spirituality that may lie therein. If to the cure of souls you add that of bodies, your task will be all the more difficult, for the sick and the maimed will profess any and every creed for the sake of healing, and will laugh at you because you are simple enough to believe them.
As the day wears and the impetus of the morning dies away, there will come upon you an overwhelming sense of the uselessness of your toil. This must be striven against, and the only spur in your side will be the belief that you are playing against the Devil for the living soul. It is a great, a joyous belief. But he who can hold it unwavering for four-and-twenty consecutive hours must be blessed with an abundantly strong physique and equable nerve.
Ask the grey heads of the Bannockburn Medical Crusade what manner of life their preachers lead; speak to the Racine Gospel Agency, those lean Americans whose boast is that they go where no Englishman dare follow; get a Pastor of the
Tubingen Mission to talk of his experiencesif you can. You will be referred to the printed reports, but these contain no mention of the men who have lost youth and health, all that a man may lose except faith, in the wilds; of English maidens who have gone forth and died in the fever stricken jungle of the Panth Hills, knowing from the first that death was almost a certainty. Few Pastors will tell you of these things any more than they will speak of that young David of St. Bees, who, set apart for the Lords 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 the Devil!
The reports are silent here, because heroism, failure, doubt, despair, and self-abnegation on the part of a mere cultured white man are things of no weight as compared to the saving of one half-human soul from a fantastic faith in wood-spirits, goblins of the rock, and river-fiends.
And Gallio, the Assistant Collector of the countryside, cared for none of these things. He had been long in the District, and the Buria Kol loved him and brought him offerings of speared fish, orchids from the dim moist heart of the forests, and as much game as he could eat. In return, he gave them quinine, and with Athon Dazé, the High Priest, controlled their simple policies.
When you have been some years in the country, said Gallio at the Krenks table, you get to find one creed as good as another. Ill give you all the assistance in my power, of course, but dont hurt my Buria Kol. 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 will assuredly to their prejudices no wrong hastily without thinking make. But, O my friend, this in the mind impartiality-of-creed-judgment-belooking 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 for their souls. Only dont behave as your predecessor did, or Im afraid that I cant guarantee your life.
And that? said Lotte sturdily, handing him a cup of tea.
He went up to the Temple of Dungarato be sure, he was new to the countryand began hammering old Dungara over the head with an umbrella; so the Buria Kol turned out and hammered him rather savagely. I was in the District, and he sent a runner to me with a note saying Persecuted for the Lords sake. Send wing of regiment. The nearest troops were about two hundred miles off, but I guessed what he had been doing. I rode to Panth and talked to old Athon Dazé like a father, telling him that a man of his wisdom ought to have known that the Sahib had sunstroke and was mad. You never saw a people more sorry in your life. Athon Dazé apologised, sent wood and milk and fowls and all sorts of things; and I gave five rupees to the shrine and told Macnamara that he had been injudicious. He said that I had bowed down in the House of Rimmon; 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 impaled on a charred bamboo long before I could have done anything, and then I should have had to hang some of the poor brutes. Be gentle with them, Padrebut I dont think youll do much.
Not I, said Justus, but my Master. We will with the little children begin. Many of them will be sickthat is so. After the children the mothers; and then the men. But I would greatly prefer that you in internal sympathies with us were.
Gallio departed to risk his life in mending the rotten bamboo bridges of his people, in killing a too persistent tiger here or there, in sleeping out in the reeking jungle, or in tracking the Suria Kol raiders who had taken a few heads from their brethren of the Buria clan. He was a knockkneed, shambling young man, naturally devoid of creed or reverence, with a longing for absolute power which his undesirable District gratified.
No one wants my post, he used to say grimly, and my Collector only pokes his nose in when hes quite certain that there is no fever. Im monarch of all I survey, and Athon Dazé is my viceroy.
Because Gallio prided himself on his supreme disregard of human lifethough he never extended the theory beyond his ownhe naturally rode forty miles to the Mission with a tiny brown girl-baby on his saddle-bow.
Here is something for you, Padre, said he. The Kols leave their surplus children to die. Dont see why they shouldnt, but you may rear this one. I picked it up beyond the Berbulda forks. Ive a notion that the mother has been following me through the woods ever since.
It is the first of the fold, said Justus, and Lotte caught up the screaming morsel to her bosom and hushed it craftily; while, as a wolf hangs in the field, Matui who had borne it, and in accordance with the law of her tribe had exposed it to die, panted weary and footsore in the bamboo-brake, watching the house with hungry mother-eyes. What would the omnipotent Assistant Collector do? Would the little man in the black coat eat her daughter alive, as Athon Dazé said was the custom of all men in black coats?
Matui waited among the bamboos through the long night; and, in the morning, there came forth a fair white woman, the like of whom Matui had never seen, and in her arms was Matuis daughter clad in spotless raiment. Lotte knew little of the tongue of the Buria Kol, but when mother calls to mother, speech is easy to follow. By the hands stretched timidly to the hem of her gown, by the passionate gutturals and the longing eyes, Lotte understood with whom she had to deal. So Matui took her child againwould be a servant, even a slave, to this wonderful white woman, for her own tribe would recognise her no more. And Lotte wept with her exhaustively, after the German fashion, which includes 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 man came, with a bow and arrows, very angry indeed, for there was no one to cook for him.
But the tale of the Mission is a long one, and I have no space to show how Justus, forgetful of his injudicious predecessor, grievously smote Moto, the husband of Matui, for his brutality; how Moto was startled, but being released from the fear of instant death, took heart and became the faithful ally and first convert of Justus; how the little gathering grew, to the huge disgust of Athon Dazé; how the Priest of the God of Things as They Are argued subtilely with the Priest of the God of Things as They Should Be, and was worsted; how the dues of the Temple of Dungara fell away in fowls and fish and honeycomb; how Lotte lightened the Curse of Eve among the women, and how Justus did his best to introduce the Curse of Adam; how the Buria Kol rebelled at this, saying that their God was an idle God, and how Justus partially overcame their scruples against work, and taught them that the black earth was 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 Athon Dazé meditated revenge for the tribal neglect of Dungara. With savage cunning he feigned friendship towards Justus, even hinting at his own conversion; but to the congregation of Dungara he said darkly: They of the Padres flock have put on clothes and worship a busy God. Therefore Dungara will afflict them grievously till they throw themselves, howling, into the waters of the Berbulda. At night the Red Elephant Tusk boomed and groaned among the hills, and the faithful waked and said: The God of Things as They Are matures revenge against the backsliders. Be merciful, Dungara, to us Thy children, and give us all their crops!
Late in the cold weather the Collector and his wife came into the Buria Kol country. Go and look at Krenks Mission, said Gallio. He is doing good work in his own way, and I think hed be pleased if you opened the bamboo chapel that he has managed to run up. At any rate youll 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 with their own eyes see, andyeswe will him our converts in all their by their own hands constructed new clothes exhibit. It will a great day befor the Lord always, said Justus; and Lotte said Amen.
Justus had, in his quiet way, felt jealous of the Basel Weaving Mission, his own converts being unhandy; but Athon Dazé 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 white and smooth almost as the tappa of the South Seas, and that day the converts were to wear for the first time clothes made therefrom. Justus was proud of his work.
They shall in white clothes clothed to meet the Collector and his well-born lady come down, singing Now thank we all our God. Then he will the Chapel open, andyeseven Gallio to believe will begin. Stand so, my children, two by two, andLotte, why do they thus themselves bescratch? It is not seemly to wriggle, Nala, my child. The Collector will be here and be pained.
The Collector, his wife, and Gallio climbed the hill to the Mission-station. The converts were drawn up in two lines, a shining band nearly forty strong. Hah! said the Collector, whose acquisitive bent of mind led him to believe that he had fostered the institution from the first. Advancing, I see, by leaps and bounds.
Never was truer word spoken! The Mission was advancing exactly as he had saidat first by little hops and shuffles of shamefaced uneasiness, but soon by the leaps of fly-stung horses and the bounds of maddened kangaroos. From the hill of Panth the Red Elephant Tusk delivered a dry and anguished blare. The ranks of the converts wavered, broke, and scattered with yells and shrieks of pain, while Justus and Lotte 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 that overhung the Berbulda, writhing, stamping, twisting, and shedding its garments as it ran, pursued by the thunder of the trumpet of Dungara. Justus and Lotte fled to the Collector almost in tears.
I cannot understand! Yesterday, panted Justus, they had the Ten Commandments.What is this? Praise the Lord, all good spirits by land and by sea! Nala! Oh, shame!
With a bound and a scream there alighted on the rocks above their heads, Nala, once the pride of the Mission, a maiden of fourteen summers, good, docile, and virtuousnow naked as the dawn and spitting like a wild-cat.
Was it for this? she raved, hurling her petticoat at Justus; was it for this I left my people and Dungarafor the fires of your Bad Place? Blind ape, little earth-worm, dried fish that you are, you said that I should never burn! O Dungara, I burn now! I burn now! Have mercy, God of Things as They Are!
She turned and flung herself into the Berbulda, and the trumpet of Dungara bellowed jubilantly. The last of the converts of the Tubingen Mission had put a quarter of a mile of rapid river between herself and her teachers.
Yesterday, gulped Justus, she taught in the school A, B, C, D.Oh! It is the work of Satan!
But Gallio was curiously regarding the maidens petticoat where it had fallen at his feet. He felt its texture, drew back his shirt-sleeve beyond the deep tan of his wrist and pressed a fold of the cloth against the flesh. A blotch of angry red rose on the white skin.
Ah! said Gallio calmly, I thought so.
What is it? said Justus.
I should call it the Shirt of Nessus, butwhere did you get the fibre of this cloth from?
Athon Dazé, said Justus. He showed the boys how it should manufactured be.
The old fox! Do you know that he has given you the Nilgiri NettlescorpionGirardenia heterophyllato work up. No wonder they squirmed! Why, it stings even when they make bridge-ropes of it unless its soaked for six weeks. The cunning brute! It would take about half an hour to burn through their thick hides, and then!
Gallio burst into laughter, but Lotte was weeping in the arms of the Collectors wife, and Justus had covered his face with his hands.
Girardenia heterophylla! repeated Gallio. Krenk, why didnt you tell me? I could have saved you this. Woven fire! Anybody but a naked Kol would have known it, and, if Im a judge of their ways, youll never get them back.
He looked across the river to where the converts were still wallowing and wailing in the shallows, and the laughter 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 the deserted school for three months, could Lotte or Justus coax 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 into the bones. Who dare a second time tempt the anger of Dungara? Let the little man and his wife go elsewhere. The Buria Kol would have none of them. An unofficial message to Athon Dazé that if a hair of their heads were touched, Athon Dazé and the priests of Dungara would be hanged by Gallio at the temple shrine, protected Justus and Lotte from the stumpy poisoned arrows of the Buria Kol, but neither fish nor fowl, honeycomb, salt, nor young pig were brought to their doors any more. And, alas! man cannot live by grace alone if meat be wanting.
Let us go, mine wife, said Justus; there is no good here, and the Lord has willed that some other man shall the work takein good timein His own good time. We will away go, and I willyessome botany bestudy.
If any one is anxious to convert the Buria Kol afresh, there lies at least the core of a Mission-house under the hill of Panth. But the chapel and school have long since fallen back into jungle.
Why am I not still in the Police? I will speak true talk. An evil came to the Thanato Ram Baksh, the Havildar, and Maula Baksh, and Juggut Ram, and Bhim Singh, and Suruj Bul. Ram Baksh is in the jail for a space, and so also is Maula Baksh.
It was at the Thana of Howli, on the road that leads to Gokral-Seetarun wherein are many dacoits. We were all brave men Rustums. Wherefore we were sent to that Thana, which was eight miles from the next Thana. All day and all night we watched for dacoits. Why does the Sahib laugh? Nay, I will make a confession. The dacoits were too clever, and, seeing this, we made no further trouble. It was in the hot weather. What can a man do in the hot days? Is the Sahib who is so strongis he, even, vigorous in that hour? We made an arrangement with the dacoits for the sake of peace. That was the work of the Havildar, who was fat. Ho! ho! Sahib, he is now getting thin in the jail among the carpets. The Havildar said: Give us no trouble, and we will give you no trouble. At the end of the reaping send us a man to lead before the judge, a man of infirm mind against whom the trumped-up case will break down. Thus we shall save our honour. To this talk the dacoits agreed, and we had no trouble at the Thana, and could eat melons in peace, sitting upon our charpoys all day long. Sweet as sugar-cane are the melons of Howli!
Now there was an Assistant Commissionera Stunt Sahib, in that district, called Yunkum Sahib. Aha! He was hardhard even as is the Sahib who, without doubt, will give me the shadow of his protection. Many eyes had Yunkum Sahib, and moved quickly through his District. Men called him The Tiger of Gokral-Seetarun, because he would arrive unannounced and make his kill, and, before sunset, would be giving trouble to the Tehsildars thirty miles away. No one knew the comings or the goings of Yunkum Sahib. He had no camp, and when his horse was weary he rode upon a devil-carriage. I do not know its name, but the Sahib sat in the midst of three silver wheels that made no creaking, and drave them with his legs, prancing like a bean-fed horsethus. A shadow of a hawk upon the fields was not more without noise than the devil-carriage of Yunkum Sahib. It was here: it was there: it was gone: and the rapport was made, and there was trouble. Ask the Tehsildar of Rohestri how the hen-stealings came to be known, Sahib.
It fell upon a night that we of the Thana slept according to custom upon our charpoys, having eaten the evening meal and drunk tobacco. When we awoke in the morning, behold, of our six rifles not one remained! Also, the big Police-book that was in the Havildars charge was gone. Seeing these things, we were very much afraid, thinking on our parts that the dacoits, regardless of honour, had come by night, and put us to shame. Then said Ram Baksh, the Havildar: Be silent! The business is an evil business, but it may yet go well. Let us make the case complete. Bring a kid and my tulwar. See you not now, O fools? A kick for a horse, but for a man a word is enough.
We of the Thana, perceiving quickly what was in the mind of the Havildar, and greatly fearing that the service would be lost, made haste to take the kid into the inner 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 custom. There was a great fight, said the Havildar, and of us no man escaped unhurt. The bars of the window were broken. Suruj Bul, see thou to that; and, O men, put speed into your work, for a runner must go with the news to The Tiger of Gokral-Seetarun. Thereon, Suruj Bul, leaning with his shoulder, brake in the bars of the window, and I, beating her with a whip, made the Havildars mare skip among the melon-beds till 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 walls were blackened with fire, and each man dipped his clothes a little into the blood of the goat. Know, O Sahib, that a wound made by man upon his own body can, by those skilled, be easily discerned from a wound wrought by another man. Therefore, the Havildar, taking his tulwar, smote one of us lightly on the forearm in the fat, and another on the leg, and a third on the back of the hand. Thus dealt he with all of us till the blood came; and Suruj Bul, more eager than the others, took out much hair. O Sahib, never was so perfect an arrangement. Yea, even I would have sworn that the Thana had been treated as we said. There was smoke and breaking and blood and trampled earth.
Ride now, Maula Baksh, said the Havildar, to the house of the Stunt Sahib, and carry the news of the dacoity. Do you also, O Afzal Khan, run there, and take heed that you are mired with sweat and dust on your incoming. The blood will be dry on the clothes. I will stay and send a straight rapport to the Dipty Sahib, and we will catch certain that ye know of, villagers, so that all may be ready against the Dipty Sahibs arrival.
Thus Maula Baksh rode, and I ran hanging on the stirrup, and together we came in an evil plight before The Tiger of Gokral-Seetarun in the Rohestri tehsil. Our tale was long and correct, Sahib, for we gave even the names of the dacoits and the issue of the fight, and besought him to come. But The Tiger made no sign, and only smiled after the manner of Sahibs when they have a wickedness in their hearts. Swear ye to the rapport? 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 done well. But he did not call for his horse or his devil-carriage, and scour the land as was his custom. He said: Rest now and eat bread, for ye be wearied men. I will wait the coming of the Dipty Sahib.
Now it is the order that the Havildar of the Thana should send a straight rapport of all dacoities to the Dipty Sahib. At noon came he, a fat man and an old, and overbearing withal, but we of the Thana had no fear of his anger, dreading more the silences of The Tiger of Gokral-Seetarun. With him came Ram Baksh, the Havildar, and the others, guarding ten men of the village of Howliall men evil affected towards the Police of the Sirkar. As prisoners they came, the irons upon their hands, crying for mercyImam Baksh, the farmer, who had denied his wife to the Havildar, and others, ill-conditioned rascals against whom we of the Thana bore spite. It was well done, and the Havildar was proud. But the Dipty Sahib was angry with the Stunt Sahib for lack of zeal, and said Dam-Dam after the custom of the English people, and extolled the Havildar. Yunkum Sahib lay still in his long chair. Have the men sworn? said Yunkum Sahib. Ay, and captured ten evildoers, said the Dipty Sahib. There be more abroad in your charge. Take horse-ride, and go in the name of the Sirkar! Truly there be more evildoers abroad, said Yunkum Sahib, but there is no need of a horse. Come all men with me.
I saw the mark of a string on the temples of Imam Baksh. Does the Presence know the torture of the Cold Draw? I saw also the face of The Tiger of Gokral-Seetarun, the evil smile was upon it, and I stood back ready for what might befall. Well it was, Sahib, that I did this thing. Yunkum Sahib unlocked the door of his bathroom, and smiled anew. Within lay the six rifles and the big Police-book of the Thana of Howli! He had come by night in the devil-carriage that is noiseless as a ghoul, and, moving among us asleep, had taken away both the guns and the book! Twice had he come to the Thana, taking each time three rifles. The liver of the Havildar was turned to water, and he fell scrabbling in the dirt about the boots of Yunkum Sahib, crying Have mercy!
And I? Sahib, I am a Delhi Pathan, and a young man with little children. The Havildars mare was in the compound. I ran to her and rode. The black wrath of the Sirkar was behind me, and I knew not whither to go. Till she dropped and died I rode the red mare; and by the blessing of God, Who is without doubt on the side of all just men, I escaped. But the Havildar and the rest are now in jail.
I am a scamp? It is as the Presence pleases. God will make the Presence a Lord, and give him a rich Memsahib as fair as a Peri to wife, and many strong sons, if he makes me his orderly. The Mercy of Heaven be upon the Sahib! Yes, I will only go to the Bazar and bring my children to these so-palace-like quarters, and thenthe Presence is my Father and my Mother, and I, Afzal Khan, am his slave.
Ohé, Sirdar-ji! I also am of the household of the Sahib.
There were two of us, and we were born of one birth, but I swear to you that I was born the first, and Ram Dass is the younger by three full breaths. The astrologer said so, and it is written in my horoscopethe horoscope of Durga Dass.
But we were alikeI and my brother, who is a beast without honourso alike that none knew, together or apart, 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 fathers house in Pali, and went to the Punjab, where all the people are mud-heads and sons of asses. We took shop together in Isser JangI and my brothernear the big well where the Governors camp draws water. But Ram Dass, who is without truth, made quarrel with me, and we were divided. He took his books, and his pots, and his Mark, and became a bunniaa money-lenderin the long street of Isser Jang, near the gateway of the road that goes to Montgomery. It was not my fault that we pulled each others turban. I am a Mahajun of Pali, and I always speak true talk. Ram Dass was the thief and the liar.
Now no man, not even the little children, could at one glance see which was Ram Dass and which was Durga Dass. But all the people of Isser Jangmay they die without sons!said that we were thieves. They used much bad talk, but I took money on their bedsteads and their cooking-pots, and the standing crop and the calf unborn, from the well in the big square to the gate of the Montgomery road. They were fools, these peopleunfit to cut the toe-nails of a Marwari from Pali. I lent money to them all. A little, very little onlyhere a pice and there a pice. God is my witness that 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 generation to generation! May she die unwed, and be the mother of a multitude of bastards! Let the light go out in the house of Ram Dass, my brother. This I pray daily twicewith offerings and charms.
Thus the trouble began. We divided the town of Isser Jang between usI and my brother. There was a landholder beyond the gates, living but one short mile out, on the road that leads to Montgomery, and his name was Mohammed Shah, son of a Nawab. He was a great devil and drank wine. So long as there were women in his house, and wine and money for the marriage-feasts, he was merry and wiped his mouth. Ram Dass lent him the money, a lakh or half a lakhhow do I know?and so long as the money was lent, the landholder cared not what he signed.
The people of Isser Jang were my portion, and the landholder and the out-town were the portion of Ram Dass; for so we had arranged. I was the poor man, for the people of Isser Jang were without wealth. I did what I could, but Ram Dass had only to wait without the door of the landholders garden-court, and to lend him the money, taking the bonds from the hand of the steward.
In the autumn of the year after the lending, Ram Dass said to the landholder: Pay me my money, but the landholder gave him abuse. But Ram Dass went into the Courts with the papers and the bondsall correctand took out decrees against the landholder; and the name of the Government was across the stamps of the decrees. Ram Dass took field by field, and mango-tree by mango-tree, and well by well; putting in his own mendebtors of the out-town of Isser Jangto cultivate the crops. So he crept up across the land, for he had the papers, and the name of the Government was across the stamps, till his men held the crops for him on all sides of the big white house of the landholder. It was well done; but when the landholder saw these things he was very angry and cursed Ram Dass after the manner of the Mohammedans.
And thus the landholder was angry, but Ram Dass laughed and claimed more fields, as was written upon the bonds. This was in the month of Phagun. I took my horse and went out to speak to the man who makes lac-bangles upon the road that leads to Montgomery, because he owed me a debt. There was in front of me, upon his horse, my brother Ram Dass. And when he saw me he turned aside into the high crops, because there was hatred between us. And I went forward till I came to the orange-bushes by the landholders house. The bats were flying, and the evening smoke was low down upon the land. Here met me four menswashbucklers and Mohammedanswith their faces bound up, laying hold of my horses bridle and crying out: This is Ram Dass! Beat! Me they beat with their stavesheavy staves bound about with wire at the end, such weapons as those swine of Punjabis usetill, having cried for mercy, I fell down senseless. But these shameless ones still beat me, saying: O Ram Dass, this is your interestwell-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 the more, and when I could make no more outcry they left me. But I saw their faces. There was Elahi Baksh who runs by the side of the landholders white horse, and Nur Ali the keeper of the door, and Wajib Ali the very strong cook, and Abdul Latif the messengerall of the household of the landholder. These things I can swear on the Cows Tail if need be, butAhi! Ahi!they have been already sworn, and I am a poor man whose honour is lost.
When these four had gone away laughing, my brother Ram Dass came out of the crops and mourned over me as one dead. But I opened my eyes, and prayed him to get me water. When I had drunk, he carried me on his back, and by byways brought me into the town of Isser Jang. My heart was turned to Ram Dass, my brother, in that hour because of his kindness, and I lost my enmity.
But a snake is a snake till it is dead; and a liar is a liar till the judgment of the Gods takes hold of his heel. I was wrong in that I trusted my brotherthe son of my mother.
When we had come to his house and I was a little restored, I told him my tale, and he said Without doubt, it is me whom they would have beaten. But the Law Courts are open, and there is the justice of the Sirkar above all; and to the Law Courts do thou go when this sickness is overpast.
Now when we two had left Pali in the old years, there fell a famine that ran from Jeysulmir to Gurgaon and touched Gogunda in the south. At that time the sister of my father came away and lived with us in Isser Jang; for a man must above all see that his folk do not die of want. When the quarrel between us twain came about, the sister of my fathera lean she-dog without teethsaid that Ram Dass had the right, and went with him. Into her handsbecause she knew medicines and many curesRam Dass, my brother, put me faint with the beating, and much bruised even to the pouring of blood from the mouth. When I had two days sickness the fever came upon me; and I set aside the fever to the account written in my mind against the landholder.
The Punjabis of Isser Jang are all the sons of Belial and a she-ass, but they are very good witnesses, bearing testimony unshakenly whatever the pleaders may say. I would purchase witnesses by the score, and each man should give evidence, not only against Nur Ali, Wajib Ali, Abdul Latif, and Elahi Baksh, but against the landholder, saying that he upon his white horse had called his men to beat me; and, further, that they had robbed me of two hundred rupees. For the latter testimony, I would remit a little of the debt of the man who sold the lac-bangles, and he should say that he had put the money into my hands, and had seen the robbery from afar, but, being afraid, had run away. This plan I told to my brother Ram Dass; and he said that the arrangement was good, and bade me take comfort and make swift work to be abroad again. My heart was opened to my brother in my sickness, and I told him the names of those whom I would call as witnessesall men in my debt, but of that the Magistrate Sahib could have no knowledge, nor the landholder. The fever stayed with me, and after the fever I was taken with colic and gripings very terrible. In that day I thought that my end was at hand, but I know now that she who gave me the medicines, the sister of my fathera widow with a widows hearthad brought about my second sickness. Ram Dass, my brother, said that my house was shut and locked, and brought me the big door-key and my books, together with all the moneys that were in my houseeven the money that was buried under the floor; for I was in great fear lest thieves should break in and dig. I speak true talk; there was but very little money in my house. Perhaps ten rupeesperhaps twenty. How can I tell? God is my witness that I am a poor man.
One night, when I had told Ram Dass all that was in my heart of the lawsuit that I would bring against the landholder, and Ram Dass had said that he had made the arrangements with the witnesses, giving me their names written, I was taken with a new great sickness, and they put me on the bed. When I was a little recoveredI cannot tell how many days afterwardsI made inquiry for Ram Dass, and the sister of my father said that he had gone to Montgomery upon a lawsuit. I took medicine and slept very heavily without waking. When my eyes were opened there was a great stillness in the house of Ram Dass, and none answered when I callednot even the sister of my father. This filled me with fear, for I knew not what had happened.
Taking a stick in my hand, I went out slowly, till I came to the great square by the well, and my heart was hot in me against the landholder because of the pain of every step I took.
I called for Jowar Singh, the carpenter, whose name was first upon the list of those who should bear evidence against the landholder, saying: Are all things ready, and do you know what should be said?
Jowar Singh answered: What is this, and whence do you come, Durga Dass?
I said: From my bed, where I have so long lain sick because of the landholder. Where is Ram Dass, my brother, who was to have made the arrangement for the witnesses? Surely you and yours know these things!
Then Jowar Singh said: What has this to do with us, O Liar? I have borne witness and I have been paid, and the landholder has, by the order of the Court, paid both the five hundred rupees that he robbed from Ram Dass and yet other five hundred because of the great injury he did to your brother.
The well and the jujube-tree above it and the square of Isser Jang became dark in my eyes, but I leaned on my stick and said: Nay! This is childs talk and senseless. It was I who suffered at the hands of the landholder, and I am come to make ready the case. Where is my brother Ram Dass?
But Jowar Singh shook his head, and a woman cried: What lie is here? What quarrel had the landholder with you, bunnia? It is only a shameless one and one without faith who profits by his brothers smarts. Have these bunnias no bowels?
I cried again, saying: By the Cowby the Oath of the Cow, by the Temple of the Blue-throated Mahadeo, I and I only was beatenbeaten to the death! Let your talk be straight, O people of Isser Jang, and I will pay for the witnesses. And I tottered where I stood, for the sickness and the pain of the beating were heavy upon me.
Then Ram Narain, who has his carpet spread under the jujube-tree by the well, and writes all letters for the men of the town, came up and said: To-day is the one-and-fortieth day since the beating, and since these six days the case has been judged in the Court, and the Assistant Commissioner Sahib has given it for your brother Ram Dass, allowing the robbery, to which, too, I bore witness, and all things else as the witnesses said. There were many witnesses, and twice Ram Dass became senseless in the Court because of his wounds, and the Stunt Sahibthe baba Stunt Sahibgave him a chair before all the pleaders. Why do you howl, Durga Dass? 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 upon the landholder because of this judgment, and, fearing his anger, Ram Dass and all his house have gone back to Pali. Ram Dass told us that you also had gone first, the enmity being healed between you, to open a shop in Pali. Indeed, it were well for you that you go even now, for the landholder has sworn that if he catch any one of your house, he will hang him by the heels from the well-beam, and, swinging him to and fro, will beat him with staves till the blood runs from his ears. What I have said in respect to the case is true, as these men here can testifyeven to the five hundred rupees.
I said: Was it five hundred? And Kirpa Ram, the Jat, said: Five hundred; for I bore witness also.
And I groaned, for it had been in my heart to have said two hundred only.
Then a new fear came upon me and my bowels turned to water, and, running swiftly to the house of Ram Dass, I sought for my books and my money in the great wooden chest under my bedstead. There remained nothingnot even a cowries value. All had been taken by the devil who said he was my brother. I went to my own house also and opened the boards of the shutters; but there also was nothing save the rats among the grain-baskets. In that hour my senses left me, and, tearing my clothes, I ran to the well-place, crying out for the justice 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 the well they believed the truth of my talk, more especially because upon my back and bosom were still the marks of the staves of the landholder.
Jowar Singh the carpenter withstood me, and turning me in his handsfor he is a very strong manshowed the scars upon my body, and bowed down with laughter upon the well-curb. He cried aloud so that all heard him, from the well-square to the Caravanserai of the Pilgrims Oho! The jackals have quarrelled, and the grey one has been caught in the trap. In truth, 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! The jackals have quarrelled, and, moreover, the books are burned. O people indebted to Durga Dassand I know that ye be manythe books are burned!
Then all Isser Jang took up the cry that the books were burnedAhi! Ahi! that in my folly I had let that escape my mouthand they laughed throughout the city. They gave me the abuse of the Punjabi, which is a terrible abuse and very hot; pelting me also with sticks and cow-dung till I fell down and cried for mercy.
Ram Narain, the letter-writer, bade the people cease, for fear that the news should get into Montgomery, and the Policemen might come down to inquire. He said, using many bad words This much mercy will I do to you, Durga Dass, though there was no mercy in your dealings with my sisters son over the matter of the dun heifer. Has any man a pony on which he sets no store, that this fellow may escape? If the landholder hears that one of the twain (and God knows whether he beat one or both, but this man is certainly beaten) be in the city, there will be a murder done, and then will come the Police, making inquisition into each mans house and eating the sweet-sellers stuff all day long.
Kirpa Ram, the Jat, said: I have a pony very sick. But with beating 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 mans side till such time as the pony dies. If it be more than two miles, I will pay two annas only.
Kirpa Ram said: Be it so. Men brought out the pony, and I asked leave to draw a little water from the well, because I was dried up with fear.
Then Ram Narain said: Here be four annas. God has brought you very low, Durga Dass, and I would not send you away empty, even though the matter of my sisters sons dun heifer be an open sore between us. It is a long way to your own country. Go, and if it be so willed, live; but, above all, do not take the ponys bridle, for that is mine.
And I went out of Isser Jang amid the laughing of the huge-thighed Jats, and the hide-seller walked by my side waiting for the pony to fall dead. In one mile it died, and being full of fear of the landholder, I ran till I could run no more, and came to this place.
But I swear by the Cow, I swear by all things whereon Hindus and Mohammedans, and even the Sahibs swear, that I, and not my brother, was beaten by the landholder. But the case is shut, and the doors of the Law Courts are shut, and God knows where the baba Stunt Sahibthe mothers milk is not dry upon his hairless lipis gone. Ahi! Ahi! I have no witnesses, and the scars will heal, and I am a poor man. But, on my Fathers Soul, on the oath of a Mahajun from Pali, I, and not my brother, I was beaten by the landholder!
What can I do? The Justice of the English is as a great river. Having gone forward, it does not return. Howbeit, do you, Sahib, take a pen and write clearly what I have said, that the Dipty Sahib may see, and reprove the Stunt Sahib, who is a colt yet unlicked by the mare, so young is he. I, and not my brother, was beaten, and he is gone to the westI do not know where.
But, above all things, writeso that the Sahibs may read, and his disgrace be accomplishedthat Ram Dass, my brother, son of Purun Dass, Mahajun of Pali, is a swine and a night-thief, a taker of life, an eater of flesh, a jackal-spawn without beauty, or faith, or cleanliness, or honour!
Janki Meah glared at Kundoo, but, as Janki Meah was blind, Kundoo was not impressed. He had come to argue with Janki Meah, and, if chance favoured, to make love to the old mans pretty young wife.
This was Kundoos grievance, and he spoke in the name of all the five men who, with Janki Meah, composed the gang in Number Seven gallery of Twenty-Two. Janki Meah had been blind for the thirty years during which he had served the Jimahari Colliery with pick and crowbar. All through those thirty years he 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 Kundoos gang resented, as hundreds of gangs had resented before, was Janki Meahs selfishness.
He would not add the oil to the common stock of his gang, but would save and sell it.
I knew these workings before you were born, Janki Meah used to reply. I dont want the light to get my coal out by, and I am not going to help you. The oil is mine, and I intend to keep it.
A strange man in many ways was Janki Meah, the white-haired, hot-tempered, sightless weaver who had turned pitman. All day longexcept on Sundays and Mondays when he was usually drunkhe worked in the Twenty-Two shaft of the Jimahari Colliery as cleverly as a man with all the senses. At evening he went up in the great steam-hauled cage to the pit-bank, and there called for his ponya rusty, coal-dusty beast, nearly as old as Janki Meah. The pony would come to his side, and Janki Meah would clamber on to its back and be taken at once to the plot of land which he, like the other miners, received from the Jimahari Company. The pony knew that place, and when, after six years, the Company changed all the allotments to prevent the miners from acquiring proprietary rights, Janki Meah represented, with tears in his eyes, that were his holding shifted he would never be able to find his way to the new 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 accumulated oil-savings, Janki Meah took a second wifea girl of the Jolaha main stock of the Meahs, and singularly beautiful. Janki Meah could not see her beauty; wherefore he took her on trust, and forbade her to go down the pit. He had not worked for thirty years in the dark without knowing that the pit was no place for pretty women. He loaded her with ornamentsnot brass or pewter, but real silver onesand she rewarded him by flirting outrageously with Kundoo of Number Seven gallery gang. Kundoo was really the head of the gang, but Janki Meah insisted upon all the work being entered in his own name, and chose the men that he worked with. Customstronger even than the Jimahari Companydictated that Janki, by right of his years, should manage these things, and should, also, work despite his blindness. In Indian mines, where they cut into the solid coal with the pick and clear it out from floor to ceiling, he could come to no great harm. At Home, where they undercut the coal and bring it down in crashing avalanches from the roof, he would never have been allowed to set foot in a pit. He was not a popular man because of his oil-savings; but all the gangs admitted that Janki knew all the khads, or workings, that had ever been sunk or worked since the Jimahari Company first started operations on the Tarachunda fields.
Pretty little Unda only knew that her old husband was a fool who could be managed. She took no interest in the colliery except in so far as it swallowed up Kundoo five days out of the seven, and covered him with coal-dust. Kundoo was a great workman, and did his best not to get drunk, because, when he had saved forty rupees, Unda was to steal everything that she could find in Jankis house and run with Kundoo to a land where there were no mines, and every one kept three fat bullocks and a milch-buffalo. While this scheme ripened it was his custom to drop in upon Janki and worry him about the oil-savings. Unda sat in a corner and nodded approval. On the night when Kundoo had quoted that objectionable proverb about weavers, Janki grew angry.
Listen, you pig, said he. Blind I am, and old I am, but, before ever you were born, I was grey among the coal. Even in the days when the Twenty-Two khad was unsunk, and there were not two thousand men here, I was known to have all knowledge of the pits. What khad is there that I do not know, from the bottom of the shaft to the end of the last drive? Is it the Baromba khad, the oldest, or the Twenty-Twos where Tibus gallery runs up to Number Five?
Hear the old fool talk! said Kundoo, nodding to Unda. No gallery of Twenty-Two will cut into Five before the end of the Rains. We have a months solid coal before us. The Babuji says so.
Babuji! Pigji! Dogji! What do these fat slugs from Calcutta know? He draws and draws and draws, and talks and talks and talks, and his maps are all wrong. I, Janki, know that this is so. When a man has been shut up in the dark for thirty years God gives him knowledge. The old gallery that Tibus gang made is not six feet from Number Five.
Without doubt God gives the blind knowledge, said Kundoo, with a look at Unda. Let it be as you say. I, for my part, do not know where lies the gallery of Tibus gang, but I am not a withered monkey who needs oil to grease his joints with.
Kundoo swung out of the hut laughing, and Unda giggled. Janki turned his sightless eyes towards his wife and swore. I have land, and I have sold a great deal of lamp-oil, mused Janki, but I was a fool to marry this child.
A week later the Rains set in with a vengeance, and the gangs paddled about in coal-slush at the pit-banks. Then the big mine-pumps were made ready, and the Manager of the Colliery ploughed through the wet towards the Tarachunda River swelling between its soppy banks. Lord send that this beastly beck doesnt misbehave, said the Manager piously, and he went to take counsel with his Assistant about the pumps.
But the Tarachunda misbehaved very much indeed. After a fall of three inches of rain in an hour it was obliged to do something. It topped its bank and joined the flood-water that was hemmed between two low hills just where the embankment of the Colliery main line crossed. When a large part of a rain-fed river, and a few acres of flood-water, make a dead set for a ninefoot culvert, the culvert may spout its finest, but the water cannot all get out. The Manager pranced upon one leg with excitement, and his language was improper.
He had reason to swear, because he knew that one inch of water on land meant a pressure of one hundred tons to the acre; and here was about five feet of water forming, behind the railway embankment, over the shallower workings of Twenty-Two. You must understand that, in a coal-mine, the coal nearest the surface is 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 pillars of coal. In a deep mine, where they know that they have any amount of material at hand, men prefer to get all their mineral out at one shaft, rather than make a number of little holes to tap the comparatively unimportant surface-coal.
And the Manager watched the flood.
The culvert spouted a nine-foot gush; but the water still formed, and word was sent to clear the men out of Twenty-Two. The cages came up crammed and crammed again with the men nearest the pits-eye, as they call the place where you can see daylight from the bottom of the main shaft. All away and away up the long black galleries the flare-lamps were winking and dancing like so many fireflies, and the men and the women waited for the clanking, rattling, thundering cages to come down and fly up again. But the outworkings were very far off, and word could not be passed quickly, though the heads of the gangs and the Assistant shouted and swore and tramped and stumbled. The Manager kept one eye on the great troubled pool behind the embankment, and prayed that the culvert would give way and let the water through in time. With the other eye he watched the cages come up and saw the headman counting the roll of the gangs. With all his heart and soul he swore at the winder who controlled the iron drum that wound up the wire rope on which hung the cages.
In a little time there was a down-draw in the water behind the embankmenta sucking whirlpool, all yellow and yeasty. The water had smashed through the skin of the earth and was pouring into the old shallow workings of TwentyTwo.
Deep down below, a rush of black water caught the last gang waiting for the cage, and as they clambered in, the whirl was about their waists. The cage reached the pit-bank, and the Manager called the roll. The gangs were all safe except Gang Janki, Gang Mogul, and Gang Rahim, eighteen men, with perhaps ten basket-women who loaded the coal into the little iron carriages that ran on the tramways of the main galleries. These gangs were in the out-workings, threequarters of a mile away, on the extreme fringe of the mine. Once more the cage went down, but with only two Englishmen in it, and dropped into a swirling, roaring current that had almost touched the roof of some of the lower side-galleries. One of the wooden balks with which they had propped the old workings shot past on the current, just missing the cage.
If we dont want our ribs knocked out, wed better go, said the Manager. We cant even save the Companys props.
The cage drew out of the water with a splash, and a few minutes later it was officially reported that there was at least ten feet of water in the pitseye. Now ten feet of water there meant that all other places in the mine were flooded except such galleries as were more than ten feet above the level of the bottom of the shaft. The deep workings would be full, the main galleries would be full, but in the high workings reached by inclines from the main roads there would be a certain amount of air cut off, so to speak, by the water and squeezed up by it. The little science-primers explain how water behaves when you pour it down test-tubes. The flooding of Twenty-Two was an illustration on a large scale.
Water has come in the mine, they said, and there is no way of getting out.
I went down, said Jankidown the slope of my gallery, and I felt the water.
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 came to Tenno, Elevencutting, and there was great trouble. Let us get away to where the air is better.
The three gangs and the basket-women left Number Nine gallery and went farther up Number Sixteen. At one turn of the road they could see the pitchy black water lapping on the coal. It had touched the roof of a gallery that they knew wella gallery where they used to smoke their pipes and manage their flirtations. Seeing this, they called aloud upon their Gods, and the Mehas, who are thrice bastard Mohammedans, strove to recollect the name of the Prophet. They came to a great open square whence nearly all the coal had been extracted. It was the end of the outworkings, 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 steam from above, was throbbing faithfully. They heard it cease.
They have cut off the steam, said Kundoo hopefully. They have given the order to use all the steam for the pit-bank pumps. They will clear out the water.
If the water has reached the smoking-gallery, said Janki, all the Companys pumps can do nothing for three days.
It is very hot, moaned Jasoda, the Meah basket-woman. There is a very bad air here because of the lamps.
Put them out, said Janki. Why do you want lamps? The lamps were put out, and the company sat still in the utter dark. Somebody rose quietly and began walking 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 with his pick upon the walls. The women rose to their feet.
Stay all where you are. Without the lamps you cannot see, and II am always seeing, said Janki. Then he paused, and called out: O you who have been in the cutting more than ten years, what is the name of this open place? I am an old man and I have forgotten.
Bullias Room, answered the Sonthal who had complained of the vileness of the air.
Again, said Janki.
Bullias Room.
Then I have found it, said Janki. The name only had slipped my memory. Tibus gangs gallery is here.
A lie, said Kundoo. There have been no galleries in this place since my day.
Three paces was the depth of the ledge, muttered Janki without heedingandoh, 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 will count you.
There was a rush in the dark, and Janki felt the first mans face hit his knees as the Sonthal scrambled up the ledge.
Who? cried Janki.
I, Sunua Manji.
Sit you down, said Janki. Who next?
One by one the women and the men crawled up the ledge which ran along one side of Bullias Room. Degraded Mohammedan, pig-eating Musahr, and wild Sonthal, Janki ran his hand over them all.
Now follow after, said he, catching hold of my heel, and the women catching the mens clothes. He did not ask whether the men had brought their picks with them. A miner, black or white, does not drop his pick. One by one, Janki leading, they crept into the old gallerya six-foot way with a scant four feet from thill 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, and I forget many things. This is Tibus gallery, but where are the four bricks where they used to put their hookah fire on when the Sahibs never saw? Slowly, slowly, O you people behind.
They heard his hands disturbing the small coal on the floor of the gallery and then a dull sound. This is one unbaked brick, and this is another and another. Kundoo is a young manlet him come forward. Put a knee upon this brick and strike here. When Tibus gang were at dinner on the last day before the good coal ended, they heard the men of Five on the other side, and Five worked their gallery two Sundays lateror it may have been one. Strike there, Kundoo, but give me room to go back.
Kundoo, doubting, drove the pick, but the first soft crush of the coal was a call to him. He was fighting for his life and for Undapretty little Unda with rings on all her toesfor Unda and the forty rupees. The women sang the Song of the Pickthe terrible, slow, swinging melody with the muttered chorus that repeats the sliding of the loosened coal, and, to each cadence, Kundoo smote in the black dark. When he could do no more, Sunua Manji took the pick, and struck for his life and his wife, and his village beyond the blue hills over the Tarachunda River. An hour the men worked, and then the women cleared away the coal.
It is farther than I thought, said Janki. The air is very bad; but strike, Kundoo, strike hard.
For the fifth time Kundoo took up the pick as the Sonthal crawled back. The song had scarcely recommenced when it was broken by a yell from Kundoo that echoed down the gallery: Par hua! Par hua! We are through, we are through! The imprisoned air in the mine shot through the opening, and the women at the far end of the gallery heard the water rush through the pillars of Bullias Room and roar against the ledge. Having fulfilled the law under which it worked, it rose no farther. The women screamed and pressed forward. The water has comewe shall be killed! Let us go.
Kundoo crawled through the gap and found himself in a propped gallery by the simple process of hitting his head against a beam.
Do I know the pits or do I not? chuckled Janki. This is the Number Five; go you out slowly, giving me your names. Ho, Rahim! count your gang! Now let us go forward, each catching hold of the other as before.
They formed line in the darkness and Janki led themfor a pitman in a strange pit is only one degree less liable to err than an ordinary mortal underground for the first time. At last they saw a flare-lamp, and Gangs Janki, Mogul, and Rahim of Twenty-two stumbled dazed into the glare of the draught-furnace at the bottom of Five: Janki feeling his way and the rest behind.
Water has come into Twenty-Two. God knows where are the others. I have brought these men from Tibus gallery in our cutting, making connection through the north side of the gallery. Take us to the cage, said Janki Meah.
Look after that woman! Shell chuck herself down the shaft in a minute, shouted the Manager.
But he need not have troubled; Unda was afraid of death. She wanted Kundoo. The Assistant was watching the flood and seeing how far he could wade into it. There was a lull in the water, and the whirlpool had slackened. The mine was full, and the people at the pit-bank howled.
My faith, we shall be lucky if we have five hundred hands on the place to-morrow! said the Manager. Theres some chance yet of running a temporary dam across that water. Shove in anything-tubs and bullock-carts if you havent enough bricks. Make them work now if they never worked before. Hi! you gangers! make them work.
Little by little the crowd was broken into detachments, and pushed towards the water with promises of overtime. The dam-making began, and when it was fairly under way, the Manager thought that the hour had come for the pumps. There was no fresh inrush into the mine. The tall, red, iron-clamped pump-beam rose and fell, and the pumps snored and guttered and shrieked as the first water poured out of the pipe.
We must run her all to-night, said the Manager wearily, but theres no hope for the poor devils down below. Look here, Gur Sahai, if you are proud of your engines, show me what they can do now.
Gur Sahai grinned and nodded, with his right hand upon the lever and an oil-can in his left. He could do no more than he was doing, but he could keep that up till the dawn. Were the Companys pumps to be beaten by the vagaries of that troublesome Tarachunda River? Never, never! And the pumps sobbed and panted: Never, never! The Manager sat in the shelter of the pit-bank roofing, trying to dry himself by the pump-boiler fire, and, in the dreary dusk, he saw the crowds on the dam scatter and fly.
Thats the end, he groaned. Twill take us six weeks to persuade em that we havent tried to drown their mates on purpose. Oh for a decent, rational Geordie!
But the flight had no panic in it. Men had run over from Five with astounding news, and the foremen could not hold their gangs together. Presently, surrounded by a clamorous crew, Gangs Rahim, Mogul, and Janki, and ten basket-women, walked up to report themselves, and pretty little Unda stole away to Jankis hut to prepare his evening meal.
Alone I found the way, explained Janki Meah, and now will the Company give me pension?
The simple pit-folk shouted and leaped and went back 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 kept his hand upon the lever and proved his pumps to the uttermost.
Yes. Queer thing. I thought of it in the cage when that balk went by. Why?
Oh, this business seems to be Germinal upsidedown. Janki was in my veranda all this morning, telling me that Kundoo had eloped with his wifeUnda or Anda, I think her name was.
Hillo! And those were the cattle you risked your life for to clear out of Twenty-Two!
NoI was thinking of the Companys props, not the Companys men.
Sounds better to say so now; but I dont believe you, old fellow.
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 no fool. He knows what the Barhwi means when it is angry. Aha! Indeed, thou art no fool, my child! Salaam, Ram Pershad, Bahadur! Take him under the trees, mahout, and see that he gets his spices. Well done, thou chiefest among tuskers! Salaam to the Sirkar and go to sleep.
What is to be done? The Sahib must wait till the river goes down. It will shrink to-morrow morning, if God pleases, or the day after at the latest! Now why does the Sahib get so angry? I am his servant. Before God, I did not create this stream! What can I do? My hut and all that is therein is at the service of 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 people were not thus. The fire-carriage has made them soft. In the old days, when they drave behind horses by day or by night, they said naught if a river barred the way, or a carriage sat down in the mud. It was the will of Godnot like a fire-carriage which goes and goes and goes, and would go though all the devils in the land hung on to its tail. The fire-carriage hath spoiled the English people. After all, what is a day lost, or, for that matter, what are two days? Is the Sahib going to his own wedding, that he is so mad with haste? Ho! ho! ho! I am an old man and see few Sahibs. Forgive me if I have forgotten the respect that is due to them. The Sahib is not angry?
His own wedding! Ho! ho! ho! The mind of an old man is like the numah-tree. Fruit, bud, blossom, and the dead leaves of all the years of the past flourish together. Old and new and that which is gone out of remembrance, all three are there! Sit on the bedstead, Sahib, and drink milk. Orwould the Sahib in truth care to drink my tobacco? It is good. It is the tobacco of Nuklao. My son, who is in service there, sends it to me. Drink, then, Sahib, if you know how to handle the tube. The Sahib takes it like a Mussulman. Wah! Wah! Where did he learn that? His own wedding! Ho! ho! ho! The Sahib says that there is no wedding in the matter at all. Now is it likely that the Sahib would speak true talk to me who am only a black man? Small wonder, then, that he is in haste. Thirty years have I beaten the gong at this ford, but never have I seen a Sahib in such haste. Thirty years, Sahib! That is a very long time. Thirty years ago this ford was on the track of the bunjaras, and I have seen two thousand pack-bullocks cross in one night. Now the rail has come, and the fire-carriage says buz-buz-buz, and a hundred lakhs of maunds slide across that big bridge. It is very wonderful; but the ford is lonely now that there are no bunjaras to camp under the trees.
Nay, do not trouble to look at the sky without.
It will rain till the dawn. Listen! The boulders are talking to-night in the bed of the river. Hear them! They would be husking your bones, Sahib, had you tried to cross. See, I will shut the door and no rain can enter. Wahi! Ahi! Ugh! Thirty years on the banks of the ford. An old man am I andwhere is the oil for the lamp?
May I tell the tale? Very good talk. I will fill the pipe anew.
Thirty years ago it was, when I was a young man and had but newly come to the ford. I was strong then, and the bunjaras had no doubt when I said: This ford is clear. I have toiled all night up to my shoulder-blades in running water amid a hundred bullocks mad with fear, and have brought them across losing not a hoof. When all was done I fetched the shivering men, and they gave me for reward the pick of their cattlethe bell-bullock of the drove. So great was the honour in which I was held! But to-day, when the rain falls and the river rises, I creep into my hut and whimper like a dog. My strength is gone from me. I am an old man and the fire-carriage has made the ford desolate. They were wont to call me the Strong One of the Barhwi.
Behold my face, Sahibit is the face of a monkey. And my armit is the arm of an old woman. I swear to you, Sahib, that a woman has loved this face and has rested in the hollow of this arm. Twenty years ago, Sahib. Believe me, this was true talktwenty years ago.
Come to the door and look across. Can you see a thin fire very far away down the stream? That is the temple-fire, in the shrine of Hanuman, of the village of Pateera. North, under the big star, is the village itself, but it is hidden by a bend of the river. Is that far to swim, Sahib? Would you take off your clothes and adventure? Yet I swam to Pateeranot once, but many times; and there are muggers in the river too.
Love knows no caste; else why should I, a Mussulman and the son of a Mussulman, have sought a Hindu womana widow of the Hindusthe sister of the headman of Pateera? But it was even so. They of the headmans household came on a pilgrimage to Muttra when She was but newly a bride. Silver tyres were upon the wheels of the bullock-cart, and silken curtains hid the woman. Sahib, I made no haste in their conveyance, for the wind parted the curtains and I saw Her. When they returned from pilgrimage the boy that was Her husband had died, and I saw Her again in the bullock-cart. By God, these Hindus are fools! What was it to me whether She was Hindu or Jainscavenger, leper, or whole? I would have married Her and made Her a home by the ford. The Seventh of the Nine Bars says that a man may not marry one of the idolaters? Is that truth? Both Shiahs and Sunnis say that a Mussulman may not marry one of the idolaters? Is the Sahib a priest, then, that he knows so much? I will tell him something that he does not know. There is neither Shiah nor Sunni, forbidden nor idolater, in Love; and the Nine Bars are but nine little faggots that the flame of Love utterly burns away. In truth, I would have taken Her; but what could I do? The headman would have sent his men to break my head with staves. I am notI was notafraid of any five men; but against half a village who can prevail?
Therefore it was my custom, these things having been arranged between us twain, to go by night to the village of Pateera, and there we met among the crops, no man knowing aught of the matter. Behold, now! I was wont to cross here, skirting the jungle to the river bend where the railway bridge is, and thence across the elbow of land to Pateera. The light of the shrine was my guide when the nights were dark. That jungle near the river is very full of snakeslittle karaits that sleep on the sandand moreover, Her brothers would have slain me had they found me in the crops. But none knewnone knew save She and I; and the blown sand of the river-bed covered the track of my feet. In the hot months it was an easy thing to pass from the ford to Pateera, and in the first Rains, when the river rose slowly, it was an easy thing also. I set the strength of my body against the strength of the stream, and nightly I ate in my hut here and drank at Pateera yonder. She had said that one Hirnam Singh, a thief, had sought Her, and he was of a village up the river but on the same bank. All Sikhs are dogs, and they have refused in their folly that good gift of Godtobacco. I was ready to destroy Hirnam Singh that ever he had come nigh Her; and the more because he had sworn to Her that She had a lover, and that he would lie in wait and give the name to the headman unless She went away with him. What curs are these Sikhs!
After that news I swam always with a little sharp knife in my belt, and evil would it have been for a man had he stayed me. I knew not the face of Hirnam Singh, but I would have killed any who came between me and Her.
Upon a night in the beginning of the Rains I was minded to go across to Pateera, albeit the river was angry. Now the nature of the Barhwi is this, Sahib. In twenty breaths it comes down from the Hills a wall three feet high, and I have seen it, between the lighting of a fire and the cooking of a cake, grow from a runnel to a sister of the Jumna.
When I left this bank there was a shoal a half-mile down, and I made shift to fetch it and draw breath there ere going forward; for I felt the hands of the river heavy upon my heels. Yet what will a young man not do for Loves sake? There was but little light from the stars, and midway to the shoal a branch of the stinking deodar tree brushed my mouth as I swam. That was a sign of heavy rain in the foot-hills and beyond, for the deodar is a strong tree, not easily shaken from the hillsides. I made haste, the river aiding me, but ere I had touched the shoal, the pulse of the stream beat, as it were, within me and around, and, behold, the shoal was gone and I rode high on the crest of a wave that ran from bank to bank. Has the Sahib ever been cast into much water that fights and will not let a man use his limbs? To me, my head upon the water, it seemed as though there were naught but water to the worlds end, and the river drave me with its driftwood. A man is a very little thing in the belly of a flood. And this flood, though I knew it not, was the Great Flood about which men talk still. My liver was dissolved and I lay like a log upon my back in the fear of Death. There were living things in the water, crying and howling grievouslybeasts of the forest and cattle, and once the voice of a man asking for help. But the rain came and lashed the water white, and I heard no more save the roar of the boulders below and the roar of the rain above. Thus I was whirled downstream, wrestling for the breath in me. It is very hard to die when one is young. Can the Sahib, standing here, see the railway bridge? Look, there are the lights of the mail-train going to Peshawur! The bridge is now twenty feet above the river, but upon that night the water was roaring against the lattice-work, and against the lattice came I feet first. But much driftwood was piled there and upon the piers, and I took no great hurt. Only the river pressed me as a strong man presses a weaker. Scarcely could I take hold of the lattice-work and crawl to the upper boom. Sahib, the water was foaming across the rails a foot deep! Judge therefore what manner of flood it must have been. I could not hear. I could not see. I could but lie on the boom and pant for breath.
After a while the rain ceased and there came out in the sky certain new-washed stars, and by their light I saw that there was no end to the black water as far as the eye 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, and others not yet drowned who strove to find a foothold on the lattice-work-buffaloes and kine, and wild pig, and deer one or two, and snakes and jackals past all counting. Their bodies were black upon the left side of the bridge, but the smaller of them were forced through the lattice-work and whirled down-stream.
Thereafter the stars died and the rain came down afresh and the river rose yet more, and I felt the bridge begin to stir under me as a man stirs in his sleep ere he wakes. But I was not afraid, Sahib. I swear to you that I was not afraid, though I had no power in my limbs. I knew that I should not die till I had seen Her once more. But I was very cold, and I felt that the bridge must go.
There was a trembling in the water, such a trembling as goes before the coming of a great wave, and the bridge lifted its flank to the rush of that coming so that the right lattice dipped under water and the left rose clear. On my beard, Sahib, I am speaking Gods truth! As a Mirzapore stone-boat careens to the wind, so the Barhwi Bridge turned. Thus and in no other manner.
I slid from the boom into deep water, and behind me came the wave of the wrath of the river. I heard its voice and the scream of the middle part of the bridge as it moved from the piers and sank, and I knew no more till I rose in the middle of the great flood. I put forth my hand to swim, and lo! it fell upon the knotted hair of the head of a man. He was dead, for no one but I, the Strong One of Barhwi, could have lived in that race. He had been dead full two days, for he rode high, wallowing, and was an aid to me. I laughed then, knowing for a surety that I should yet see Her and take no harm; and I twisted my fingers in the hair of the man, for I was far spent, and together we went down the streamhe the dead and I the living. Lacking that help I should have sunk: the cold was in my marrow, and my flesh was ribbed and sodden on my bones. But he had no fear who had known the uttermost of the power of the river; and I let him go where he chose. At last we came into the power of a side-current that set to the right bank, and I strove with my feet to draw with it. But the dead man swung heavily in the whirl, and I feared that some branch had struck him and that he would sink. The tops of the tamarisks brushed my knees, so I knew we were come into flood-water above the crops, and, after, I let down my legs and felt bottomthe ridge of a fieldand, after, the dead man stayed upon a knoll under a fig-tree, and I drew my body from the water rejoicing.
Does the Sahib know whither the backwash of the flood had borne me? To the knoll which is the eastern boundary-mark of the village of Pateera! No other place. I drew the dead man up on the grass for the service that he had done me, and also because I knew not whether I should need him again. Then I went, crying thrice like a jackal, to the appointed place, which was near the byre of the headmans house. But my Love was already there, weeping. She feared that the flood had swept my hut at the Barhwi Ford. When I came softly through the ankle-deep water, She thought it was a ghost and would have fled, but I put my arms round Her, andI was no ghost in those days, though I am an old man now. Ho! ho! Dried corn, in truth. Maize without juice. Ho! ho!1
I told Her the story of the breaking of the Barhwi Bridge, and She said that I was greater than mortal man, for none may cross the Barhwi in full flood, and I had seen what never man had seen before. Hand in hand we went to the knoll where the dead lay, and I showed Her by what help I had made the ford. She looked also upon the body under the stars, for the latter end of the night was clear, and hid Her face in Her hands, crying: It is the body of Hirnam Singh! I said: The swine is of more use dead than living, my Beloved, and She said: Surely, for he has saved the dearest life in the world to my love. None the less, he cannot stay here, for that would bring shame upon me. The body was not a gunshot from Her door.
Then said I, rolling the body with my hands God hath judged between us, Hirnam Singh, that thy blood might not be upon my head. Now, whether I have done thee a wrong in keeping thee from the burning-ghat, do thou and the crows settle together. So I cast him adrift into the flood-water, and he was drawn out to the open, ever wagging his thick black beard like a priest under the pulpit-board. And I saw no more of Hirnam Singh.
Before the breaking of the day we two parted, and I moved towards such of the jungle as was not flooded. With the full light I saw what I had done in the darkness, and the bones of my body were loosened in my flesh, for there ran two koss of raging water between the village of Pateera and the trees of the far bank, and, in the middle, the piers of the Barhwi Bridge showed like broken teeth in the jaw of an old man. Nor was there any life upon the watersneither birds nor boats, but only an army of drowned thingsbullocks and horses and menand the river was redder than blood from the clay of the foot-hills. Never had I seen such a floodnever since that year have I seen the likeand, O Sahib, no man living had done what I had done. There was no return for me that day. Not for all the lands of the headman would I venture a second time without the shield of darkness that cloaks danger. I went a koss up the river to the house of a blacksmith, saying that the flood had swept me from my hut, and they gave me food. Seven days I stayed with the blacksmith, till a boat came and I returned to my house. There was no trace of wall, or roof, or floornaught but a patch of slimy mud. Judge, therefore, Sahib, how far the river must have risen.
It was written that I should not die either in my house, or in the heart of the Barhwi, or under the wreck of the Barhwi Bridge, for God sent down Hirnam Singh two days dead, though I know not how the man died, to be my buoy and support. Hirnam Singh has been in Hell these twenty years, and the thought of that night must be 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 yet one 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 the voice of his son? Every moment it is talking less angrily. I swear that ere will be no danger for one hour or, perhaps, two. I cannot answer for the morning. Be quick, Sahib! I will call Ram Pershad, and he will not turn back this time. Is the paulin tightly corded upon all the baggage? Ohé, mahout with a mud head, the elephant for the Sahib, and tell them on the far side that there will be no crossing after daylight.
Money? Nay, Sahib. I am not of that kind. No, not even to give sweetmeats to the baby-folk. My house, look you, is empty, and I am an old man.
Dutt, Ram Pershad! Dutt! Dutt! Dutt! Good luck go with you, Sahib.
This Religion was too elastic for ordinary use. It stretched itself and embraced pieces of everything that the medicine-men of all ages have manufactured. It approved of and stole from Freemasonry; looted the Latter-day Rosicrucians of half their pet words; took any fragments of Egyptian philosophy that it found in the Encyclopædia Britannica; annexed as many of the Vedas as had been translated into French or English, and talked of all the rest; built in the German versions of what is left of the Zend Avesta; encouraged White, Grey, and Black Magic, including spiritualism, palmistry, fortune-telling by cards, hot chestnuts, double-kernelled nuts, and tallow droppings; would have adopted Voodoo and Obeah had it known anything about them, and showed itself, in every way, one of the most accommodating arrangements that had ever been invented since the birth of the Sea.
When it was in thorough working order, with all the machinery, down to the subscriptions, complete, Dana Da came from nowhere, with nothing in his hands, and wrote a chapter in its history which has hitherto been unpublished. He said that his first name was Dana, and his second was Da. Now, setting aside Dana of the New York Sun, Dana is a Bhil name, and Da fits no native of India unless you accept the Bengali De as the original spelling. Da is Lap or Finnish; and Dana Da was neither Finn, Chin, Bhil, Bengali, Lap, Nair, Gond, Romany, Magh, Bokhariot, Kurd, Armenian, Levantine, Jew, Persian, Punjabi, Madrasi, Parsee, nor anything else known to ethnologists. He was simply Dana Da, and declined to give further information. For the sake of brevity and as roughly indicating his origin, he was called The Native. He might have been the original Old Man of the Mountains, who is said to be the only authorised Head of the Tea-cup Creed. Some people said that he was; but Dana Da used to smile and deny any connection with the cult, explaining that he was an Independent Experimenter.
As I have said, he came from nowhere, with his hands behind his back, and studied the Creed for three weeks, sitting at the feet of those best competent to explain its mysteries. Then he laughed aloud and went away, but the laugh might have been either of devotion or derision.
When he returned he was without money, but his pride was unabated. He declared that he knew more about the Things in Heaven and Earth than those who taught him, and for this contumacy was abandoned altogether.
His next appearance in public life was at a big cantonment in Upper India, and he was then telling fortunes with 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; but the things which he invented on the opium were quite worth the money. He was in reduced circumstances. Among other peoples 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 old knowledge in the study of babies and things. The Englishman allowed Dana Da to tell a fortune for charitys sake, and gave him five rupees, a dinner, and some old clothes. When he had eaten, Dana Da professed gratitude, and asked if there were anything he could do for his hostin the esoteric line.
Is there any one that you love? said Dana Da. The Englishman loved his wife, but had no desire to drag her name into the conversation. He therefore shook his head.
Is there any one that you hate? said Dana Da. The Englishman said that there were several men whom he hated deeply.
Very good, said Dana Da, upon whom the whisky and the opium were beginning to tell. Only give me their names, and I will despatch a Sending to them and kill them.
Now a Sending is a horrible arrangement, first invented, they say, in Iceland. It is a Thing sent by a wizard, and may take any form, but, most generally, wanders about the land in the shape of a little purple cloud till it finds the Sendee, and him it kills by changing into the form of a horse, or a cat, or a man without a face. It is not strictly a native patent, though chamars of the skin and hide castes can, if irritated, despatch a Sending which sits on the breast of their enemy by night and nearly kills him. Very few natives care to irritate chamars for this reason.
Let me despatch a Sending, said Dana Da. I am nearly dead now with want, and drink, and opium; but I should like to kill a man before I die. I can send a Sending anywhere you choose, and in any form except in the shape of a man.
The Englishman had no friends that he wished to kill, but partly to soothe Dana Da, whose eyes were rolling, and partly to see what would be done, he asked whether a modified Sending could not be arranged forsuch a Sending as should make a mans life a burden to him, and yet do him no harm. If this were possible, he notified his willingness to give Dana Da ten rupees for the job.
I am not what I was once, said Dana Da, and I must take the money because I am poor. To what Englishman shall I send it?
Send a Sending to Lone Sahib, said the Englishman, naming a man who had been most bitter in rebuking him for his apostasy from the Tea-cup Creed. Dana Da laughed and nodded.
I could have chosen no better man myself, said he. I will see that he finds the Sending about his path and about his bed.
He lay down on the hearth-rug, turned up the whites of his eyes, shivered all over, and began to snort. This was Magic, or Opium, or the Sending, or all three. When he opened his eyes he vowed that the Sending had started upon the war-path, and was at that moment flying up to the town where Lone Sahib lived.
Give me my ten rupees, said Dana Da wearily, and write a letter to Lone Sahib, telling him, and all who believe with him, that you and a friend are using a power greater than theirs. They will see that you are speaking the truth.
He departed unsteadily, with the promise of some more rupees if anything came of the Sending.
The Englishman sent a letter to Lone Sahib, couched in what he remembered of the terminology of the Creed. He wrote: I also, in the days of what you held to be my backsliding, have obtained Enlightenment, and with Enlightenment has come Power. Then he grew so deeply, mysterious that the recipient of the letter could make neither head nor tail of it, and was proportionately impressed; for he fancied that his friend had become a fifth-rounder. When a man 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 bearer dashed in with the news that there was a cat on the bed. Now if there was one thing that Lone Sahib hated more than another, it was a cat. He scolded the bearer for not turning it out of the house. The bearer said that he was afraid. All the doors of the bedroom had been shut throughout the morning, and no real cat could possibly have entered the room. He would prefer not to meddle with the creature.
Lone Sahib entered the room gingerly, and there, on the pillow of his bed, sprawled and whimpered a wee white kitten; not a jumpsome, frisky little beast, but a slug-like crawler with its eyes barely opened and its paws lacking strength or directiona kitten that ought to have been in a basket with its mamma. Lone Sahib caught it by the scruff of its neck, handed it over to the sweeper to be drowned, and fined the bearer four annas.
That evening, as he was reading in his room, he fancied that he saw something moving about on the hearth-rug, outside the circle of light from his reading-lamp. When the thing began to myowl he realised that it was a kittena wee white kitten, nearly blind and very miserable.
He was seriously angry, and spoke bitterly to his bearer, who said that there was no kitten in the room when he brought in the lamp, and real kittens of tender age generally had mother-cats in attendance.
If the Presence will go out into the veranda and listen, said the bearer, he will hear no cats. How, therefore, can the kitten on the bed and the kitten on the hearth-rug be real kittens?
Lone Sahib went out to listen, and the bearer followed him, but there was no sound of any one mewing for her children. He returned to his room, having hurled the kitten down the hillside, and wrote out the incidents of the day for the benefit of his co-religionists. Those people were so absolutely free from superstition that they ascribed anything a little out of the common to Agencies. As it was their business to know all about the Agencies, they were on terms of almost indecent familiarity with Manifestations of every kind. Their letters dropped from the ceilingunstampedand Spirits used to squatter up and down their staircases all night; but they had never come into contact with kittens. Lone Sahib wrote out the facts, noting the hour and the minute, as every Psychical Observer is bound to do, and appending the Englishmans letter, because it was the most mysterious document and might have had a bearing upon anything in this world or the next. An outsider would have translated all the tangle thus: Look out! You laughed at me once, and now I am going to make you sit up.
Lone Sahibs co-religionists found that meaning in it; but their translation was refined and full of four-syllable words. They held a sederunt, and were filled with tremulous joy, for, in spite of their familiarity with all the other worlds and cycles, they had a very human awe of things sent from Ghostland. They met in Lone Sahibs room in shrouded and sepulchral gloom, and their conclave was broken up by a clinking among the photo-frames on the mantelpiece. A wee white kitten, nearly blind, was looping and writhing itself between the clock and the candlesticks. That stopped all investigations or doubtings. Here was the Manifestation in the flesh. It was, so far as could be seen, devoid of purpose, but it was a Manifestation of undoubted authenticity.
They drafted a Round Robin to the Englishman; the backslider of old days, adjuring him in the interests of the Creed to explain whether there was any connection between the embodiment of some Egyptian God or other (I have forgotten the name) and his communication. They called the kitten Ra, or Thoth, or Tum, or something; and when Lone Sahib confessed that the first one had, at his most misguided instance, been drowned by the sweeper, they said consolingly that in his next life he would be a bounder, and not even a rounder of the lowest grade. These words may not be quite correct, but they accurately express the sense of the house.
When the Englishman received the Round Robinit came by posthe was startled and bewildered. He sent into the bazar for Dana Da, who read the letter and laughed. That is my Sending, said he. I told you I would work well. Now give me another ten rupees.
But what in the world is this gibberish about Egyptian Gods? asked the Englishman.
Cats, said Dana Da with a hiccough, for he had discovered the Englishmans whisky-bottle. Cats, and cats, and cats! Never was such a Sending. A hundred of cats. Now give me ten more rupees and write as I dictate.
Dana Das letter was a curiosity. It bore the Englishmans signature, and hinted at catsat a Sending of Cats. The mere words on paper were creepy and uncanny to behold.
What have you done, though? said the Englishman. I am as much in the dark as ever. Do you mean to say that you can actually send this absurd Sending you talk about?
Judge for yourself, said Dana Da. What does that letter mean? In a little time they will all be at my feet and yours, and Ioh, glory!will be drugged or drunk all day long.
Dana Da knew his people.
When a man who hates cats wakes up in the morning and finds a little squirming kitten on his breast, or puts his hand into his ulster-pocket and finds a little half-dead kitten where his gloves should be, or opens his trunk and finds a vile kitten among his dress-shirts, or goes for a long ride with his mackintosh strapped on his saddlebow and shakes a little squawling kitten from its folds when he opens it, or goes out to dinner and finds a little blind kitten under his chair, or stays at home and finds a writhing kitten under the quilt, or wriggling among his boots, or hanging, head downwards, in his tobacco jar, or being mangled by his terrier in the veranda,when such a man finds one kitten, neither more nor less, once a day in a place where no kitten rightly could or should be, he is naturally upset. When he dare not murder his daily trove because he believes it to be a Manifestation, an Emissary, an Embodiment, and half-a-dozen other things all out of the regular course of nature, he is more than upset. He is actually distressed. Some of Lone Sahibs co-religionists thought that he was a highly-favoured individual; but many said that if he had treated the first kitten with proper respectas suited a Thoth-Ra-Tum-Sennacherib Embodimentall this trouble would have been averted. They compared him to the Ancient Mariner, but none the less they were proud of him and proud of the Englishman who had sent the Manifestation. They did not call it a Sending because Icelandic magic was not in their programme.
After sixteen kittens, that is to say, after one fortnight, for there were three kittens on the first day to impress the fact of the Sending, the whole camp was uplifted by a letterit came flying through a windowfrom the Old Man of the Mountainsthe Head of all the Creedexplaining the Manifestation in the most beautiful language and soaking up all the credit of it for himself. The Englishman, said the letter, was not there at all. He was a backslider without Power or Asceticism, who could not even raise a table by force of volition, much less project an army of kittens through space. The entire arrangement, said the letter, was strictly orthodox, worked and sanctioned by the highest Authorities within the pale of the Creed. There was great joy at this, for some of the weaker brethren, seeing that an outsider who had been working on independent lines could create kittens, whereas their own rulers had never gone beyond crockeryand broken at bestwere showing a desire to break line on their own trail. In fact, there was the promise of a schism. A second Round Robin was drafted to the Englishman, beginning: O 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 papal excommunication is a billet-doux compared with the Commination of Jugana. The Englishman had been proved, under the hand and seal of the Old Man of the Mountains, to have appropriated Virtue and pretended to have Power which, in reality, belonged only to the Supreme Head. Naturally the Round Robin did not spare him.
He handed the letter to Dana Da to translate into decent English. The effect on Dana Da was curious. At first he was furiously angry, and then he laughed for five minutes.
I had thought, he said, that they would have come to me. In another week I would have shown that I sent the Sending, and, they would have discrowned the Old Man of the Mountains who has sent this Sending of mine. Do you do nothing. The time has come for me to act. Write as I dictate, and I will put them to shame. But give me ten more rupees.
At Dana Das dictation the Englishman wrote nothing less than a formal challenge to the Old Man of the Mountains. It wound up: And if this Manifestation be from your hand, then let it go forward; but if it be from my hand, I will that the Sending shall cease in two days time. On that day there shall be twelve kittens and thenceforward none at all. The people shall judge between us. This was signed by Dana Da, who added pentacles and pentagrams, and a crux ansata, and half-a-dozen swastikas, and a Triple Tau to his name, just 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 had laughed at them some years ago. It was officially announced that the Old Man of the Mountains would treat the matter with contempt; Dana Da being an Independent Investigator without a single round at the back of him. But this did not soothe his people. They wanted to see a fight. They were very human for all their spirituality. Lone Sahib, who was really being worn out with kittens, submitted meekly to his fate. He felt that he was being kittened to prove the power of Dana Da, as the poet says.
When the stated day dawned the shower of kittens began. Some were white and some were tabby, and all were about the same loathsome age. Three were on his hearth-rug, three in his bathroom, and the other six turned up at intervals among the visitors who came to see the prophecy break down. Never was a more satisfactory Sending. On the next day there were no kittens, and the next day and all the other days were kittenless and quiet. The people murmured and looked to the Old Man of the Mountains for an explanation. A letter, written on a palm-leaf, dropped from the ceiling, but every one except Lone Sahib felt that letters were not what the occasion demanded. There should have been cats, there should have been cats,full-grown ones. The letter proved conclusively that there had been a hitch in the Psychic Current which, colliding with a Dual Identity, had interfered with the Percipient Activity all along the main line. The kittens were still going on, but owing to some failure in the Developing Fluid, they were not materialised. The air was thick with letters for a few days afterwards. Unseen hands played Gluck and Beethoven on finger-bowls and clock-shades; but all men felt that Psychic Life was a mockery without materialised kittens. Even Lone Sahib shouted with the majority on this head. Dana Das letters were very insulting, and if he had then offered to lead a new departure, there is no knowing what might not have happened.
But Dana Da was dying of whisky and opium in the Englishmans godown, and had small heart for honours.
They have been put to shame, said he. Never was such a Sending. It has killed me.
Nonsense! said the Englishman. You are going to die, Dana Da, and that sort of stuff must be left behind. Ill admit that you have made some queer things come about. Tell me honestly, now, how was it done?
Give me ten more rupees, said Dana Da faintly, and if I die before I spend them, bury them with me. The silver was counted out while Dana Da was fighting with Death. His hand closed upon the money and he smiled a grim smile.
Bend low, he whispered. The Englishman bent.
Bunnia Mission-school expelled boxwallah [peddler] Ceylon pearl-merchant all mine English educationout-casted, and made up name Dana DaEngland with American thought-reading man andandyou gave me ten rupees several timesI gave the Sahibs bearer two-eight a month for catslittle, little cats. I wroteand he put them aboutvery clever man. Very few kittens now in the bazar. Ask Lone Sahibs sweepers wife.
So saying, Dana Da gasped and passed away into a land where, if all be true, there are no materialisations and the making of new creeds is discouraged.
But consider the gorgeous simplicity of it all
Laluns real husband, for even ladies of Laluns profession in the East must have husbands, was a big jujube-tree. Her Mamma, who had married a fig-tree, spent ten thousand rupees on Laluns wedding, which was blessed by forty-seven clergymen of Mammas Church, and distributed five thousand rupees in charity to the poor. And that was the custom of the land. The advantages of having a jujube-tree for a husband are obvious. You cannot hurt his feelings, and he looks imposing.
Laluns husband stood on the plain outside the City walls, and Laluns house was upon the east wall facing the river. If you fell from the broad window-seat you dropped thirty feet sheer into the City Ditch. But if you stayed where you should and looked forth, you saw all 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, the great sand-bars that ribbed the river, the red tombs of dead Emperors beyond the river, and very far away through the blue heat-haze a glint of the snows of the Himalayas.
Wali Dad used to lie in the window-seat for hours at a time watching this view. He was a young Mohammedan who was suffering acutely from education of the English variety and knew it. His father had sent him to a Mission-school to get wisdom, and Wali Dad had absorbed more than ever his father or the Missionaries intended he should. When his father died, Wali Dad was independent and spent two years experimenting with the creeds of the Earth and reading books that are of no use to anybody.
After he had made an unsuccessful attempt to enter the Roman Catholic Church and the Presbyterian fold at the same time (the Missionaries found him out and called him names; but they did not understand his trouble), he discovered Lalun on the City wall and became the most constant of her few admirers. He possessed a head that English artists at home would rave over and paint amid impossible surroundingsa face that female novelists would use with delight through nine hundred pages. In reality he was only a clean-bred young Mohammedan, with pencilled eyebrows, small-cut nostrils, little feet and hands, and a very tired look in his eyes. By virtue of his twenty-two years he had grown a neat black beard which he stroked with pride and kept delicately scented. His life seemed to be divided between borrowing books from me and making love to Lalun in the window-seat. He composed songs about her, and some of the songs are sung to this day in the City from the Street of the Mutton-Butchers to the Copper-Smiths ward.
One song, the prettiest of all, says that the beauty of Lalun was so great that it troubled the hearts of the British Government and caused them to lose their peace of mind. That is the way the song is sung in the streets; but, if you examine it carefully and know the key to the explanation, you will find that there are three puns in iton beauty, heart, and peace of mind,so that it runs: By the subtlety of Lalun the administration of the Government was troubled and it lost such-and-such a man. When Wali Dad sings that song his eyes glow like hot coals, and Lalun leans back among the cushions and throws bunches of jasmine-buds at Wali Dad.
But first it is necessary to explain something about the Supreme Government which is above all and below all and behind all. Gentlemen come from England, spend a few weeks in India, walk round this great Sphinx of the Plains, and write books upon its ways and its works, denouncing or praising it as their own ignorance prompts. Consequently all the world knows how the Supreme Government conducts itself. But no one, not even the Supreme Government, knows everything about the administration of the Empire. Year by year England 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 order that the land may be protected from death and sickness, famine and war, and may eventually become capable of standing alone. It will never stand alone, but the idea is a pretty one, and men are willing to die for it, and yearly the work of pushing and coaxing and scolding and 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. If a failure occurs the Englishmen step forward and take the blame. Overmuch tenderness of this kind has bred a strong belief among many natives that the native is capable of administering the country, and many devout Englishmen believe this also, because the theory is stated in beautiful English with all the latest political colours.
There are other men who, though uneducated, see visions and dream dreams, and they, too, hope to administer the country in their own waythat is to say, with a garnish of Red Sauce. Such men must exist among two hundred million people, and, if they are not attended to, may cause trouble and even break the great idol called Pax Britannica, which, as the newspapers say, lives between Peshawur and Cape Comorin. Were the Day of Doom to dawn to-morrow, you would find the Supreme Government taking measures to allay popular excitement, and putting guards upon the graveyards that the Dead might troop forth orderly. The youngest Civilian would arrest Gabriel on his own responsibility if the Archangel could not produce a Deputy-Commissioners permission to make music or other noises as the licence says.
Whence it is easy to see that mere men of the flesh who would create a tumult must fare badly at the hands of the Supreme Government. And they do. There is no outward sign of excitement; there is no confusion; there is no knowledge. When due and sufficient reasons have been given, weighed and approved, the machinery moves forward, and the dreamer of dreams and the seer of visions is gone from his friends and following. He enjoys the hospitality of Government; there is no restriction upon his movements within certain limits; but he must not confer any more with his brother dreamers. Once in every six months the Supreme Government assures itself that he is well and takes formal acknowledgment of his existence. No one protests against his detention, because the few people who know about it are in deadly fear of seeming to know him; and never a single newspaper takes up his case or organises demonstrations on his behalf, because the newspapers of India have got behind that lying proverb which says the Pen is mightier than the Sword, and can walk delicately.
So now you know as much as you ought about Wali Dad, the educational mixture, and the Supreme Government.
Lalun has not yet been described. She would need, so Wali Dad says, a thousand pens of gold, and ink scented with musk. She has been variously compared to the Moon, the Dil Sagar Lake, a spotted quail, a gazelle, the Sun on the Desert of Kutch, the Dawn, the Stars, and the young bamboo. These comparisons imply that she is beautiful exceedingly according to the native standards, which are practically the same as those of the West. Her eyes are black and her hair is black, and her eyebrows are black as leeches; her mouth is tiny and says witty things; her hands are tiny and have saved much money; her feet are tiny and have trodden on the naked hearts of many men. But, as Wali Dad sings: Lalun is Lalun, and when you have said that, you have only come to the Beginnings of Knowledge.
The little house on the City wall was just big enough to hold Lalun, and her maid, and a pussycat with a silver collar. A big pink-and-blue cut-glass chandelier hung from the ceiling of the reception room. A petty Nawab had given Lalun the horror, and she kept it for politeness sake. The floor of the room was of polished chunam, white as curds. A latticed window of carved wood was set in one wall; there was a profusion of squabby pluffy cushions and fat carpets everywhere, and Laluns silver hookah, studded with turquoises, had a special little carpet all to its shining self. Wali Dad was nearly as permanent a fixture as the chandelier. As I have said, he lay in the window-seat and meditated on Life and Death and Lalunspecially Lalun. The feet of the young men of the City tended to her doorways and thenretired, for Lalun was a particular maiden, slow of speech, reserved of mind, and not in the least inclined to orgies which were nearly certain to end in strife. If I am of no value, I am unworthy of this honour, 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 Laluns little white room to smoke and to talk. Shiahs of the grimmest and most uncompromising persuasion; Sufis who had lost all belief in the Prophet and retained but little in God; wandering Hindu priests passing southward on their way to the Central India fairs and other affairs; Pundits in black gowns, with spectacles on their noses and undigested wisdom in their insides; bearded headmen of the wards; Sikhs with all the details of the latest ecclesiastical scandal in the Golden Temple; red-eyed priests from beyond the Border, looking like trapped wolves and talking like ravens; M.A.s of the University, very superior and very volubleall these people and more also you might find in the white room. Wali Dad lay in the window-seat and listened to the talk.
It is Laluns salon, said Wali Dad to me, and it is electicis not that the word? Outside of a Freemasons Lodge I have never seen such gatherings. There I dined once with a Jewa Yahoudi! He spat into the City Ditch with apologies for allowing national feelings to overcome him. Though I have lost every belief in the world, said he, and try to be proud of my losing, I cannot help hating a Jew. Lalun admits no Jews here.
But what in the world do all these men do? I asked.
The curse of our country, said Wali Dad. They talk. It is like the Atheniansalways hearing and telling some new thing. Ask the Pearl and she will show you how much she knows of the news of the City and the Province. Lalun knows everything.
Lalun, I said at randomshe was talking to a gentleman of the Kurd persuasion who had come in from God-knows-wherewhen does the 175th Regiment go to Agra?
It does not go at all, said Lalun, without turning her head. They have ordered the 118th to go in its stead. That Regiment goes to Lucknow in three months, unless they give a fresh order.
That is so, said Wali Dad, without a shade of doubt. Can you, with your telegrams and your newspapers, do better? Always hearing and telling some new thing, he went on. My friend, has your God ever smitten a European nation for gossiping in the bazars? India has gossiped for centuriesalways standing in the bazars until the soldiers go by. Thereforeyou are here to-day instead of starving in your own country, and I am not a MohammedanI am a Producta Demnition Product. That also I owe to you and yours: that I cannot make an end to my sentence without quoting from your authors. He pulled at the hookah and mourned, half feelingly, half in earnest, for the shattered hopes of his youth. Wali Dad was always mourning over something or otherthe country of which he despaired, or the creed in which he had lost faith, or the life of the English which he could by no means understand.
Lalun never mourned. She played little songs on the sitar, and to hear her sing, O Peacock, cry again, was always a fresh pleasure. She knew all the songs that have ever been sung, from the war-songs of the South, that make the old men angry with the young men and the young men angry with the State, to the love-songs of the North, where the swords whinny-whicker like angry kites in the pauses between the kisses, and the Passes fill with armed men, and the Lover is torn from his Beloved and cries Ai! Ai! Ai! evermore. She knew how to make up tobacco for the pipe so that it smelt like the Gates of Paradise and wafted you gently through them. She could embroider strange things in gold and silver, and dance softly with the moonlight when it came in at the window. Also she knew the hearts of men, and the heart of the City, and whose wives were faithful and whose untrue, and more of the secrets of the Government Offices than are good to be set down in this place. Nasiban, her maid, said that her jewelry was worth ten thousand pounds, and that, some night, a thief would enter and murder her for its possession; but Lalun said that all the City would tear that thief limb 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 of her profession in an armed camp on the eve of a great battlethe day before the Fords of the Jumna ran red and Sivaji fled fifty miles to Delhi with a Toorkh stallion at his horses tail and another Lalun on his saddle-bow. It was what men call a Mahratta laonee, and it said:
Their warrior forces Chimnajee Before the Peishwa led, The Children of the Sun and Fire Behind him turned and fled. |
And the chorus said:
With them there fought who rides so free With sword and turban red, The warrior-youth who earns his fee At 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 commandhis eyes twinkled wickedlyI might be a distinguished member of the local administration. Perhaps, in time, I might even be a member of a Legislative Council.
Dont speak English, said Lalun, bending over her sitar afresh. The chorus went out from the City wall to the blackened wall of Fort Amara which dominates the City. No man knows the precise extent of Fort Amara. Three kings built it hundreds of years ago, and they say that there are miles of underground rooms beneath its walls. It is peopled with many ghosts, a detachment of Garrison Artillery, and a Company of Infantry. 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 rampartsthe grey head of an old manand a voice, rough as shark-skin on a sword-hilt, sent back the last line of the chorus and broke into a song that I could not understand, though Lalun and Wali Dad listened intently.
What is it? I asked. Who is it?
A consistent man, said Wali Dad. He fought you in 46, when he was a warrior-youth; refought you in 57, and he tried to fight you in 71, but you had learned the trick of blowing men from guns too well. Now he is old; but he would still fight if he could.
Is he a Wahabi, then? Why should he answer to a Mahratta laonee if he be Wahabior 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, Wali Dad. If you know his career you must know his name.
That is quite true. I belong to a nation of liars. I would rather not tell you his name. Think for yourself.
Lalun finished her song, pointed to the Fort, and said simply: Khem Singh.
Hm, said Wali Dad. If the Pearl chooses to tell you, the Pearl is a fool.
I translated to Lalun, who laughed. I choose to tell what I choose to tell. They kept Khem Singh in Burma, said she. They kept him there for many years until his mind was changed in him. So great was the kindness of the Government. Finding this, they sent him back to his own country that he might look upon it before he died. He is an old man, but when he looks upon this his country his memory will come. Moreover, there be many who remember him.
He is an Interesting Survival, said Wali Dad, pulling at the pipe. He returns to a country now full of educational and political reform, but, as the Pearl says, there are many who remember him. He was once a great man. There will never be any more great men in India. They will all, when they are boys, go whoring after strange gods, and they will become citizensfellow-citizensillustrious fellow-citizens. What is it that the native papers call them?
Wali Dad seemed to be in a very bad temper. Lalun looked out of the window and smiled into the dust-haze. I went away thinking about Khem Singh, who had once made history with a thousand followers, and would have been a princeling but for the power of the Supreme Government aforesaid.
The Senior Captain Commanding Fort Amara was away on leave, but the Subaltern, his Deputy, had drifted down to the Club, where I found him and inquired of him whether it was really true that a political prisoner had been added to the attractions of the Fort. The Subaltern explained at great length, for this was the first time that he had held command of the Fort, and his glory lay heavy upon him.
Yes, said he, a man was sent in to me about a week ago from down the linea thorough gentleman, whoever he is. Of course I did all I could for him. He had his two servants and some silver cooking-pots, and he looked for all the world like a native officer. I called him Subadar Sahib. Just as well to be on the safe side, yknow. Look here, Subadar Sahib, I said, youre handed over to my authority, and Im supposed to guard you. Now I dont want to make your life hard, but you must make things easy for me. All the Fort is at your disposal, from the flagstaff to the dry Ditch, and I shall be happy to entertain you in any way I can, but you mustnt take advantage of it. Give me your word that you wont try to escape, Subadar Sahib, and Ill give you my word that you shall have no heavy guard put over you. I thought the best way of getting at him was by going at him straight, yknow; and it was, by Jove! The old man gave me his word, and moved about the Fort as contented as a sick crow. Hes a rummy chapalways asking to be told where he is and what the buildings about him are. I had to sign a slip of blue paper when he turned up, acknowledging receipt of his body and all that, and Im responsible, yknow, that he doesnt get away. Queer thing, though, looking after a Johnnie old enough to be your grandfather, isnt it? Come to the Fort one of these days and see him.
For reasons which will appear, I never went to the Fort while Khem Singh was then within its walls. I knew him only as a grey head seen from Laluns windowa grey head and a harsh voice. But natives told me that, day by day, as he looked upon the fair lands round Amara, his memory came back to him and, with it, the old hatred against the Government that had been nearly effaced in far-off Burma. So he raged up and down the West face of the Fort from morning till noon and from evening till the night, devising vain things in his heart, and croaking war-songs when Lalun sang on the City wall. As he grew more acquainted with the Subaltern he unburdened his old heart of some of the passions that had withered it. Sahib, he used to say, tapping his stick against the parapet, when I was a young man I was one of twenty thousand horsemen who came out of the City and rode round the plain here. Sahib, I was the leader of a hundred, then of a thousand, then of five thousand, and now!he pointed to his two servants. But from the beginning to to-day I would cut the throats of all the Sahibs in the land if I could. Hold me fast, Sahib, lest I get away and return to those who would follow me. I forgot them when I was in Burma, but now that I am in my own country again, I remember everything.
Do you remember that you have given me your Honour not to make your tendance a hard matter? said the Subaltern.
Yes, to you, only to you, Sahib, said Khem Singh. To you because you are of a pleasant countenance. If my turn comes again, Sahib, I will not hang you nor cut your throat.
Thank you, said the Subaltern gravely, as he looked along the line of guns that could pound the City to powder in half an hour. Let us go into our own quarters, Khem Singh. Come and talk with me after dinner.
Khem Singh would sit on his own cushion at the Subalterns feet, drinking heavy, scented aniseed brandy in great gulps, and telling strange stories of Fort Amara, which had been a palace in the old days, of Begums and Ranees tortured to deathin the very vaulted chamber that now served as a mess-room; would tell stories of Sobraon that made the Subalterns cheeks flush and tingle with pride of race, and of the Kuka rising from which so much was expected and the fore-knowledge of which was shared by a hundred thousand souls. But he never told tales of 57 because, as he said, he was the Subalterns guest, and 57 is a year that no man, Black or White, cares to speak of. Once only, when the aniseed brandy had slightly affected his head, he said Sahib, speaking now of a matter which lay between Sobraon and the affair of the Kukas, it was ever a wonder to us that you stayed your hand at all, and that, having stayed it, you did not make the land one prison. Now I hear from without that you do great honour to all men of our country and by your own hands are destroying the Terror of your Name which is your strong rock and defence. This is a foolish thing. Will oil and water mix? Now in 57
I was not born then, Subadar Sahib, said the Subaltern, and Khem Singh reeled to his quarters.
The Subaltern would tell me of these conversations at the Club, and my desire to see Khem Singh increased. But Wali Dad, sitting in the windowseat of the house on the City wall, said that it would be a cruel thing to do, and Lalun pretended that I preferred the society of a grizzled old Sikh to hers.
Here is tobacco, here is talk, here are many friends and all the news of the City, and, above all, here is myself. I will tell you stories and sing you songs, and Wali Dad will talk his English nonsense in your ears. Is that worse than watching the caged animal yonder? Go to-morrow then, if you must, but to-day such-and-such an one will be here, and he will speak of wonderful things.
It happened that To-morrow never came, and the warm heat of the latter Rains gave place to the chill of early October almost before I was aware of the flight of the year. The Captain Commanding the Fort returned from leave and took over charge of Khem Singh according to the laws of seniority. The Captain was not a nice man. He called all natives niggers, which, besides being extreme bad form, shows gross ignorance.
Whats the use of telling off two Tommies to watch that old nigger? said he.
I fancy it soothes his vanity, said the Subaltern. The men are ordered to keep well out of his way, but he takes them as a tribute to his importance, poor old chap.
I wont have Line men taken off regular guards in this way. Put on a couple of Native Infantry.
Sikhs? said the Subaltern, lifting his eyebrows.
Sikhs, Pathans, Dograstheyre all alike, these black people, and the Captain talked to Khem Singh in a manner which hurt that old gentlemans feelings. Fifteen years before, when he had been caught for the second time, every one looked upon him as a sort of tiger. He liked being regarded in this light. But he forgot that the world goes forward in fifteen years, and many 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 did not know who he was.
In those days the gathering in Laluns little white room was always large and talked more than before.
The Greeks, said Wali Dad, who had been borrowing my books, the inhabitants of the city of Athens, where they were always hearing and telling some new thing, rigorously secluded their womenwho were fools. Hence the glorious institution of the heterodox womenis it not?who were amusing and not fools. All the Greek philosophers delighted in their company. Tell me, my friend, how it goes now in Greece and the other places upon the Continent of Europe. Are your women-folk also fools?
Wali Dad, I said, you never speak to us about your women-folk and we never speak about ours to you. That is the bar between us.
Yes, said Wali Dad, it is curious to think that our common meeting-place should be here, in the house of a commonhow do you call her? He pointed with the pipe-mouth to Lalun.
Lalun is nothing but Lalun, I said, and that was perfectly true. But if you took your place in the world, Wali Dad, and gave up dreaming dreams
I might wear an English coat and trousers. I might be a leading Mohammedan pleader. I might be received even at the Commissioners tennis-parties where the English stand on one side and the natives on the other, in order to promote social intercourse throughout the Empire. Hearts Heart, said he to Lalun quickly, the Sahib says that I ought to quit you.
The Sahib is always talking stupid talk, returned Lalun with a laugh. In this house I am a Queen and thou art a King. The Sahib she put her arms above her head and thought for a momentthe Sahib shall be our Vizierthine and mine, Wali Dadbecause he has said that thou shouldst leave me.
Wali Dad laughed immoderately, and I laughed too. Be it so, said he. My friend, are you willing to take this lucrative Government appointment? Lalun, what shall his pay be?
But Lalun began to sing, and for the rest of the time there was no hope of getting a sensible answer from her or Wali Dad. When the one stopped, the other began to quote Persian poetry with a triple pun in every other line. Some of it was not strictly proper, but it was all very funny, and it only came to an end when a fat person in black, with gold pince-nez, sent up his name to Lalun, and Wali Dad dragged me into the twinkling night to walk in a big rose-garden and talk heresies about Religion and Governments and a mans career in life.
The Mohurrum, the great mourning-festival of the Mohammedans, was close at hand, and the things that Wali Dad said about religious fanaticism would have secured his expulsion from the loosest-thinking Muslim sect. There were the rose-bushes round us, the stars above us, and from every quarter of the City came the boom of the big Mohurrum drums. You must know that the City is divided in fairly equal proportions between the Hindus and the Mussulmans, and where both creeds belong to the fighting races, a big religious festival gives ample chance for trouble. When they canthat is to say, when the authorities are weak enough to allow itthe Hindus do their best to arrange some minor feast-day of their own in time to clash with the period of general mourning for the martyrs Hasan and Hussain, the heroes of the Mohurrum. Gilt and painted paper representations of their tombs are borne with shouting and wailing, music, torches, and yells, through the principal thoroughfares of the City; which fakements are called tazias. Their passage is rigorously laid down beforehand by the Police, and detachments of Police accompany each tazia, lest the Hindus should throw bricks at it and the peace of the Queen and the heads of Her loyal subjects should thereby be broken. Mohurrum time in a fighting town means anxiety to all the officials, because, if a riot breaks out, the officials and not the rioters are held responsible. The former must foresee everything, and while not making their precautions ridiculously elaborate, must see that they are at least adequate.
Listen to the drums! said Wali Dad. That is the heart of the peopleempty and making much noise. How, think you, will the Mohurrum go this year? I think that there will be trouble.
He turned down a side-street and left me alone with the stars and a sleepy Police patrol. Then I went to bed and dreamed that Wali Dad had sacked the City and I was made Vizier, with Laluns silver pipe for mark 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 they would be murdered ere next dawning by the Mohammedans. Which, said the Deputy-Commissioner, in confidence to the Head of Police, is a pretty fair indication that the Hindus are going to make emselves unpleasant. I think we can arrange a little surprise for them. I have given the heads of both Creeds fair warning. If they choose to disregard it, so much the worse for them.
There was a large gathering in Laluns house that night, but of men that I had never seen before, if I except the fat gentleman in black with the gold pince-nez. Wali Dad lay in the window-seat, more bitterly scornful of his Faith and its manifestations than I had ever known him. Laluns maid was very busy cutting up and mixing tobacco for the guests. We could hear the thunder of the drums as the processions accompanying each tazia marched to the central gathering-place in the plain outside the City, preparatory to their triumphant re-entry and circuit within the walls. All the streets seemed ablaze with torches, and only Fort Amara was black and silent.
When the noise of the drums ceased, no one in the white room spoke for a time. The first tazia has moved off, said Wali Dad, looking to the plain.
That is very early, said the man with the pince-nez. It is only half-past eight. The company rose and departed.
Some of them were men from Ladakh, said Lalun, when the last had gone. They brought me brick-tea such as the Russians sell, and a tea-urn from Peshawur. Show me, now, how the English Memsahibs make tea.
The brick-tea was abominable. When it was finished Wali Dad suggested going into the streets. I am nearly sure that there will be trouble to-night, he said. All the City thinks so, and Vox Populi is Vox Dei, as the Babus say. Now I tell you that at the corner of the Padshahi Gate you will find my horse all this night if you want to go about and to see things. It is a most disgraceful exhibition. Where is the pleasure of saying Ya Hasan! a Hussain! twenty thousand times in a night?
All the processionsthere were two-and-twenty of themwere now well within the City walls. The drums were beating afresh, the crowd were howling Ya Hasan! a Hussain! and beating their breasts, the brass bands were playing their loudest, and at every corner where space allowed, Mohammedan preachers were telling the lamentable story of the death of the Martyrs. It was impossible to move except with the crowd, for the streets were not more than twenty feet wide. In the Hindu quarters the shutters of all the shops were up and cross-barred. As the first tazia, a gorgeous erection, ten feet high, was borne aloft on the shoulders of a score of stout men into the semi-darkness of the Gully of the Horsemen, a brickbat crashed through its talc and tinsel sides.
Into thy hands, O Lord! murmured Wali Dad profanely, as a yell went up from behind, and a native officer of Police jammed his horse through the crowd. Another brickbat followed, and the tazia staggered and swayed where it had stopped.
Go on! In the name of the Sirkar, go forward! shouted the Policeman, but there was an ugly cracking and splintering of shutters, and the crowd halted, with oaths and growlings, before the house whence the brickbat had been thrown.
Then, without any warning, broke the stormnot only in the Gully of the Horsemen, but in half-a-dozen other places. The tazias rocked like ships at sea, the long pole-torches dipped and rose round them while the men shouted: The Hindus are dishonouring the tazias! Strike! strike! 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 forcing the mob forward, but they were overpowered, and as contingents of Hindus poured into the streets, the fight became general. Half a mile away where the tazias were yet untouched the drums and the shrieks of Ya Hasan! Ya Hussain! continued, but not for long. The priests at the corners of the streets knocked the legs from the bedsteads that supported their pulpits and smote for the Faith, while stones fell from the silent houses upon friend and foe, and the packed streets bellowed: Din! Din! Din! A tazia caught fire, and was dropped for a flaming barrier between Hindu and Mussulman at the corner of the Gully. Then the crowd surged forward, and Wali Dad drew me close to the stone pillar of a well.
It was intended from the beginning! he shouted in my ear, with more heat than blank unbelief should be guilty of. The bricks were carried up to the houses beforehand. These swine of Hindus! We shall be killing kine in their temples to-night!
Tazia after tazia, some burning, others torn to pieces, hurried past us and the mob with them, howling, shrieking, and striking at the house doors in their flight. At last we saw the reason of the rush. Hugonin, the Assistant District Superintendent of Police, a boy of twenty, had got together thirty constables and was forcing the crowd through the streets. His old grey Policehorse showed no sign of uneasiness as it was spurred breaston into the crowd, and the long dog-whip with which he had armed himself was never still.
They know we havent enough Police to hold em, he cried as he passed me, mopping a cut on his face. They know we havent! Arent any of the men from the Club coming down to help? Get on, you sons of burnt fathers! The dog-whip cracked across the writhing backs, and the constables smote afresh with baton and gun-butt. With these passed the lights and the shouting, and Wali Dad began to swear under his breath. 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 the clean-swept street in rear of the main body of the rioters. No one killed yet, he shouted. Ill keep em on the run till dawn! Dont let em halt, Hugonin! Trot em about till the troops come.
The science of the defence lay solely in keeping the mob on the move. If they had breathing-space they would halt and fire a house, and then the work of restoring order would be more difficult, to say the least of it. Flames have the same effect on a crowd as blood has on a wild beast.
Word had reached the Club, and men in evening-dress were beginning to show themselves and lend a hand in heading off and breaking up the shouting masses with stirrup-leathers, whips, or chance-found staves. They were not very often attacked, for the rioters had sense enough to know that the death of a European would not mean one hanging but many, and possibly the appearance of the thrice-dreaded Artillery. The clamour in the City redoubled. The Hindus had descended into the streets in real earnest and ere long the mob returned. It was a strange sight. There were no taziasonly their riven platformsand there were no Police. Here and there a City dignitary, Hindu or Mohammedan, was vainly imploring his co-religionists to keep quiet and behave themselvesadvice for which his white beard was pulled. Then a native officer of Police, unhorsed but still using his spurs with effect, would be borne along, warning all the crowd of the danger of insulting the Government. Everywhere men struck aimlessly with sticks, grasping each other by the throat, howling and foaming with rage, or beat with their bare hands on the doors of the houses.
It is a lucky thing that they are fighting with natural weapons, I said to Wali Dad, else we should have half the City killed.
I turned as I spoke and looked at his face. His nostrils were distended, his eyes were fixed, and he was smiting himself softly on the breast. The crowd poured by with renewed riota gang of Mussulmans hard pressed by some hundred Hindu fanatics. Wali Dad left my side with an oath, and shouting: Ya Hasan! Ya Hussain! plunged into the thick of the fight, where I lost sight of him.
I fled by a side alley to the Padshahi Gate, where I found Wali Dads horse, and thence rode to the Fort. Once outside the City wall, the tumult sank to a dull roar, very impressive under the stars and reflecting great credit on the fifty thousand angry able-bodied men who were making it. The troops who, at the Deputy-Commissioners instance, had been ordered to rendezvous quietly near the Fort, showed no signs of being impressed. Two companies of Native Infantry, a squadron of Native Cavalry, and a company of British Infantry were kicking their heels in the shadow of the East face, waiting for orders to march in. I am sorry to say that they were all pleased, unholily pleased, at the chance of what they called a little fun. The senior officers, to be sure, grumbled at having been kept out of bed, and the English troops pretended to be sulky, but there was joy in the hearts of all the subalterns, and whispers ran up and down the line: No ball-cartridgewhat a beastly shame! Dyou think the beggars will really stand up to us? Hope I shall meet my money-lender there. I owe him more than I can afford. Oh, they wont let us even unsheath swords. Hurrah! Up goes the fourth rocket. Fall in, there!
The Garrison Artillery, who to the last cherished a wild hope that they might be allowed to bombard the City at a hundred yards range, lined the parapet above the East gateway and cheered themselves hoarse as the British Infantry doubled along the road to the Main Gate of the City. The Cavalry cantered on to the Padshahi Gate, and the Native Infantry marched slowly to the Gate of the Butchers. The surprise was intended to be of a distinctly unpleasant nature, and to come on top of the defeat of the Police, who had been just able to keep the Mohammedans from firing the houses of a few leading Hindus. The bulk of the riot lay in the north and north-west wards. The east and south-east were by this time dark and silent, and I rode hastily to Laluns house, for I wished 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. One small lamp in the white room showed Lalun and her maid leaning half out of the window, breathing heavily and evidently pulling at something that refused to come.
Thou art latevery late, gasped Lalun without turning her head. Help us now, O Fool, if thou hast not spent thy strength howling among the tazias. Pull! Nasiban and I can do no more! O Sahib, is it you? The Hindus have been hunting an old Mohammedan round the Ditch with clubs. If they find him again they will kill him. Help us to pull him up.
I put my hands to the long red silk waist-cloth that was hanging out of the window, and we three pulled and pulled with all the strength at our command. There was something very heavy at the end, and it swore in an unknown tongue as it kicked against the City wall.
Pull, oh, pull! said Lalun at the last. A pair of brown hands grasped the window-sill and a venerable Mohammedan tumbled upon the floor, very much out of breath. His jaws were tied up, his turban had fallen over one eye, and he was dusty and angry.
Lalun hid her face in her hands for an instant and said something about Wali Dad that I could not catch.
Then, to my extreme gratification, she threw her arms round my neck and murmured pretty things. I was in no haste to stop her; and Nasiban, being a handmaiden of tact, turned to the big jewel-chest that stands in the corner of the white room and rummaged among the contents. The Mohammedan sat on the floor and glared.
One service more, Sahib, since thou hast come so opportunely, said Lalun. Wilt thouit is very nice to be thou-ed by Laluntake this old man across the Citythe troops are everywhere, and they might hurt him, for he is oldto the Kumharsen Gate? There I think he may find a carriage to take him to his house. He is a friend of mine, and thou artmore than a friendtherefore I ask this.
Nasiban bent over the old man, tucked something into his belt, and I raised him up and led him into the streets. In crossing from the east to the west of the City there was no chance of avoiding the troops and the crowd. Long before I reached the Gully of the Horsemen I heard the shouts of the British Infantry crying cheerily Hutt, ye beggars! Hutt, ye devils! Get along Go forward, there! Then followed the ringing of rifle-butts and shrieks of pain. The troops were banging 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 were carried back by the crowd and had to force our way to the troops. I caught him by the wrist and felt a bangle therethe iron bangle of the Sikhsbut I had no suspicions, for Lalun had only ten minutes before put her arms round me. Thrice we were carried back by the crowd, and when we made our way past the British Infantry it was to meet the Sikh Cavalry driving another 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 the Deputy-Commissioner, his helmet smashed on his head, surrounded by a knot of men who had come down from the Club as amateur constables and had helped the Police mightily.
Well keep em on the run till dawn, said Petitt. Whos your villainous friend?
I had only time to say: The Protection of the Sirkar! when a fresh crowd flying before the Native Infantry carried us a hundred yards nearer to the Kumharsen Gate, and Petitt was swept away like a shadow.
I do not knowI cannot seethis is all new to me! moaned my companion. How many troops are there in the City?
Perhaps five hundred, I said.
A lakh of men beaten by five hundredand Sikhs among them! Surely, surely, I am an old man, butthe Kumharsen Gate is new. Who pulled down the stone lions? Where is the conduit? Sahib, I am a very old man, and, alas, II cannot stand. He dropped in the shadow of the Kumharsen Gate where there was no disturbance. A fat gentleman wearing gold pince-nez came out of the darkness.
You are most kind to bring my old friend, he said suavely. He is a landholder of Akala. He should not be in a big City when there is religious excitement. But I have a carriage here. You are quite truly kind. Will you help me to put him into the carriage? It is very late.
We bundled the old man into a hired victoria that stood close to the gate, and I turned back to the house on the City wall. The troops were driving the people to and fro, while the Police shouted, To your houses! Get to your houses! and the dog-whip of the Assistant District Superintendent cracked remorselessly. Terror-stricken bunnias clung to the stirrups of the Cavalry, crying that their houses had been robbed (which was a lie), and the burly Sikh horsemen patted them on the shoulder and bade them return to those houses lest a worse thing should happen. Parties of five or six British soldiers, joining arms, swept down the side-gullies, their rifles on their backs, stamping, with shouting and song, upon the toes of Hindu and Mussulman. Never was religious enthusiasm more systematically squashed; and never were poor breakers of the peace more utterly weary and footsore. They were routed out of holes and corners, from behind well-pillars and byres, and bidden to go to their houses. If they had no houses to go to, so much the worse for their toes.
On returning to Laluns door I stumbled over a man at the threshold. He was sobbing hysterically and his arms flapped like the wings of a goose. It was Wali Dad, Agnostic and Unbeliever, shoeless, turbanless, and frothing at the mouth, the flesh on his chest bruised and bleeding from the vehemence with which he had smitten himself. A broken torch-handle lay by his side, and his quivering lips murmured, Ya Hasan! Ya Hussain! as I stooped over him. I pushed him a few steps up the staircase, threw a pebble at Laluns City window and hurried home.
Most of the streets were very still, and the cold wind that comes before the dawn whistled down them. In the centre of the Square of the Mosque a man was bending over a corpse. The skull had been smashed in by gun-butt or bamboo-stave.
It is expedient that one man should die for the people, said Petitt grimly, raising the shape less head. These brutes were beginning to show their teeth too much.
And from afar we could hear the soldiers singing Two Lovely Black Eyes as they drove the remnant of the rioters within doors.
But later on I received full enlightenment; and so did Khem Singh. He fled to those who knew him in the old days, but many of them were dead and more were changed, and all knew something of the Wrath of the Government. He went to the young men, but the glamour of his name had passed away, and they were entering native regiments or Government offices, and Khem Singh could give them neither pension, decorations, nor influencenothing but a glorious death with their back to the mouth of a gun. He wrote letters and made promises, and the letters fell into bad hands, and a wholly insignificant subordinate officer of Police tracked them down and gained promotion thereby. Moreover, Khem Singh was old, and aniseed brandy was scarce, and he had left his silver cooking-pots in Fort Amara with his nice warm bedding, and the gentleman with the gold pince-nez was told by Those who had employed him that Khem Singh as a popular leader was not worth the money paid.
Great is the mercy of these fools of English! said Khem Singh when the situation was put before him. I will go back to Fort Amara of my own free will and gain honour. Give me good clothes to return in.
So, at his own time, Khem Singh knocked at the wicket-gate of the Fort and walked to the Captain and the Subaltern, who were nearly grey-headed on account of correspondence that daily arrived from Simla 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 I admired your astuteness in thus boldly facing the troops when I, whom they would have doubtless torn to pieces, was with you. Now there is a man in Fort Ooltagarh whom a bold man could with ease help to escape. This is the position of the Fort as I draw it on the sand
But I was thinking how I had become Laluns Vizier after all.
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