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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:18:59 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:18:59 -0700 |
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diff --git a/2334-0.txt b/2334-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8aeaf82 --- /dev/null +++ b/2334-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,37135 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Rudyard Kipling: One Volume +Edition, by Rudyard Kipling + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Works of Rudyard Kipling: One Volume Edition + +Author: Rudyard Kipling + + +Released on September, 2000 [Etext #2334] +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF KIPLING *** + + + + +Produced by David Reed + + + + + + +THE WORKS OF RUDYARD KIPLING: ONE VOLUME EDITION + +By Rudyard Kipling + + + + +CONTENTS + + + VOLUME I DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES AND OTHER VERSES + + DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES + + Prelude + General Summary + Army Headquarters + Study of an Elevation, in Indian Ink + A Legend of the Foreign Office + The Story of Uriah + The Post that Fitted + Public Waste + Delilah + What Happened + Pink Dominoes + The Man Who Could Write + Municipal + A Code of Morals + The Last Department + + OTHER VERSES + Recessional + The Vampire + To the Unknown Goddess + The Rubaiyat of Omar Kal'vin + La Nuit Blanche + My Rival + The Lovers' Litany + A Ballad of Burial + Divided Destinies + The Masque of Plenty + The Mare's Nest + Possibilities + Christmas in India + Pagett, M. P. + The Song of the Women + A Ballad of Jakko Hill + The Plea of the Simla Dancers + Ballad of Fisher's Boarding-House + “As the Bell Clinks” + An Old Song + Certain Maxims of Hafiz + The Grave of the Hundred Head + The Moon of Other Days + The Overland Mail + What the People Said + The Undertaker's Horse + The Fall of Jock Gillespie + Arithmetic on the Frontier + One Viceroy Resigns + The Betrothed + A Tale of Two Cities + + VOLUME II BALLADS AND BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS + + BALLADS + The Ballad of East and West + The Last Suttee + The Ballad of the King's Mercy + The Ballad of the King's Jest + The Ballad of Boh Da Thone + The Lament of the Border Cattle Thief + The Rhyme of the Three Captains + The Ballad of the “Clampherdown” + The Ballad of the “Bolivar” + The English Flag + Cleared + An Imperial Rescript + Tomlinson + Danny Deever + Tommy + Fuzzy-Wuzzv + Soldier, Soldier + Screw-Guns + Gunga Din + Oonts + Loot + “Snarleyow” + The Widow at Windsor + Belts + The Young British Soldier + Mandalay + Troopin' + Ford O' Kabul River + Route-Marchin' + + VOLUME III THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW AND OTHER + GHOST STORIES + + The Phantom 'Rickshaw + My Own True Ghost Story + The Strange Ride of Morrowbie Jukes + The Man Who Would Be King + “The Finest Story in The World” + + VOLUME IV UNDER THE DEODARS + + The Education of Otis Yeere + At the Pit's Mouth + A Wayside Comedy + The Hill of Illusion + A Second-rate Woman + Only a Subaltern + In the Matter of a Private + The Enlightenments of Pagett. M. P. + + VOLUME V PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS + + Lispeth + Three And an Extra + Thrown Away + Miss Youghal's Sais + “Yoked With an Unbeliever” + False Dawn + The Rescue of Pluffles + Cupid's Arrows + His Chance in Life + Watches of The Night + The Other Man + Consequences + The Conversion of Aurellan McGoggin + A Germ-destroyer + Kidnapped + The Arrest of Lieutenant Golightly + In The House of Suddhoo + His Wedded Wife + The Broken-link Handicap + Beyond The Pale + In Error + A Bank Fraud + Tods' Amendment + In The Pride of His Youth + Pig + The Rout of The White Hussars + The Bronckhorst Divorce-case + Venus Annodomini + The Bisara of Pooree + A Friend's Friend + The Gate of The Hundred Sorrows + The Story of Muhammad Din + On The Strength of a Likeness + Wressley of The Foreign Office + By Word of Mouth + To Be Filed For Reference + The Last Relief + Bitters Neat + Haunted Subalterns + + VOLUME VI THE LIGHT THAT FAILED + + VOLUME VII THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS + + Preface + Poor Dear Mamma + The World Without + The Tents of Kedar + With Any Amazement + The Garden of Eden + Fatima + The Valley of the Shadow + The Swelling of Jordan + + VOLUME VIII from MINE OWN PEOPLE + + Bimi + Namgay Doola + The Recrudescence Of Imray + Moti Guj--Mutineer + + + + + +VOLUME I DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES AND OTHER VERSES + + I have eaten your bread and salt, + I have drunk your water and wine, + The deaths ye died I have watched beside, + And the lives that ye led were mine. + + Was there aught that I did not share + In vigil or toil or ease, + One joy or woe that I did not know, + Dear hearts across the seas? + + I have written the tale of our life + For a sheltered people's mirth, + In jesting guise--but ye are wise, + And ye know what the jest is worth. + + + + +GENERAL SUMMARY + + We are very slightly changed + From the semi-apes who ranged + India's prehistoric clay; + Whoso drew the longest bow, + Ran his brother down, you know, + As we run men down today. + + “Dowb,” the first of all his race, + Met the Mammoth face to face + On the lake or in the cave, + Stole the steadiest canoe, + Ate the quarry others slew, + Died--and took the finest grave. + + When they scratched the reindeer-bone + Someone made the sketch his own, + Filched it from the artist--then, + Even in those early days, + Won a simple Viceroy's praise + Through the toil of other men. + + Ere they hewed the Sphinx's visage + Favoritism governed kissage, + Even as it does in this age. + + Who shall doubt the secret hid + Under Cheops' pyramid + Was that the contractor did + Cheops out of several millions? + Or that Joseph's sudden rise + To Comptroller of Supplies + Was a fraud of monstrous size + On King Pharoah's swart Civilians? + + Thus, the artless songs I sing + Do not deal with anything + New or never said before. + + As it was in the beginning, + Is today official sinning, + And shall be forevermore. + + + + +ARMY HEADQUARTERS + + Old is the song that I sing-- + Old as my unpaid bills-- + Old as the chicken that kitmutgars bring + Men at dak-bungalows--old as the Hills. + + Ahasuerus Jenkins of the “Operatic Own” + Was dowered with a tenor voice of super-Santley tone. + + His views on equitation were, perhaps, a trifle queer; + He had no seat worth mentioning, but oh! he had an ear. + + He clubbed his wretched company a dozen times a day, + He used to quit his charger in a parabolic way, + His method of saluting was the joy of all beholders, + But Ahasuerus Jenkins had a head upon his shoulders. + + He took two months to Simla when the year was at the spring, + And underneath the deodars eternally did sing. + + He warbled like a bulbul, but particularly at + Cornelia Agrippina who was musical and fat. + + She controlled a humble husband, who, in turn, controlled a Dept., + Where Cornelia Agrippina's human singing-birds were kept + From April to October on a plump retaining fee, + Supplied, of course, per mensem, by the Indian Treasury. + + Cornelia used to sing with him, and Jenkins used to play; + He praised unblushingly her notes, for he was false as they: + So when the winds of April turned the budding roses brown, + Cornelia told her husband: “Tom, you mustn't send him down.” + + They haled him from his regiment which didn't much regret him; + They found for him an office-stool, and on that stool they set him, + To play with maps and catalogues three idle hours a day, + And draw his plump retaining fee--which means his double pay. + + Now, ever after dinner, when the coffeecups are brought, + Ahasuerus waileth o'er the grand pianoforte; + And, thanks to fair Cornelia, his fame hath waxen great, + And Ahasuerus Jenkins is a power in the State. + + + + +STUDY OF AN ELEVATION, IN INDIAN INK + + This ditty is a string of lies. + But--how the deuce did Gubbins rise? + + POTIPHAR GUBBINS, C. E., + Stands at the top of the tree; + And I muse in my bed on the reasons that led + To the hoisting of Potiphar G. + + Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., + Is seven years junior to Me; + Each bridge that he makes he either buckles or breaks, + And his work is as rough as he. + + Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., + Is coarse as a chimpanzee; + And I can't understand why you gave him your hand, + Lovely Mehitabel Lee. + + Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., + Is dear to the Powers that Be; + For They bow and They smile in an affable style + Which is seldom accorded to Me. + + Potiphar Gubbins, C. E., + Is certain as certain can be + Of a highly-paid post which is claimed by a host + Of seniors--including Me. + + Careless and lazy is he, + Greatly inferior to Me. + + What is the spell that you manage so well, + Commonplace Potiphar G.? + + Lovely Mehitabel Lee, + Let me inquire of thee, + Should I have riz to what Potiphar is, + Hadst thou been mated to me? + + + + +A LEGEND + + This is the reason why Rustum Beg, + Rajah of Kolazai, + Drinketh the “simpkin” and brandy peg, + Maketh the money to fly, + Vexeth a Government, tender and kind, + Also--but this is a detail--blind. + + RUSTUM BEG of Kolazai--slightly backward native state + Lusted for a C. S. I.,--so began to sanitate. + Built a Jail and Hospital--nearly built a City drain-- + Till his faithful subjects all thought their Ruler was insane. + + Strange departures made he then--yea, Departments stranger still, + Half a dozen Englishmen helped the Rajah with a will, + Talked of noble aims and high, hinted of a future fine + For the state of Kolazai, on a strictly Western line. + + Rajah Rustum held his peace; lowered octroi dues a half; + Organized a State Police; purified the Civil Staff; + Settled cess and tax afresh in a very liberal way; + Cut temptations of the flesh--also cut the Bukhshi's pay; + + Roused his Secretariat to a fine Mahratta fury, + By a Hookum hinting at supervision of dasturi; + Turned the State of Kolazai very nearly upside-down; + When the end of May was nigh, waited his achievement crown. + + When the Birthday Honors came, + Sad to state and sad to see, + Stood against the Rajah's name nothing more than C. I. E.! + * * * * * + + Things were lively for a week in the State of Kolazai. + Even now the people speak of that time regretfully. + + How he disendowed the Jail--stopped at once the City drain; + Turned to beauty fair and frail--got his senses back again; + Doubled taxes, cesses, all; cleared away each new-built thana; + Turned the two-lakh Hospital into a superb Zenana; + + Heaped upon the Bukhshi Sahib wealth and honors manifold; + Clad himself in Eastern garb--squeezed his people as of old. + + Happy, happy Kolazai! Never more will Rustum Beg + Play to catch the Viceroy's eye. He prefers the “simpkin” peg. + + + + +THE STORY OF URIAH + + “Now there were two men in one city; + the one rich and the other poor.” + + Jack Barrett went to Quetta + Because they told him to. + He left his wife at Simla + On three-fourths his monthly screw: + Jack Barrett died at Quetta + Ere the next month's pay he drew. + + Jack Barrett went to Quetta. + He didn't understand + The reason of his transfer + From the pleasant mountain-land: + The season was September, + And it killed him out of hand. + + Jack Barrett went to Quetta, + And there gave up the ghost, + Attempting two men's duty + In that very healthy post; + And Mrs. Barrett mourned for him + Five lively months at most. + + Jack Barrett's bones at Quetta + Enjoy profound repose; + But I shouldn't be astonished + If now his spirit knows + The reason of his transfer + From the Himalayan snows. + + And, when the Last Great Bugle Call + Adown the Hurnal throbs, + When the last grim joke is entered + In the big black Book of Jobs, + And Quetta graveyards give again + Their victims to the air, + I shouldn't like to be the man + Who sent Jack Barrett there. + + + + +THE POST THAT FITTED + + Though tangled and twisted the course of true love + This ditty explains, + No tangle's so tangled it cannot improve + If the Lover has brains. + + Ere the steamer bore him Eastward, Sleary was engaged to marry + An attractive girl at Tunbridge, whom he called “my little Carrie.” + + Sleary's pay was very modest; Sleary was the other way. + Who can cook a two-plate dinner on eight poor rupees a day? + + Long he pondered o'er the question in his scantly furnished quarters-- + Then proposed to Minnie Boffkin, eldest of Judge Boffkin's daughters. + + Certainly an impecunious Subaltern was not a catch, + But the Boffkins knew that Minnie mightn't make another match. + + So they recognised the business and, to feed and clothe the bride, + Got him made a Something Something somewhere on the Bombay side. + + Anyhow, the billet carried pay enough for him to marry-- + As the artless Sleary put it:--“Just the thing for me and Carrie.” + + Did he, therefore, jilt Miss Boffkin--impulse of a baser mind? + No! He started epileptic fits of an appalling kind. + + [Of his modus operandi only this much I could gather:-- + “Pears's shaving sticks will give you little taste and lots of lather.”] + + Frequently in public places his affliction used to smite + Sleary with distressing vigour--always in the Boffkins' sight. + + Ere a week was over Minnie weepingly returned his ring, + Told him his “unhappy weakness” stopped all thought of marrying. + + Sleary bore the information with a chastened holy joy,-- + Epileptic fits don't matter in Political employ,-- + Wired three short words to Carrie--took his ticket, packed his kit-- + Bade farewell to Minnie Boffkin in one last, long, lingering fit. + + Four weeks later, Carrie Sleary read--and laughed until she wept-- + Mrs. Boffkin's warning letter on the “wretched epilept.”... + + Year by year, in pious patience, vengeful Mrs. Boffkin sits + Waiting for the Sleary babies to develop Sleary's fits. + + PUBLIC WASTE + + Walpole talks of “a man and his price.” + List to a ditty queer-- + The sale of a Deputy-Acting-Vice- + Resident-Engineer, + Bought like a bullock, hoof and hide, + By the Little Tin Gods on the Mountain Side. + + By the Laws of the Family Circle 'tis written in letters of brass + That only a Colonel from Chatham can manage the Railways of State, + Because of the gold on his breeks, and the subjects wherein he must pass; + Because in all matters that deal not with Railways his knowledge is great. + + Now Exeter Battleby Tring had laboured from boyhood to eld + On the Lines of the East and the West, and eke of the North and South; + Many Lines had he built and surveyed--important the posts which he held; + And the Lords of the Iron Horse were dumb when he opened his mouth. + + Black as the raven his garb, and his heresies jettier still-- + Hinting that Railways required lifetimes of study and knowledge-- + Never clanked sword by his side--Vauban he knew not nor drill-- + Nor was his name on the list of the men who had passed through the “College.” + + Wherefore the Little Tin Gods harried their little tin souls, + Seeing he came not from Chatham, jingled no spurs at his heels, + Knowing that, nevertheless, was he first on the Government rolls + For the billet of “Railway Instructor to Little Tin Gods on Wheels.” + + Letters not seldom they wrote him, “having the honour to state,” + It would be better for all men if he were laid on the shelf. + Much would accrue to his bank-book, an he consented to wait + Until the Little Tin Gods built him a berth for himself, + + “Special, well paid, and exempt from the Law of the Fifty and Five, + Even to Ninety and Nine”--these were the terms of the pact: + Thus did the Little Tin Gods (long may Their Highnesses thrive!) + Silence his mouth with rupees, keeping their Circle intact; + + Appointing a Colonel from Chatham who managed the Bhamo State Line + (The which was one mile and one furlong--a guaranteed twenty-inch gauge), + So Exeter Battleby Tring consented his claims to resign, + And died, on four thousand a month, in the ninetieth year of his age! + + + + +DELILAH + + We have another viceroy now,--those days are dead and done + Of Delilah Aberyswith and depraved Ulysses Gunne. + + Delilah Aberyswith was a lady--not too young-- + With a perfect taste in dresses and a badly-bitted tongue, + With a thirst for information, and a greater thirst for praise, + And a little house in Simla in the Prehistoric Days. + + By reason of her marriage to a gentleman in power, + Delilah was acquainted with the gossip of the hour; + And many little secrets, of the half-official kind, + Were whispered to Delilah, and she bore them all in mind. + + She patronized extensively a man, Ulysses Gunne, + Whose mode of earning money was a low and shameful one. + He wrote for certain papers, which, as everybody knows, + Is worse than serving in a shop or scaring off the crows. + + He praised her “queenly beauty” first; and, later on, he hinted + At the “vastness of her intellect” with compliment unstinted. + He went with her a-riding, and his love for her was such + That he lent her all his horses and--she galled them very much. + + One day, THEY brewed a secret of a fine financial sort; + It related to Appointments, to a Man and a Report. + 'Twas almost worth the keeping,--only seven people knew it-- + And Gunne rose up to seek the truth and patiently pursue it. + + It was a Viceroy's Secret, but--perhaps the wine was red-- + Perhaps an Aged Councillor had lost his aged head-- + Perhaps Delilah's eyes were bright--Delilah's whispers sweet-- + The Aged Member told her what 'twere treason to repeat. + + Ulysses went a-riding, and they talked of love and flowers; + Ulysses went a-calling, and he called for several hours; + Ulysses went a-waltzing, and Delilah helped him dance-- + Ulysses let the waltzes go, and waited for his chance. + + The summer sun was setting, and the summer air was still, + The couple went a-walking in the shade of Summer Hill. + The wasteful sunset faded out in Turkish-green and gold, + Ulysses pleaded softly, and-- that bad Delilah told! + + Next morn, a startled Empire learnt the all-important news; + Next week, the Aged Councillor was shaking in his shoes. + Next month, I met Delilah and she did not show the least + Hesitation in affirming that Ulysses was a “beast.” + * * * * * + + We have another Viceroy now, those days are dead and done-- + Of Delilah Aberyswith and most mean Ulysses Gunne! + + + + +WHAT HAPPENED + + Hurree Chunder Mookerjee, pride of Bow Bazaar, + Owner of a native press, “Barrishter-at-Lar,” + Waited on the Government with a claim to wear + Sabres by the bucketful, rifles by the pair. + + Then the Indian Government winked a wicked wink, + Said to Chunder Mookerjee: “Stick to pen and ink. + They are safer implements, but, if you insist, + We will let you carry arms wheresoe'er you list.” + + Hurree Chunder Mookerjee sought the gunsmith and + Bought the tubes of Lancaster, Ballard, Dean, and Bland, + Bought a shiny bowie-knife, bought a town-made sword, + Jingled like a carriage-horse when he went abroad. + + But the Indian Government, always keen to please, + Also gave permission to horrid men like these-- + Yar Mahommed Yusufzai, down to kill or steal, + Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer, Tantia the Bhil; + + Killar Khan the Marri chief, Jowar Singh the Sikh, + Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat, Abdul Huq Rafiq-- + He was a Wahabi; last, little Boh Hla-oo + Took advantage of the Act--took a Snider too. + + They were unenlightened men, Ballard knew them not. + They procured their swords and guns chiefly on the spot; + And the lore of centuries, plus a hundred fights, + Made them slow to disregard one another's rights. + + With a unanimity dear to patriot hearts + All those hairy gentlemen out of foreign parts + Said: “The good old days are back--let us go to war!” + Swaggered down the Grand Trunk Road into Bow Bazaar, + + Nubbee Baksh Punjabi Jat found a hide-bound flail; + Chimbu Singh from Bikaneer oiled his Tonk jezail; + Yar Mahommed Yusufzai spat and grinned with glee + As he ground the butcher-knife of the Khyberee. + + Jowar Singh the Sikh procured sabre, quoit, and mace, + Abdul Huq, Wahabi, jerked his dagger from its place, + While amid the jungle-grass danced and grinned and jabbered + Little Boh Hla-oo and cleared his dah-blade from the scabbard. + + What became of Mookerjee? Soothly, who can say? + Yar Mahommed only grins in a nasty way, + Jowar Singh is reticent, Chimbu Singh is mute. + But the belts of all of them simply bulge with loot. + + What became of Ballard's guns? Afghans black and grubby + Sell them for their silver weight to the men of Pubbi; + And the shiny bowie-knife and the town-made sword are + Hanging in a Marri camp just across the Border. + + What became of Mookerjee? Ask Mahommed Yar + Prodding Siva's sacred bull down the Bow Bazaar. + Speak to placid Nubbee Baksh--question land and sea-- + Ask the Indian Congressmen--only don't ask me! + + + + +PINK DOMINOES + + They are fools who kiss and tell”-- + Wisely has the poet sung. + Man may hold all sorts of posts + If he'll only hold his tongue. + + Jenny and Me were engaged, you see, + On the eve of the Fancy Ball; + So a kiss or two was nothing to you + Or any one else at all. + + Jenny would go in a domino-- + Pretty and pink but warm; + While I attended, clad in a splendid + Austrian uniform. + + Now we had arranged, through notes exchanged + Early that afternoon, + At Number Four to waltz no more, + But to sit in the dusk and spoon. + + I wish you to see that Jenny and Me + Had barely exchanged our troth; + So a kiss or two was strictly due + By, from, and between us both. + + When Three was over, an eager lover, + I fled to the gloom outside; + And a Domino came out also + Whom I took for my future bride. + + That is to say, in a casual way, + I slipped my arm around her; + With a kiss or two (which is nothing to you), + And ready to kiss I found her. + + She turned her head and the name she said + Was certainly not my own; + But ere I could speak, with a smothered shriek + She fled and left me alone. + + Then Jenny came, and I saw with shame + She'd doffed her domino; + And I had embraced an alien waist-- + But I did not tell her so. + + Next morn I knew that there were two + Dominoes pink, and one + Had cloaked the spouse of Sir Julian House, + Our big Political gun. + + Sir J. was old, and her hair was gold, + And her eye was a blue cerulean; + And the name she said when she turned her head + Was not in the least like “Julian.” + + + + +THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE + + Shun--shun the Bowl! That fatal, facile drink + Has ruined many geese who dipped their quills in 't; + Bribe, murder, marry, but steer clear of Ink + Save when you write receipts for paid-up bills in 't. + + There may be silver in the “blue-black”--all + I know of is the iron and the gall. + + Boanerges Blitzen, servant of the Queen, + Is a dismal failure--is a Might-have-been. + In a luckless moment he discovered men + Rise to high position through a ready pen. + Boanerges Blitzen argued therefore--“I, + With the selfsame weapon, can attain as high.” + Only he did not possess when he made the trial, + Wicked wit of C-lv-n, irony of L--l. + + [Men who spar with Government need, to back their blows, + Something more than ordinary journalistic prose.] + + Never young Civilian's prospects were so bright, + Till an Indian paper found that he could write: + Never young Civilian's prospects were so dark, + When the wretched Blitzen wrote to make his mark. + Certainly he scored it, bold, and black, and firm, + In that Indian paper--made his seniors squirm, + Quoted office scandals, wrote the tactless truth-- + Was there ever known a more misguided youth? + When the Rag he wrote for praised his plucky game, + Boanerges Blitzen felt that this was Fame; + When the men he wrote of shook their heads and swore, + Boanerges Blitzen only wrote the more: + + Posed as Young Ithuriel, resolute and grim, + Till he found promotion didn't come to him; + Till he found that reprimands weekly were his lot, + And his many Districts curiously hot. + + Till he found his furlough strangely hard to win, + Boanerges Blitzen didn't care to pin: + Then it seemed to dawn on him something wasn't right-- + Boanerges Blitzen put it down to “spite”; + + Languished in a District desolate and dry; + Watched the Local Government yearly pass him by; + Wondered where the hitch was; called it most unfair. + * * * * * * * * * + + That was seven years ago--and he still is there! + + + + +MUNICIPAL + + “Why is my District death-rate low?” + Said Binks of Hezabad. + “Well, drains, and sewage-outfalls are + “My own peculiar fad. + + “I learnt a lesson once, It ran + “Thus,” quoth that most veracious man:-- + + It was an August evening and, in snowy garments clad, + I paid a round of visits in the lines of Hezabad; + When, presently, my Waler saw, and did not like at all, + A Commissariat elephant careering down the Mall. + + I couldn't see the driver, and across my mind it rushed + That that Commissariat elephant had suddenly gone musth. + + I didn't care to meet him, and I couldn't well get down, + So I let the Waler have it, and we headed for the town. + + The buggy was a new one and, praise Dykes, it stood the strain, + Till the Waler jumped a bullock just above the City Drain; + And the next that I remember was a hurricane of squeals, + And the creature making toothpicks of my five-foot patent wheels. + + He seemed to want the owner, so I fled, distraught with fear, + To the Main Drain sewage-outfall while he snorted in my ear-- + Reached the four-foot drain-head safely and, in darkness and despair, + Felt the brute's proboscis fingering my terror-stiffened hair. + + Heard it trumpet on my shoulder--tried to crawl a little higher-- + Found the Main Drain sewage outfall blocked, some eight feet up, with mire; + And, for twenty reeking minutes, Sir, my very marrow froze, + While the trunk was feeling blindly for a purchase on my toes! + + It missed me by a fraction, but my hair was turning grey + Before they called the drivers up and dragged the brute away. + + Then I sought the City Elders, and my words were very plain. + They flushed that four-foot drain-head and--it never choked again! + + You may hold with surface-drainage, and the sun-for-garbage cure, + Till you've been a periwinkle shrinking coyly up a sewer. + + I believe in well-flushed culverts.... + + This is why the death-rate's small; + And, if you don't believe me, get shikarred yourself. That's all. + + + + +A CODE OF MORALS + + Lest you should think this story true + I merely mention I + Evolved it lately. 'Tis a most + Unmitigated misstatement. + + Now Jones had left his new-wed bride to keep his house in order, + And hied away to the Hurrum Hills above the Afghan border, + To sit on a rock with a heliograph; but ere he left he taught + His wife the working of the Code that sets the miles at naught. + + And Love had made him very sage, as Nature made her fair; + So Cupid and Apollo linked, per heliograph, the pair. + At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her counsel wise-- + At e'en, the dying sunset bore her husband's homilies. + + He warned her 'gainst seductive youths in scarlet clad and gold, + As much as 'gainst the blandishments paternal of the old; + But kept his gravest warnings for (hereby the ditty hangs) + That snowy-haired Lothario, Lieutenant-General Bangs. + + 'Twas General Bangs, with Aide and Staff, who tittupped on the way, + When they beheld a heliograph tempestuously at play. + They thought of Border risings, and of stations sacked and burnt-- + So stopped to take the message down--and this is what they learnt-- + + “Dash dot dot, dot, dot dash, dot dash dot” twice. The General swore. + + “Was ever General Officer addressed as 'dear' before? + “'My Love,' i' faith! 'My Duck,' Gadzooks! 'My darling popsy-wop!' + “Spirit of great Lord Wolseley, who is on that mountaintop?” + + The artless Aide-de-camp was mute; the gilded Staff were still, + As, dumb with pent-up mirth, they booked that message from the hill; + For clear as summer lightning-flare, the husband's warning ran:-- + “Don't dance or ride with General Bangs--a most immoral man.” + + [At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her counsel wise-- + But, howsoever Love be blind, the world at large hath eyes.] + With damnatory dot and dash he heliographed his wife + Some interesting details of the General's private life. + + The artless Aide-de-camp was mute, the shining Staff were still, + And red and ever redder grew the General's shaven gill. + + And this is what he said at last (his feelings matter not):-- + “I think we've tapped a private line. Hi! Threes about there! Trot!” + + All honour unto Bangs, for ne'er did Jones thereafter know + By word or act official who read off that helio. + + But the tale is on the Frontier, and from Michni to Mooltan + They know the worthy General as “that most immoral man.” + + + + +THE LAST DEPARTMENT + + Twelve hundred million men are spread + About this Earth, and I and You + Wonder, when You and I are dead, + “What will those luckless millions do?” + + None whole or clean, we cry, “or free from stain + Of favour.” Wait awhile, till we attain + The Last Department where nor fraud nor fools, + Nor grade nor greed, shall trouble us again. + + Fear, Favour, or Affection--what are these + To the grim Head who claims our services? + I never knew a wife or interest yet + Delay that pukka step, miscalled “decease”; + + When leave, long overdue, none can deny; + When idleness of all Eternity + Becomes our furlough, and the marigold + Our thriftless, bullion-minting Treasury + + Transferred to the Eternal Settlement, + Each in his strait, wood-scantled office pent, + No longer Brown reverses Smith's appeals, + Or Jones records his Minute of Dissent. + + And One, long since a pillar of the Court, + As mud between the beams thereof is wrought; + And One who wrote on phosphates for the crops + Is subject-matter of his own Report. + + These be the glorious ends whereto we pass-- + Let Him who Is, go call on Him who Was; + And He shall see the mallie steals the slab + For currie-grinder, and for goats the grass. + + A breath of wind, a Border bullet's flight, + A draught of water, or a horse's fright-- + The droning of the fat Sheristadar + Ceases, the punkah stops, and falls the night + + For you or Me. Do those who live decline + The step that offers, or their work resign? + Trust me, Today's Most Indispensables, + Five hundred men can take your place or mine. + + + + +OTHER VERSES + + + + +RECESSIONAL + (A Victorian Ode) + + God of our fathers, known of old-- + Lord of our far-flung battle line-- + Beneath whose awful hand we hold + Dominion over palm and pine-- + + Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, + Lest we forget--lest we forget! + + The tumult and the shouting dies-- + The Captains and the Kings depart-- + Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, + An humble and a contrite heart. + + Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, + Lest we forget--lest we forget! + + Far-called our navies melt away-- + On dune and headland sinks the fire-- + Lo, all our pomp of yesterday + Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! + + Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, + Lest we forget--lest we forget! + + If, drunk with sight of power, we loose + Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe-- + Such boastings as the Gentiles use, + Or lesser breeds without the Law-- + + Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, + Lest we forget--lest we forget! + + For heathen heart that puts her trust + In reeking tube and iron shard-- + All valiant dust that builds on dust, + And guarding calls not Thee to guard. + + For frantic boast and foolish word, + Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord! + Amen. + + + + +THE VAMPIRE + + The verses--as suggested by the painting by Philip Burne Jones, first + exhibited at the new gallery in London in 1897. + + A fool there was and he made his prayer + (Even as you and I!) + To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair + (We called her the woman who did not care), + But the fool he called her his lady fair + (Even as you and I!) + + Oh the years we waste and the tears we waste + And the work of our head and hand, + Belong to the woman who did not know + (And now we know that she never could know) + And did not understand. + + A fool there was and his goods he spent + (Even as you and I!) + Honor and faith and a sure intent + But a fool must follow his natural bent + (And it wasn't the least what the lady meant), + (Even as you and I!) + + Oh the toil we lost and the spoil we lost + And the excellent things we planned, + Belong to the woman who didn't know why + (And now we know she never knew why) + And did not understand. + + The fool we stripped to his foolish hide + (Even as you and I!) + Which she might have seen when she threw him aside-- + (But it isn't on record the lady tried) + So some of him lived but the most of him died-- + (Even as you and I!) + + And it isn't the shame and it isn't the blame + That stings like a white hot brand. + + It's coming to know that she never knew why + (Seeing at last she could never know why) + And never could understand. + + + + +TO THE UNKNOWN GODDESS + + Will you conquer my heart with your beauty; my soul going out from afar? + Shall I fall to your hand as a victim of crafty and cautious shikar? + + Have I met you and passed you already, unknowing, unthinking and blind? + Shall I meet you next session at Simla, O sweetest and best of your kind? + + Does the P. and O. bear you to meward, or, clad in short frocks in the West, + Are you growing the charms that shall capture and torture the heart in my + breast? + + Will you stay in the Plains till September--my passion as warm as the day? + Will you bring me to book on the Mountains, or where the thermantidotes play? + + When the light of your eyes shall make pallid the mean lesser lights I pursue, + And the charm of your presence shall lure me from love of the gay “thirteen- + two”; + + When the peg and the pig-skin shall please not; when I buy me Calcutta-build + clothes; + When I quit the Delight of Wild Asses; forswearing the swearing of oaths; + As a deer to the hand of the hunter when I turn 'mid the gibes of my friends; + When the days of my freedom are numbered, and the life of the bachelor ends. + + Ah, Goddess! child, spinster, or widow--as of old on Mars Hill whey they + raised + To the God that they knew not an altar--so I, a young Pagan, have praised + The Goddess I know not nor worship; yet, if half that men tell me be true, + You will come in the future, and therefore these verses are written to you. + + + + +THE RUPAIYAT OF OMAR KAL'VIN + + [Allowing for the difference 'twixt prose and rhymed exaggeration, this ought + to reproduce the sense of what Sir A-- told the nation sometime ago, when the + Government struck from our incomes two per cent.] + + Now the New Year, reviving last Year's Debt, + The Thoughtful Fisher casteth wide his Net; + So I with begging Dish and ready Tongue + Assail all Men for all that I can get. + + Imports indeed are gone with all their Dues-- + Lo! Salt a Lever that I dare not use, + Nor may I ask the Tillers in Bengal-- + Surely my Kith and Kin will not refuse! + + Pay--and I promise by the Dust of Spring, + Retrenchment. If my promises can bring + Comfort, Ye have Them now a thousandfold-- + By Allah! I will promise Anything! + + Indeed, indeed, Retrenchment oft before + I swore--but did I mean it when I swore? + And then, and then, We wandered to the Hills, + And so the Little Less became Much More. + + Whether a Boileaugunge or Babylon, + I know not how the wretched Thing is done, + The Items of Receipt grow surely small; + The Items of Expense mount one by one. + + I cannot help it. What have I to do + With One and Five, or Four, or Three, or Two? + Let Scribes spit Blood and Sulphur as they please, + Or Statesmen call me foolish--Heed not you. + + Behold, I promise--Anything You will. + Behold, I greet you with an empty Till-- + Ah! Fellow-Sinners, of your Charity + Seek not the Reason of the Dearth, but fill. + + For if I sinned and fell, where lies the Gain + Of Knowledge? Would it ease you of your Pain + To know the tangled Threads of Revenue, + I ravel deeper in a hopeless Skein? + + “Who hath not Prudence”--what was it I said, + Of Her who paints her Eyes and tires Her Head, + And gibes and mocks the People in the Street, + And fawns upon them for Her thriftless Bread? + + Accursed is She of Eve's daughters--She + Hath cast off Prudence, and Her End shall be + Destruction... Brethren, of your Bounty + Some portion of your daily Bread to Me. + + + + +LA NUIT BLANCHE + + A much-discerning Public hold + The Singer generally sings + And prints and sells his past for gold. + + Whatever I may here disclaim, + The very clever folk I sing to + Will most indubitably cling to + Their pet delusion, just the same. + + I had seen, as the dawn was breaking + And I staggered to my rest, + Tari Devi softly shaking + From the Cart Road to the crest. + + I had seen the spurs of Jakko + Heave and quiver, swell and sink. + Was it Earthquake or tobacco, + Day of Doom, or Night of Drink? + + In the full, fresh fragrant morning + I observed a camel crawl, + Laws of gravitation scorning, + On the ceiling and the wall; + Then I watched a fender walking, + And I heard grey leeches sing, + And a red-hot monkey talking + Did not seem the proper thing. + + Then a Creature, skinned and crimson, + Ran about the floor and cried, + And they said that I had the “jims” on, + And they dosed me with bromide, + And they locked me in my bedroom-- + Me and one wee Blood Red Mouse-- + Though I said: “To give my head room + You had best unroof the house.” + + But my words were all unheeded, + Though I told the grave M.D. + That the treatment really needed + Was a dip in open sea + That was lapping just below me, + Smooth as silver, white as snow, + And it took three men to throw me + When I found I could not go. + + Half the night I watched the Heavens + Fizz like '81 champagne-- + Fly to sixes and to sevens, + Wheel and thunder back again; + And when all was peace and order + Save one planet nailed askew, + Much I wept because my warder + Would not let me set it true. + + After frenzied hours of waiting, + When the Earth and Skies were dumb, + Pealed an awful voice dictating + An interminable sum, + Changing to a tangle story-- + “What she said you said I said”-- + Till the Moon arose in glory, + And I found her... in my head; + + Then a Face came, blind and weeping, + And It couldn't wipe its eyes, + And It muttered I was keeping + Back the moonlight from the skies; + So I patted it for pity, + But it whistled shrill with wrath, + And a huge black Devil City + Poured its peoples on my path. + + So I fled with steps uncertain + On a thousand-year long race, + But the bellying of the curtain + Kept me always in one place; + While the tumult rose and maddened + To the roar of Earth on fire, + Ere it ebbed and sank and saddened + To a whisper tense as wire. + + In tolerable stillness + Rose one little, little star, + And it chuckled at my illness, + And it mocked me from afar; + And its brethren came and eyed me, + Called the Universe to aid, + Till I lay, with naught to hide me, + 'Neath the Scorn of All Things Made. + + Dun and saffron, robed and splendid, + Broke the solemn, pitying Day, + And I knew my pains were ended, + And I turned and tried to pray; + But my speech was shattered wholly, + And I wept as children weep. + + Till the dawn-wind, softly, slowly, + Brought to burning eyelids sleep. + + + + +MY RIVAL + + I go to concert, party, ball-- + What profit is in these? + I sit alone against the wall + And strive to look at ease. + + The incense that is mine by right + They burn before her shrine; + And that's because I'm seventeen + And She is forty-nine. + + I cannot check my girlish blush, + My color comes and goes; + I redden to my finger-tips, + And sometimes to my nose. + + But She is white where white should be, + And red where red should shine. + The blush that flies at seventeen + Is fixed at forty-nine. + + I wish I had Her constant cheek; + I wish that I could sing + All sorts of funny little songs, + Not quite the proper thing. + + I'm very gauche and very shy, + Her jokes aren't in my line; + And, worst of all, I'm seventeen + While She is forty-nine. + + The young men come, the young men go + Each pink and white and neat, + She's older than their mothers, but + They grovel at Her feet. + + They walk beside Her 'rickshaw wheels-- + None ever walk by mine; + And that's because I'm seventeen + And She is forty-nine. + + She rides with half a dozen men, + (She calls them “boys” and “mashers”) + I trot along the Mall alone; + My prettiest frocks and sashes + Don't help to fill my programme-card, + And vainly I repine + From ten to two A.M. Ah me! + Would I were forty-nine! + + She calls me “darling,” “pet,” and “dear,” + And “sweet retiring maid.” + I'm always at the back, I know, + She puts me in the shade. + + She introduces me to men, + “Cast” lovers, I opine, + For sixty takes to seventeen, + Nineteen to forty-nine. + + But even She must older grow + And end Her dancing days, + She can't go on forever so + At concerts, balls and plays. + + One ray of priceless hope I see + Before my footsteps shine; + Just think, that She'll be eighty-one + When I am forty-nine. + + + + +THE LOVERS' LITANY + + Eyes of grey--a sodden quay, + Driving rain and falling tears, + As the steamer wears to sea + In a parting storm of cheers. + + Sing, for Faith and Hope are high-- + None so true as you and I-- + Sing the Lovers' Litany: + “Love like ours can never die!” + + Eyes of black--a throbbing keel, + Milky foam to left and right; + Whispered converse near the wheel + In the brilliant tropic night. + + Cross that rules the Southern Sky! + Stars that sweep and wheel and fly, + Hear the Lovers' Litany: + Love like ours can never die!” + + Eyes of brown--a dusty plain + Split and parched with heat of June, + Flying hoof and tightened rein, + Hearts that beat the old, old tune. + + Side by side the horses fly, + Frame we now the old reply + Of the Lovers' Litany: + “Love like ours can never die!” + + Eyes of blue--the Simla Hills + Silvered with the moonlight hoar; + Pleading of the waltz that thrills, + Dies and echoes round Benmore. + + “Mabel,” “Officers,” “Goodbye,” + Glamour, wine, and witchery-- + On my soul's sincerity, + “Love like ours can never die!” + + Maidens of your charity, + Pity my most luckless state. + Four times Cupid's debtor I-- + Bankrupt in quadruplicate. + + Yet, despite this evil case, + And a maiden showed me grace, + Four-and-forty times would I + Sing the Lovers' Litany: + “Love like ours can never die!” + + + + +A BALLAD OF BURIAL + + (“Saint @Proxed's ever was the Church for peace”) + + If down here I chance to die, + Solemnly I beg you take + All that is left of “I” + To the Hills for old sake's sake, + Pack me very thoroughly + In the ice that used to slake + Pegs I drank when I was dry-- + This observe for old sake's sake. + + To the railway station hie, + There a single ticket take + For Umballa--goods-train--I + Shall not mind delay or shake. + + I shall rest contentedly + Spite of clamor coolies make; + Thus in state and dignity + Send me up for old sake's sake. + + Next the sleepy Babu wake, + Book a Kalka van “for four.” + Few, I think, will care to make + Journeys with me any more + As they used to do of yore. + + I shall need a “special” break-- + Thing I never took before-- + Get me one for old sake's sake. + + After that--arrangements make. + + No hotel will take me in, + And a bullock's back would break + 'Neath the teak and leaden skin + Tonga ropes are frail and thin, + Or, did I a back-seat take, + In a tonga I might spin,-- + Do your best for old sake's sake. + + After that--your work is done. + + Recollect a Padre must + Mourn the dear departed one-- + Throw the ashes and the dust. + + Don't go down at once. I trust + You will find excuse to “snake + Three days' casual on the bust.” + Get your fun for old sake's sake. + + I could never stand the Plains. + Think of blazing June and May + Think of those September rains + Yearly till the Judgment Day! + I should never rest in peace, + I should sweat and lie awake. + + Rail me then, on my decease, + To the Hills for old sake's sake. + + + + +DIVIDED DESTINIES + + It was an artless Bandar, and he danced upon a pine, + And much I wondered how he lived, and where the beast might dine, + And many, many other things, till, o'er my morning smoke, + I slept the sleep of idleness and dreamt that Bandar spoke. + + He said: “O man of many clothes! Sad crawler on the Hills! + Observe, I know not Ranken's shop, nor Ranken's monthly bills; + I take no heed to trousers or the coats that you call dress; + Nor am I plagued with little cards for little drinks at Mess. + + “I steal the bunnia's grain at morn, at noon and eventide, + (For he is fat and I am spare), I roam the mountain side, + I follow no man's carriage, and no, never in my life + Have I flirted at Peliti's with another Bandar's wife. + + “O man of futile fopperies--unnecessary wraps; + I own no ponies in the hills, I drive no tall-wheeled traps; + I buy me not twelve-button gloves, 'short-sixes' eke, or rings, + Nor do I waste at Hamilton's my wealth on 'pretty things.' + + “I quarrel with my wife at home, we never fight abroad; + But Mrs. B. has grasped the fact I am her only lord. + + I never heard of fever--dumps nor debts depress my soul; + And I pity and despise you!” Here he poached my breakfast-roll. + + His hide was very mangy, and his face was very red, + And ever and anon he scratched with energy his head. + His manners were not always nice, but how my spirit cried + To be an artless Bandar loose upon the mountain side! + + So I answered: “Gentle Bandar, an inscrutable Decree + Makes thee a gleesome fleasome Thou, and me a wretched Me. + Go! Depart in peace, my brother, to thy home amid the pine; + Yet forget not once a mortal wished to change his lot for thine.” + + + + +THE MASQUE OF PLENTY + + Argument.--The Indian Government being minded to discover the economic + condition of their lands, sent a Committee to inquire into it; and saw that it + was good. + + Scene.--The wooded heights of Simla. The Incarnation of + the Government of India in the raiment of the Angel of Plenty + sings, to pianoforte accompaniment:-- + + “How sweet is the shepherd's sweet life! + From the dawn to the even he strays-- + And his tongue shall be filled with praise. + + (adagio dim.) Filled with praise!” + + (largendo con sp.) Now this is the position, + Go make an inquisition + Into their real condition + As swiftly as ye may. + + (p) Ay, paint our swarthy billions + The richest of vermillions + Ere two well-led cotillions + Have danced themselves away. + + Turkish Patrol, as able and intelligent Investigators wind + down the Himalayas:-- + + What is the state of the Nation? What is its occupation? + Hi! get along, get along, get along--lend us the information! + (dim.) Census the byle and the yabu--capture a first-class Babu, + Set him to file Gazetteers--Gazetteers... + + (ff) What is the state of the Nation, etc., etc. + + Interlude, from Nowhere in Particular, to stringed and Oriental + instruments. + + Our cattle reel beneath the yoke they bear-- + The earth is iron and the skies are brass-- + And faint with fervour of the flaming air + The languid hours pass. + + The well is dry beneath the village tree-- + The young wheat withers ere it reach a span, + And belts of blinding sand show cruelly + Where once the river ran. + + Pray, brothers, pray, but to no earthly King-- + Lift up your hands above the blighted grain, + Look westward--if they please, the Gods shall bring + Their mercy with the rain. + + Look westward--bears the blue no brown cloud-bank? + Nay, it is written--wherefore should we fly? + On our own field and by our cattle's flank + Lie down, lie down to die! + + Semi-Chorus + + By the plumed heads of Kings + Waving high, + Where the tall corn springs + O'er the dead. + + If they rust or rot we die, + If they ripen we are fed. + + Very mighty is the power of our Kings! + + Triumphal return to Simla of the Investigators, attired after + the manner of Dionysus, leading a pet tiger-cub in wreaths + of rhubarb-leaves, symbolical of India under medical treatment. + + They sing:-- + + We have seen, we have written--behold it, the proof of our manifold toil! + In their hosts they assembled and told it--the tale of the Sons of the Soil. + + We have said of the Sickness--“Where is it?”--and of Death--“It is far from + our ken,”-- + We have paid a particular visit to the affluent children of men. + + We have trodden the mart and the well-curb--we have stooped to the field and + the byre; + And the King may the forces of Hell curb for the People have all they desire! + + Castanets and step-dance:-- + + Oh, the dom and the mag and the thakur and the thag, + And the nat and the brinjaree, + And the bunnia and the ryot are as happy and as quiet + And as plump as they can be! + + Yes, the jain and the jat in his stucco-fronted hut, + And the bounding bazugar, + By the favour of the King, are as fat as anything, + They are--they are--they are! + + Recitative, Government of India, with white satin wings and electro-plated + harp:-- + + How beautiful upon the Mountains--in peace reclining, + Thus to be assured that our people are unanimously dining. + + And though there are places not so blessed as others in natural advantages, + which, after all, was only to be expected, + Proud and glad are we to congratulate you upon the work you have thus ably + effected. + + (Cres.) How be-ewtiful upon the Mountains! + + Hired Band, brasses only, full chorus:-- + + God bless the Squire + And all his rich relations + Who teach us poor people + We eat our proper rations-- + We eat our proper rations, + In spite of inundations, + Malarial exhalations, + And casual starvations, + We have, we have, they say we have-- + We have our proper rations! + + Chorus of the Crystallised Facts + + Before the beginning of years + There came to the rule of the State + Men with a pair of shears, + Men with an Estimate-- + Strachey with Muir for leaven, + Lytton with locks that fell, + Ripon fooling with Heaven, + And Temple riding like H--ll! + And the bigots took in hand + Cess and the falling of rain, + And the measure of sifted sand + The dealer puts in the grain-- + Imports by land and sea, + To uttermost decimal worth, + And registration--free-- + In the houses of death and of birth. + + And fashioned with pens and paper, + And fashioned in black and white, + With Life for a flickering taper + And Death for a blazing light-- + With the Armed and the Civil Power, + That his strength might endure for a span-- + From Adam's Bridge to Peshawur, + The Much Administered Man. + + In the towns of the North and the East, + They gathered as unto rule, + They bade him starve his priest + And send his children to school. + + Railways and roads they wrought, + For the needs of the soil within; + A time to squabble in court, + A time to bear and to grin. + + And gave him peace in his ways, + Jails--and Police to fight, + Justice--at length of days, + And Right--and Might in the Right. + + His speech is of mortgaged bedding, + On his kine he borrows yet, + At his heart is his daughter's wedding, + In his eye foreknowledge of debt. + + He eats and hath indigestion, + He toils and he may not stop; + His life is a long-drawn question + Between a crop and a crop. + + + + +THE MARE'S NEST + + Jane Austen Beecher Stowe de Rouse + Was good beyond all earthly need; + But, on the other hand, her spouse + Was very, very bad indeed. + + He smoked cigars, called churches slow, + And raced--but this she did not know. + + For Belial Machiavelli kept + The little fact a secret, and, + Though o'er his minor sins she wept, + Jane Austen did not understand + That Lilly--thirteen-two and bay + Absorbed one-half her husband's pay. + + She was so good, she made him worse; + (Some women are like this, I think;) + He taught her parrot how to curse, + Her Assam monkey how to drink. + + He vexed her righteous soul until + She went up, and he went down hill. + + Then came the crisis, strange to say, + Which turned a good wife to a better. + + A telegraphic peon, one day, + Brought her--now, had it been a letter + For Belial Machiavelli, I + Know Jane would just have let it lie. + + But 'twas a telegram instead, + Marked “urgent,” and her duty plain + To open it. Jane Austen read: + “Your Lilly's got a cough again. + Can't understand why she is kept + At your expense.” Jane Austen wept. + + It was a misdirected wire. + Her husband was at Shaitanpore. + She spread her anger, hot as fire, + Through six thin foreign sheets or more. + + Sent off that letter, wrote another + To her solicitor--and mother. + + Then Belial Machiavelli saw + Her error and, I trust, his own, + Wired to the minion of the Law, + And traveled wifeward--not alone. + + For Lilly--thirteen-two and bay-- + Came in a horse-box all the way. + + There was a scene--a weep or two-- + With many kisses. Austen Jane + Rode Lilly all the season through, + And never opened wires again. + + She races now with Belial. This + Is very sad, but so it is. + + + + +POSSIBILITIES + + Ay, lay him 'neath the Simla pine-- + A fortnight fully to be missed, + Behold, we lose our fourth at whist, + A chair is vacant where we dine. + + His place forgets him; other men + Have bought his ponies, guns, and traps. + His fortune is the Great Perhaps + And that cool rest-house down the glen, + + Whence he shall hear, as spirits may, + Our mundane revel on the height, + Shall watch each flashing 'rickshaw-light + Sweep on to dinner, dance, and play. + + Benmore shall woo him to the ball + With lighted rooms and braying band; + And he shall hear and understand + “Dream Faces” better than us all. + + For, think you, as the vapours flee + Across Sanjaolie after rain, + His soul may climb the hill again + To each field of victory. + + Unseen, who women held so dear, + The strong man's yearning to his kind + Shall shake at most the window-blind, + Or dull awhile the card-room's cheer. + + @In his own place of power unknown, + His Light o' Love another's flame, + And he an alien and alone! + + Yet may he meet with many a friend-- + Shrewd shadows, lingering long unseen + Among us when “God save the Queen” + Shows even “extras” have an end. + + And, when we leave the heated room, + And, when at four the lights expire, + The crew shall gather round the fire + And mock our laughter in the gloom; + + Talk as we talked, and they ere death-- + Flirt wanly, dance in ghostly-wise, + With ghosts of tunes for melodies, + And vanish at the morning's breath. + + + + +CHRISTMAS IN INDIA + + Dim dawn behind the tamarisks--the sky is saffron-yellow-- + As the women in the village grind the corn, + And the parrots seek the riverside, each calling to his fellow + That the Day, the staring Easter Day is born. + + Oh the white dust on the highway! Oh the stenches in the byway! + Oh the clammy fog that hovers o'er the earth; + And at Home they're making merry 'neath the white and scarlet berry-- + What part have India's exiles in their mirth? + + Full day behind the tamarisks--the sky is blue and staring-- + As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke, + And they bear One o'er the field-path, who is past all hope or caring, + To the ghat below the curling wreaths of smoke. + + Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a brother lowly-- + Call on Rama--he may hear, perhaps, your voice! + With our hymn-books and our psalters we appeal to other altars, + And today we bid “good Christian men rejoice!” + + High noon behind the tamarisks--the sun is hot above us-- + As at Home the Christmas Day is breaking wan. + They will drink our healths at dinner--those who tell us how they love us, + And forget us till another year be gone! + + Oh the toil that knows no breaking! Oh the Heimweh, ceaseless, aching! + Oh the black dividing Sea and alien Plain! + Youth was cheap--wherefore we sold it. + Gold was good--we hoped to hold it, + And today we know the fulness of our gain. + + Grey dusk behind the tamarisks--the parrots fly together-- + As the sun is sinking slowly over Home; + And his last ray seems to mock us shackled in a lifelong tether. + That drags us back howe'er so far we roam. + + Hard her service, poor her payment--she is ancient, tattered raiment-- + India, she the grim Stepmother of our kind. + If a year of life be lent her, if her temple's shrine we enter, + The door is shut--we may not look behind. + + Black night behind the tamarisks--the owls begin their chorus-- + As the conches from the temple scream and bray. + With the fruitless years behind us, and the hopeless years before us, + Let us honor, O my brother, Christmas Day! + + Call a truce, then, to our labors--let us feast with friends and + neighbors, + And be merry as the custom of our caste; + For if “faint and forced the laughter,” and if sadness follow after, + We are richer by one mocking Christmas past. + + + + +PAGETT, M.P. + + The toad beneath the harrow knows + Exactly where each tooth-point goes. + The butterfly upon the road + Preaches contentment to that toad. + + Pagett, M.P., was a liar, and a fluent liar therewith-- + He spoke of the heat of India as the “Asian Solar Myth”; + Came on a four months' visit, to “study the East,” in November, + And I got him to sign an agreement vowing to stay till September. + + March came in with the koil. Pagett was cool and gay, + Called me a “bloated Brahmin,” talked of my “princely pay.” + March went out with the roses. “Where is your heat?” said he. + “Coming,” said I to Pagett, “Skittles!” said Pagett, M.P. + + April began with the punkah, coolies, and prickly-heat,-- + Pagett was dear to mosquitoes, sandflies found him a treat. + He grew speckled and mumpy--hammered, I grieve to say, + Aryan brothers who fanned him, in an illiberal way. + + May set in with a dust-storm,--Pagett went down with the sun. + All the delights of the season tickled him one by one. + Imprimis--ten day's “liver”--due to his drinking beer; + Later, a dose of fever--slight, but he called it severe. + + Dysent'ry touched him in June, after the Chota Bursat-- + Lowered his portly person--made him yearn to depart. + He didn't call me a “Brahmin,” or “bloated,” or “overpaid,” + But seemed to think it a wonder that any one stayed. + + July was a trifle unhealthy,--Pagett was ill with fear. + 'Called it the “Cholera Morbus,” hinted that life was dear. + He babbled of “Eastern Exile,” and mentioned his home with tears; + But I haven't seen my children for close upon seven years. + + We reached a hundred and twenty once in the Court at noon, + (I've mentioned Pagett was portly) Pagett, went off in a swoon. + That was an end to the business; Pagett, the perjured, fled + With a practical, working knowledge of “Solar Myths” in his head. + + And I laughed as I drove from the station, but the mirth died out on my lips + As I thought of the fools like Pagett who write of their “Eastern trips,” + And the sneers of the traveled idiots who duly misgovern the land, + And I prayed to the Lord to deliver another one into my hand. + + + + +THE SONG OF THE WOMEN + + How shall she know the worship we would do her? + The walls are high, and she is very far. + How shall the woman's message reach unto her + Above the tumult of the packed bazaar? + Free wind of March, against the lattice blowing, + Bear thou our thanks, lest she depart unknowing. + + Go forth across the fields we may not roam in, + Go forth beyond the trees that rim the city, + To whatsoe'er fair place she hath her home in, + Who dowered us with wealth of love and pity. + Out of our shadow pass, and seek her singing-- + “I have no gifts but Love alone for bringing.” + + Say that we be a feeble folk who greet her, + But old in grief, and very wise in tears; + Say that we, being desolate, entreat her + That she forget us not in after years; + For we have seen the light, and it were grievous + To dim that dawning if our lady leave us. + + By life that ebbed with none to stanch the failing + By Love's sad harvest garnered in the spring, + When Love in ignorance wept unavailing + O'er young buds dead before their blossoming; + By all the grey owl watched, the pale moon viewed, + In past grim years, declare our gratitude! + + By hands uplifted to the Gods that heard not, + By fits that found no favor in their sight, + By faces bent above the babe that stirred not, + By nameless horrors of the stifling night; + By ills foredone, by peace her toils discover, + Bid Earth be good beneath and Heaven above her! + + If she have sent her servants in our pain + If she have fought with Death and dulled his sword; + If she have given back our sick again. + And to the breast the waking lips restored, + Is it a little thing that she has wrought? + Then Life and Death and Motherhood be nought. + + Go forth, O wind, our message on thy wings, + And they shall hear thee pass and bid thee speed, + In reed-roofed hut, or white-walled home of kings, + Who have been helpen by her in their need. + + All spring shall give thee fragrance, and the wheat + Shall be a tasselled floorcloth to thy feet. + + Haste, for our hearts are with thee, take no rest! + Loud-voiced ambassador, from sea to sea + Proclaim the blessing, manifold, confessed. + Of those in darkness by her hand set free. + + Then very softly to her presence move, + And whisper: “Lady, lo, they know and love!” + + + + +A BALLAD OF JAKKO HILL + + One moment bid the horses wait, + Since tiffin is not laid till three, + Below the upward path and straight + You climbed a year ago with me. + + Love came upon us suddenly + And loosed--an idle hour to kill-- + A headless, armless armory + That smote us both on Jakko Hill. + + Ah Heaven! we would wait and wait + Through Time and to Eternity! + Ah Heaven! we could conquer Fate + With more than Godlike constancy + I cut the date upon a tree-- + Here stand the clumsy figures still: + “10-7-85, A.D.” + Damp with the mist of Jakko Hill. + + What came of high resolve and great, + And until Death fidelity! + Whose horse is waiting at your gate? + Whose 'rickshaw-wheels ride over me? + No Saint's, I swear; and--let me see + Tonight what names your programme fill-- + We drift asunder merrily, + As drifts the mist on Jakko Hill. + + L'ENVOI. + + Princess, behold our ancient state + Has clean departed; and we see + 'Twas Idleness we took for Fate + That bound light bonds on you and me. + + Amen! Here ends the comedy + Where it began in all good will; + Since Love and Leave together flee + As driven mist on Jakko Hill! + + + + +THE PLEA OF THE SIMLA DANCERS + + Too late, alas! the song + To remedy the wrong;-- + The rooms are taken from us, swept and + garnished for their fate. + But these tear-besprinkled pages + Shall attest to future ages + That we cried against the crime of it-- + too late, alas! too late! + + “What have we ever done to bear this grudge?” + Was there no room save only in Benmore + For docket, duftar, and for office drudge, + That you usurp our smoothest dancing floor? + Must babus do their work on polished teak? + Are ball-rooms fittest for the ink you spill? + Was there no other cheaper house to seek? + You might have left them all at Strawberry Hill. + + We never harmed you! Innocent our guise, + Dainty our shining feet, our voices low; + And we revolved to divers melodies, + And we were happy but a year ago. + + Tonight, the moon that watched our lightsome wiles-- + That beamed upon us through the deodars-- + Is wan with gazing on official files, + And desecrating desks disgust the stars. + + Nay! by the memory of tuneful nights-- + Nay! by the witchery of flying feet-- + Nay! by the glamour of foredone delights-- + By all things merry, musical, and meet-- + By wine that sparkled, and by sparkling eyes-- + By wailing waltz--by reckless galop's strain-- + By dim verandas and by soft replies, + Give us our ravished ball-room back again! + + Or--hearken to the curse we lay on you! + The ghosts of waltzes shall perplex your brain, + And murmurs of past merriment pursue + Your 'wildered clerks that they indite in vain; + And when you count your poor Provincial millions, + The only figures that your pen shall frame + Shall be the figures of dear, dear cotillions + Danced out in tumult long before you came. + + Yea! “See Saw” shall upset your estimates, + “Dream Faces” shall your heavy heads bemuse, + Because your hand, unheeding, desecrates + Our temple; fit for higher, worthier use. + And all the long verandas, eloquent + With echoes of a score of Simla years, + Shall plague you with unbidden sentiment-- + Babbling of kisses, laughter, love, and tears. + + So shall you mazed amid old memories stand, + So shall you toil, and shall accomplish nought, + And ever in your ears a phantom Band + Shall blare away the staid official thought. + + Wherefore--and ere this awful curse he spoken, + Cast out your swarthy sacrilegious train, + And give--ere dancing cease and hearts be broken-- + Give us our ravished ball-room back again! + + + + +THE BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING-HOUSE + + That night, when through the mooring-chains + The wide-eyed corpse rolled free, + To blunder down by Garden Reach + And rot at Kedgeree, + The tale the Hughli told the shoal + The lean shoal told to me. + + 'T was Fultah Fisher's boarding-house, + Where sailor-men reside, + And there were men of all the ports + From Mississip to Clyde, + And regally they spat and smoked, + And fearsomely they lied. + + They lied about the purple Sea + That gave them scanty bread, + They lied about the Earth beneath, + The Heavens overhead, + For they had looked too often on + Black rum when that was red. + + They told their tales of wreck and wrong, + Of shame and lust and fraud, + They backed their toughest statements with + The Brimstone of the Lord, + And crackling oaths went to and fro + Across the fist-banged board. + + And there was Hans the blue-eyed Dane, + Bull-throated, bare of arm, + Who carried on his hairy chest + The maid Ultruda's charm-- + The little silver crucifix + That keeps a man from harm. + + And there was Jake Without-the-Ears, + And Pamba the Malay, + And Carboy Gin the Guinea cook, + And Luz from Vigo Bay, + And Honest Jack who sold them slops + And harvested their pay. + + And there was Salem Hardieker, + A lean Bostonian he-- + Russ, German, English, Halfbreed, Finn, + Yank, Dane, and Portuguee, + At Fultah Fisher's boarding-house + They rested from the sea. + + Now Anne of Austria shared their drinks, + Collinga knew her fame, + From Tarnau in Galicia + To Juan Bazaar she came, + To eat the bread of infamy + And take the wage of shame. + + She held a dozen men to heel-- + Rich spoil of war was hers, + In hose and gown and ring and chain, + From twenty mariners, + And, by Port Law, that week, men called + her Salem Hardieker's. + + But seamen learnt--what landsmen know-- + That neither gifts nor gain + Can hold a winking Light o' Love + Or Fancy's flight restrain, + When Anne of Austria rolled her eyes + On Hans the blue-eyed Dane. + + Since Life is strife, and strife means knife, + From Howrah to the Bay, + And he may die before the dawn + Who liquored out the day, + In Fultah Fisher's boarding-house + We woo while yet we may. + + But cold was Hans the blue-eyed Dane, + Bull-throated, bare of arm, + And laughter shook the chest beneath + The maid Ultruda's charm-- + The little silver crucifix + That keeps a man from harm. + + “You speak to Salem Hardieker; + “You was his girl, I know. + + “I ship mineselfs tomorrow, see, + “Und round the Skaw we go, + “South, down the Cattegat, by Hjelm, + “To Besser in Saro.” + + When love rejected turns to hate, + All ill betide the man. + + “You speak to Salem Hardieker”-- + She spoke as woman can. + A scream--a sob--“He called me--names!” + And then the fray began. + + An oath from Salem Hardieker, + A shriek upon the stairs, + A dance of shadows on the wall, + A knife-thrust unawares-- + And Hans came down, as cattle drop, + Across the broken chairs. + * * * * * * + + In Anne of Austria's trembling hands + The weary head fell low:-- + “I ship mineselfs tomorrow, straight + “For Besser in Saro; + “Und there Ultruda comes to me + “At Easter, und I go-- + + “South, down the Cattegat--What's here? + “There--are--no--lights--to guide!” + The mutter ceased, the spirit passed, + And Anne of Austria cried + In Fultah Fisher's boarding-house + When Hans the mighty died. + + Thus slew they Hans the blue-eyed Dane, + Bull-throated, bare of arm, + But Anne of Austria looted first + The maid Ultruda's charm-- + The little silver crucifix + That keeps a man from harm. + + + + +AS THE BELL CLINKS + + As I left the Halls at Lumley, rose the vision of a comely + Maid last season worshipped dumbly, watched with fervor from afar; + And I wondered idly, blindly, if the maid would greet me kindly. + + That was all--the rest was settled by the clinking tonga-bar. + Yea, my life and hers were coupled by the tonga coupling-bar. + + For my misty meditation, at the second changin'-station, + Suffered sudden dislocation, fled before the tuneless jar + Of a Wagner obbligato, scherzo, doublehand staccato, + Played on either pony's saddle by the clacking tonga-bar-- + + Played with human speech, I fancied, by the jigging, jolting bar. + + “She was sweet,” thought I, “last season, but 'twere surely wild unreason + Such tiny hope to freeze on as was offered by my Star, + When she whispered, something sadly: 'I--we feel your going badly!'” + “And you let the chance escape you?” rapped the rattling tonga-bar. + + “What a chance and what an idiot!” clicked the vicious tonga-bar. + + Heart of man--oh, heart of putty! Had I gone by Kakahutti, + On the old Hill-road and rutty, I had 'scaped that fatal car. + But his fortune each must bide by, so I watched the milestones slide by, + To “You call on Her tomorrow!”--fugue with cymbals by the bar-- + + “You must call on Her tomorrow!”--post-horn gallop by the bar. + + Yet a further stage my goal on--we were whirling down to Solon, + With a double lurch and roll on, best foot foremost, ganz und gar-- + “She was very sweet,” I hinted. “If a kiss had been imprinted?”-- + “'Would ha' saved a world of trouble!” clashed the busy tonga-bar. + + “'Been accepted or rejected!” banged and clanged the tonga-bar. + + Then a notion wild and daring, 'spite the income tax's paring, + And a hasty thought of sharing--less than many incomes are, + Made me put a question private, you can guess what I would drive at. + “You must work the sum to prove it,” clanked the careless tonga-bar. + + “Simple Rule of Two will prove it,” lilted back the tonga-bar. + + It was under Khyraghaut I mused. “Suppose the maid be haughty-- + (There are lovers rich--and rotty)--wait some wealthy Avatar? + Answer monitor untiring, 'twixt the ponies twain perspiring!” + “Faint heart never won fair lady,” creaked the straining tonga-bar. + + “Can I tell you ere you ask Her?” pounded slow the tonga-bar. + + Last, the Tara Devi turning showed the lights of Simla burning, + Lit my little lazy yearning to a fiercer flame by far. + + As below the Mall we jingled, through my very heart it tingled-- + Did the iterated order of the threshing tonga-bar-- + + “Try your luck--you can't do better!” twanged the loosened tonga-bar. + + + + +AN OLD SONG + + So long as 'neath the Kalka hills + The tonga-horn shall ring, + So long as down the Solon dip + The hard-held ponies swing, + So long as Tara Devi sees + The lights of Simla town, + So long as Pleasure calls us up, + Or Duty drives us down, + If you love me as I love you + What pair so happy as we two? + + So long as Aces take the King, + Or backers take the bet, + So long as debt leads men to wed, + Or marriage leads to debt, + So long as little luncheons, Love, + And scandal hold their vogue, + While there is sport at Annandale + Or whisky at Jutogh, + If you love me as I love you + What knife can cut our love in two? + + So long as down the rocking floor + The raving polka spins, + So long as Kitchen Lancers spur + The maddened violins, + So long as through the whirling smoke + We hear the oft-told tale-- + “Twelve hundred in the Lotteries,” + And Whatshername for sale? + If you love me as I love you + We'll play the game and win it too. + + So long as Lust or Lucre tempt + Straight riders from the course, + So long as with each drink we pour + Black brewage of Remorse, + So long as those unloaded guns + We keep beside the bed, + Blow off, by obvious accident, + The lucky owner's head, + If you love me as I love you + What can Life kill or Death undo? + + So long as Death 'twixt dance and dance + Chills best and bravest blood, + And drops the reckless rider down + The rotten, rain-soaked khud, + So long as rumours from the North + Make loving wives afraid, + So long as Burma takes the boy + Or typhoid kills the maid, + If you love me as I love you + What knife can cut our love in two? + + By all that lights our daily life + Or works our lifelong woe, + From Boileaugunge to Simla Downs + And those grim glades below, + Where, heedless of the flying hoof + And clamour overhead, + Sleep, with the grey langur for guard + Our very scornful Dead, + If you love me as I love you + All Earth is servant to us two! + + By Docket, Billetdoux, and File, + By Mountain, Cliff, and Fir, + By Fan and Sword and Office-box, + By Corset, Plume, and Spur + By Riot, Revel, Waltz, and War, + By Women, Work, and Bills, + By all the life that fizzes in + The everlasting Hills, + If you love me as I love you + What pair so happy as we two? + + + + +CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ + + I. + If It be pleasant to look on, stalled in the packed serai, + Does not the Young Man try Its temper and pace ere he buy? + If She be pleasant to look on, what does the Young Man say? + “Lo! She is pleasant to look on, give Her to me today!” + + II. + Yea, though a Kafir die, to him is remitted Jehannum + If he borrowed in life from a native at sixty per cent. per annum. + + III. + Blister we not for bursati? So when the heart is vexed, + The pain of one maiden's refusal is drowned in the pain of the next. + + IV. + The temper of chums, the love of your wife, and a new piano's tune-- + Which of the three will you trust at the end of an Indian June? + + V. + Who are the rulers of Ind--to whom shall we bow the knee? + Make your peace with the women, and men will make you L. G. + + VI. + Does the woodpecker flit round the young ferash? + Does grass clothe a new-built wall? + Is she under thirty, the woman who holds a boy in her thrall? + + VII. + If She grow suddenly gracious--reflect. Is it all for thee? + The black-buck is stalked through the bullock, and Man through jealousy. + + VIII. + Seek not for favor of women. So shall you find it indeed. + Does not the boar break cover just when you're lighting a weed? + + IX. + If He play, being young and unskilful, for shekels of silver and gold, + Take his money, my son, praising Allah. The kid was ordained to be sold. + + X. + With a “weed” among men or horses verily this is the best, + That you work him in office or dog-cart lightly--but give him no rest. + + XI. + Pleasant the snaffle of Courtship, improving the manners and carriage; + But the colt who is wise will abstain from the terrible thorn-bit of Marriage. + + XII. + As the thriftless gold of the babul, so is the gold that we spend + On a derby Sweep, or our neighbor's wife, or the horse that we buy from a + friend. + + XIII. + The ways of man with a maid be strange, yet simple and tame + To the ways of a man with a horse, when selling or racing that same. + + XIV. + In public Her face turneth to thee, and pleasant Her smile when ye meet. + It is ill. The cold rocks of El-Gidar smile thus on the waves at their feet. + + In public Her face is averted, with anger. She nameth thy name. + It is well. Was there ever a loser content with the loss of the game? + + XV. + If She have spoken a word, remember thy lips are sealed, + And the Brand of the Dog is upon him by whom is the secret revealed. + + If She have written a letter, delay not an instant, but burn it. + Tear it to pieces, O Fool, and the wind to her mate shall return it! + + If there be trouble to Herward, and a lie of the blackest can clear, + Lie, while thy lips can move or a man is alive to hear. + + XVI. + My Son, if a maiden deny thee and scufflingly bid thee give o'er, + Yet lip meets with lip at the last word--get out! + She has been there before. + They are pecked on the ear and the chin and the nose who are lacking in lore. + + XVII. + If we fall in the race, though we win, the hoof-slide is scarred on the + course. + Though Allah and Earth pardon Sin, remaineth forever Remorse. + + XVIII. + “By all I am misunderstood!” if the Matron shall say, or the Maid: + “Alas! I do not understand,” my son, be thou nowise afraid. + + In vain in the sight of the Bird is the net of the Fowler displayed. + + XIX. + My son, if I, Hafiz, the father, take hold of thy knees in my pain, + Demanding thy name on stamped paper, one day or one hour--refrain. + + Are the links of thy fetters so light that thou cravest another man's chain? + + + + +THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD + + There's a widow in sleepy Chester + Who weeps for her only son; + There's a grave on the Pabeng River, + A grave that the Burmans shun, + And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri + Who tells how the work was done. + + A Snider squibbed in the jungle, + Somebody laughed and fled, + And the men of the First Shikaris + Picked up their Subaltern dead, + With a big blue mark in his forehead + And the back blown out of his head. + + Subadar Prag Tewarri, + Jemadar Hira Lal, + Took command of the party, + Twenty rifles in all, + Marched them down to the river + As the day was beginning to fall. + + They buried the boy by the river, + A blanket over his face-- + They wept for their dead Lieutenant, + The men of an alien race-- + They made a samadh in his honor, + A mark for his resting-place. + + For they swore by the Holy Water, + They swore by the salt they ate, + That the soul of Lieutenant Eshmitt Sahib + Should go to his God in state; + With fifty file of Burman + To open him Heaven's gate. + + The men of the First Shikaris + Marched till the break of day, + Till they came to the rebel village, + The village of Pabengmay-- + A jingal covered the clearing, + Calthrops hampered the way. + + Subadar Prag Tewarri, + Bidding them load with ball, + Halted a dozen rifles + Under the village wall; + Sent out a flanking-party + With Jemadar Hira Lal. + + The men of the First Shikaris + Shouted and smote and slew, + Turning the grinning jingal + On to the howling crew. + The Jemadar's flanking-party + Butchered the folk who flew. + + Long was the morn of slaughter, + Long was the list of slain, + Five score heads were taken, + Five score heads and twain; + And the men of the First Shikaris + Went back to their grave again, + + Each man bearing a basket + Red as his palms that day, + Red as the blazing village-- + The village of Pabengmay, + And the “drip-drip-drip” from the baskets + Reddened the grass by the way. + + They made a pile of their trophies + High as a tall man's chin, + Head upon head distorted, + Set in a sightless grin, + Anger and pain and terror + Stamped on the smoke-scorched skin. + + Subadar Prag Tewarri + Put the head of the Boh + On the top of the mound of triumph, + The head of his son below, + With the sword and the peacock-banner + That the world might behold and know. + + Thus the samadh was perfect, + Thus was the lesson plain + Of the wrath of the First Shikaris-- + The price of a white man slain; + And the men of the First Shikaris + Went back into camp again. + + Then a silence came to the river, + A hush fell over the shore, + And Bohs that were brave departed, + And Sniders squibbed no more; + For the Burmans said + That a kullah's head + Must be paid for with heads five score. + + There's a widow in sleepy Chester + Who weeps for her only son; + There's a grave on the Pabeng River, + A grave that the Burmans shun, + And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri + Who tells how the work was done. + + + + +THE MOON OF OTHER DAYS + + Beneath the deep veranda's shade, + When bats begin to fly, + I sit me down and watch--alas!-- + Another evening die. + + Blood-red behind the sere ferash + She rises through the haze. + Sainted Diana! can that be + The Moon of Other Days? + + Ah! shade of little Kitty Smith, + Sweet Saint of Kensington! + Say, was it ever thus at Home + The Moon of August shone, + When arm in arm we wandered long + Through Putney's evening haze, + And Hammersmith was Heaven beneath + The Moon of Other Days? + + But Wandle's stream is Sutlej now, + And Putney's evening haze + The dust that half a hundred kine + Before my window raise. + Unkempt, unclean, athwart the mist + The seething city looms, + In place of Putney's golden gorse + The sickly babul blooms. + + Glare down, old Hecate, through the dust, + And bid the pie-dog yell, + Draw from the drain its typhoid-germ, + From each bazaar its smell; + Yea, suck the fever from the tank + And sap my strength therewith: + Thank Heaven, you show a smiling face + To little Kitty Smith! + + + + +THE OVERLAND MAIL + (Foot-Service to the Hills) + + In the name of the Empress of India, make way, + O Lords of the Jungle, wherever you roam. + The woods are astir at the close of the day-- + We exiles are waiting for letters from Home. + Let the robber retreat--let the tiger turn tail-- + In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail! + + With a jingle of bells as the dusk gathers in, + He turns to the foot-path that heads up the hill-- + The bags on his back and a cloth round his chin, + And, tucked in his waist-belt, the Post Office bill: + “Despatched on this date, as received by the rail, + Per runner, two bags of the Overland Mail.” + + Is the torrent in spate? He must ford it or swim. + Has the rain wrecked the road? He must climb by the cliff. + Does the tempest cry “Halt”? What are tempests to him? + The Service admits not a “but” or and “if.” + While the breath's in his mouth, he must bear without fail, + In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail. + + From aloe to rose-oak, from rose-oak to fir, + From level to upland, from upland to crest, + From rice-field to rock-ridge, from rock-ridge to spur, + Fly the soft sandalled feet, strains the brawny brown chest. + From rail to ravine--to the peak from the vale-- + Up, up through the night goes the Overland Mail. + + There's a speck on the hillside, a dot on the road-- + A jingle of bells on the foot-path below-- + There's a scuffle above in the monkey's abode-- + The world is awake, and the clouds are aglow. + + For the great Sun himself must attend to the hail: + “In the name of the Empress the Overland Mail!” + + + + +WHAT THE PEOPLE SAID + June 21st, 1887 + + By the well, where the bullocks go + Silent and blind and slow-- + By the field where the young corn dies + In the face of the sultry skies, + They have heard, as the dull Earth hears + The voice of the wind of an hour, + The sound of the Great Queen's voice: + “My God hath given me years, + Hath granted dominion and power: + And I bid you, O Land, rejoice.” + + And the ploughman settles the share + More deep in the grudging clod; + For he saith: “The wheat is my care, + And the rest is the will of God. + + He sent the Mahratta spear + As He sendeth the rain, + And the Mlech, in the fated year, + Broke the spear in twain. + + And was broken in turn. Who knows + How our Lords make strife? + It is good that the young wheat grows, + For the bread is Life.” + + Then, far and near, as the twilight drew, + Hissed up to the scornful dark + Great serpents, blazing, of red and blue, + That rose and faded, and rose anew. + + That the Land might wonder and mark + “Today is a day of days,” they said, + “Make merry, O People, all!” + And the Ploughman listened and bowed his head: + “Today and tomorrow God's will,” he said, + As he trimmed the lamps on the wall. + + “He sendeth us years that are good, + As He sendeth the dearth, + He giveth to each man his food, + Or Her food to the Earth. + + Our Kings and our Queens are afar-- + On their peoples be peace-- + God bringeth the rain to the Bar, + That our cattle increase.” + + And the Ploughman settled the share + More deep in the sun-dried clod: + “Mogul Mahratta, and Mlech from the North, + And White Queen over the Seas-- + God raiseth them up and driveth them forth + As the dust of the ploughshare flies in the breeze; + But the wheat and the cattle are all my care, + And the rest is the will of God.” + + + + +THE UNDERTAKER'S HORSE + + “To-tschin-shu is condemned to death. + How can he drink tea with the Executioner?” + Japanese Proverb. + + The eldest son bestrides him, + And the pretty daughter rides him, + And I meet him oft o' mornings on the Course; + And there kindles in my bosom + An emotion chill and gruesome + As I canter past the Undertaker's Horse. + + Neither shies he nor is restive, + But a hideously suggestive + Trot, professional and placid, he affects; + And the cadence of his hoof-beats + To my mind this grim reproof beats:-- + “Mend your pace, my friend, I'm coming. Who's the next?” + + Ah! stud-bred of ill-omen, + I have watched the strongest go--men + Of pith and might and muscle--at your heels, + Down the plantain-bordered highway, + (Heaven send it ne'er be my way!) + In a lacquered box and jetty upon wheels. + + Answer, sombre beast and dreary, + Where is Brown, the young, the cheery, + Smith, the pride of all his friends and half the Force? + You were at that last dread dak + We must cover at a walk, + Bring them back to me, O Undertaker's Horse! + + With your mane unhogged and flowing, + And your curious way of going, + And that businesslike black crimping of your tail, + E'en with Beauty on your back, Sir, + Pacing as a lady's hack, Sir, + What wonder when I meet you I turn pale? + + It may be you wait your time, Beast, + Till I write my last bad rhyme, Beast-- + Quit the sunlight, cut the rhyming, drop the glass-- + Follow after with the others, + Where some dusky heathen smothers + Us with marigolds in lieu of English grass. + + Or, perchance, in years to follow, + I shall watch your plump sides hollow, + See Carnifex (gone lame) become a corse-- + See old age at last o'erpower you, + And the Station Pack devour you, + I shall chuckle then, O Undertaker's Horse! + + But to insult, jibe, and quest, I've + Still the hideously suggestive + Trot that hammers out the unrelenting text, + And I hear it hard behind me + In what place soe'er I find me:-- + “'Sure to catch you sooner or later. Who's the next?” + + + + +THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE + + This fell when dinner-time was done-- + 'Twixt the first an' the second rub-- + That oor mon Jock cam' hame again + To his rooms ahist the Club. + + An' syne he laughed, an' syne he sang, + An' syne we thocht him fou, + An' syne he trumped his partner's trick, + An' garred his partner rue. + + Then up and spake an elder mon, + That held the Spade its Ace-- + “God save the lad! Whence comes the licht + “That wimples on his face?” + + An' Jock he sniggered, an' Jock he smiled, + An' ower the card-brim wunk:-- + “I'm a' too fresh fra' the stirrup-peg, + “May be that I am drunk.” + + “There's whusky brewed in Galashils + “An' L. L. L. forbye; + “But never liquor lit the lowe + “That keeks fra' oot your eye. + + “There's a third o' hair on your dress-coat breast, + “Aboon the heart a wee?” + “Oh! that is fra' the lang-haired Skye + “That slobbers ower me.” + + “Oh! lang-haired Skyes are lovin' beasts, + “An' terrier dogs are fair, + “But never yet was terrier born, + “Wi' ell-lang gowden hair! + + “There's a smirch o' pouther on your breast, + “Below the left lappel?” + “Oh! that is fra' my auld cigar, + “Whenas the stump-end fell.” + + “Mon Jock, ye smoke the Trichi coarse, + “For ye are short o' cash, + “An' best Havanas couldna leave + “Sae white an' pure an ash. + + “This nicht ye stopped a story braid, + “An' stopped it wi' a curse. + “Last nicht ye told that tale yoursel'-- + “An' capped it wi' a worse! + + “Oh! we're no fou! Oh! we're no fou! + “But plainly we can ken + “Ye're fallin', fallin' fra the band + “O' cantie single men!” + + An' it fell when sirris-shaws were sere, + An' the nichts were lang and mirk, + In braw new breeks, wi' a gowden ring, + Oor Jock gaed to the Kirk! + + + + +ARITHMETIC ON THE FRONTIER + + A great and glorious thing it is + To learn, for seven years or so, + The Lord knows what of that and this, + Ere reckoned fit to face the foe-- + The flying bullet down the Pass, + That whistles clear: “All flesh is grass.” + + Three hundred pounds per annum spent + On making brain and body meeter + For all the murderous intent + Comprised in “villainous saltpetre!” + And after--ask the Yusufzaies + What comes of all our 'ologies. + + A scrimmage in a Border Station-- + A canter down some dark defile-- + Two thousand pounds of education + Drops to a ten-rupee jezail-- + The Crammer's boast, the Squadron's pride, + Shot like a rabbit in a ride! + + No proposition Euclid wrote, + No formulae the text-books know, + Will turn the bullet from your coat, + Or ward the tulwar's downward blow + Strike hard who cares--shoot straight who can-- + The odds are on the cheaper man. + + One sword-knot stolen from the camp + Will pay for all the school expenses + Of any Kurrum Valley scamp + Who knows no word of moods and tenses, + But, being blessed with perfect sight, + Picks off our messmates left and right. + + With home-bred hordes the hillsides teem, + The troop-ships bring us one by one, + At vast expense of time and steam, + To slay Afridis where they run. + + The “captives of our bow and spear” + Are cheap--alas! as we are dear. + + + + +THE BETROTHED + + “You must choose between me and your cigar.” + --BREACH OF PROMISE CASE, CIRCA 1885. + + Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout, + For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out. + + We quarrelled about Havanas--we fought o'er a good cheroot, + And I knew she is exacting, and she says I am a brute. + + Open the old cigar-box--let me consider a space; + In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's face. + + Maggie is pretty to look at--Maggie's a loving lass, + But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass. + + There's peace in a Larranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay; + But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away-- + + Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown-- + But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town! + + Maggie, my wife at fifty--grey and dour and old-- + With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold! + + And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are, + And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar-- + + The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket-- + With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to the socket! + + Open the old cigar-box--let me consider a while. + Here is a mild Manila--there is a wifely smile. + + Which is the better portion--bondage bought with a ring, + Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a string? + + Counsellors cunning and silent--comforters true and tried, + And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride? + + Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes, + Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close, + + This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return, + With only a Suttee's passion--to do their duty and burn. + + This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead, + Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead. + + The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main, + When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides again. + + I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal, + So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall. + + I will scent 'em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides, + And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides. + + For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between + The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o' Teen. + + And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear, + But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year; + + And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light + Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight. + + And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove, + But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the-Wisp of Love. + + Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire? + Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire? + + Open the old cigar-box--let me consider anew-- + Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you? + + A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke; + And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke. + + Light me another Cuba--I hold to my first-sworn vows. + If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for Spouse! + + + + +A TALE OF TWO CITIES + + Where the sober-colored cultivator smiles + On his byles; + Where the cholera, the cyclone, and the crow + Come and go; + Where the merchant deals in indigo and tea, + Hides and ghi; + Where the Babu drops inflammatory hints + In his prints; + Stands a City--Charnock chose it--packed away + Near a Bay-- + By the Sewage rendered fetid, by the sewer + Made impure, + By the Sunderbunds unwholesome, by the swamp + Moist and damp; + And the City and the Viceroy, as we see, + Don't agree. + + Once, two hundred years ago, the trader came + Meek and tame. + + Where his timid foot first halted, there he stayed, + Till mere trade + Grew to Empire, and he sent his armies forth + South and North + Till the country from Peshawur to Ceylon + Was his own. + + Thus the midday halt of Charnock--more's the pity! + Grew a City. + + As the fungus sprouts chaotic from its bed, + So it spread-- + Chance-directed, chance-erected, laid and built + On the silt-- + Palace, byre, hovel--poverty and pride-- + Side by side; + And, above the packed and pestilential town, + Death looked down. + + But the Rulers in that City by the Sea + Turned to flee-- + Fled, with each returning spring-tide from its ills + To the Hills. + + From the clammy fogs of morning, from the blaze + Of old days, + From the sickness of the noontide, from the heat, + Beat retreat; + For the country from Peshawur to Ceylon + Was their own. + + But the Merchant risked the perils of the Plain + For his gain. + + Now the resting-place of Charnock, 'neath the palms, + Asks an alms, + And the burden of its lamentation is, + Briefly, this: + “Because for certain months, we boil and stew, + So should you. + + Cast the Viceroy and his Council, to perspire + In our fire!” + And for answer to the argument, in vain + We explain + That an amateur Saint Lawrence cannot fry: + “All must fry!” + That the Merchant risks the perils of the Plain + For gain. + + Nor can Rulers rule a house that men grow rich in, + From its kitchen. + + Let the Babu drop inflammatory hints + In his prints; + And mature--consistent soul--his plan for stealing + To Darjeeling: + Let the Merchant seek, who makes his silver pile, + England's isle; + Let the City Charnock pitched on--evil day! + Go Her way. + + Though the argosies of Asia at Her doors + Heap their stores, + Though Her enterprise and energy secure + Income sure, + Though “out-station orders punctually obeyed” + Swell Her trade-- + Still, for rule, administration, and the rest, + Simla's best. + + The End + * * * * * * * * + + + + +VOLUME II BALLADS AND BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS + + + + +BALLADS + + + + +THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST + + Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall + meet, + Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment + Seat; + But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth, + When two strong men stand face to face, + tho' they come from the ends of the earth! + + Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border-side, + And he has lifted the Colonel's mare that is the Colonel's pride: + He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the dawn and the day, + And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far away. + + Then up and spoke the Colonel's son that led a troop of the Guides: + “Is there never a man of all my men can say where Kamal hides?” + Then up and spoke Mahommed Khan, the son of the Ressaldar: + “If ye know the track of the morning-mist, ye know where his pickets are. + + “At dusk he harries the Abazai--at dawn he is into Bonair, + But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to fare, + So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can fly, + By the favour of God ye may cut him off ere he win to the Tongue of Jagai. + + “But if he be past the Tongue of Jagai, right swiftly turn ye then, + For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain is sown with Kamal's men. + There is rock to the left, and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between, + And ye may hear a breech-bolt snick where never a man is seen.” + + The Colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun was he, + With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell and the head of the gallows- + tree. + + The Colonel's son to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to eat-- + Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat. + + He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly, + Till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of the Tongue of Jagai, + Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal upon her back, + And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the pistol crack. + + He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide. + “Ye shoot like a soldier,” Kamal said. “Show now if ye can ride.” + + It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dustdevils go, + The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren doe. + + The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head above, + But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars, as a maiden plays with a glove. + + There was rock to the left and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between, + And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho' never a man was seen. + + They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the dawn, + The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn. + + The dun he fell at a water-course--in a woful heap fell he, + And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider free. + + He has knocked the pistol out of his hand--small room was there to strive, + “'Twas only by favour of mine,” quoth he, “ye rode so long alive: + There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree, + But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee. + + “If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low, + The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all in a row: + If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high, + The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly.” + Lightly answered the Colonel's son: “Do good to bird and beast, + But count who come for the broken meats before thou makest a feast. + + “If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away, + Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a thief could pay. + + “They will feed their horse on the standing crop, their men on the garnered + grain, + The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the cattle are slain. + + “But if thou thinkest the price be fair,--thy brethren wait to sup, + The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn,--howl, dog, and call them up! + And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and stack, + Give me my father's mare again, and I'll fight my own way back!” + + Kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him upon his feet. + “No talk shall be of dogs,” said he, “when wolf and gray wolf meet. + + “May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or breath; + What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at the dawn with Death?” + Lightly answered the Colonel's son: “I hold by the blood of my clan: + Take up the mare for my father's gift--by God, she has carried a man!” + The red mare ran to the Colonel's son, and nuzzled against his breast; + “We be two strong men,” said Kamal then, “but she loveth the younger best. + + So she shall go with a lifter's dower, my turquoise-studded rein, + My broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver stirrups twain.” + The Colonel's son a pistol drew and held it muzzle-end, + “Ye have taken the one from a foe,” said he; + “will ye take the mate from a friend?” + “A gift for a gift,” said Kamal straight; “a limb for the risk of a limb. + + “Thy father has sent his son to me, I'll send my son to him!” + With that he whistled his only son, that dropped from a mountain-crest-- + He trod the ling like a buck in spring, and he looked like a lance in rest. + + “Now here is thy master,” Kamal said, “who leads a troop of the Guides, + And thou must ride at his left side as shield on shoulder rides. + Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and board and bed, + Thy life is his--thy fate it is to guard him with thy head. + + “So, thou must eat the White Queen's meat, and all her foes are thine, + And thou must harry thy father's hold for the peace of the Border-line, + And thou must make a trooper tough and hack thy way to power-- + Belike they will raise thee to Ressaldar when I am hanged in Peshawur.” + + They have looked each other between the eyes, and there they found no fault, + They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on leavened bread and salt: + They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on fire and fresh-cut sod, + On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the Wondrous Names of God. + + The Colonel's son he rides the mare and Kamal's boy the dun, + And two have come back to Fort Bukloh where there went forth but one. + + And when they drew to the Quarter-Guard, full twenty swords flew clear-- + There was not a man but carried his feud with the blood of the mountaineer. + + “Ha' done! ha' done!” said the Colonel's son. + “Put up the steel at your sides! + Last night ye had struck at a Border thief-- + tonight 'tis a man of the Guides!” + + Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet, + Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat; + But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth, + When two strong men stand face to face, + tho' they come from the ends of the earth! + + + + +THE LAST SUTTEE + + Not many years ago a King died in one of the Rajpoot States. His wives, + disregarding the orders of the English against Suttee, would have broken out + of the palace had not the gates been barred. + + But one of them, disguised as the King's favourite dancing-girl, passed + through the line of guards and reached the pyre. There, her courage failing, + she prayed her cousin, a baron of the court, to kill her. This he did, not + knowing who she was. + + + + +Udai Chand lay sick to death + In his hold by Gungra hill. + All night we heard the death-gongs ring + For the soul of the dying Rajpoot King, + All night beat up from the women's wing + A cry that we could not still. + + All night the barons came and went, + The lords of the outer guard: + All night the cressets glimmered pale + On Ulwar sabre and Tonk jezail, + Mewar headstall and Marwar mail, + That clinked in the palace yard. + + In the Golden room on the palace roof + All night he fought for air: + And there was sobbing behind the screen, + Rustle and whisper of women unseen, + And the hungry eyes of the Boondi Queen + On the death she might not share. + + He passed at dawn--the death-fire leaped + From ridge to river-head, + From the Malwa plains to the Abu scars: + And wail upon wail went up to the stars + Behind the grim zenana-bars, + When they knew that the King was dead. + + The dumb priest knelt to tie his mouth + And robe him for the pyre. + The Boondi Queen beneath us cried: + “See, now, that we die as our mothers died + In the bridal-bed by our master's side! + Out, women!--to the fire!” + + We drove the great gates home apace: + White hands were on the sill: + But ere the rush of the unseen feet + Had reached the turn to the open street, + The bars shot down, the guard-drum beat-- + We held the dovecot still. + + A face looked down in the gathering day, + And laughing spoke from the wall: + “Ohe', they mourn here: let me by-- + Azizun, the Lucknow nautch-girl, I! + When the house is rotten, the rats must fly, + And I seek another thrall. + + “For I ruled the King as ne'er did Queen,-- + Tonight the Queens rule me! + Guard them safely, but let me go, + Or ever they pay the debt they owe + In scourge and torture!” She leaped below, + And the grim guard watched her flee. + + They knew that the King had spent his soul + On a North-bred dancing-girl: + That he prayed to a flat-nosed Lucknow god, + And kissed the ground where her feet had trod, + And doomed to death at her drunken nod, + And swore by her lightest curl. + + We bore the King to his fathers' place, + Where the tombs of the Sun-born stand: + Where the gray apes swing, and the peacocks preen + On fretted pillar and jewelled screen, + And the wild boar couch in the house of the Queen + On the drift of the desert sand. + + The herald read his titles forth, + We set the logs aglow: + “Friend of the English, free from fear, + Baron of Luni to Jeysulmeer, + Lord of the Desert of Bikaneer, + King of the Jungle,--go!” + + All night the red flame stabbed the sky + With wavering wind-tossed spears: + And out of a shattered temple crept + A woman who veiled her head and wept, + And called on the King--but the great King slept, + And turned not for her tears. + + Small thought had he to mark the strife-- + Cold fear with hot desire-- + When thrice she leaped from the leaping flame, + And thrice she beat her breast for shame, + And thrice like a wounded dove she came + And moaned about the fire. + + One watched, a bow-shot from the blaze, + The silent streets between, + Who had stood by the King in sport and fray, + To blade in ambush or boar at bay, + And he was a baron old and gray, + And kin to the Boondi Queen. + + He said: “O shameless, put aside + The veil upon thy brow! + Who held the King and all his land + To the wanton will of a harlot's hand! + Will the white ash rise from the blistered brand? + Stoop down, and call him now!” + + Then she: “By the faith of my tarnished soul, + All things I did not well, + I had hoped to clear ere the fire died, + And lay me down by my master's side + To rule in Heaven his only bride, + While the others howl in Hell. + + “But I have felt the fire's breath, + And hard it is to die! + Yet if I may pray a Rajpoot lord + To sully the steel of a Thakur's sword + With base-born blood of a trade abhorred,”-- + And the Thakur answered, “Ay.” + + He drew and struck: the straight blade drank + The life beneath the breast. + + “I had looked for the Queen to face the flame, + But the harlot dies for the Rajpoot dame-- + Sister of mine, pass, free from shame, + Pass with thy King to rest!” + + The black log crashed above the white: + The little flames and lean, + Red as slaughter and blue as steel, + That whistled and fluttered from head to heel, + Leaped up anew, for they found their meal + On the heart of--the Boondi Queen! + + + + +THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S MERCY + + Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, + of him is the story told. + His mercy fills the Khyber hills-- + his grace is manifold; + He has taken toll of the North and the South-- + his glory reacheth far, + And they tell the tale of his charity + from Balkh to Kandahar. + + + + +Before the old Peshawur Gate, where Kurd and Kaffir meet, + The Governor of Kabul dealt the Justice of the Street, + And that was strait as running noose and swift as plunging knife, + Tho' he who held the longer purse might hold the longer life. + + + + +There was a hound of Hindustan had struck a Euzufzai, + Wherefore they spat upon his face and led him out to die. + + It chanced the King went forth that hour when throat was bared to knife; + The Kaffir grovelled under-hoof and clamoured for his life. + + + + +Then said the King: “Have hope, O friend! Yea, Death disgraced is hard; + Much honour shall be thine”; and called the Captain of the Guard, + Yar Khan, a bastard of the Blood, so city-babble saith, + And he was honoured of the King--the which is salt to Death; + And he was son of Daoud Shah, the Reiver of the Plains, + And blood of old Durani Lords ran fire in his veins; + And 'twas to tame an Afghan pride nor Hell nor Heaven could bind, + The King would make him butcher to a yelping cur of Hind. + + + + +“Strike!” said the King. “King's blood art thou--his death shall be his + pride!” + Then louder, that the crowd might catch: “Fear not--his arms are tied!” + Yar Khan drew clear the Khyber knife, and struck, and sheathed again. + “O man, thy will is done,” quoth he; “a King this dog hath slain.” + + Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, + to the North and the South is sold. + The North and the South shall open their mouth + to a Ghilzai flag unrolled, + When the big guns speak to the Khyber peak, + and his dog-Heratis fly: + Ye have heard the song--How long? How long? + Wolves of the Abazai! + + That night before the watch was set, when all the streets were clear, + The Governor of Kabul spoke: “My King, hast thou no fear? + Thou knowest--thou hast heard,”--his speech died at his master's face. + + And grimly said the Afghan King: “I rule the Afghan race. + My path is mine--see thou to thine--tonight upon thy bed + Think who there be in Kabul now that clamour for thy head.” + + That night when all the gates were shut to City and to throne, + Within a little garden-house the King lay down alone. + + Before the sinking of the moon, which is the Night of Night, + Yar Khan came softly to the King to make his honour white. + The children of the town had mocked beneath his horse's hoofs, + The harlots of the town had hailed him “butcher!” from their roofs. + + But as he groped against the wall, two hands upon him fell, + The King behind his shoulder spake: “Dead man, thou dost not well! + 'Tis ill to jest with Kings by day and seek a boon by night; + And that thou bearest in thy hand is all too sharp to write. + + “But three days hence, if God be good, and if thy strength remain, + Thou shalt demand one boon of me and bless me in thy pain. + For I am merciful to all, and most of all to thee. + + “My butcher of the shambles, rest--no knife hast thou for me!” + + Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, + holds hard by the South and the North; + But the Ghilzai knows, ere the melting snows, + when the swollen banks break forth, + When the red-coats crawl to the sungar wall, + and his Usbeg lances fail: + Ye have heard the song--How long? How long? + Wolves of the Zuka Kheyl! + + They stoned him in the rubbish-field when dawn was in the sky, + According to the written word, “See that he do not die.” + + They stoned him till the stones were piled above him on the plain, + And those the labouring limbs displaced they tumbled back again. + + + + +One watched beside the dreary mound that veiled the battered + thing, + And him the King with laughter called the Herald of the King. + + + + +It was upon the second night, the night of Ramazan, + The watcher leaning earthward heard the message of Yar Khan. + + From shattered breast through shrivelled lips broke forth the rattling breath, + “Creature of God, deliver me from agony of Death.” + + They sought the King among his girls, and risked their lives thereby: + “Protector of the Pitiful, give orders that he die!” + + “Bid him endure until the day,” a lagging answer came; + “The night is short, and he can pray and learn to bless my name.” + + Before the dawn three times he spoke, and on the day once more: + “Creature of God, deliver me, and bless the King therefor!” + + They shot him at the morning prayer, to ease him of his pain, + And when he heard the matchlocks clink, he blessed the King again. + + Which thing the singers made a song for all the world to sing, + So that the Outer Seas may know the mercy of the King. + + Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, + of him is the story told, + He has opened his mouth to the North and the South, + they have stuffed his mouth with gold. + + Ye know the truth of his tender ruth-- + and sweet his favours are: + Ye have heard the song--How long? How long? + from Balkh to Kandahar. + + + + +THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S JEST + + When spring-time flushes the desert grass, + Our kafilas wind through the Khyber Pass. + + Lean are the camels but fat the frails, + Light are the purses but heavy the bales, + As the snowbound trade of the North comes down + To the market-square of Peshawur town. + + In a turquoise twilight, crisp and chill, + A kafila camped at the foot of the hill. + + Then blue smoke-haze of the cooking rose, + And tent-peg answered to hammer-nose; + And the picketed ponies, shag and wild, + Strained at their ropes as the feed was piled; + And the bubbling camels beside the load + Sprawled for a furlong adown the road; + And the Persian pussy-cats, brought for sale, + Spat at the dogs from the camel-bale; + And the tribesmen bellowed to hasten the food; + And the camp-fires twinkled by Fort Jumrood; + And there fled on the wings of the gathering dusk + A savour of camels and carpets and musk, + A murmur of voices, a reek of smoke, + To tell us the trade of the Khyber woke. + + The lid of the flesh-pot chattered high, + The knives were whetted and--then came I + To Mahbub Ali the muleteer, + Patching his bridles and counting his gear, + Crammed with the gossip of half a year. + + But Mahbub Ali the kindly said, + “Better is speech when the belly is fed.” + So we plunged the hand to the mid-wrist deep + In a cinnamon stew of the fat-tailed sheep, + And he who never hath tasted the food, + By Allah! he knoweth not bad from good. + + We cleansed our beards of the mutton-grease, + We lay on the mats and were filled with peace, + And the talk slid north, and the talk slid south, + With the sliding puffs from the hookah-mouth. + + Four things greater than all things are,-- + Women and Horses and Power and War. + + We spake of them all, but the last the most, + For I sought a word of a Russian post, + Of a shifty promise, an unsheathed sword + And a gray-coat guard on the Helmund ford. + + Then Mahbub Ali lowered his eyes + In the fashion of one who is weaving lies. + + Quoth he: “Of the Russians who can say? + When the night is gathering all is gray. + But we look that the gloom of the night shall die + In the morning flush of a blood-red sky. + + “Friend of my heart, is it meet or wise + To warn a King of his enemies? + We know what Heaven or Hell may bring, + But no man knoweth the mind of the King. + + “That unsought counsel is cursed of God + Attesteth the story of Wali Dad. + + “His sire was leaky of tongue and pen, + His dam was a clucking Khuttuck hen; + And the colt bred close to the vice of each, + For he carried the curse of an unstanched speech. + + “Therewith madness--so that he sought + The favour of kings at the Kabul court; + And travelled, in hope of honour, far + To the line where the gray-coat squadrons are. + + “There have I journeyed too--but I + Saw naught, said naught, and--did not die! + He harked to rumour, and snatched at a breath + Of 'this one knoweth' and 'that one saith',-- + Legends that ran from mouth to mouth + Of a gray-coat coming, and sack of the South. + + “These have I also heard--they pass + With each new spring and the winter grass. + + “Hot-foot southward, forgotten of God, + Back to the city ran Wali Dad, + Even to Kabul--in full durbar + The King held talk with his Chief in War. + + “Into the press of the crowd he broke, + And what he had heard of the coming spoke. + + + + +“Then Gholam Hyder, the Red Chief, smiled, + As a mother might on a babbling child; + But those who would laugh restrained their breath, + When the face of the King showed dark as death. + + “Evil it is in full durbar + To cry to a ruler of gathering war! + Slowly he led to a peach-tree small, + That grew by a cleft of the city wall. + + “And he said to the boy: 'They shall praise thy zeal + So long as the red spurt follows the steel. + + “And the Russ is upon us even now? + Great is thy prudence--await them, thou. + Watch from the tree. Thou art young and strong, + Surely thy vigil is not for long. + + “The Russ is upon us, thy clamour ran? + Surely an hour shall bring their van. + Wait and watch. When the host is near, + Shout aloud that my men may hear.' + + “Friend of my heart, is it meet or wise + To warn a King of his enemies? + A guard was set that he might not flee-- + A score of bayonets ringed the tree. + + “The peach-bloom fell in showers of snow, + When he shook at his death as he looked below. + By the power of God, who alone is great, + Till the seventh day he fought with his fate. + + “Then madness took him, and men declare + He mowed in the branches as ape and bear, + And last as a sloth, ere his body failed, + And he hung as a bat in the forks, and wailed, + And sleep the cord of his hands untied, + And he fell, and was caught on the points and died. + + “Heart of my heart, is it meet or wise + To warn a King of his enemies? + We know what Heaven or Hell may bring, + But no man knoweth the mind of the King. + + “Of the gray-coat coming who can say? + When the night is gathering all is gray. + + “To things greater than all things are, + The first is Love, and the second War. + + “And since we know not how War may prove, + Heart of my heart, let us talk of Love!” + + + + +THE BALLAD OF BOH DA THONE + + This is the ballad of Boh Da Thone, + Erst a Pretender to Theebaw's throne, + Who harried the district of Alalone: + How he met with his fate and the V.P.P. + + At the hand of Harendra Mukerji, + Senior Gomashta, G.B.T. + + Boh Da Thone was a warrior bold: + His sword and his Snider were bossed with gold, + + And the Peacock Banner his henchmen bore + Was stiff with bullion, but stiffer with gore. + + He shot at the strong and he slashed at the weak + From the Salween scrub to the Chindwin teak: + + He crucified noble, he sacrificed mean, + He filled old ladies with kerosene: + + While over the water the papers cried, + “The patriot fights for his countryside!” + + But little they cared for the Native Press, + The worn white soldiers in Khaki dress, + + Who tramped through the jungle and camped in the byre, + Who died in the swamp and were tombed in the mire, + + Who gave up their lives, at the Queen's Command, + For the Pride of their Race and the Peace of the Land. + + Now, first of the foemen of Boh Da Thone + Was Captain O'Neil of the “Black Tyrone”, + And his was a Company, seventy strong, + Who hustled that dissolute Chief along. + + There were lads from Galway and Louth and Meath + Who went to their death with a joke in their teeth, + And worshipped with fluency, fervour, and zeal + The mud on the boot-heels of “Crook” O'Neil. + + But ever a blight on their labours lay, + And ever their quarry would vanish away, + Till the sun-dried boys of the Black Tyrone + Took a brotherly interest in Boh Da Thone: + And, sooth, if pursuit in possession ends, + The Boh and his trackers were best of friends. + + The word of a scout--a march by night-- + A rush through the mist--a scattering fight-- + A volley from cover--a corpse in the clearing-- + The glimpse of a loin-cloth and heavy jade earring-- + The flare of a village--the tally of slain-- + And...the Boh was abroad “on the raid” again! + + They cursed their luck, as the Irish will, + They gave him credit for cunning and skill, + They buried their dead, they bolted their beef, + And started anew on the track of the thief + Till, in place of the “Kalends of Greece”, men said, + “When Crook and his darlings come back with the head.” + + They had hunted the Boh from the hills to the plain-- + He doubled and broke for the hills again: + They had crippled his power for rapine and raid, + They had routed him out of his pet stockade, + And at last, they came, when the Day Star tired, + To a camp deserted--a village fired. + + A black cross blistered the Morning-gold, + And the body upon it was stark and cold. + The wind of the dawn went merrily past, + The high grass bowed her plumes to the blast. + + And out of the grass, on a sudden, broke + A spirtle of fire, a whorl of smoke-- + + And Captain O'Neil of the Black Tyrone + Was blessed with a slug in the ulnar-bone-- + The gift of his enemy Boh Da Thone. + + (Now a slug that is hammered from telegraph-wire + Is a thorn in the flesh and a rankling fire.) + * * * * * + + The shot-wound festered--as shot-wounds may + In a steaming barrack at Mandalay. + + The left arm throbbed, and the Captain swore, + “I'd like to be after the Boh once more!” + The fever held him--the Captain said, + “I'd give a hundred to look at his head!” + + The Hospital punkahs creaked and whirred, + But Babu Harendra (Gomashta) heard. + + He thought of the cane-brake, green and dank, + That girdled his home by the Dacca tank. + He thought of his wife and his High School son, + He thought--but abandoned the thought--of a gun. + His sleep was broken by visions dread + Of a shining Boh with a silver head. + + He kept his counsel and went his way, + And swindled the cartmen of half their pay. + * * * * * + + And the months went on, as the worst must do, + And the Boh returned to the raid anew. + + But the Captain had quitted the long-drawn strife, + And in far Simoorie had taken a wife. + And she was a damsel of delicate mould, + With hair like the sunshine and heart of gold, + + And little she knew the arms that embraced + Had cloven a man from the brow to the waist: + And little she knew that the loving lips + Had ordered a quivering life's eclipse, + + And the eye that lit at her lightest breath + Had glared unawed in the Gates of Death. + + (For these be matters a man would hide, + As a general rule, from an innocent Bride.) + + And little the Captain thought of the past, + And, of all men, Babu Harendra last. + * * * * * + + But slow, in the sludge of the Kathun road, + The Government Bullock Train toted its load. + Speckless and spotless and shining with ghee, + In the rearmost cart sat the Babu-jee. + + And ever a phantom before him fled + Of a scowling Boh with a silver head. + + Then the lead-cart stuck, though the coolies slaved, + And the cartmen flogged and the escort raved; + And out of the jungle, with yells and squeals, + Pranced Boh Da Thone, and his gang at his heels! + + Then belching blunderbuss answered back + The Snider's snarl and the carbine's crack, + And the blithe revolver began to sing + To the blade that twanged on the locking-ring, + And the brown flesh blued where the bay'net kissed, + As the steel shot back with a wrench and a twist, + And the great white bullocks with onyx eyes + Watched the souls of the dead arise, + And over the smoke of the fusillade + The Peacock Banner staggered and swayed. + + Oh, gayest of scrimmages man may see + Is a well-worked rush on the G.B.T.! + + The Babu shook at the horrible sight, + And girded his ponderous loins for flight, + But Fate had ordained that the Boh should start + On a lone-hand raid of the rearmost cart, + And out of that cart, with a bellow of woe, + The Babu fell--flat on the top of the Boh! + + For years had Harendra served the State, + To the growth of his purse and the girth of his _pet_. + + There were twenty stone, as the tally-man knows, + On the broad of the chest of this best of Bohs. + And twenty stone from a height discharged + Are bad for a Boh with a spleen enlarged. + + Oh, short was the struggle--severe was the shock-- + He dropped like a bullock--he lay like a block; + And the Babu above him, convulsed with fear, + Heard the labouring life-breath hissed out in his ear. + + And thus in a fashion undignified + The princely pest of the Chindwin died. + * * * * * + + Turn now to Simoorie where, lapped in his ease, + The Captain is petting the Bride on his knees, + Where the whit of the bullet, the wounded man's scream + Are mixed as the mist of some devilish dream-- + Forgotten, forgotten the sweat of the shambles + Where the hill-daisy blooms and the gray monkey gambols, + From the sword-belt set free and released from the steel, + The Peace of the Lord is with Captain O'Neil. + * * * * * + + Up the hill to Simoorie--most patient of drudges-- + The bags on his shoulder, the mail-runner trudges. + + “For Captain O'Neil, Sahib. One hundred and ten + Rupees to collect on delivery.” + Then + + (Their breakfast was stopped while the screw-jack and hammer + Tore waxcloth, split teak-wood, and chipped out the dammer;) + + Open-eyed, open-mouthed, on the napery's snow, + With a crash and a thud, rolled--the Head of the Boh! + + And gummed to the scalp was a letter which ran:-- + “IN FIELDING FORCE SERVICE. + + Encampment, + --th Jan. + + “Dear Sir,--I have honour to send, as you said, + For final approval (see under) Boh's Head; + + “Was took by myself in most bloody affair. + + By High Education brought pressure to bear. + + “Now violate Liberty, time being bad, + To mail V.P.P. (rupees hundred) Please add + + “Whatever Your Honour can pass. Price of Blood + Much cheap at one hundred, and children want food; + + “So trusting Your Honour will somewhat retain + True love and affection for Govt. Bullock Train, + + “And show awful kindness to satisfy me, + I am, + Graceful Master, + Your + H. MUKERJI.” + * * * * * + + As the rabbit is drawn to the rattlesnake's power, + As the smoker's eye fills at the opium hour, + As a horse reaches up to the manger above, + As the waiting ear yearns for the whisper of love, + From the arms of the Bride, iron-visaged and slow, + The Captain bent down to the Head of the Boh. + + And e'en as he looked on the Thing where It lay + 'Twixt the winking new spoons and the napkins' array, + The freed mind fled back to the long-ago days-- + The hand-to-hand scuffle--the smoke and the blaze-- + The forced march at night and the quick rush at dawn-- + The banjo at twilight, the burial ere morn-- + The stench of the marshes--the raw, piercing smell + When the overhand stabbing-cut silenced the yell-- + The oaths of his Irish that surged when they stood + Where the black crosses hung o'er the Kuttamow flood. + + As a derelict ship drifts away with the tide + The Captain went out on the Past from his Bride, + + Back, back, through the springs to the chill of the year, + When he hunted the Boh from Maloon to Tsaleer. + + As the shape of a corpse dimmers up through deep water, + In his eye lit the passionless passion of slaughter, + And men who had fought with O'Neil for the life + Had gazed on his face with less dread than his wife. + + For she who had held him so long could not hold him-- + Though a four-month Eternity should have controlled him-- + But watched the twin Terror--the head turned to head-- + The scowling, scarred Black, and the flushed savage Red-- + The spirit that changed from her knowing and flew to + Some grim hidden Past she had never a clue to. + + But It knew as It grinned, for he touched it unfearing, + And muttered aloud, “So you kept that jade earring!” + + Then nodded, and kindly, as friend nods to friend, + “Old man, you fought well, but you lost in the end.” + * * * * * + + The visions departed, and Shame followed Passion:-- + “He took what I said in this horrible fashion, + + “I'll write to Harendra!” With language unsainted + The Captain came back to the Bride... who had fainted. + * * * * * + + And this is a fiction? No. Go to Simoorie + And look at their baby, a twelve-month old Houri, + A pert little, Irish-eyed Kathleen Mavournin-- + She's always about on the Mall of a mornin'-- + + And you'll see, if her right shoulder-strap is displaced, + This: Gules upon argent, a Boh's Head, erased! + + + + +THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER CATTLE THIEF + + O woe is me for the merry life + I led beyond the Bar, + And a treble woe for my winsome wife + That weeps at Shalimar. + + They have taken away my long jezail, + My shield and sabre fine, + And heaved me into the Central jail + For lifting of the kine. + + The steer may low within the byre, + The Jat may tend his grain, + But there'll be neither loot nor fire + Till I come back again. + + And God have mercy on the Jat + When once my fetters fall, + And Heaven defend the farmer's hut + When I am loosed from thrall. + + It's woe to bend the stubborn back + Above the grinching quern, + It's woe to hear the leg-bar clack + And jingle when I turn! + + But for the sorrow and the shame, + The brand on me and mine, + I'll pay you back in leaping flame + And loss of the butchered kine. + + For every cow I spared before + In charity set free, + If I may reach my hold once more + I'll reive an honest three. + + For every time I raised the low + That scared the dusty plain, + By sword and cord, by torch and tow + I'll light the land with twain! + + Ride hard, ride hard to Abazai, + Young Sahib with the yellow hair-- + Lie close, lie close as khuttucks lie, + Fat herds below Bonair! + + The one I'll shoot at twilight-tide, + At dawn I'll drive the other; + The black shall mourn for hoof and hide, + The white man for his brother. + + 'Tis war, red war, I'll give you then, + War till my sinews fail; + For the wrong you have done to a chief of men, + And a thief of the Zukka Kheyl. + + And if I fall to your hand afresh + I give you leave for the sin, + That you cram my throat with the foul pig's flesh, + And swing me in the skin! + + + + +THE RHYME OF THE THREE CAPTAINS + + This ballad appears to refer to one of the exploits of the notorious Paul + Jones, the American pirate. It is founded on fact. + + + + +... At the close of a winter day, + Their anchors down, by London town, the Three Great Captains lay; + And one was Admiral of the North from Solway Firth to Skye, + And one was Lord of the Wessex coast and all the lands thereby, + And one was Master of the Thames from Limehouse to Blackwall, + And he was Captain of the Fleet--the bravest of them all. + + Their good guns guarded their great gray sides that were thirty foot in the + sheer, + When there came a certain trading-brig with news of a privateer. + + Her rigging was rough with the clotted drift that drives in a Northern breeze, + Her sides were clogged with the lazy weed that spawns in the Eastern seas. + + Light she rode in the rude tide-rip, to left and right she rolled, + And the skipper sat on the scuttle-butt and stared at an empty hold. + + “I ha' paid Port dues for your Law,” quoth he, “and where is the Law ye boast + If I sail unscathed from a heathen port to be robbed on a Christian coast? + Ye have smoked the hives of the Laccadives as we burn the lice in a bunk, + We tack not now to a Gallang prow or a plunging Pei-ho junk; + I had no fear but the seas were clear as far as a sail might fare + Till I met with a lime-washed Yankee brig that rode off Finisterre. + + “There were canvas blinds to his bow-gun ports to screen the weight he bore, + And the signals ran for a merchantman from Sandy Hook to the Nore. + + “He would not fly the Rovers' flag--the bloody or the black, + But now he floated the Gridiron and now he flaunted the Jack. + He spoke of the Law as he crimped my crew--he swore it was only a loan; + But when I would ask for my own again, he swore it was none of my own. + + “He has taken my little parrakeets that nest beneath the Line, + He has stripped my rails of the shaddock-frails and the green unripened pine; + He has taken my bale of dammer and spice I won beyond the seas, + He has taken my grinning heathen gods--and what should he want o' these? + My foremast would not mend his boom, my deckhouse patch his boats; + He has whittled the two, this Yank Yahoo, to peddle for shoe-peg oats. + + “I could not fight for the failing light and a rough beam-sea beside, + But I hulled him once for a clumsy crimp and twice because he lied. + + “Had I had guns (as I had goods) to work my Christian harm, + I had run him up from his quarter-deck to trade with his own yard-arm; + I had nailed his ears to my capstan-head, and ripped them off with a saw, + And soused them in the bilgewater, and served them to him raw; + I had flung him blind in a rudderless boat to rot in the rocking dark, + I had towed him aft of his own craft, a bait for his brother shark; + I had lapped him round with cocoa husk, and drenched him with the oil, + And lashed him fast to his own mast to blaze above my spoil; + I had stripped his hide for my hammock-side, and tasselled his beard i' the + mesh, + And spitted his crew on the live bamboo that grows through the gangrened + flesh; + I had hove him down by the mangroves brown, where the mud-reef sucks and + draws, + Moored by the heel to his own keel to wait for the land-crab's claws! + He is lazar within and lime without, ye can nose him far enow, + For he carries the taint of a musky ship--the reek of the slaver's dhow!” + The skipper looked at the tiering guns and the bulwarks tall and cold, + And the Captains Three full courteously peered down at the gutted hold, + And the Captains Three called courteously from deck to scuttle-butt:-- + “Good Sir, we ha' dealt with that merchantman or ever your teeth were cut. + + “Your words be words of a lawless race, and the Law it standeth thus: + He comes of a race that have never a Law, and he never has boarded us. + + “We ha' sold him canvas and rope and spar--we know that his price is fair, + And we know that he weeps for the lack of a Law as he rides off Finisterre. + + “And since he is damned for a gallows-thief by you and better than you, + We hold it meet that the English fleet should know that we hold him true.” + The skipper called to the tall taffrail:--“And what is that to me? + Did ever you hear of a Yankee brig that rifled a Seventy-three? + Do I loom so large from your quarter-deck that I lift like a ship o' the Line? + He has learned to run from a shotted gun and harry such craft as mine. + + “There is never a Law on the Cocos Keys to hold a white man in, + But we do not steal the niggers' meal, for that is a nigger's sin. + + “Must he have his Law as a quid to chaw, or laid in brass on his wheel? + Does he steal with tears when he buccaneers? 'Fore Gad, then, why does he + steal?” + The skipper bit on a deep-sea word, and the word it was not sweet, + For he could see the Captains Three had signalled to the Fleet. + + But three and two, in white and blue, the whimpering flags began:-- + “We have heard a tale of a--foreign sail, but he is a merchantman.” + The skipper peered beneath his palm and swore by the Great Horn Spoon:-- + “'Fore Gad, the Chaplain of the Fleet would bless my picaroon!” + By two and three the flags blew free to lash the laughing air:-- + “We have sold our spars to the merchantman--we know that his price is fair.” + The skipper winked his Western eye, and swore by a China storm:-- + “They ha' rigged him a Joseph's jury-coat to keep his honour warm.” + The halliards twanged against the tops, the bunting bellied broad, + The skipper spat in the empty hold and mourned for a wasted cord. + + Masthead--masthead, the signal sped by the line o' the British craft; + The skipper called to his Lascar crew, and put her about and laughed:-- + “It's mainsail haul, my bully boys all--we'll out to the seas again-- + Ere they set us to paint their pirate saint, or scrub at his grapnel-chain. + + “It's fore-sheet free, with her head to the sea, and the swing of the unbought + brine-- + We'll make no sport in an English court till we come as a ship o' the Line: + Till we come as a ship o' the Line, my lads, of thirty foot in the sheer, + Lifting again from the outer main with news of a privateer; + Flying his pluck at our mizzen-truck for weft of Admiralty, + Heaving his head for our dipsey-lead in sign that we keep the sea. + + “Then fore-sheet home as she lifts to the foam--we stand on the outward tack, + We are paid in the coin of the white man's trade--the bezant is hard, ay, and + black. + + “The frigate-bird shall carry my word to the Kling and the Orang-Laut + How a man may sail from a heathen coast to be robbed in a Christian port; + How a man may be robbed in Christian port while Three Great Captains there + Shall dip their flag to a slaver's rag--to show that his trade is fair!” + + + + +THE BALLAD OF THE CLAMPHERDOWN + + It was our war-ship Clampherdown + Would sweep the Channel clean, + Wherefore she kept her hatches close + When the merry Channel chops arose, + To save the bleached marine. + + She had one bow-gun of a hundred ton, + And a great stern-gun beside; + They dipped their noses deep in the sea, + They racked their stays and stanchions free + In the wash of the wind-whipped tide. + + It was our war-ship Clampherdown, + Fell in with a cruiser light + That carried the dainty Hotchkiss gun + And a pair o' heels wherewith to run + From the grip of a close-fought fight. + + She opened fire at seven miles-- + As ye shoot at a bobbing cork-- + And once she fired and twice she fired, + Till the bow-gun drooped like a lily tired + That lolls upon the stalk. + + “Captain, the bow-gun melts apace, + The deck-beams break below, + 'Twere well to rest for an hour or twain, + And patch the shattered plates again.” + And he answered, “Make it so.” + + She opened fire within the mile-- + As ye shoot at the flying duck-- + And the great stern-gun shot fair and true, + With the heave of the ship, to the stainless blue, + And the great stern-turret stuck. + + “Captain, the turret fills with steam, + The feed-pipes burst below-- + You can hear the hiss of the helpless ram, + You can hear the twisted runners jam.” + And he answered, “Turn and go!” + + It was our war-ship Clampherdown, + And grimly did she roll; + Swung round to take the cruiser's fire + As the White Whale faces the Thresher's ire + When they war by the frozen Pole. + + “Captain, the shells are falling fast, + And faster still fall we; + And it is not meet for English stock + To bide in the heart of an eight-day clock + The death they cannot see.” + + “Lie down, lie down, my bold A.B., + We drift upon her beam; + We dare not ram, for she can run; + And dare ye fire another gun, + And die in the peeling steam?” + + It was our war-ship Clampherdown + That carried an armour-belt; + But fifty feet at stern and bow + Lay bare as the paunch of the purser's sow, + To the hail of the Nordenfeldt. + + “Captain, they hack us through and through; + The chilled steel bolts are swift! + We have emptied the bunkers in open sea, + Their shrapnel bursts where our coal should be.” + And he answered, “Let her drift.” + + It was our war-ship Clampherdown, + Swung round upon the tide, + Her two dumb guns glared south and north, + And the blood and the bubbling steam ran forth, + And she ground the cruiser's side. + + “Captain, they cry, the fight is done, + They bid you send your sword.” + And he answered, “Grapple her stern and bow. + They have asked for the steel. They shall have it now; + Out cutlasses and board!” + + It was our war-ship Clampherdown + Spewed up four hundred men; + And the scalded stokers yelped delight, + As they rolled in the waist and heard the fight + Stamp o'er their steel-walled pen. + + They cleared the cruiser end to end, + From conning-tower to hold. + They fought as they fought in Nelson's fleet; + They were stripped to the waist, they were bare to the feet, + As it was in the days of old. + + It was the sinking Clampherdown + Heaved up her battered side-- + And carried a million pounds in steel, + To the cod and the corpse-fed conger-eel, + And the scour of the Channel tide. + + It was the crew of the Clampherdown + Stood out to sweep the sea, + On a cruiser won from an ancient foe, + As it was in the days of long ago, + And as it still shall be. + + + + +THE BALLAD OF THE “BOLIVAR” + + Seven men from all the world, back to Docks again, + Rolling down the Ratcliffe Road drunk and raising Cain: + Give the girls another drink 'fore we sign away-- + We that took the Bolivar out across the Bay! + + We put out from Sunderland loaded down with rails; + We put back to Sunderland 'cause our cargo shifted; + We put out from Sunderland--met the winter gales-- + Seven days and seven nights to the Start we drifted. + + Racketing her rivets loose, smoke-stack white as snow, + All the coals adrift adeck, half the rails below, + Leaking like a lobster-pot, steering like a dray-- + Out we took the Bolivar, out across the Bay! + + One by one the Lights came up, winked and let us by; + Mile by mile we waddled on, coal and fo'c'sle short; + Met a blow that laid us down, heard a bulkhead fly; + Left the Wolf behind us with a two-foot list to port. + + Trailing like a wounded duck, working out her soul; + Clanging like a smithy-shop after every roll; + Just a funnel and a mast lurching through the spray-- + So we threshed the Bolivar out across the Bay! + + 'Felt her hog and felt her sag, betted when she'd break; + Wondered every time she raced if she'd stand the shock; + Heard the seas like drunken men pounding at her strake; + Hoped the Lord 'ud keep his thumb on the plummer-block. + + Banged against the iron decks, bilges choked with coal; + Flayed and frozen foot and hand, sick of heart and soul; + Last we prayed she'd buck herself into judgment Day-- + Hi! we cursed the Bolivar--knocking round the Bay! + + O her nose flung up to sky, groaning to be still-- + Up and down and back we went, never time for breath; + Then the money paid at Lloyd's caught her by the heel, + And the stars ran round and round dancin' at our death. + + Aching for an hour's sleep, dozing off between; + 'Heard the rotten rivets draw when she took it green; + 'Watched the compass chase its tail like a cat at play-- + That was on the Bolivar, south across the Bay. + + + + +Once we saw between the squalls, lyin' head to swell-- + Mad with work and weariness, wishin' they was we-- + Some damned Liner's lights go by like a long hotel; + Cheered her from the Bolivar--swampin' in the sea. + + Then a grayback cleared us out, then the skipper laughed; + “Boys, the wheel has gone to Hell--rig the winches aft! + Yoke the kicking rudder-head--get her under way!” + So we steered her, pulley-haul, out across the Bay! + + Just a pack o' rotten plates puttied up with tar, + In we came, an' time enough, 'cross Bilbao Bar. + + Overloaded, undermanned, meant to founder, we + Euchred God Almighty's storm, bluffed the Eternal Sea! + + Seven men from all the world, back to town again, + Rollin' down the Ratcliffe Road drunk and raising Cain: + Seven men from out of Hell. Ain't the owners gay, + 'Cause we took the “Bolivar” safe across the Bay? + + + + +THE ENGLISH FLAG + + Above the portico a flag-staff, bearing the Union Jack, + remained fluttering in the flames for some time, but ultimately + when it fell the crowds rent the air with shouts, + and seemed to see significance in the incident.--DAILY PAPERS. + + + + +Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to and fro-- + And what should they know of England who only England know?-- + The poor little street-bred people that vapour and fume and brag, + They are lifting their heads in the stillness to yelp at the English Flag! + + Must we borrow a clout from the Boer--to plaster anew with dirt? + An Irish liar's bandage, or an English coward's shirt? + + We may not speak of England; her Flag's to sell or share. + What is the Flag of England? Winds of the World, declare! + + The North Wind blew:--“From Bergen my steel-shod vanguards go; + I chase your lazy whalers home from the Disko floe; + By the great North Lights above me I work the will of God, + And the liner splits on the ice-field or the Dogger fills with cod. + + “I barred my gates with iron, I shuttered my doors with flame, + Because to force my ramparts your nutshell navies came; + I took the sun from their presence, I cut them down with my blast, + And they died, but the Flag of England blew free ere the spirit passed. + + “The lean white bear hath seen it in the long, long Arctic night, + The musk-ox knows the standard that flouts the Northern Light: + What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my bergs to dare, + Ye have but my drifts to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!” + + The South Wind sighed:--“From the Virgins my mid-sea course was ta'en + Over a thousand islands lost in an idle main, + Where the sea-egg flames on the coral and the long-backed breakers croon + Their endless ocean legends to the lazy, locked lagoon. + + “Strayed amid lonely islets, mazed amid outer keys, + I waked the palms to laughter--I tossed the scud in the breeze-- + Never was isle so little, never was sea so lone, + But over the scud and the palm-trees an English flag was flown. + + “I have wrenched it free from the halliard to hang for a wisp on the Horn; + I have chased it north to the Lizard--ribboned and rolled and torn; + I have spread its fold o'er the dying, adrift in a hopeless sea; + I have hurled it swift on the slaver, and seen the slave set free. + + “My basking sunfish know it, and wheeling albatross, + Where the lone wave fills with fire beneath the Southern Cross. + What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my reefs to dare, + Ye have but my seas to furrow. Go forth, for it is there!” + + The East Wind roared:--“From the Kuriles, the Bitter Seas, I come, + And me men call the Home-Wind, for I bring the English home. + Look--look well to your shipping! By the breath of my mad typhoon + I swept your close-packed Praya and beached your best at Kowloon! + + “The reeling junks behind me and the racing seas before, + I raped your richest roadstead--I plundered Singapore! + I set my hand on the Hoogli; as a hooded snake she rose, + And I flung your stoutest steamers to roost with the startled crows. + + “Never the lotus closes, never the wild-fowl wake, + But a soul goes out on the East Wind that died for England's sake-- + Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or maid-- + Because on the bones of the English the English Flag is stayed. + + “The desert-dust hath dimmed it, the flying wild-ass knows, + The scared white leopard winds it across the taintless snows. + What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my sun to dare, + Ye have but my sands to travel. Go forth, for it is there!” + + The West Wind called:--“In squadrons the thoughtless galleons fly + That bear the wheat and cattle lest street-bred people die. + They make my might their porter, they make my house their path, + Till I loose my neck from their rudder and whelm them all in my wrath. + + “I draw the gliding fog-bank as a snake is drawn from the hole, + They bellow one to the other, the frighted ship-bells toll, + For day is a drifting terror till I raise the shroud with my breath, + And they see strange bows above them and the two go locked to death. + + “But whether in calm or wrack-wreath, whether by dark or day, + I heave them whole to the conger or rip their plates away, + First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky, + Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag goes by. + + “The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it--the frozen dews have kissed-- + The naked stars have seen it, a fellow-star in the mist. + What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my breath to dare, + Ye have but my waves to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!” + + + + +“CLEARED” + (In Memory of a Commission) + + Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt, + Help for an honorable clan sore trampled in the dirt! + From Queenstown Bay to Donegal, O listen to my song, + The honorable gentlemen have suffered grievous wrong. + + Their noble names were mentioned--O the burning black disgrace!-- + By a brutal Saxon paper in an Irish shooting-case; + They sat upon it for a year, then steeled their heart to brave it, + And “coruscating innocence” the learned Judges gave it. + + Bear witness, Heaven, of that grim crime beneath the surgeon's knife, + The honorable gentlemen deplored the loss of life; + Bear witness of those chanting choirs that burk and shirk and snigger, + No man laid hand upon the knife or finger to the trigger! + + Cleared in the face of all mankind beneath the winking skies, + Like phoenixes from Phoenix Park (and what lay there) they rise! + Go shout it to the emerald seas-give word to Erin now, + Her honorable gentlemen are cleared--and this is how: + + They only paid the Moonlighter his cattle-hocking price, + They only helped the murderer with council's best advice, + But--sure it keeps their honor white--the learned Court believes + They never gave a piece of plate to murderers and thieves. + + They ever told the ramping crowd to card a woman's hide, + They never marked a man for death--what fault of theirs he died?-- + They only said “intimidate,” and talked and went away-- + By God, the boys that did the work were braver men than they! + + Their sin it was that fed the fire--small blame to them that heard + The “bhoys” get drunk on rhetoric, and madden at the word-- + They knew whom they were talking at, if they were Irish too, + The gentlemen that lied in Court, they knew and well they knew. + + They only took the Judas-gold from Fenians out of jail, + They only fawned for dollars on the blood-dyed Clan-na-Gael. + If black is black or white is white, ill black and white it's down, + They're only traitors to the Queen and rebels to the Crown. + + “Cleared,” honorable gentlemen. Be thankful it's no more: + The widow's curse is on your house, the dead are at your door. + On you the shame of open shame, on you from North to South + The band of every honest man flat-heeled across your mouth. + + “Less black than we were painted”?--Faith, no word of black was said; + The lightest touch was human blood, and that, ye know, runs red. + It's sticking to your fist today for all your sneer and scoff, + And by the Judge's well-weighed word you cannot wipe it off. + + Hold up those hands of innocence--go, scare your sheep, together, + The blundering, tripping tups that bleat behind the old bell-wether; + And if they snuff the taint and break to find another pen, + Tell them it's tar that glistens so, and daub them yours again! + + “The charge is old”?--As old as Cain--as fresh as yesterday; + Old as the Ten Commandments, have ye talked those laws away? + If words are words, or death is death, or powder sends the ball, + You spoke the words that sped the shot--the curse be on you all. + + “Our friends believe”? Of course they do--as sheltered women may; + But have they seen the shrieking soul ripped from the quivering clay? + They--If their own front door is shut, they'll swear the whole world's warm; + What do they know of dread of death or hanging fear of harm? + + The secret half a country keeps, the whisper in the lane, + The shriek that tells the shot went home behind the broken pane, + The dry blood crisping in the sun that scares the honest bees, + And shows the “bhoys” have heard your talk--what do they know of these? + + But you--you know--ay, ten times more; the secrets of the dead, + Black terror on the country-side by word and whisper bred, + The mangled stallion's scream at night, the tail-cropped heifer's low. + Who set the whisper going first? You know, and well you know! + + My soul! I'd sooner lie in jail for murder plain and straight, + Pure crime I'd done with my own hand for money, lust, or hate, + Than take a seat in Parliament by fellow-felons cheered, + While one of those “not provens” proved me cleared as you are cleared. + + Cleared--you that “lost” the League accounts--go, guard our honor still, + Go, help to make our country's laws that broke God's laws at will-- + One hand stuck out behind the back, to signal “strike again”; + The other on your dress-shirt front to show your heart is @dane, + + If black is black or white is white, in black and white it's down, + You're only traitors to the Queen and but rebels to the Crown + If print is print or words are words, the learned Court perpends: + We are not ruled by murderers, only--by their friends. + + + + +AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT + + Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser decreed, + To ease the strong of their burden, to help the weak in their need, + He sent a word to the peoples, who struggle, and pant, and sweat, + That the straw might be counted fairly and the tally of bricks be set. + + The Lords of Their Hands assembled; from the East and the West they drew-- + Baltimore, Lille, and Essen, Brummagem, Clyde, and Crewe. + And some were black from the furnace, and some were brown from the soil, + And some were blue from the dye-vat; but all were wearied of toil. + + And the young King said:--“I have found it, the road to the rest ye seek: + The strong shall wait for the weary, the hale shall halt for the weak; + With the even tramp of an army where no man breaks from the line, + Ye shall march to peace and plenty in the bond of brotherhood--sign!” + + The paper lay on the table, the strong heads bowed thereby, + And a wail went up from the peoples:--“Ay, sign--give rest, for we die!” + A hand was stretched to the goose-quill, a fist was cramped to scrawl, + When--the laugh of a blue-eyed maiden ran clear through the council-hall. + + And each one heard Her laughing as each one saw Her plain-- + Saidie, Mimi, or Olga, Gretchen, or Mary Jane. + And the Spirit of Man that is in Him to the light of the vision woke; + And the men drew back from the paper, as a Yankee delegate spoke:-- + + “There's a girl in Jersey City who works on the telephone; + We're going to hitch our horses and dig for a house of our own, + With gas and water connections, and steam-heat through to the top; + And, W. Hohenzollern, I guess I shall work till I drop.” + + And an English delegate thundered:--“The weak an' the lame be blowed! + I've a berth in the Sou'-West workshops, a home in the Wandsworth Road; + And till the 'sociation has footed my buryin' bill, + I work for the kids an' the missus. Pull up? I be damned if I will!” + + And over the German benches the bearded whisper ran:-- + “Lager, der girls und der dollars, dey makes or dey breaks a man. + If Schmitt haf collared der dollars, he collars der girl deremit; + But if Schmitt bust in der pizness, we collars der girl from Schmitt.” + + They passed one resolution:--“Your sub-committee believe + You can lighten the curse of Adam when you've lightened the curse of Eve. + But till we are built like angels, with hammer and chisel and pen, + We will work for ourself and a woman, for ever and ever, amen.” + + Now this is the tale of the Council the German Kaiser held-- + The day that they razored the Grindstone, the day that the Cat was belled, + The day of the Figs from Thistles, the day of the Twisted Sands, + The day that the laugh of a maiden made light of the Lords of Their Hands. + + + + +TOMLINSON + + Now Tomlinson gave up the ghost in his house in Berkeley Square, + And a Spirit came to his bedside and gripped him by the hair-- + A Spirit gripped him by the hair and carried him far away, + Till he heard as the roar of a rain-fed ford the roar of the Milky Way: + Till he heard the roar of the Milky Way die down and drone and cease, + And they came to the Gate within the Wall where Peter holds the keys. + + “Stand up, stand up now, Tomlinson, and answer loud and high + The good that ye did for the sake of men or ever ye came to die-- + The good that ye did for the sake of men in little earth so lone!” + And the naked soul of Tomlinson grew white as a rain-washed bone. + + “O I have a friend on earth,” he said, “that was my priest and guide, + And well would he answer all for me if he were by my side.” + --“For that ye strove in neighbour-love it shall be written fair, + But now ye wait at Heaven's Gate and not in Berkeley Square: + Though we called your friend from his bed this night, he could not speak for + you, + For the race is run by one and one and never by two and two.” + Then Tomlinson looked up and down, and little gain was there, + For the naked stars grinned overhead, and he saw that his soul was bare: + The Wind that blows between the worlds, it cut him like a knife, + And Tomlinson took up his tale and spoke of his good in life. + + “This I have read in a book,” he said, “and that was told to me, + And this I have thought that another man thought of a Prince in Muscovy.” + The good souls flocked like homing doves and bade him clear the path, + And Peter twirled the jangling keys in weariness and wrath. + + “Ye have read, ye have heard, ye have thought,” he said, “and the tale is yet + to run: + By the worth of the body that once ye had, give answer--what ha'ye done?” + Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and little good it bore, + For the Darkness stayed at his shoulder-blade and Heaven's Gate before:-- + “O this I have felt, and this I have guessed, and this I have heard men say, + And this they wrote that another man wrote of a carl in Norroway.” + --“Ye have read, ye have felt, ye have guessed, good lack! Ye have hampered + Heaven's Gate; + There's little room between the stars in idleness to prate! + O none may reach by hired speech of neighbour, priest, and kin + Through borrowed deed to God's good meed that lies so fair within; + Get hence, get hence to the Lord of Wrong, for doom has yet to run, + And... the faith that ye share with Berkeley Square uphold you, Tomlinson!” + * * * * * + + The Spirit gripped him by the hair, and sun by sun they fell + Till they came to the belt of Naughty Stars that rim the mouth of Hell: + The first are red with pride and wrath, the next are white with pain, + But the third are black with clinkered sin that cannot burn again: + They may hold their path, they may leave their path, with never a soul to + mark, + They may burn or freeze, but they must not cease in the Scorn of the Outer + Dark. + + The Wind that blows between the worlds, it nipped him to the bone, + And he yearned to the flare of Hell-Gate there as the light of his own hearth- + stone. + + The Devil he sat behind the bars, where the desperate legions drew, + But he caught the hasting Tomlinson and would not let him through. + + “Wot ye the price of good pit-coal that I must pay?” said he, + “That ye rank yoursel' so fit for Hell and ask no leave of me? + I am all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that ye should give me scorn, + For I strove with God for your First Father the day that he was born. + + “Sit down, sit down upon the slag, and answer loud and high + The harm that ye did to the Sons of Men or ever you came to die.” + And Tomlinson looked up and up, and saw against the night + The belly of a tortured star blood-red in Hell-Mouth light; + And Tomlinson looked down and down, and saw beneath his feet + The frontlet of a tortured star milk-white in Hell-Mouth heat. + + “O I had a love on earth,” said he, “that kissed me to my fall, + And if ye would call my love to me I know she would answer all.” + --“All that ye did in love forbid it shall be written fair, + But now ye wait at Hell-Mouth Gate and not in Berkeley Square: + Though we whistled your love from her bed tonight, I trow she would not run, + For the sin ye do by two and two ye must pay for one by one!” + The Wind that blows between the worlds, it cut him like a knife, + And Tomlinson took up the tale and spoke of his sin in life:-- + “Once I ha' laughed at the power of Love and twice at the grip of the Grave, + And thrice I ha' patted my God on the head that men might call me brave.” + The Devil he blew on a brandered soul and set it aside to cool:-- + “Do ye think I would waste my good pit-coal on the hide of a brain-sick fool? + I see no worth in the hobnailed mirth or the jolthead jest ye did + That I should waken my gentlemen that are sleeping three on a grid.” + Then Tomlinson looked back and forth, and there was little grace, + For Hell-Gate filled the houseless Soul with the Fear of Naked Space. + + “Nay, this I ha' heard,” quo' Tomlinson, “and this was noised abroad, + And this I ha' got from a Belgian book on the word of a dead French lord.” + --“Ye ha' heard, ye ha' read, ye ha' got, good lack! and the tale begins + afresh-- + Have ye sinned one sin for the pride o' the eye or the sinful lust of the + flesh?” + Then Tomlinson he gripped the bars and yammered, “Let me in-- + For I mind that I borrowed my neighbour's wife to sin the deadly sin.” + The Devil he grinned behind the bars, and banked the fires high: + “Did ye read of that sin in a book?” said he; and Tomlinson said, “Ay!” + The Devil he blew upon his nails, and the little devils ran, + And he said: “Go husk this whimpering thief that comes in the guise of a man: + Winnow him out 'twixt star and star, and sieve his proper worth: + There's sore decline in Adam's line if this be spawn of earth.” + + Empusa's crew, so naked-new they may not face the fire, + But weep that they bin too small to sin to the height of their desire, + Over the coal they chased the Soul, and racked it all abroad, + As children rifle a caddis-case or the raven's foolish hoard. + + And back they came with the tattered Thing, as children after play, + And they said: “The soul that he got from God he has bartered clean away. + + “We have threshed a stook of print and book, and winnowed a chattering wind + And many a soul wherefrom he stole, but his we cannot find: + We have handled him, we have dandled him, we have seared him to the bone, + And sure if tooth and nail show truth he has no soul of his own.” + The Devil he bowed his head on his breast and rumbled deep and low:-- + “I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should bid him go. + + “Yet close we lie, and deep we lie, and if I gave him place, + My gentlemen that are so proud would flout me to my face; + They'd call my house a common stews and me a careless host, + And--I would not anger my gentlemen for the sake of a shiftless ghost.” + The Devil he looked at the mangled Soul that prayed to feel the flame, + And he thought of Holy Charity, but he thought of his own good name:-- + “Now ye could haste my coal to waste, and sit ye down to fry: + Did ye think of that theft for yourself?” said he; and Tomlinson said, “Ay!” + The Devil he blew an outward breath, for his heart was free from care:-- + “Ye have scarce the soul of a louse,” he said, “but the roots of sin are + there, + And for that sin should ye come in were I the lord alone. + But sinful pride has rule inside--and mightier than my own. + + “Honour and Wit, fore-damned they sit, to each his priest and whore: + Nay, scarce I dare myself go there, and you they'd torture sore. + + “Ye are neither spirit nor spirk,” he said; “ye are neither book nor brute-- + Go, get ye back to the flesh again for the sake of Man's repute. + + “I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should mock your pain, + But look that ye win to worthier sin ere ye come back again. + Get hence, the hearse is at your door--the grim black stallions wait-- + They bear your clay to place today. Speed, lest ye come too late! + Go back to Earth with a lip unsealed--go back with an open eye, + And carry my word to the Sons of Men or ever ye come to die: + That the sin they do by two and two they must pay for one by one-- + And... the God that you took from a printed book be with you, Tomlinson!” + + * * * * * * * + + + + +BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS + + Dedication + + To T. A. + + I have made for you a song, + And it may be right or wrong, + But only you can tell me if it's true; + I have tried for to explain + Both your pleasure and your pain, + And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you! + + O there'll surely come a day + When they'll give you all your pay, + And treat you as a Christian ought to do; + So, until that day comes round, + Heaven keep you safe and sound, + And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you! + --R. K. + + DANNY DEEVER + + “What are the bugles blowin' for?” said Files-on-Parade. + + “To turn you out, to turn you out”, the Colour-Sergeant said. + + “What makes you look so white, so white?” said Files-on-Parade. + + “I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch”, the Colour-Sergeant said. + + For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play, + The regiment's in 'ollow square--they're hangin' him today; + They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes away, + An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. + + “What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?” said Files-on-Parade. + + “It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold”, the Colour-Sergeant said. + + “What makes that front-rank man fall down?” said Files-on-Parade. + + “A touch o' sun, a touch o' sun”, the Colour-Sergeant said. + + They are hangin' Danny Deever, they are marchin' of 'im round, + They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is coffin on the ground; + An' 'e'll swing in 'arf a minute for a sneakin' shootin' hound-- + O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'! + + “'Is cot was right-'and cot to mine”, said Files-on-Parade. + + “'E's sleepin' out an' far tonight”, the Colour-Sergeant said. + + “I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times”, said Files-on-Parade. + + “'E's drinkin' bitter beer alone”, the Colour-Sergeant said. + + They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must mark 'im to 'is place, + For 'e shot a comrade sleepin'--you must look 'im in the face; + Nine 'undred of 'is county an' the regiment's disgrace, + While they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. + + “What's that so black agin' the sun?” said Files-on-Parade. + + “It's Danny fightin' 'ard for life”, the Colour-Sergeant said. + + “What's that that whimpers over'ead?” said Files-on-Parade. + + “It's Danny's soul that's passin' now”, the Colour-Sergeant said. + + For they're done with Danny Deever, you can 'ear the quickstep play, + The regiment's in column, an' they're marchin' us away; + Ho! the young recruits are shakin', an' they'll want their beer today, + After hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. + + + + +TOMMY + + I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer, + The publican 'e up an' sez, “We serve no red-coats here.” + The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die, + I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I: + O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' “Tommy, go away”; + But it's “Thank you, Mister Atkins”, when the band begins to play, + The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play, + O it's “Thank you, Mister Atkins”, when the band begins to play. + + I went into a theatre as sober as could be, + They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me; + They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls, + But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls! + For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' “Tommy, wait outside”; + But it's “Special train for Atkins” when the trooper's on the tide, + The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide, + O it's “Special train for Atkins” when the trooper's on the tide. + + Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep + Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap; + An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit + Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit. + + Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' “Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?” + But it's “Thin red line of 'eroes” when the drums begin to roll, + The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll, + O it's “Thin red line of 'eroes” when the drums begin to roll. + + We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too, + But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you; + An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints, + Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints; + While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' “Tommy, fall be'ind”, + But it's “Please to walk in front, sir”, when there's trouble in the wind, + There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind, + O it's “Please to walk in front, sir”, when there's trouble in the wind. + + You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all: + We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational. + Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face + The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace. + + For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' “Chuck him out, the brute!” + But it's “Saviour of 'is country” when the guns begin to shoot; + An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please; + An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool--you bet that Tommy sees! + + + + +FUZZY-WUZZY + (Soudan Expeditionary Force) + + We've fought with many men acrost the seas, + An' some of 'em was brave an' some was not: + The Paythan an' the Zulu an' Burmese; + But the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot. + + We never got a ha'porth's change of 'im: + 'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses, + 'E cut our sentries up at Suakim, + An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces. + + So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan; + You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man; + We gives you your certificate, an' if you want it signed + We'll come an' 'ave a romp with you whenever you're inclined. + + We took our chanst among the Khyber 'ills, + The Boers knocked us silly at a mile, + The Burman give us Irriwaddy chills, + An' a Zulu impi dished us up in style: + But all we ever got from such as they + Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller; + We 'eld our bloomin' own, the papers say, + But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us 'oller. + + Then 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' the missis and the kid; + Our orders was to break you, an' of course we went an' did. + We sloshed you with Martinis, an' it wasn't 'ardly fair; + But for all the odds agin' you, Fuzzy-Wuz, you broke the square. + + 'E 'asn't got no papers of 'is own, + 'E 'asn't got no medals nor rewards, + So we must certify the skill 'e's shown + In usin' of 'is long two-'anded swords: + When 'e's 'oppin' in an' out among the bush + With 'is coffin-'eaded shield an' shovel-spear, + An 'appy day with Fuzzy on the rush + Will last an 'ealthy Tommy for a year. + + So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' your friends which are no more, + If we 'adn't lost some messmates we would 'elp you to deplore; + But give an' take's the gospel, an' we'll call the bargain fair, + For if you 'ave lost more than us, you crumpled up the square! + + 'E rushes at the smoke when we let drive, + An', before we know, 'e's 'ackin' at our 'ead; + 'E's all 'ot sand an' ginger when alive, + An' 'e's generally shammin' when 'e's dead. + + 'E's a daisy, 'e's a ducky, 'e's a lamb! + 'E's a injia-rubber idiot on the spree, + 'E's the on'y thing that doesn't give a damn + For a Regiment o' British Infantree! + So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan; + You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man; + An' 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 'ayrick 'ead of 'air-- + You big black boundin' beggar--for you broke a British square! + + + + +SOLDIER, SOLDIER + + “Soldier, soldier come from the wars, + Why don't you march with my true love?” + “We're fresh from off the ship an' 'e's maybe give the slip, + An' you'd best go look for a new love.” + New love! True love! + Best go look for a new love, + The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your eyes, + An' you'd best go look for a new love. + + “Soldier, soldier come from the wars, + What did you see o' my true love?” + “I seed 'im serve the Queen in a suit o' rifle-green, + An' you'd best go look for a new love.” + + “Soldier, soldier come from the wars, + Did ye see no more o' my true love?” + “I seed 'im runnin' by when the shots begun to fly-- + But you'd best go look for a new love.” + + “Soldier, soldier come from the wars, + Did aught take 'arm to my true love?” + “I couldn't see the fight, for the smoke it lay so white-- + An' you'd best go look for a new love.” + + “Soldier, soldier come from the wars, + I'll up an' tend to my true love!” + “'E's lying on the dead with a bullet through 'is 'ead, + An' you'd best go look for a new love.” + + “Soldier, soldier come from the wars, + I'll down an' die with my true love!” + “The pit we dug'll 'ide 'im an' the twenty men beside 'im-- + An' you'd best go look for a new love.” + + “Soldier, soldier come from the wars, + Do you bring no sign from my true love?” + “I bring a lock of 'air that 'e allus used to wear, + An' you'd best go look for a new love.” + + “Soldier, soldier come from the wars, + O then I know it's true I've lost my true love!” + “An' I tell you truth again--when you've lost the feel o' pain + You'd best take me for your true love.” + True love! New love! + Best take 'im for a new love, + The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your eyes, + An' you'd best take 'im for your true love. + + + + +SCREW-GUNS + + Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, + sniffin' the mornin' cool, + I walks in my old brown gaiters + along o' my old brown mule, + With seventy gunners be'ind me, + an' never a beggar forgets + It's only the pick of the Army + that handles the dear little pets--'Tss! 'Tss! + For you all love the screw-guns--the screw-guns they all love you! + So when we call round with a few guns, + o' course you will know what to do--hoo! hoo! + Jest send in your Chief an' surrender-- + it's worse if you fights or you runs: + You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, + but you don't get away from the guns! + + They sends us along where the roads are, but mostly we goes where they ain't: + We'd climb up the side of a sign-board an' trust to the stick o' the paint: + We've chivied the Naga an' Looshai, + we've give the Afreedeeman fits, + For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, + we guns that are built in two bits--'Tss! 'Tss! + For you all love the screw-guns... + + If a man doesn't work, why, we drills 'im + an' teaches 'im 'ow to behave; + If a beggar can't march, why, we kills 'im + an' rattles 'im into 'is grave. + You've got to stand up to our business + an' spring without snatchin' or fuss. + D'you say that you sweat with the field-guns? + By God, you must lather with us--'Tss! 'Tss! + For you all love the screw-guns... + + The eagles is screamin' around us, + the river's a-moanin' below, + We're clear o' the pine an' the oak-scrub, + we're out on the rocks an' the snow, + An' the wind is as thin as a whip-lash + what carries away to the plains + The rattle an' stamp o' the lead-mules-- + the jinglety-jink o' the chains--'Tss! 'Tss! + For you all love the screw-guns... + + There's a wheel on the Horns o' the Mornin', + an' a wheel on the edge o' the Pit, + An' a drop into nothin' beneath you as straight as a beggar can spit: + With the sweat runnin' out o' your shirt-sleeves, + an' the sun off the snow in your face, + An' 'arf o' the men on the drag-ropes + to hold the old gun in 'er place--'Tss! 'Tss! + For you all love the screw-guns... + + Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, + sniffin' the mornin' cool, + I climbs in my old brown gaiters + along o' my old brown mule. + The monkey can say what our road was-- + the wild-goat 'e knows where we passed. + + Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin's! + Out drag-ropes! With shrapnel! Hold fast--'Tss! 'Tss! + + For you all love the screw-guns--the screw-guns they all love + you! + So when we take tea with a few guns, + o' course you will know what to do--hoo! hoo! + Jest send in your Chief an' surrender-- + it's worse if you fights or you runs: + You may hide in the caves, they'll be only your graves, + but you can't get away from the guns! + + + + +GUNGA DIN + + You may talk o' gin and beer + When you're quartered safe out 'ere, + An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it; + But when it comes to slaughter + You will do your work on water, + An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it. + + Now in Injia's sunny clime, + Where I used to spend my time + A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen, + Of all them blackfaced crew + The finest man I knew + Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din. + + He was “Din! Din! Din! + You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din! + Hi! slippy hitherao! + Water, get it! Panee lao!1 + You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.” + + The uniform 'e wore + Was nothin' much before, + An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind, + For a piece o' twisty rag + An' a goatskin water-bag + Was all the field-equipment 'e could find. + + When the sweatin' troop-train lay + In a sidin' through the day, + Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl, + We shouted “Harry By!” 2 + Till our throats were bricky-dry, + Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all. + + It was “Din! Din! Din! + You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been? + You put some juldee 3 in it + Or I'll marrow 4 you this minute + If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!” + + 'E would dot an' carry one + Till the longest day was done; + An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear. + + If we charged or broke or cut, + You could bet your bloomin' nut, + 'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear. + With 'is mussick 5 on 'is back, + 'E would skip with our attack, + An' watch us till the bugles made “Retire”, + An' for all 'is dirty 'ide + 'E was white, clear white, inside + When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire! + It was “Din! Din! Din!” + With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green. + + When the cartridges ran out, + You could hear the front-files shout, + “Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!” + + I shan't forgit the night + When I dropped be'ind the fight + With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been. + I was chokin' mad with thirst, + An' the man that spied me first + Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din. + 'E lifted up my 'ead, + An' he plugged me where I bled, + An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green: + It was crawlin' and it stunk, + But of all the drinks I've drunk, + I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din. + + It was “Din! Din! Din! + 'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen; + 'E's chawin' up the ground, + An' 'e's kickin' all around: + For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!” + + 'E carried me away + To where a dooli lay, + An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean. + 'E put me safe inside, + An' just before 'e died, + “I 'ope you liked your drink”, sez Gunga Din. + So I'll meet 'im later on + At the place where 'e is gone-- + Where it's always double drill and no canteen; + 'E'll be squattin' on the coals + Givin' drink to poor damned souls, + An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din! + Yes, Din! Din! Din! + You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din! + Though I've belted you and flayed you, + By the livin' Gawd that made you, + You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din! + + 1 Bring water swiftly. + 2 Mr Atkins' equivalent for “O Brother.” + 3 Hit you. + 4 Be quick. + 5 Water skin. + + + + +OONTS + (Northern India Transport Train) + + Wot makes the soldier's 'eart to @penk, wot makes 'im to perspire? + It isn't standin' up to charge nor lyin' down to fire; + But it's everlastin' waitin' on a everlastin' road + For the commissariat camel an' 'is commissariat load. + O the oont, 1 O the oont, O the commissariat oont! + With 'is silly neck a-bobbin' like a basket full o' snakes; + We packs 'im like an idol, an' you ought to 'ear 'im grunt, + An' when we gets 'im loaded up 'is blessed girth-rope breaks. + + Wot makes the rear-guard swear so 'ard when night is drorin' in, + An' every native follower is shiverin' for 'is skin? + It ain't the chanst o' being rushed by Paythans from the 'ills, + It's the commissariat camel puttin' on 'is bloomin' frills! + O the oont, O the oont, O the hairy scary oont! + A-trippin' over tent-ropes when we've got the night alarm! + We socks 'im with a stretcher-pole an' 'eads 'im off in front, + An' when we've saved 'is bloomin' life 'e chaws our bloomin' arm. + + The 'orse 'e knows above a bit, the bullock's but a fool, + The elephant's a gentleman, the battery-mule's a mule; + But the commissariat cam-u-el, when all is said an' done, + 'E's a devil an' a ostrich an' a orphan-child in one. + O the oont, O the oont, O the Gawd-forsaken oont! + The lumpy-'umpy 'ummin'-bird a-singin' where 'e lies, + 'E's blocked the whole division from the rear-guard to the front, + An' when we get him up again--the beggar goes an' dies! + + 'E'll gall an' chafe an' lame an' fight--'e smells most awful vile; + 'E'll lose 'isself for ever if you let 'im stray a mile; + 'E's game to graze the 'ole day long an' 'owl the 'ole night through, + An' when 'e comes to greasy ground 'e splits 'isself in two. + O the oont, O the oont, O the floppin', droppin' oont! + When 'is long legs give from under an' 'is meltin' eye is dim, + The tribes is up be'ind us, and the tribes is out in front-- + It ain't no jam for Tommy, but it's kites an' crows for 'im. + + So when the cruel march is done, an' when the roads is blind, + An' when we sees the camp in front an' 'ears the shots be'ind, + Ho! then we strips 'is saddle off, and all 'is woes is past: + 'E thinks on us that used 'im so, and gets revenge at last. + O the oont, O the oont, O the floatin', bloatin' oont! + The late lamented camel in the water-cut 'e lies; + We keeps a mile be'ind 'im an' we keeps a mile in front, + But 'e gets into the drinkin'-casks, and then o' course we dies. + + 1 Camel--oo is pronounced like u in “bull,” but by Mr. Atkins to + rhyme with “front.” + + + + +LOOT + + If you've ever stole a pheasant-egg be'ind the keeper's back, + If you've ever snigged the washin' from the line, + If you've ever crammed a gander in your bloomin' 'aversack, + You will understand this little song o' mine. + + But the service rules are 'ard, an' from such we are debarred, + For the same with English morals does not suit. + + (Cornet: Toot! toot!) + W'y, they call a man a robber if 'e stuffs 'is marchin' clobber + With the-- + (Chorus) Loo! loo! Lulu! lulu! Loo! loo! Loot! loot! loot! + Ow the loot! + Bloomin' loot! + That's the thing to make the boys git up an' shoot! + It's the same with dogs an' men, + If you'd make 'em come again + Clap 'em forward with a Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! + (ff) Whoopee! Tear 'im, puppy! Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot! + + If you've knocked a nigger edgeways when 'e's thrustin' for your life, + You must leave 'im very careful where 'e fell; + An' may thank your stars an' gaiters if you didn't feel 'is knife + That you ain't told off to bury 'im as well. + + Then the sweatin' Tommies wonder as they spade the beggars under + Why lootin' should be entered as a crime; + So if my song you'll 'ear, I will learn you plain an' clear + 'Ow to pay yourself for fightin' overtime. + + (Chorus) With the loot,... + + Now remember when you're 'acking round a gilded Burma god + That 'is eyes is very often precious stones; + An' if you treat a nigger to a dose o' cleanin'-rod + 'E's like to show you everything 'e owns. + + When 'e won't prodooce no more, pour some water on the floor + Where you 'ear it answer 'ollow to the boot + (Cornet: Toot! toot!)-- + When the ground begins to sink, shove your baynick down the chink, + An' you're sure to touch the-- + (Chorus) Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot! + Ow the loot!... + + When from 'ouse to 'ouse you're 'unting, you must always work in pairs-- + It 'alves the gain, but safer you will find-- + For a single man gets bottled on them twisty-wisty stairs, + An' a woman comes and clobs 'im from be'ind. + + When you've turned 'em inside out, an' it seems beyond a doubt + As if there weren't enough to dust a flute + (Cornet: Toot! toot!)-- + Before you sling your 'ook, at the 'ousetops take a look, + For it's underneath the tiles they 'ide the loot. + + (Chorus) Ow the loot!... + + You can mostly square a Sergint an' a Quartermaster too, + If you only take the proper way to go; + I could never keep my pickin's, but I've learned you all I knew-- + An' don't you never say I told you so. + + An' now I'll bid good-bye, for I'm gettin' rather dry, + An' I see another tunin' up to toot + (Cornet: Toot! toot!)-- + So 'ere's good-luck to those that wears the Widow's clo'es, + An' the Devil send 'em all they want o' loot! + (Chorus) Yes, the loot, + Bloomin' loot! + In the tunic an' the mess-tin an' the boot! + It's the same with dogs an' men, + If you'd make 'em come again + (fff) Whoop 'em forward with a Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot! + Heeya! Sick 'im, puppy! Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot! + + + + +'SNARLEYOW' + + This 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps + Which is first among the women an' amazin' first in war; + An' what the bloomin' battle was I don't remember now, + But Two's off-lead 'e answered to the name o' Snarleyow. + + Down in the Infantry, nobody cares; + Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears; + But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog + Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog! + + They was movin' into action, they was needed very sore, + To learn a little schoolin' to a native army corps, + They 'ad nipped against an uphill, they was tuckin' down the brow, + When a tricky, trundlin' roundshot give the knock to Snarleyow. + + They cut 'im loose an' left 'im--'e was almost tore in two-- + But he tried to follow after as a well-trained 'orse should do; + 'E went an' fouled the limber, an' the Driver's Brother squeals: + “Pull up, pull up for Snarleyow--'is head's between 'is 'eels!” + + The Driver 'umped 'is shoulder, for the wheels was goin' round, + An' there ain't no “Stop, conductor!” when a batt'ry's changin' ground; + Sez 'e: “I broke the beggar in, an' very sad I feels, + But I couldn't pull up, not for you--your 'ead between your 'eels!” + + 'E 'adn't 'ardly spoke the word, before a droppin' shell + A little right the batt'ry an' between the sections fell; + An' when the smoke 'ad cleared away, before the limber wheels, + There lay the Driver's Brother with 'is 'ead between 'is 'eels. + + Then sez the Driver's Brother, an' 'is words was very plain, + “For Gawd's own sake get over me, an' put me out o' pain.” + They saw 'is wounds was mortial, an' they judged that it was best, + So they took an' drove the limber straight across 'is back an' chest. + + The Driver 'e give nothin' 'cept a little coughin' grunt, + But 'e swung 'is 'orses 'andsome when it came to “Action Front!” + An' if one wheel was juicy, you may lay your Monday head + 'Twas juicier for the niggers when the case begun to spread. + + The moril of this story, it is plainly to be seen: + You 'avn't got no families when servin' of the Queen-- + You 'avn't got no brothers, fathers, sisters, wives, or sons-- + If you want to win your battles take an' work your bloomin' guns! + + Down in the Infantry, nobody cares; + Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears; + But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog + Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog! + + + + +THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR + + 'Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor + With a hairy gold crown on 'er 'ead? + She 'as ships on the foam--she 'as millions at 'ome, + An' she pays us poor beggars in red. + (Ow, poor beggars in red!) + + There's 'er nick on the cavalry 'orses, + There's 'er mark on the medical stores-- + An' 'er troopers you'll find with a fair wind be'ind + That takes us to various wars. + (Poor beggars!--barbarious wars!) + Then 'ere's to the Widow at Windsor, + An' 'ere's to the stores an' the guns, + The men an' the 'orses what makes up the forces + O' Missis Victorier's sons. + (Poor beggars! Victorier's sons!) + + Walk wide o' the Widow at Windsor, + For 'alf o' Creation she owns: + We 'ave bought 'er the same with the sword an' the flame, + An' we've salted it down with our bones. + (Poor beggars!--it's blue with our bones!) + Hands off o' the sons o' the Widow, + Hands off o' the goods in 'er shop, + For the Kings must come down an' the Emperors frown + When the Widow at Windsor says “Stop”! + (Poor beggars!--we're sent to say “Stop”!) + Then 'ere's to the Lodge o' the Widow, + From the Pole to the Tropics it runs-- + To the Lodge that we tile with the rank an' the file, + An' open in form with the guns. + (Poor beggars!--it's always they guns!) + + We 'ave 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor, + It's safest to let 'er alone: + For 'er sentries we stand by the sea an' the land + Wherever the bugles are blown. + (Poor beggars!--an' don't we get blown!) + Take 'old o' the Wings o' the Mornin', + An' flop round the earth till you're dead; + But you won't get away from the tune that they play + To the bloomin' old rag over'ead. + (Poor beggars!--it's 'ot over'ead!) + Then 'ere's to the sons o' the Widow, + Wherever, 'owever they roam. + 'Ere's all they desire, an' if they require + A speedy return to their 'ome. + (Poor beggars!--they'll never see 'ome!) + + + + +BELTS + + There was a row in Silver Street that's near to Dublin Quay, + Between an Irish regiment an' English cavalree; + It started at Revelly an' it lasted on till dark: + The first man dropped at Harrison's, the last forninst the Park. + + For it was:--“Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one for you!” + An' it was “Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done for you!” + O buckle an' tongue + Was the song that we sung + From Harrison's down to the Park! + + There was a row in Silver Street--the regiments was out, + They called us “Delhi Rebels”, an' we answered “Threes about!” + That drew them like a hornet's nest--we met them good an' large, + The English at the double an' the Irish at the charge. + + Then it was:--“Belts... + + There was a row in Silver Street--an' I was in it too; + We passed the time o' day, an' then the belts went whirraru! + I misremember what occurred, but subsequint the storm + A Freeman's Journal Supplemint was all my uniform. + + O it was:--“Belts... + + + + +There was a row in Silver Street--they sent the Polis there, + The English were too drunk to know, the Irish didn't care; + But when they grew impertinint we simultaneous rose, + Till half o' them was Liffey mud an' half was tatthered clo'es. + + For it was:--“Belts... + + There was a row in Silver Street--it might ha' raged till now, + But some one drew his side-arm clear, an' nobody knew how; + 'Twas Hogan took the point an' dropped; we saw the red blood run: + An' so we all was murderers that started out in fun. + + While it was:--“Belts... + + There was a row in Silver Street--but that put down the shine, + Wid each man whisperin' to his next: “'Twas never work o' mine!” + We went away like beaten dogs, an' down the street we bore him, + The poor dumb corpse that couldn't tell the bhoys were sorry for him. + + When it was:--“Belts... + + There was a row in Silver Street--it isn't over yet, + For half of us are under guard wid punishments to get; + 'Tis all a merricle to me as in the Clink I lie: + There was a row in Silver Street--begod, I wonder why! + + But it was:--“Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one for you!” + An' it was “Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done for you!” + O buckle an' tongue + Was the song that we sung + From Harrison's down to the Park! + + + + +THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER + + When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East + 'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast, + An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased + Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier. + + Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, + Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, + Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, + So-oldier of the Queen! + + Now all you recruities what's drafted today, + You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay, + An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may: + A soldier what's fit for a soldier. + + Fit, fit, fit for a soldier... + + First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts, + For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts-- + Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts-- + An' it's bad for the young British soldier. + + Bad, bad, bad for the soldier... + + When the cholera comes--as it will past a doubt-- + Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout, + For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out, + An' it crumples the young British soldier. + + Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier... + + But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead: + You must wear your 'elmet for all that is said: + If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead, + An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier. + + Fool, fool, fool of a soldier... + + If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind, + Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind; + Be handy and civil, and then you will find + That it's beer for the young British soldier. + + Beer, beer, beer for the soldier... + + Now, if you must marry, take care she is old-- + A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told, + For beauty won't help if your rations is cold, + Nor love ain't enough for a soldier. + + 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier... + + If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath + To shoot when you catch 'em--you'll swing, on my oath!-- + Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both, + An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier. + + Curse, curse, curse of a soldier... + + When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck, + Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck, + Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck + And march to your front like a soldier. + + Front, front, front like a soldier... + + When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch, + Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch; + She's human as you are--you treat her as sich, + An' she'll fight for the young British soldier. + + Fight, fight, fight for the soldier... + + When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine, + The guns o' the enemy wheel into line, + Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine, + For noise never startles the soldier. + + Start-, start-, startles the soldier... + + If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white, + Remember it's ruin to run from a fight: + So take open order, lie down, and sit tight, + And wait for supports like a soldier. + + Wait, wait, wait like a soldier... + + When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains, + And the women come out to cut up what remains, + Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains + An' go to your Gawd like a soldier. + + Go, go, go like a soldier, + Go, go, go like a soldier, + Go, go, go like a soldier, + So-oldier of the Queen! + + + + +MANDALAY + + By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea, + There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me; + For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say: + “Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!” + Come you back to Mandalay, + Where the old Flotilla lay: + Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay? + On the road to Mandalay, + Where the flyin'-fishes play, + An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay! + + 'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green, + An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat--jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen, + An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot, + An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot: + Bloomin' idol made o'mud-- + Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd-- + Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud! + On the road to Mandalay... + + When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow, + She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing “Kulla-lo-lo!” + With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin' my cheek + We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak. + Elephints a-pilin' teak + In the sludgy, squdgy creek, + Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak! + On the road to Mandalay... + + But that's all shove be'ind me--long ago an' fur away, + An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay; + An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells: + “If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else.” + No! you won't 'eed nothin' else + But them spicy garlic smells, + An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells; + On the road to Mandalay... + + I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones, + An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones; + Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand, + An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand? + Beefy face an' grubby 'and-- + Law! wot do they understand? + I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land! + On the road to Mandalay... + + Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst, + Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst; + For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be-- + By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea; + On the road to Mandalay, + Where the old Flotilla lay, + With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay! + On the road to Mandalay, + Where the flyin'-fishes play, + An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay! + + + + +TROOPIN' + (Our Army in the East) + + Troopin', troopin', troopin' to the sea: + 'Ere's September come again--the six-year men are free. + O leave the dead be'ind us, for they cannot come away + To where the ship's a-coalin' up that takes us 'ome today. + + We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome, + Our ship is at the shore, + An' you must pack your 'aversack, + For we won't come back no more. + + Ho, don't you grieve for me, + My lovely Mary-Ann, + For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit + As a time-expired man. + + The Malabar's in 'arbour with the Jumner at 'er tail, + An' the time-expired's waitin' of 'is orders for to sail. + Ho! the weary waitin' when on Khyber 'ills we lay, + But the time-expired's waitin' of 'is orders 'ome today. + + They'll turn us out at Portsmouth wharf in cold an' wet an' rain, + All wearin' Injian cotton kit, but we will not complain; + They'll kill us of pneumonia--for that's their little way-- + But damn the chills and fever, men, we're goin' 'ome today! + + Troopin', troopin', winter's round again! + See the new draf's pourin' in for the old campaign; + Ho, you poor recruities, but you've got to earn your pay-- + What's the last from Lunnon, lads? We're goin' there today. + + Troopin', troopin', give another cheer-- + 'Ere's to English women an' a quart of English beer. + The Colonel an' the regiment an' all who've got to stay, + Gawd's mercy strike 'em gentle--Whoop! we're goin' 'ome today. + + We're goin' 'ome, we're goin' 'ome, + Our ship is at the shore, + An' you must pack your 'aversack, + For we won't come back no more. + + Ho, don't you grieve for me, + My lovely Mary-Ann, + For I'll marry you yit on a fourp'ny bit + As a time-expired man. + + + + +FORD O' KABUL RIVER + + Kabul town's by Kabul river-- + Blow the bugle, draw the sword-- + There I lef' my mate for ever, + Wet an' drippin' by the ford. + Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, + Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! + There's the river up and brimmin', an' there's 'arf a squadron swimmin' + 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. + + Kabul town's a blasted place-- + Blow the bugle, draw the sword-- + 'Strewth I sha'n't forget 'is face + Wet an' drippin' by the ford! + Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, + Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! + Keep the crossing-stakes beside you, an' they will surely guide you + 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. + + Kabul town is sun and dust-- + Blow the bugle, draw the sword-- + I'd ha' sooner drownded fust + 'Stead of 'im beside the ford. + Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, + Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! + You can 'ear the 'orses threshin', you can 'ear the men a-splashin', + 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. + + Kabul town was ours to take-- + Blow the bugle, draw the sword-- + I'd ha' left it for 'is sake-- + 'Im that left me by the ford. + Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, + Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! + It's none so bloomin' dry there; ain't you never comin' nigh there, + 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark? + + Kabul town'll go to hell-- + Blow the bugle, draw the sword-- + 'Fore I see him 'live an' well-- + 'Im the best beside the ford. + Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, + Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! + Gawd 'elp 'em if they blunder, for their boots'll pull 'em under, + By the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. + + Turn your 'orse from Kabul town-- + Blow the bugle, draw the sword-- + 'Im an' 'arf my troop is down, + Down an' drownded by the ford. + Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river, + Ford o' Kabul river in the dark! + There's the river low an' fallin', but it ain't no use o' callin' + 'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark. + + + + +ROUTE MARCHIN' + + We're marchin' on relief over Injia's sunny plains, + A little front o' Christmas-time an' just be'ind the Rains; + Ho! get away you bullock-man, you've 'eard the bugle blowed, + There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk Road; + With its best foot first + And the road a-sliding past, + An' every bloomin' campin'-ground exactly like the last; + While the Big Drum says, + With 'is “rowdy-dowdy-dow!”-- + “Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argy jow?” 2 + + Oh, there's them Injian temples to admire when you see, + There's the peacock round the corner an' the monkey up the tree, + An' there's that rummy silver grass a-wavin' in the wind, + An' the old Grand Trunk a-trailin' like a rifle-sling be'ind. + + While it's best foot first,... + + At half-past five's Revelly, an' our tents they down must come, + Like a lot of button mushrooms when you pick 'em up at 'ome. + But it's over in a minute, an' at six the column starts, + While the women and the kiddies sit an' shiver in the carts. + + An' it's best foot first,... + + Oh, then it's open order, an' we lights our pipes an' sings, + An' we talks about our rations an' a lot of other things, + An' we thinks o' friends in England, an' we wonders what they're at, + An' 'ow they would admire for to hear us sling the bat.1 + + An' it's best foot first,... + + It's none so bad o' Sunday, when you're lyin' at your ease, + To watch the kites a-wheelin' round them feather-'eaded trees, + For although there ain't no women, yet there ain't no barrick-yards, + So the orficers goes shootin' an' the men they plays at cards. + + Till it's best foot first,... + + So 'ark an' 'eed, you rookies, which is always grumblin' sore, + There's worser things than marchin' from Umballa to Cawnpore; + An' if your 'eels are blistered an' they feels to 'urt like 'ell, + You drop some tallow in your socks an' that will make 'em well. + + For it's best foot first,... + + We're marchin' on relief over Injia's coral strand, + Eight 'undred fightin' Englishmen, the Colonel, and the Band; + Ho! get away you bullock-man, you've 'eard the bugle blowed, + There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk Road; + With its best foot first + And the road a-sliding past, + An' every bloomin' campin'-ground exactly like the last; + While the Big Drum says, + With 'is “rowdy-dowdy-dow!”-- + “Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argy jow?” 2 + + 1 Thomas's first and firmest conviction is that he is a profound Orientalist + and a fluent speaker of Hindustani. As a matter of fact, he depends largely + on the sign-language. + 2 Why don't you get on + + The end + + * * * * * * + + + + + +VOLUME III. THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW AND OTHER GHOST STORIES + + + + +THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW + + May no ill dreams disturb my rest, + Nor Powers of Darkness me molest. + --Evening Hymn. + +ONE of the few advantages that India has over England is a great +Knowability. After five years' service a man is directly or indirectly +acquainted with the two or three hundred Civilians in his Province, all +the Messes of ten or twelve Regiments and Batteries, and some fifteen +hundred other people of the non-official caste. In ten years his +knowledge should be doubled, and at the end of twenty he knows, or knows +something about, every Englishman in the Empire, and may travel anywhere +and everywhere without paying hotel-bills. + +Globe-trotters who expect entertainment as a right, have, even within my +memory, blunted this open-heartedness, but none the less today, if you +belong to the Inner Circle and are neither a Bear nor a Black Sheep, +all houses are open to you, and our small world is very, very kind and +helpful. + +Rickett of Kamartha stayed with Polder of Kumaon some fifteen years ago. +He meant to stay two nights, but was knocked down by rheumatic fever, +and for six weeks disorganized Polder's establishment, stopped Polder's +work, and nearly died in Polder's bedroom. Polder behaves as though he +had been placed under eternal obligation by Rickett, and yearly +sends the little Ricketts a box of presents and toys. It is the same +everywhere. The men who do not take the trouble to conceal from you +their opinion that you are an incompetent ass, and the women who blacken +your character and misunderstand your wife's amusements, will work +themselves to the bone in your behalf if you fall sick or into serious +trouble. + +Heatherlegh, the Doctor, kept, in addition to his regular practice, +a hospital on his private account--an arrangement of loose boxes for +Incurables, his friend called it--but it was really a sort of fitting-up +shed for craft that had been damaged by stress of weather. The weather +in India is often sultry, and since the tale of bricks is always a fixed +quantity, and the only liberty allowed is permission to work overtime +and get no thanks, men occasionally break down and become as mixed as +the metaphors in this sentence. + +Heatherlegh is the dearest doctor that ever was, and his invariable +prescription to all his patients is, “lie low, go slow, and keep cool.” + He says that more men are killed by overwork than the importance of this +world justifies. He maintains that overwork slew Pansay, who died under +his hands about three years ago. He has, of course, the right to speak +authoritatively, and he laughs at my theory that there was a crack +in Pansay's head and a little bit of the Dark World came through and +pressed him to death. “Pansay went off the handle,” says Heatherlegh, +“after the stimulus of long leave at Home. He may or he may not have +behaved like a blackguard to Mrs. Keith-Wessington. My notion is that +the work of the Katabundi Settlement ran him off his legs, and that he +took to brooding and making much of an ordinary P. & 0. flirtation. He +certainly was engaged to Miss Mannering, and she certainly broke off the +engagement. Then he took a feverish chill and all that nonsense about +ghosts developed. Overwork started his illness, kept it alight, and +killed him poor devil. Write him off to the System--one man to take the +work of two and a half men.” + +I do not believe this. I used to sit up with Pansay sometimes when +Heatherlegh was called out to patients, and I happened to be within +claim. The man would make me most unhappy by describing in a low, even +voice, the procession that was always passing at the bottom of his bed. +He had a sick man's command of language. + +When he recovered I suggested that he should write out the whole affair +from beginning to end, knowing that ink might assist him to ease his +mind. When little boys have learned a new bad word they are never happy +till they have chalked it up on a door. And this also is Literature. + +He was in a high fever while he was writing, and the blood-and-thunder +Magazine diction he adopted did not calm him. Two months afterward +he was reported fit for duty, but, in spite of the fact that he was +urgently needed to help an undermanned Commission stagger through a +deficit, he preferred to die; vowing at the last that he was hag-ridden. +I got his manuscript before he died, and this is his version of the +affair, dated 1885: + +My doctor tells me that I need rest and change of air. It is not +improbable that I shall get both ere long--rest that neither the +red-coated messenger nor the midday gun can break, and change of air +far beyond that which any homeward-bound steamer can give me. In the +meantime I am resolved to stay where I am; and, in flat defiance of my +doctor's orders, to take all the world into my confidence. You shall +learn for yourselves the precise nature of my malady; and shall, too, +judge for yourselves whether any man born of woman on this weary earth +was ever so tormented as I. + +Speaking now as a condemned criminal might speak ere the drop-bolts are +drawn, my story, wild and hideously improbable as it may appear, +demands at least attention. That it will ever receive credence I utterly +disbelieve. Two months ago I should have scouted as mad or drunk the man +who had dared tell me the like. Two months ago I was the happiest man in +India. Today, from Peshawur to the sea, there is no one more wretched. +My doctor and I are the only two who know this. His explanation is, that +my brain, digestion, and eyesight are all slightly affected; giving rise +to my frequent and persistent “delusions.” Delusions, indeed! I call him +a fool; but he attends me still with the same unwearied smile, the same +bland professional manner, the same neatly trimmed red whiskers, till I +begin to suspect that I am an ungrateful, evil-tempered invalid. But you +shall judge for yourselves. + +Three years ago it was my fortune--my great misfortune--to sail +from Gravesend to Bombay, on return from long leave, with one Agnes +Keith-Wessington, wife of an officer on the Bombay side. It does not in +the least concern you to know what manner of woman she was. Be content +with the knowledge that, ere the voyage had ended, both she and I were +desperately and unreasoningly in love with one another. Heaven knows +that I can make the admission now without one particle of vanity. In +matters of this sort there is always one who gives and another who +accepts. From the first day of our ill-omened attachment, I was +conscious that Agnes's passion was a stronger, a more dominant, and--if +I may use the expression--a purer sentiment than mine. Whether she +recognized the fact then, I do not know. Afterward it was bitterly plain +to both of us. + +Arrived at Bombay in the spring of the year, we went our respective +ways, to meet no more for the next three or four months, when my leave +and her love took us both to Simla. There we spent the season together; +and there my fire of straw burned itself out to a pitiful end with the +closing year. I attempt no excuse. I make no apology. Mrs. Wessington +had given up much for my sake, and was prepared to give up all. From my +own lips, in August, 1882, she learned that I was sick of her presence, +tired of her company, and weary of the sound of her voice. Ninety-nine +women out of a hundred would have wearied of me as I wearied of them; +seventy-five of that number would have promptly avenged themselves by +active and obtrusive flirtation with other men. Mrs. Wessington was the +hundredth. On her neither my openly expressed aversion nor the cutting +brutalities with which I garnished our interviews had the least effect. +“Jack, darling!” was her one eternal cuckoo cry: “I'm sure it's all a +mistake--a hideous mistake; and we'll be good friends again some day. +Please forgive me, Jack, dear.” + +I was the offender, and I knew it. That knowledge transformed my pity +into passive endurance, and, eventually, into blind hate--the same +instinct, I suppose, which prompts a man to savagely stamp on the spider +he has but half killed. And with this hate in my bosom the season of +1882 came to an end. + +Next year we met again at Simla--she with her monotonous face and timid +attempts at reconciliation, and I with loathing of her in every fibre of +my frame. Several times I could not avoid meeting her alone; and on each +occasion her words were identically the same. Still the unreasoning wail +that it was all a “mistake”; and still the hope of eventually “making +friends.” I might have seen had I cared to look, that that hope only was +keeping her alive. She grew more wan and thin month by month. You will +agree with me, at least, that such conduct would have driven any one to +despair. It was uncalled for; childish; unwomanly. I maintain that she +was much to blame. And again, sometimes, in the black, fever-stricken +night-watches, I have begun to think that I might have been a little +kinder to her. But that really is a “delusion.” I could not have +continued pretending to love her when I didn't; could I? It would have +been unfair to us both. + +Last year we met again--on the same terms as before. The same weary +appeal, and the same curt answers from my lips. At least I would make +her see how wholly wrong and hopeless were her attempts at resuming the +old relationship. As the season wore on, we fell apart--that is to say, +she found it difficult to meet me, for I had other and more absorbing +interests to attend to. When I think it over quietly in my sick-room, +the season of 1884 seems a confused nightmare wherein light and shade +were fantastically intermingled--my courtship of little Kitty Mannering; +my hopes, doubts, and fears; our long rides together; my trembling +avowal of attachment; her reply; and now and again a vision of a white +face flitting by in the 'rickshaw with the black and white liveries +I once watched for so earnestly; the wave of Mrs. Wessington's gloved +hand; and, when she met me alone, which was but seldom, the irksome +monotony of her appeal. I loved Kitty Mannering; honestly, heartily +loved her, and with my love for her grew my hatred for Agnes. In August +Kitty and I were engaged. The next day I met those accursed “magpie” + jhampanies at the back of Jakko, and, moved by some passing sentiment of +pity, stopped to tell Mrs. Wessington everything. She knew it already. + +“So I hear you're engaged, Jack dear.” Then, without a moment's +pause--“I'm sure it's all a mistake--a hideous mistake. We shall be as +good friends some day, Jack, as we ever were.” + +My answer might have made even a man wince. It cut the dying woman +before me like the blow of a whip. “Please forgive me, Jack; I didn't +mean to make you angry; but it's true, it's true!” + +And Mrs. Wessington broke down completely. I turned away and left her to +finish her journey in peace, feeling, but only for a moment or two, that +I had been an unutterably mean hound. I looked back, and saw that she +had turned her 'rickshaw with the idea, I suppose, of overtaking me. + +The scene and its surroundings were photographed on my memory. + +The rain-swept sky (we were at the end of the wet weather), the sodden, +dingy pines, the muddy road, and the black powder-riven cliffs formed +a gloomy background against which the black and white liveries of +the jhampanies, the yellow-paneled 'rickshaw and Mrs. Wessington's +down-bowed golden head stood out clearly. She was holding her +handkerchief in her left hand and was leaning back exhausted against +the 'rickshaw cushions. I turned my horse up a bypath near the Sanjowlie +Reservoir and literally ran away. Once I fancied I heard a faint call +of “Jack!” This may have been imagination. I never stopped to verify it. +Ten minutes later I came across Kitty on horseback; and, in the delight +of a long ride with her, forgot all about the interview. + +A week later Mrs. Wessington died, and the inexpressible burden of her +existence was removed from my life. I went Plainsward perfectly happy. +Before three months were over I had forgotten all about her, except +that at times the discovery of some of her old letters reminded me +unpleasantly of our bygone relationship. By January I had disinterred +what was left of our correspondence from among my scattered belongings +and had burned it. At the beginning of April of this year, 1885, I was +at Simla--semi-deserted Simla--once more, and was deep in lover's talks +and walks with Kitty. It was decided that we should be married at the +end of June. You will understand, therefore, that, loving Kitty as I +did, I am not saying too much when I pronounce myself to have been, at +that time, the happiest man in India. + +Fourteen delightful days passed almost before I noticed their flight. + +Then, aroused to the sense of what was proper among mortals +circumstanced as we were, I pointed out to Kitty that an engagement ring +was the outward and visible sign of her dignity as an engaged girl; and +that she must forthwith come to Hamilton's to be measured for one. Up to +that moment, I give you my word, we had completely forgotten so trivial +a matter. To Hamilton's we accordingly went on the 15th of April, 1885. +Remember that--whatever my doctor may say to the contrary--I was then in +perfect health, enjoying a well-balanced mind and an absolute tranquil +spirit. Kitty and I entered Hamilton's shop together, and there, +regardless of the order of affairs, I measured Kitty for the ring in +the presence of the amused assistant. The ring was a sapphire with two +diamonds. We then rode out down the slope that leads to the Combermere +Bridge and Peliti's shop. + +While my Waler was cautiously feeling his way over the loose shale, and +Kitty was laughing and chattering at my side--while all Simla, that is +to say as much of it as had then come from the Plains, was grouped round +the Reading-room and Peliti's veranda,--I was aware that some one, +apparently at a vast distance, was calling me by my Christian name. It +struck me that I had heard the voice before, but when and where I could +not at once determine. In the short space it took to cover the road +between the path from Hamilton's shop and the first plank of the +Combermere Bridge I had thought over half a dozen people who might have +committed such a solecism, and had eventually decided that it must have +been singing in my ears. Immediately opposite Peliti's shop my eye was +arrested by the sight of four jharnpanies in “magpie” livery, pulling a +yellow-paneled, cheap, bazar 'rickshaw. In a moment my mind flew back to +the previous season and Mrs. Wessington with a sense of irritation and +disgust. Was it not enough that the woman was dead and done with, +without her black and white servitors reappearing to spoil the day's +happiness? Whoever employed them now I thought I would call upon, and +ask as a personal favor to change her jhampanies' livery. I would hire +the men myself, and, if necessary, buy their coats from off their backs. +It is impossible to say here what a flood of undesirable memories their +presence evoked. + +“Kitty,” I cried, “there are poor Mrs. Wessington's jhampanies turned up +again! I wonder who has them now?” + +Kitty had known Mrs. Wessington slightly last season, and had always +been interested in the sickly woman. “What? Where?” she asked. “I can't +see them anywhere.” + +Even as she spoke her horse, swerving from a laden mule, threw himself +directly in front of the advancing 'rickshaw. I had scarcely time to +utter a word of warning when, to my unutterable horror, horse and rider +passed through men and carriage as if they had been thin air. + +“What's the matter?” cried Kitty; “what made you call out so foolishly, +Jack? If I am engaged I don't want all creation to know about it. There +was lots of space between the mule and the veranda; and, if you think I +can't ride-- + +“--There!” + +Whereupon wilful Kitty set off, her dainty little head in the air, at a +hand-gallop in the direction of the Bandstand; fully expecting, as +she herself afterward told me, that I should follow her. What was the +matter? Nothing indeed. Either that I was mad or drunk, or that Simla +was haunted with devils. I reined in my impatient cob, and turned round. +The 'rickshaw had turned too, and now stood immediately facing me, near +the left railing of the Combermere Bridge. + +“Jack! Jack, darling!” (There was no mistake about the words this time: +they rang through my brain as if they had been shouted in my ear.) “It's +some hideous mistake, I'm sure. Please forgive me, jack, and let's be +friends again.” + +The 'rickshaw-hood had fallen back, and inside, as I hope and pray daily +for the death I dread by night, sat Mrs. Keith-Wessington, handkerchief +in hand, and golden head bowed on her breast. + +How long I stared motionless I do not know. Finally, I was aroused by +my syce taking the Waler's bridle and asking whether I was ill. From the +horrible to the commonplace is but a step. I tumbled off my horse and +dashed, half fainting, into Peliti's for a glass of cherry-brandy. There +two or three couples were gathered round the coffee-tables discussing +the gossip of the day. Their trivialities were more comforting to me +just then than the consolations of religion could have been. I plunged +into the midst of the conversation at once; chatted, laughed, and jested +with a face (when I caught a glimpse of it in a mirror) as white and +drawn as that of a corpse. Three or four men noticed my condition; and, +evidently setting it down to the results of over-many pegs, charitably +endeavoured to draw me apart from the rest of the loungers. But I +refused to be led away. I wanted the company of my kind--as a child +rushes into the midst of the dinner-party after a fright in the dark. +I must have talked for about ten minutes or so, though it seemed an +eternity to me, when I heard Kitty's clear voice outside inquiring for +me. In another minute she had entered the shop, prepared to roundly +upbraid me for failing so signally in my duties. Something in my face +stopped her. + +“Why, Jack,” she cried, “what have you been doing? What has happened? +Are you ill?” Thus driven into a direct lie, I said that the sun had +been a little too much for me. It was close upon five o'clock of a +cloudy April afternoon, and the sun had been hidden all day. I saw my +mistake as soon as the words were out of my mouth: attempted to recover +it; blundered hopelessly and followed Kitty in a regal rage, out of +doors, amid the smiles of my acquaintances. I made some excuse (I have +forgotten what) on the score of my feeling faint; and cantered away to +my hotel, leaving Kitty to finish the ride by herself. + +In my room I sat down and tried calmly to reason out the matter. + +Here was I, Theobald Jack Pansay, a well-educated Bengal Civilian in +the year of grace, 1885, presumably sane, certainly healthy, driven in +terror from my sweetheart's side by the apparition of a woman who had +been dead and buried eight months ago. These were facts that I could +not blink. Nothing was further from my thought than any memory of Mrs. +Wessington when Kitty and I left Hamilton's shop. Nothing was more +utterly commonplace than the stretch of wall opposite Peliti's. It was +broad daylight. The road was full of people; and yet here, look you, +in defiance of every law of probability, in direct outrage of Nature's +ordinance, there had appeared to me a face from the grave. + +Kitty's Arab had gone through the 'rickshaw: so that my first hope that +some woman marvelously like Mrs. Wessington had hired the carriage and +the coolies with their old livery was lost. Again and again I went round +this treadmill of thought; and again and again gave up baffled and +in despair. The voice was as inexplicable as the apparition. I had +originally some wild notion of confiding it all to Kitty; of begging her +to marry me at once; and in her arms defying the ghostly occupant of the +'rickshaw. “After all,” I argued, “the presence of the 'rickshaw is in +itself enough to prove the existence of a spectral illusion. One may see +ghosts of men and women, but surely never of coolies and carriages. The +whole thing is absurd. Fancy the ghost of a hill-man!” + +Next morning I sent a penitent note to Kitty, imploring her to overlook +my strange conduct of the previous afternoon. My Divinity was still very +wroth, and a personal apology was necessary. I explained, with a fluency +born of night-long pondering over a falsehood, that I had been attacked +with sudden palpitation of the heart--the result of indigestion. This +eminently practical solution had its effect; and Kitty and I rode out +that afternoon with the shadow of my first lie dividing us. + +Nothing would please her save a canter round Jakko. With my nerves still +unstrung from the previous night I feebly protested against the notion, +suggesting Observatory Hill, Jutogh, the Boileaugunge road--anything +rather than the Jakko round. Kitty was angry and a little hurt: so I +yielded from fear of provoking further misunderstanding, and we set out +together toward Chota Simla. We walked a greater part of the way, and, +according to our custom, cantered from a mile or so below the Convent +to the stretch of level road by the Sanjowlie Reservoir. The wretched +horses appeared to fly, and my heart beat quicker and quicker as we +neared the crest of the ascent. My mind had been full of Mrs. Wessington +all the afternoon; and every inch of the Jakko road bore witness to our +oldtime walks and talks. The bowlders were full of it; the pines sang it +aloud overhead; the rain-fed torrents giggled and chuckled unseen over +the shameful story; and the wind in my ears chanted the iniquity aloud. + +As a fitting climax, in the middle of the level men call the Ladies' +Mile the Horror was awaiting me. No other 'rickshaw was in sight--only +the four black and white jhampanies, the yellow-paneled carriage, and +the golden head of the woman within--all apparently just as I had left +them eight months and one fortnight ago! For an instant I fancied that +Kitty must see what I saw--we were so marvelously sympathetic in all +things. Her next words undeceived me--“Not a soul in sight! Come along, +Jack, and I'll race you to the Reservoir buildings!” Her wiry little +Arab was off like a bird, my Waler following close behind, and in this +order we dashed under the cliffs. Half a minute brought us within fifty +yards of the 'rickshaw. I pulled my Waler and fell back a little. The +'rickshaw was directly in the middle of the road; and once more the Arab +passed through it, my horse following. “Jack! Jack dear! Please forgive +me,” rang with a wail in my ears, and, after an interval:--“It's a +mistake, a hideous mistake!” + +I spurred my horse like a man possessed. When I turned my head at +the Reservoir works, the black and white liveries were still +waiting--patiently waiting--under the grey hillside, and the wind +brought me a mocking echo of the words I had just heard. Kitty bantered +me a good deal on my silence throughout the remainder of the ride. I had +been talking up till then wildly and at random. + +To save my life I could not speak afterward naturally, and from +Sanjowlie to the Church wisely held my tongue. + +I was to dine with the Mannerings that night, and had barely time to +canter home to dress. On the road to Elysium Hill I overheard two men +talking together in the dusk.--“It's a curious thing,” said one, “how +completely all trace of it disappeared. You know my wife was insanely +fond of the woman ['never could see anything in her myself), and wanted +me to pick up her old 'rickshaw and coolies if they were to be got for +love or money. Morbid sort of fancy I call it; but I've got to do what +the Memsahib tells me. + +“Would you believe that the man she hired it from tells me that all four +of the men--they were brothers--died of cholera on the way to Hardwar, +poor devils, and the 'rickshaw has been broken up by the man himself. +'Told me he never used a dead Memsahib's 'rickshaw. 'Spoiled his luck.' +Queer notion, wasn't it? Fancy poor little Mrs. Wessington spoiling any +one's luck except her own!” I laughed aloud at this point; and my laugh +jarred on me as I uttered it. So there were ghosts of 'rickshaws after +all, and ghostly employments in the other world! How much did Mrs. +Wessington give her men? What were their hours? Where did they go? + +And for visible answer to my last question I saw the infernal Thing +blocking my path in the twilight. The dead travel fast, and by short +cuts unknown to ordinary coolies. I laughed aloud a second time and +checked my laughter suddenly, for I was afraid I was going mad. Mad to +a certain extent I must have been, for I recollect that I reined in my +horse at the head of the 'rickshaw, and politely wished Mrs. Wessington +“Good evening.” Her answer was one I knew only too well. I listened +to the end; and replied that I had heard it all before, but should +be delighted if she had anything further to say. Some malignant devil +stronger than I must have entered into me that evening, for I have a dim +recollection of talking the commonplaces of the day for five minutes to +the Thing in front of me. + +“Mad as a hatter, poor devil--or drunk. Max, try and get him to come +home.” + +Surely that was not Mrs. Wessington's voice! The two men had overheard +me speaking to the empty air, and had returned to look after me. They +were very kind and considerate, and from their words evidently gathered +that I was extremely drunk. I thanked them confusedly and cantered away +to my hotel, there changed, and arrived at the Mannerings' ten minutes +late. I pleaded the darkness of the night as an excuse; was rebuked by +Kitty for my unlover-like tardiness; and sat down. + +The conversation had already become general; and under cover of it, I +was addressing some tender small talk to my sweetheart when I was aware +that at the further end of the table a short red-whiskered man was +describing, with much broidery, his encounter with a mad unknown that +evening. + +A few sentences convinced me that he was repeating the incident of half +an hour ago. In the middle of the story he looked round for applause, as +professional story-tellers do, caught my eye, and straightway collapsed. +There was a moment's awkward silence, and the red-whiskered man muttered +something to the effect that he had “forgotten the rest,” thereby +sacrificing a reputation as a good story-teller which he had built +up for six seasons past. I blessed him from the bottom of my heart, +and--went on with my fish. + +In the fulness of time that dinner came to an end; and with genuine +regret I tore myself away from Kitty--as certain as I was of my +own existence that It would be waiting for me outside the door. The +red-whiskered man, who had been introduced to me as Doctor Heatherlegh, +of Simla, volunteered to bear me company as far as our roads lay +together. I accepted his offer with gratitude. + +My instinct had not deceived me. It lay in readiness in the Mall, and, +in what seemed devilish mockery of our ways, with a lighted head-lamp. +The red-whiskered man went to the point at once, in a manner that showed +he bad been thinking over it all dinner time. + +“I say, Pansay, what the deuce was the matter with you this evening on +the Elysium road?” The suddenness of the question wrenched an answer +from me before I was aware. + +“That!” said I, pointing to It. + +“That may be either D. T. or Eyes for aught I know. Now you don't +liquor. I saw as much at dinner, so it can't be D. T. There's nothing +whatever where you're pointing, though you're sweating and trembling +with fright like a scared pony. Therefore, I conclude that it's Eyes. +And I ought to understand all about them. Come along home with me. I'm +on the Blessington lower road.” + +To my intense delight the 'rickshaw instead of waiting for us kept +about twenty yards ahead--and this, too whether we walked, trotted, or +cantered. In the course of that long night ride I had told my companion +almost as much as I have told you here. + +“Well, you've spoiled one of the best tales I've ever laid tongue to,” + said he, “but I'll forgive you for the sake of what you've gone through. +Now come home and do what I tell you; and when I've cured you, +young man, let this be a lesson to you to steer clear of women and +indigestible food till the day of your death.” + +The 'rickshaw kept steady in front; and my red-whiskered friend seemed +to derive great pleasure from my account of its exact whereabouts. + +“Eyes, Pansay--all Eyes, Brain, and Stomach. And the greatest of these +three is Stomach. You've too much conceited Brain, too little Stomach, +and thoroughly unhealthy Eyes. Get your Stomach straight and the rest +follows. And all that's French for a liver pill. + +“I'll take sole medical charge of you from this hour! for you're too +interesting a phenomenon to be passed over.” + +By this time we were deep in the shadow of the Blessington lower road +and the 'rickshaw came to a dead stop under a pine-clad, over-hanging +shale cliff. Instinctively I halted too, giving my reason. Heatherlegh +rapped out an oath. + +“Now, if you think I'm going to spend a cold night on the hillside +for the sake of a stomach-cum-Brain-cum-Eye illusion--Lord, ha' mercy! +What's that?” + +There was a muffled report, a blinding smother of dust just in front +of us, a crack, the noise of rent boughs, and about ten yards of the +cliff-side--pines, undergrowth, and all--slid down into the road below, +completely blocking it up. The uprooted trees swayed and tottered for a +moment like drunken giants in the gloom, and then fell prone among their +fellows with a thunderous crash. Our two horses stood motionless and +sweating with fear. As soon as the rattle of falling earth and stone had +subsided, my companion muttered:--“Man, if we'd gone forward we should +have been ten feet deep in our graves by now. 'There are more things +in heaven and earth...' Come home, Pansay, and thank God. I want a peg +badly.” + +We retraced our way over the Church Ridge, and I arrived at Dr. +Heatherlegh's house shortly after midnight. + +His attempts toward my cure commenced almost immediately, and for a week +I never left his sight. Many a time in the course of that week did I +bless the good fortune which had thrown me in contact with Simla's best +and kindest doctor. Day by day my spirits grew lighter and more equable. +Day by day, too, I became more and more inclined to fall in with +Heatherlegh's “spectral illusion” theory, implicating eyes, brain, and +stomach. I wrote to Kitty, telling her that a slight sprain caused by a +fall from my horse kept me indoors for a few days; and that I should be +recovered before she had time to regret my absence. + +Heatherlegh's treatment was simple to a degree. It consisted of liver +pills, cold-water baths, and strong exercise, taken in the dusk or at +early dawn--for, as he sagely observed:--“A man with a sprained +ankle doesn't walk a dozen miles a day, and your young woman might be +wondering if she saw you.” + +At the end of the week, after much examination of pupil and pulse, and +strict injunction' as to diet and pedestrianism, Heatherlegh dismissed +me as brusquely as he had taken charge of me. Here is his parting +benediction:--“Man, I can certify to your mental cure, and that's as +much as to say I've cured most of your bodily ailments. Now, get your +traps out of this as soon as you can; and be off to make love to Miss +Kitty.” + +I was endeavoring to express my thanks for his kindness. He cut me +short. + +“Don't think I did this because I like you. I gather that you've behaved +like a blackguard all through. But, all the same, you re a phenomenon, +and as queer a phenomenon as you are a blackguard. No!”--checking me +a second time--“not a rupee please. Go out and see if you can find the +eyes-brain-and-stomach business again. I'll give you a lakh for each +time you see it.” + +Half an hour later I was in the Mannerings' drawing-room with +Kitty--drunk with the intoxication of present happiness and the +fore-knowledge that I should never more be troubled with Its hideous +presence. Strong in the sense of my new-found security, I proposed a +ride at once; and, by preference, a canter round Jakko. + +Never had I felt so well, so overladen with vitality and mere animal +spirits, as I did on the afternoon of the 30th of April. Kitty was +delighted at the change in my appearance, and complimented me on it in +her delightfully frank and outspoken manner. We left the Mannerings' +house together, laughing and talking, and cantered along the Chota Simla +road as of old. + +I was in haste to reach the Sanjowlie Reservoir and there make my +assurance doubly sure. The horses did their best, but seemed all too +slow to my impatient mind. Kitty was astonished at my boisterousness. +“Why, Jack!” she cried at last, “you are behaving like a child. What are +you doing?” + +We were just below the Convent, and from sheer wantonness I was making +my Waler plunge and curvet across the road as I tickled it with the loop +of my riding-whip. + +“Doing?” I answered; “nothing, dear. That's just it. If you'd been doing +nothing for a week except lie up, you'd be as riotous as I.” + +“'Singing and murmuring in your feastful mirth, Joying to feel yourself +alive; Lord over Nature, Lord of the visible Earth, Lord of the senses +five.'” + +My quotation was hardly out of my lips before we had rounded the corner +above the Convent; and a few yards further on could see across to +Sanjowlie. In the centre of the level road stood the black and white +liveries, the yellow-paneled 'rickshaw, and Mrs. Keith-Wessington. +I pulled up, looked, rubbed my eyes, and, I believe must have said +something. The next thing I knew was that I was lying face downward on +the road with Kitty kneeling above me in tears. + +“Has it gone, child?” I gasped. Kitty only wept more bitterly. + +“Has what gone, Jack dear? what does it all mean? There must be a +mistake somewhere, Jack. A hideous mistake.” Her last words brought me +to my feet--mad--raving for the time being. + +“Yes, there is a mistake somewhere,” I repeated, “a hideous mistake. +Come and look at It.” + +I have an indistinct idea that I dragged Kitty by the wrist along the +road up to where It stood, and implored her for pity's sake to speak to +It; to tell It that we were betrothed; that neither Death nor Hell could +break the tie between us; and Kitty only knows how much more to the +same effect. Now and again I appealed passionately to the Terror in the +'rickshaw to bear witness to all I had said, and to release me from +a torture that was killing me. As I talked I suppose I must have told +Kitty of my old relations with Mrs. Wessington, for I saw her listen +intently with white face and blazing eyes. + +“Thank you, Mr. Pansay,” she said, “that's quite enough. Syce ghora +lao.” + +The syces, impassive as Orientals always are, had come up with the +recaptured horses; and as Kitty sprang into her saddle I caught hold of +the bridle, entreating her to hear me out and forgive. My answer was the +cut of her riding-whip across my face from mouth to eye, and a word +or two of farewell that even now I cannot write down. So I judged, and +judged rightly, that Kitty knew all; and I staggered back to the side +of the 'rickshaw. My face was cut and bleeding, and the blow of the +riding-whip had raised a livid blue wheal on it. I had no self-respect. +Just then, Heatherlegh, who must have been following Kitty and me at a +distance, cantered up. + +“Doctor,” I said, pointing to my face, “here's Miss Mannering's +signature to my order of dismissal and--I'll thank you for that lakh as +soon as convenient.” + +Heatherlegh's face, even in my abject misery, moved me to laughter. + +“I'll stake my professional reputation”--he began. + +“Don't be a fool,” I whispered. “I've lost my life's happiness and you'd +better take me home.” + +As I spoke the 'rickshaw was gone. Then I lost all knowledge of what was +passing. The crest of Jakko seemed to heave and roll like the crest of a +cloud and fall in upon me. + +Seven days later (on the 7th of May, that is to say) I was aware that I +was lying in Heatherlegh's room as weak as a little child. Heatherlegh +was watching me intently from behind the papers on his writing-table. +His first words were not encouraging; but I was too far spent to be much +moved by them. + +“Here's Miss Kitty has sent back your letters. You corresponded a good +deal, you young people. Here's a packet that looks like a ring, and +a cheerful sort of a note from Mannering Papa, which I've taken the +liberty of reading and burning. The old gentleman's not pleased with +you.” + +“And Kitty?” I asked, dully. + +“Rather more drawn than her father from what she says. By the same token +you must have been letting out any number of queer reminiscences just +before I met you. 'Says that a man who would have behaved to a woman as +you did to Mrs. Wessington ought to kill himself out of sheer pity for +his kind. She's a hot-headed little virago, your mash. 'Will have it +too that you were suffering from D. T. when that row on the Jakko road +turned up. 'Says she'll die before she ever speaks to you again.” + +I groaned and turned over to the other side. + +“Now you've got your choice, my friend. This engagement has to be broken +off; and the Mannerings don't want to be too hard on you. Was it broken +through D. T. or epileptic fits? Sorry I can't offer you a better +exchange unless you'd prefer hereditary insanity. Say the word and I'll +tell 'em it's fits. All Simla knows about that scene on the Ladies' +Mile. Come! I'll give you five minutes to think over it.” + +During those five minutes I believe that I explored thoroughly the +lowest circles of the Inferno which it is permitted man to tread on +earth. And at the same time I myself was watching myself faltering +through the dark labyrinths of doubt, misery, and utter despair. +I wondered, as Heatherlegh in his chair might have wondered, which +dreadful alternative I should adopt. Presently I heard myself answering +in a voice that I hardly recognized, “--They're confoundedly particular +about morality in these parts. Give 'em fits, Heatherlegh, and my love. +Now let me sleep a bit longer.” + +Then my two selves joined, and it was only I (half crazed, devil-driven +I) that tossed in my bed, tracing step by step the history of the past +month. + +“But I am in Simla,” I kept repeating to myself. “I, Jack Pansay, am in +Simla and there are no ghosts here. It's unreasonable of that woman to +pretend there are. Why couldn't Agnes have left me alone? I never did +her any harm. It might just as well have been me as Agnes. Only I'd +never have come back on purpose to kill her. Why can't I be left +alone--left alone and happy?” + +It was high noon when I first awoke, and the sun was low in the sky +before I slept--slept as the tortured criminal sleeps on his rack, too +worn to feel further pain. + +Next day I could not leave my bed. Heatherlegh told me in the morning +that he had received an answer from Mr. Mannering, and that, thanks to +his (Heatherlegh's) friendly offices, the story of my affliction had +traveled through the length and breadth of Simla, where I was on all +sides much pitied. + +“And that's rather more than you deserve,” he concluded, pleasantly, +“though the Lord knows you've been going through a pretty severe mill. +Never mind; we'll cure you yet, you perverse phenomenon.” + +I declined firmly to be cured. “You've been much too good to me already, +old man,” said I; “but I don't think I need trouble you further.” + +In my heart I knew that nothing Heatherlegh could do would lighten the +burden that had been laid upon me. + +With that knowledge came also a sense of hopeless, impotent rebellion +against the unreasonableness of it all. There were scores of men no +better than I whose punishments had at least been reserved for another +world; and I felt that it was bitterly, cruelly unfair that I alone +should have been singled out for so hideous a fate. This mood would in +time give place to another where it seemed that the 'rickshaw and I were +the only realities in a world of shadows; that Kitty was a ghost; that +Mannering, Heatherlegh, and all the other men and women I knew were all +ghosts; and the great, grey hills themselves but vain shadows devised +to torture me. From mood to mood I tossed backward and forward for +seven weary days; my body growing daily stronger and stronger, until the +bedroom looking-glass told me that I had returned to everyday life, and +was as other men once more. Curiously enough my face showed no signs +of the struggle I had gone through. It was pale indeed, but as +expressionless and commonplace as ever. I had expected some permanent +alteration--visible evidence of the disease that was eating me away. I +found nothing. + +On the 15th of May, I left Heatherlegh's house at eleven o'clock in the +morning; and the instinct of the bachelor drove me to the Club. There I +found that every man knew my story as told by Heatherlegh, and was, in +clumsy fashion, abnormally kind and attentive. Nevertheless I recognized +that for the rest of my natural life I should be among but not of my +fellows; and I envied very bitterly indeed the laughing coolies on +the Mall below. I lunched at the Club, and at four o'clock wandered +aimlessly down the Mall in the vague hope of meeting Kitty. Close to +the Band-stand the black and white liveries joined me; and I heard Mrs. +Wessington's old appeal at my side. I had been expecting this ever since +I came out; and was only surprised at her delay. The phantom 'rickshaw +and I went side by side along the Chota Simla road in silence. Close to +the bazar, Kitty and a man on horseback overtook and passed us. For any +sign she gave I might have been a dog in the road. She did not even pay +me the compliment of quickening her pace; though the rainy afternoon had +served for an excuse. + +So Kitty and her companion, and I and my ghostly Light-o'-Love, crept +round Jakko in couples. The road was streaming with water; the pines +dripped like roof-pipes on the rocks below, and the air was full of +fine, driving rain. Two or three times I found myself saying to myself +almost aloud: “I'm Jack Pansay on leave at Simla--at Simla! Everyday, +ordinary Simla. I mustn't forget that--I mustn't forget that.” Then I +would try to recollect some of the gossip I had heard at the Club: the +prices of So-and-So's horses--anything, in fact, that related to +the workaday Anglo-Indian world I knew so well. I even repeated the +multiplication-table rapidly to myself, to make quite sure that I was +not taking leave of my senses. It gave me much comfort; and must have +prevented my hearing Mrs. Wessington for a time. + +Once more I wearily climbed the Convent slope and entered the level +road. Here Kitty and the man started off at a canter, and I was left +alone with Mrs. Wessington. “Agnes,” said I, “will you put back your +hood and tell me what it all means?” The hood dropped noiselessly, and +I was face to face with my dead and buried mistress. She was wearing +the dress in which I had last seen her alive; carried the same tiny +handkerchief in her right hand; and the same cardcase in her left. (A +woman eight months dead with a cardcase!) I had to pin myself down to +the multiplication-table, and to set both hands on the stone parapet of +the road, to assure myself that that at least was real. + +“Agnes,” I repeated, “for pity's sake tell me what it all means.” Mrs. +Wessington leaned forward, with that odd, quick turn of the head I used +to know so well, and spoke. + +If my story had not already so madly overleaped the hounds of all human +belief I should apologize to you now. As I know that no one--no, not +even Kitty, for whom it is written as some sort of justification of +my conduct--will believe me, I will go on. Mrs. Wessington spoke and +I walked with her from the Sanjowlie road to the turning below the +Commander-in-Chief's house as I might walk by the side of any living +woman's 'rickshaw, deep in conversation. The second and most tormenting +of my moods of sickness had suddenly laid hold upon me, and like the +Prince in Tennyson's poem, “I seemed to move amid a world of ghosts.” + There had been a garden-party at the Commander-in-Chief's, and we two +joined the crowd of homeward-bound folk. As I saw them then it seemed +that they were the shadows--impalpable, fantastic shadows--that divided +for Mrs. Wessington's 'rickshaw to pass through. What we said during +the course of that weird interview I cannot--indeed, I dare not--tell. +Heatherlegh's comment would have been a short laugh and a remark that I +had been “mashing a brain-eye-and-stomach chimera.” It was a ghastly and +yet in some indefinable way a marvelously dear experience. Could it be +possible, I wondered, that I was in this life to woo a second time the +woman I had killed by my own neglect and cruelty? + +I met Kitty on the homeward road--a shadow among shadows. + +If I were to describe all the incidents of the next fortnight in their +order, my story would never come to an end; and your patience would Be +exhausted. Morning after morning and evening after evening the ghostly +'rickshaw and I used to wander through Simla together. Wherever I went +there the four black and white liveries followed me and bore me company +to and from my hotel. At the Theatre I found them amid the crowd of +yelling jhampanies; outside the Club veranda, after a long evening of +whist; at the Birthday Ball, waiting patiently for my reappearance; and +in broad daylight when I went calling. Save that it cast no shadow, the +'rickshaw was in every respect as real to look upon as one of wood and +iron. More than once, indeed, I have had to check myself from warning +some hard-riding friend against cantering over it. More than once I have +walked down the Mall deep in conversation with Mrs. Wessington to the +unspeakable amazement of the passers-by. + +Before I had been out and about a week I learned that the “fit” theory +had been discarded in favor of insanity. However, I made no change in my +mode of life. I called, rode, and dined out as freely as ever. I had +a passion for the society of my kind which I had never felt before; I +hungered to be among the realities of life; and at the same time I +felt vaguely unhappy when I had been separated too long from my ghostly +companion. It would be almost impossible to describe my varying moods +from the 15th of May up to today. + +The presence of the 'rickshaw filled me by turns with horror, blind +fear, a dim sort of pleasure, and utter despair. I dared not leave +Simla; and I knew that my stay there was killing me. I knew, moreover, +that it was my destiny to die slowly and a little every day. My only +anxiety was to get the penance over as quietly as might be. Alternately +I hungered for a sight of Kitty and watched her outrageous flirtations +with my successor--to speak more accurately, my successors--with amused +interest. She was as much out of my life as I was out of hers. By day I +wandered with Mrs. Wessington almost content. By night I implored Heaven +to let me return to the world as I used to know it. Above all these +varying moods lay the sensation of dull, numbing wonder that the Seen +and the Unseen should mingle so strangely on this earth to hound one +poor soul to its grave. + +* * * * * + +August 27.--Heatherlegh has been indefatigable in his attendance on me; +and only yesterday told me that I ought to send in an application for +sick leave. An application to escape the company of a phantom! A request +that the Government would graciously permit me to get rid of five ghosts +and an airy 'rickshaw by going to England. Heatherlegh's proposition +moved me to almost hysterical laughter. I told him that I should await +the end quietly at Simla; and I am sure that the end is not far off. +Believe me that I dread its advent more than any word can say; and I +torture myself nightly with a thousand speculations as to the manner of +my death. + +Shall I die in my bed decently and as an English gentleman should die; +or, in one last walk on the Mall, will my soul be wrenched from me to +take its place forever and ever by the side of that ghastly phantasm? +Shall I return to my old lost allegiance in the next world, or shall +I meet Agnes loathing her and bound to her side through all eternity? +Shall we two hover over the scene of our lives till the end of Time? +As the day of my death draws nearer, the intense horror that all living +flesh feels toward escaped spirits from beyond the grave grows more and +more powerful. It is an awful thing to go down quick among the dead with +scarcely one-half of your life completed. It is a thousand times more +awful to wait as I do in your midst, for I know not what unimaginable +terror. Pity me, at least on the score of my “delusion,” for I know you +will never believe what I have written here Yet as surely as ever a man +was done to death by the Powers of Darkness I am that man. + +In justice, too, pity her. For as surely as ever woman was killed by +man, I killed Mrs. Wessington. And the last portion of my punishment is +ever now upon me. + +* * * * * + + + + +MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY + + As I came through the Desert thus it was-- + As I came through the Desert. + --The City of Dreadful Night. + +Somewhere in the Other World, where there are books and pictures and +plays and shop windows to look at, and thousands of men who spend their +lives in building up all four, lives a gentleman who writes real stories +about the real insides of people; and his name is Mr. Walter Besant. +But he will insist upon treating his ghosts--he has published half +a workshopful of them--with levity. He makes his ghost-seers talk +familiarly, and, in some cases, flirt outrageously, with the phantoms. +You may treat anything, from a Viceroy to a Vernacular Paper, with +levity; but you must behave reverently toward a ghost, and particularly +an Indian one. + +There are, in this land, ghosts who take the form of fat, cold, pobby +corpses, and hide in trees near the roadside till a traveler passes. +Then they drop upon his neck and remain. There are also terrible ghosts +of women who have died in child-bed. These wander along the pathways at +dusk, or hide in the crops near a village, and call seductively. But to +answer their call is death in this world and the next. Their feet are +turned backward that all sober men may recognize them. There are ghosts +of little children who have been thrown into wells. These haunt well +curbs and the fringes of jungles, and wail under the stars, or catch +women by the wrist and beg to be taken up and carried. These and the +corpse ghosts, however, are only vernacular articles and do not attack +Sahibs. No native ghost has yet been authentically reported to have +frightened an Englishman; but many English ghosts have scared the life +out of both white and black. + +Nearly every other Station owns a ghost. There are said to be two +at Simla, not counting the woman who blows the bellows at Syree +dak-bungalow on the Old Road; Mussoorie has a house haunted of a very +lively Thing; a White Lady is supposed to do night-watchman round a +house in Lahore; Dalhousie says that one of her houses “repeats” on +autumn evenings all the incidents of a horrible horse-and-precipice +accident; Murree has a merry ghost, and, now that she has been swept +by cholera, will have room for a sorrowful one; there are Officers' +Quarters in Mian Mir whose doors open without reason, and whose +furniture is guaranteed to creak, not with the heat of June but with +the weight of Invisibles who come to lounge in the chairs; Peshawur +possesses houses that none will willingly rent; and there is +something--not fever--wrong with a big bungalow in Allahabad. The older +Provinces simply bristle with haunted houses, and march phantom armies +along their main thoroughfares. + +Some of the dak-bungalows on the Grand Trunk Road have handy little +cemeteries in their compound--witnesses to the “changes and chances +of this mortal life” in the days when men drove from Calcutta to the +Northwest. These bungalows are objectionable places to put up in. They +are generally very old, always dirty, while the khansamah is as ancient +as the bungalow. He either chatters senilely, or falls into the long +trances of age. In both moods he is useless. If you get angry with him, +he refers to some Sahib dead and buried these thirty years, and says +that when he was in that Sahib's service not a khansamah in the Province +could touch him. Then he jabbers and mows and trembles and fidgets among +the dishes, and you repent of your irritation. + +In these dak-bungalows, ghosts are most likely to be found, and when +found, they should be made a note of. Not long ago it was my business to +live in dak-bungalows. I never inhabited the same house for three +nights running, and grew to be learned in the breed. I lived in +Government-built ones with red brick walls and rail ceilings, an +inventory of the furniture posted in every room, and an excited snake at +the threshold to give welcome. I lived in “converted” ones--old houses +officiating as dak-bungalows--where nothing was in its proper place +and there wasn't even a fowl for dinner. I lived in second-hand +palaces where the wind blew through open-work marble tracery just as +uncomfortably as through a broken pane. I lived in dak-bungalows where +the last entry in the visitors' book was fifteen months old, and where +they slashed off the curry-kid's head with a sword. It was my good +luck to meet all sorts of men, from sober traveling missionaries and +deserters flying from British Regiments, to drunken loafers who threw +whisky bottles at all who passed; and my still greater good fortune just +to escape a maternity case. Seeing that a fair proportion of the tragedy +of our lives out here acted itself in dak-bungalows, I wondered that +I had met no ghosts. A ghost that would voluntarily hang about a +dak-bungalow would be mad of course; but so many men have died mad in +dak-bungalows that there must be a fair percentage of lunatic ghosts. + +In due time I found my ghost, or ghosts rather, for there were two of +them. Up till that hour I had sympathized with Mr. Besant's method of +handling them, as shown in “The Strange Case of Mr. Lucraft and Other +Stories.” I am now in the Opposition. + +We will call the bungalow Katmal dak-bungalow. But THAT was the smallest +part of the horror. A man with a sensitive hide has no right to sleep in +dak-bungalows. He should marry. Katmal dak-bungalow was old and rotten +and unrepaired. The floor was of worn brick, the walls were filthy, and +the windows were nearly black with grime. It stood on a bypath largely +used by native Sub-Deputy Assistants of all kinds, from Finance to +Forests; but real Sahibs were rare. The khansamah, who was nearly bent +double with old age, said so. + +When I arrived, there was a fitful, undecided rain on the face of the +land, accompanied by a restless wind, and every gust made a noise +like the rattling of dry bones in the stiff toddy palms outside. The +khansamah completely lost his head on my arrival. He had served a Sahib +once. Did I know that Sahib? He gave me the name of a well-known man who +has been buried for more than a quarter of a century, and showed me an +ancient daguerreotype of that man in his prehistoric youth. I had seen a +steel engraving of him at the head of a double volume of Memoirs a month +before, and I felt ancient beyond telling. + +The day shut in and the khansamah went to get me food. He did not go +through the pretense of calling it “khana”--man's victuals. He said +“ratub,” and that means, among other things, “grub”--dog's rations. +There was no insult in his choice of the term. He had forgotten the +other word, I suppose. + +While he was cutting up the dead bodies of animals, I settled myself +down, after exploring the dak-bungalow. There were three rooms, beside +my own, which was a corner kennel, each giving into the other through +dingy white doors fastened with long iron bars. The bungalow was a very +solid one, but the partition walls of the rooms were almost jerry-built +in their flimsiness. Every step or bang of a trunk echoed from my room +down the other three, and every footfall came back tremulously from the +far walls. For this reason I shut the door. There were no lamps--only +candles in long glass shades. An oil wick was set in the bathroom. + +For bleak, unadulterated misery that dak-bungalow was the worst of +the many that I had ever set foot in. There was no fireplace, and +the windows would not open; so a brazier of charcoal would have been +useless. The rain and the wind splashed and gurgled and moaned round the +house, and the toddy palms rattled and roared. + +Half a dozen jackals went through the compound singing, and a hyena +stood afar off and mocked them. A hyena would convince a Sadducee of the +Resurrection of the Dead--the worst sort of Dead. Then came the ratub--a +curious meal, half native and half English in composition--with the old +khansamah babbling behind my chair about dead and gone English people, +and the wind-blown candles playing shadow-bo-peep with the bed and the +mosquito-curtains. It was just the sort of dinner and evening to make +a man think of every single one of his past sins, and of all the others +that he intended to commit if he lived. + +Sleep, for several hundred reasons, was not easy. The lamp in the +bath-room threw the most absurd shadows into the room, and the wind was +beginning to talk nonsense. + +Just when the reasons were drowsy with blood-sucking I heard the +regular--“Let--us--take--and--heave--him--over” grunt of doolie-bearers +in the compound. First one doolie came in, then a second, and then a +third. I heard the doolies dumped on the ground, and the shutter in +front of my door shook. “That's some one trying to come in,” I said. +But no one spoke, and I persuaded myself that it was the gusty wind. The +shutter of the room next to mine was attacked, flung back, and the inner +door opened. “That's some Sub-Deputy Assistant,” I said, “and he has +brought his friends with him. Now they'll talk and spit and smoke for an +hour.” + +But there were no voices and no footsteps. No one was putting his +luggage into the next room. The door shut, and I thanked Providence that +I was to be left in peace. But I was curious to know where the doolies +had gone. I got out of bed and looked into the darkness. There was never +a sign of a doolie. Just as I was getting into bed again, I heard, +in the next room, the sound that no man in his senses can possibly +mistake--the whir of a billiard ball down the length of the slates when +the striker is stringing for break. No other sound is like it. A +minute afterwards there was another whir, and I got into bed. I was not +frightened--indeed I was not. I was very curious to know what had become +of the doolies. I jumped into bed for that reason. + +Next minute I heard the double click of a cannon and my hair sat up. It +is a mistake to say that hair stands up. The skin of the head tightens +and you can feel a faint, prickly, bristling all over the scalp. That is +the hair sitting up. + +There was a whir and a click, and both sounds could only have been made +by one thing--a billiard ball. I argued the matter out at great length +with myself; and the more I argued the less probable it seemed that one +bed, one table, and two chairs--all the furniture of the room next to +mine--could so exactly duplicate the sounds of a game of billiards. +After another cannon, a three--cushion one to judge by the whir, I +argued no more. I had found my ghost and would have given worlds to have +escaped from that dak-bungalow. I listened, and with each listen the +game grew clearer. + +There was whir on whir and click on click. Sometimes there was a double +click and a whir and another click. Beyond any sort of doubt, people +were playing billiards in the next room. And the next room was not big +enough to hold a billiard table! + +Between the pauses of the wind I heard the game go forward--stroke +after stroke. I tried to believe that I could not hear voices; but that +attempt was a failure. + +Do you know what fear is? Not ordinary fear of insult, injury or death, +but abject, quivering dread of something that you cannot see--fear that +dries the inside of the mouth and half of the throat--fear that makes +you sweat on the palms of the hands, and gulp in order to keep the uvula +at work? This is a fine Fear--a great cowardice, and must be felt to +be appreciated. The very improbability of billiards in a dak-bungalow +proved the reality of the thing. No man--drunk or sober--could imagine a +game at billiards, or invent the spitting crack of a “screw-cannon.” + +A severe course of dak-bungalows has this disadvantage--it +breeds infinite credulity. If a man said to a confirmed +dak-bungalow-haunter:--“There is a corpse in the next room, and there's +a mad girl in the next but one, and the woman and man on that camel +have just eloped from a place sixty miles away,” the hearer would not +disbelieve because he would know that nothing is too wild, grotesque, or +horrible to happen in a dak-bungalow. + +This credulity, unfortunately, extends to ghosts. A rational person +fresh from his own house would have turned on his side and slept. I +did not. So surely as I was given up as a bad carcass by the scores +of things in the bed because the bulk of my blood was in my heart, so +surely did I hear every stroke of a long game at billiards played in the +echoing room behind the iron-barred door. My dominant fear was that the +players might want a marker. It was an absurd fear; because creatures +who could play in the dark would be above such superfluities. I only +know that that was my terror; and it was real. + +After a long, long while the game stopped, and the door banged. I slept +because I was dead tired. Otherwise I should have preferred to have kept +awake. Not for everything in Asia would I have dropped the door-bar and +peered into the dark of the next room. + +When the morning came, I considered that I had done well and wisely, and +inquired for the means of departure. + +“By the way, khansamah,” I said, “what were those three doolies doing in +my compound in the night?” + +“There were no doolies,” said the khansamah. + +I went into the next room and the daylight streamed through the open +door. I was immensely brave. I would, at that hour, have played Black +Pool with the owner of the big Black Pool down below. + +“Has this place always been a dak-bungalow?” I asked. + +“No,” said the khansamah. “Ten or twenty years ago, I have forgotten how +long, it was a billiard room.” + +“A how much?” + +“A billiard room for the Sahibs who built the Railway. I was khansamah +then in the big house where all the Railway-Sahibs lived, and I used to +come across with brandy-shrab. These three rooms were all one, and +they held a big table on which the Sahibs played every evening. But +the Sahibs are all dead now, and the Railway runs, you say, nearly to +Kabul.” + +“Do you remember anything about the Sahibs?” + +“It is long ago, but I remember that one Sahib, a fat man and always +angry, was playing here one night, and he said to me:--'Mangal Khan, +brandy-pani do,' and I filled the glass, and he bent over the table to +strike, and his head fell lower and lower till it hit the table, and his +spectacles came off, and when we--the Sahibs and I myself--ran to lift +him he was dead. I helped to carry him out. Aha, he was a strong Sahib! +But he is dead and I, old Mangal Khan, am still living, by your favor.” + +That was more than enough! I had my ghost--a firsthand, authenticated +article. I would write to the Society for Psychical Research--I would +paralyze the Empire with the news! But I would, first of all, put eighty +miles of assessed crop land between myself and that dak-bungalow before +nightfall. The Society might send their regular agent to investigate +later on. + +I went into my own room and prepared to pack after noting down the facts +of the case. As I smoked I heard the game begin again,--with a miss in +balk this time, for the whir was a short one. + +The door was open and I could see into the room. Click--click! That was +a cannon. I entered the room without fear, for there was sunlight within +and a fresh breeze without. The unseen game was going on at a tremendous +rate. And well it might, when a restless little rat was running to and +fro inside the dingy ceiling-cloth, and a piece of loose window-sash was +making fifty breaks off the window-bolt as it shook in the breeze! + +Impossible to mistake the sound of billiard balls! Impossible to mistake +the whir of a ball over the slate! But I was to be excused. Even when I +shut my enlightened eyes the sound was marvelously like that of a fast +game. + +Entered angrily the faithful partner of my sorrows, Kadir Baksh. + +“This bungalow is very bad and low-caste! No wonder the Presence was +disturbed and is speckled. Three sets of doolie-bearers came to the +bungalow late last night when I was sleeping outside, and said that it +was their custom to rest in the rooms set apart for the English people! +What honor has the khansamah? They tried to enter, but I told them to +go. No wonder, if these Oorias have been here, that the Presence is +sorely spotted. It is shame, and the work of a dirty man!” + +Kadir Baksh did not say that he had taken from each gang two annas for +rent in advance, and then, beyond my earshot, had beaten them with the +big green umbrella whose use I could never before divine. But Kadir +Baksh has no notions of morality. + +There was an interview with the khansamah, but as he promptly lost his +head, wrath gave place to pity, and pity led to a long conversation, +in the course of which he put the fat Engineer-Sahib's tragic death in +three separate stations--two of them fifty miles away. The third shift +was to Calcutta, and there the Sahib died while driving a dogcart. + +If I had encouraged him the khansamah would have wandered all through +Bengal with his corpse. + +I did not go away as soon as I intended. I stayed for the night, while +the wind and the rat and the sash and the window-bolt played a ding-dong +“hundred and fifty up.” Then the wind ran out and the billiards stopped, +and I felt that I had ruined my one genuine, hall-marked ghost story. + +Had I only stopped at the proper time, I could have made anything out of +it. + +That was the bitterest thought of all! + + + + +THE STRANGE RIDE OF MORROWBIE JUKES + + Alive or dead-there is no other way. + --Native Proverb. + +THERE is, as the conjurers say, no deception about this tale. Jukes by +accident stumbled upon a village that is well known to exist, though +he is the only Englishman who has been there. A somewhat similar +institution used to flourish on the outskirts of Calcutta, and there is +a story that if you go into the heart of Bikanir, which is in the heart +of the Great Indian Desert, you shall come across not a village but a +town where the Dead who did not die but may not live have established +their headquarters. And, since it is perfectly true that in the same +Desert is a wonderful city where all the rich money lenders retreat +after they have made their fortunes (fortunes so vast that the owners +cannot trust even the strong hand of the Government to protect them, +but take refuge in the waterless sands), and drive sumptuous C-spring +barouches, and buy beautiful girls and decorate their palaces with gold +and ivory and Minton tiles and mother-of-pearl, I do not see why Jukes's +tale should not be true. He is a Civil Engineer, with a head for plans +and distances and things of that kind, and he certainly would not take +the trouble to invent imaginary traps. He could earn more by doing his +legitimate work. He never varies the tale in the telling, and grows +very hot and indignant when he thinks of the disrespectful treatment +he received. He wrote this quite straightforwardly at first, but he has +since touched it up in places and introduced Moral Reflections, thus: + +In the beginning it all arose from a slight attack of fever. My work +necessitated my being in camp for some months between Pakpattan and +Muharakpur--a desolate sandy stretch of country as every one who has had +the misfortune to go there may know. My coolies were neither more nor +less exasperating than other gangs, and my work demanded sufficient +attention to keep me from moping, had I been inclined to so unmanly a +weakness. + +On the 23d December, 1884, I felt a little feverish. There was a full +moon at the time, and, in consequence, every dog near my tent was baying +it. The brutes assembled in twos and threes and drove me frantic. A few +days previously I had shot one loud-mouthed singer and suspended his +carcass in terrorem about fifty yards from my tent-door. But his friends +fell upon, fought for, and ultimately devoured the body; and, as it +seemed to me, sang their hymns of thanksgiving afterward with renewed +energy. + +The light-heartedness which accompanies fever acts differently on +different men. My irritation gave way, after a short time, to a fixed +determination to slaughter one huge black and white beast who had been +foremost in song and first in flight throughout the evening. Thanks to +a shaking hand and a giddy head I had already missed him twice with both +barrels of my shot-gun, when it struck me that my best plan would be to +ride him down in the open and finish him off with a hog-spear. This, of +course, was merely the semi-delirious notion of a fever patient; but I +remember that it struck me at the time as being eminently practical and +feasible. + +I therefore ordered my groom to saddle Pornic and bring him round +quietly to the rear of my tent. When the pony was ready, I stood at his +head prepared to mount and dash out as soon as the dog should again lift +up his voice. Pornic, by the way, had not been out of his pickets for a +couple of days; the night air was crisp and chilly; and I was armed +with a specially long and sharp pair of persuaders with which I had been +rousing a sluggish cob that afternoon. You will easily believe, then, +that when he was let go he went quickly. In one moment, for the brute +bolted as straight as a die, the tent was left far behind, and we were +flying over the smooth sandy soil at racing speed. + +In another we had passed the wretched dog, and I had almost forgotten +why it was that I had taken the horse and hogspear. + +The delirium of fever and the excitement of rapid motion through the +air must have taken away the remnant of my senses. I have a faint +recollection of standing upright in my stirrups, and of brandishing my +hog-spear at the great white Moon that looked down so calmly on my mad +gallop; and of shouting challenges to the camel-thorn bushes as they +whizzed past. Once or twice I believe, I swayed forward on Pornic's +neck, and literally hung on by my spurs--as the marks next morning +showed. + +The wretched beast went forward like a thing possessed, over what seemed +to be a limitless expanse of moonlit sand. Next, I remember, the ground +rose suddenly in front of us, and as we topped the ascent I saw the +waters of the Sutlej shining like a silver bar below. Then Pornic +blundered heavily on his nose, and we rolled together down some unseen +slope. + +I must have lost consciousness, for when I recovered I was lying on +my stomach in a heap of soft white sand, and the dawn was beginning to +break dimly over the edge of the slope down which I had fallen. As +the light grew stronger I saw that I was at the bottom of a horse-shoe +shaped crater of sand, opening on one side directly on to the shoals of +the Sutlej. My fever had altogether left me, and, with the exception of +a slight dizziness in the head, I felt no had effects from the fall over +night. + +Pornic, who was standing a few yards away, was naturally a good deal +exhausted, but had not hurt himself in the least. His saddle, a favorite +polo one, was much knocked about, and had been twisted under his belly. +It took me some time to put him to rights, and in the meantime I had +ample opportunities of observing the spot into which I had so foolishly +dropped. + +At the risk of being considered tedious, I must describe it at length: +inasmuch as an accurate mental picture of its peculiarities will be of +material assistance in enabling the reader to understand what follows. + +Imagine then, as I have said before, a horseshoe-shaped crater of sand +with steeply graded sand walls about thirty-five feet high. (The slope, +I fancy, must have been about 65 degrees.) This crater enclosed a level +piece of ground about fifty yards long by thirty at its broadest part, +with a crude well in the centre. Round the bottom of the crater, +about three feet from the level of the ground proper, ran a series of +eighty-three semi-circular ovoid, square, and multilateral holes, all +about three feet at the mouth. Each hole on inspection showed that it +was carefully shored internally with drift-wood and bamboos, and over +the mouth a wooden drip-board projected, like the peak of a jockey's +cap, for two feet. No sign of life was visible in these tunnels, but a +most sickening stench pervaded the entire amphitheatre--a stench fouler +than any which my wanderings in Indian villages have introduced me to. + +Having remounted Pornic, who was as anxious as I to get back to camp, I +rode round the base of the horseshoe to find some place whence an exit +would be practicable. The inhabitants, whoever they might be, had not +thought fit to put in an appearance, so I was left to my own devices. My +first attempt to “rush” Pornic up the steep sand-banks showed me that +I had fallen into a trap exactly on the same model as that which the +ant-lion sets for its prey. At each step the shifting sand poured down +from above in tons, and rattled on the drip-boards of the holes like +small shot. A couple of ineffectual charges sent us both rolling down to +the bottom, half choked with the torrents of sand; and I was constrained +to turn my attention to the river-bank. + +Here everything seemed easy enough. The sand hills ran down to the river +edge, it is true, but there were plenty of shoals and shallows across +which I could gallop Pornic, and find my way back to terra firma by +turning sharply to the right or left. As I led Pornic over the sands I +was startled by the faint pop of a rifle across the river; and at the +same moment a bullet dropped with a sharp “whit” close to Pornic's head. + +There was no mistaking the nature of the missile-a regulation +Martini-Henry “picket.” About five hundred yards away a country-boat was +anchored in midstream; and a jet of smoke drifting away from its bows in +the still morning air showed me whence the delicate attention had come. +Was ever a respectable gentleman in such an impasse? The treacherous +sand slope allowed no escape from a spot which I had visited most +involuntarily, and a promenade on the river frontage was the signal for +a bombardment from some insane native in a boat. I'm afraid that I lost +my temper very much indeed. + +Another bullet reminded me that I had better save my breath to cool +my porridge; and I retreated hastily up the sands and back to the +horseshoe, where I saw that the noise of the rifle had drawn sixty-five +human beings from the badger-holes which I had up till that point +supposed to be untenanted. I found myself in the midst of a crowd of +spectators--about forty men, twenty women, and one child who could not +have been more than five years old. They were all scantily clothed in +that salmon-colored cloth which one associates with Hindu mendicants, +and, at first sight, gave me the impression of a band of loathsome +fakirs. The filth and repulsiveness of the assembly were beyond +all description, and I shuddered to think what their life in the +badger-holes must be. + +Even in these days, when local self government has destroyed the greater +part of a native's respect for a Sahib, I have been accustomed to a +certain amount of civility from my inferiors, and on approaching the +crowd naturally expected that there would be some recognition of my +presence. As a matter of fact there was; but it was by no means what I +had looked for. + +The ragged crew actually laughed at me--such laughter I hope I may never +hear again. They cackled, yelled, whistled, and howled as I walked into +their midst; some of them literally throwing themselves down on the +ground in convulsions of unholy mirth. In a moment I had let go Pornic's +head, and irritated beyond expression at the morning's adventure, +commenced cuffing those nearest to me with all the force I could. The +wretches dropped under my blows like nine-pins, and the laughter gave +place to wails for mercy; while those yet untouched clasped me round the +knees, imploring me in all sorts of uncouth tongues to spare them. + +In the tumult, and just when I was feeling very much ashamed of myself +for having thus easily given way to my temper, a thin, high voice +murmured in English from behind my shoulder: “--Sahib! Sahib! Do you not +know me? Sahib, it is Gunga Dass, the telegraph-master.” + +I spun round quickly and faced the speaker. + +Gunga Dass, (I have, of course, no hesitation in mentioning the man's +real name) I had known four years before as a Deccanee Brahmin loaned by +the Punjab Government to one of the Khalsia States. He was in charge +of a branch telegraph-office there, and when I had last met him was +a jovial, full-stomached, portly Government servant with a marvelous +capacity for making had puns in English--a peculiarity which made +me remember him long after I had forgotten his services to me in his +official capacity. It is seldom that a Hindu makes English puns. + +Now, however, the man was changed beyond all recognition. Caste-mark, +stomach, slate-colored continuations, and unctuous speech were all gone. +I looked at a withered skeleton, turban-less and almost naked, with long +matted hair and deep-set codfish-eyes. + +But for a crescent-shaped scar on the left cheek--the result of an +accident for which I was responsible I should never have known him. +But it was indubitably Gunga Dass, and--for this I was thankful--an +English-speaking native who might at least tell me the meaning of all +that I had gone through that day. + +The crowd retreated to some distance as I turned toward the miserable +figure, and ordered him to show me some method of escaping from the +crate. He held a freshly plucked crow in his hand, and in reply to my +question climbed slowly on a platform of sand which ran in front of +the holes, and commenced lighting a fire there in silence. Dried bents, +sand-poppies, and driftwood burn quickly; and I derived much consolation +from the fact that he lit them with an ordinary sulphur-match. When they +were in a bright glow, and the crow was neatly spitted in front thereof, +Gunga Dass began without a word of preamble: + +“There are only two kinds of men, Sar. The alive and the dead. When you +are dead you are dead, but when you are alive you live.” (Here the crow +demanded his attention for an instant as it twirled before the fire in +danger of being burned to a cinder.) “If you die at home and do not die +when you come to the ghat to be burned you come here.” + +The nature of the reeking village was made plain now, and all that I had +known or read of the grotesque and the horrible paled before the fact +just communicated by the ex-Brahmin. Sixteen years ago, when I first +landed in Bombay, I had been told by a wandering Armenian of the +existence, somewhere in India, of a place to which such Hindus as had +the misfortune to recover from trance or catalepsy were conveyed and +kept, and I recollect laughing heartily at what I was then pleased to +consider a traveler's tale. + +Sitting at the bottom of the sand-trap, the memory of Watson's Hotel, +with its swinging punkahs, white-robed attendants, and the sallow-faced +Armenian, rose up in my mind as vividly as a photograph, and I burst +into a loud fit of laughter. The contrast was too absurd! + +Gunga Dass, as he bent over the unclean bird, watched me curiously. +Hindus seldom laugh, and his surroundings were not such as to move Gunga +Dass to any undue excess of hilarity. He removed the crow solemnly +from the wooden spit and as solemnly devoured it. Then he continued his +story, which I give in his own words: + +“In epidemics of the cholera you are carried to be burned almost before +you are dead. When you come to the riverside the cold air, perhaps, +makes you alive, and then, if you are only little alive, mud is put on +your nose and mouth and you die conclusively. If you are rather more +alive, more mud is put; but if you are too lively they let you go +and take you away. I was too lively, and made protestation with anger +against the indignities that they endeavored to press upon me. In those +days I was Brahmin and proud man. + +“Now I am dead man and eat”--here he eyed the well-gnawed breast +bone with the first sign of emotion that I had seen in him since we +met--“crows, and other things. They took me from my sheets when they saw +that I was too lively and gave me medicines for one week, and I survived +successfully. Then they sent me by rail from my place to Okara Station, +with a man to take care of me; and at Okara Station we met two other +men, and they conducted we three on camels, in the night, from Okara +Station to this place, and they propelled me from the top to the bottom, +and the other two succeeded, and I have been here ever since two and a +half years. Once I was Brahmin and proud man, and now I eat crows.” + +“There is no way of getting out?” + +“None of what kind at all. When I first came I made experiments +frequently and all the others also, but we have always succumbed to the +sand which is precipitated upon our heads.” + +“But surely,” I broke in at this point, “the river-front is open, and +it is worth while dodging the bullets; while at night”--I had already +matured a rough plan of escape which a natural instinct of selfishness +forbade me sharing with Gunga Dass. He, however, divined my +unspoken thought almost as soon as it was formed; and, to my intense +astonishment, gave vent to a long low chuckle of derision--the laughter, +be it understood, of a superior or at least of an equal. + +“You will not”--he had dropped the Sir completely after his opening +sentence--“make any escape that way. But you can try. I have tried. Once +only.” + +The sensation of nameless terror and abject fear which I had in vain +attempted to strive against overmastered me completely. My long fast--it +was now close upon ten o'clock, and I had eaten nothing since tiffin on +the previous day--combined with the violent and unnatural agitation of +the ride had exhausted me, and I verily believe that, for a few minutes, +I acted as one mad. I hurled myself against the pitiless sand-slope. I +ran round the base of the crater, blaspheming and praying by turns. I +crawled out among the sedges of the river-front, only to be driven back +each time in an agony of nervous dread by the rifle-bullets which cut +up the sand round me--for I dared not face the death of a mad dog among +that hideous crowd--and finally fell, spent and raving, at the curb of +the well. No one had taken the slightest notion of an exhibition which +makes me blush hotly even when I think of it now. + +Two or three men trod on my panting body as they drew water, but they +were evidently used to this sort of thing, and had no time to waste +upon me. The situation was humiliating. Gunga Dass, indeed, when he had +banked the embers of his fire with sand, was at some pains to throw half +a cupful of fetid water over my head, an attention for which I could +have fallen on my knees and thanked him, but he was laughing all the +while in the same mirthless, wheezy key that greeted me on my first +attempt to force the shoals. And so, in a semi-comatose condition, I lay +till noon. + +Then, being only a man after all, I felt hungry, and intimated as much +to Gunga Dass, whom I had begun to regard as my natural protector. +Following the impulse of the outer world when dealing with natives, I +put my hand into my pocket and drew out four annas. The absurdity of the +gift struck me at once, and I was about to replace the money. + +Gunga Dass, however, was of a different opinion. “Give me the money,” + said he; “all you have, or I will get help, and we will kill you!” All +this as if it were the most natural thing in the world! + +A Briton's first impulse, I believe, is to guard the contents of his +pockets; but a moment's reflection convinced me of the futility +of differing with the one man who had it in his power to make me +comfortable; and with whose help it was possible that I might eventually +escape from the crater. I gave him all the money in my possession, Rs. +9-8-5--nine rupees eight annas and five pie--for I always keep small +change as bakshish when I am in camp. Gunga Dass clutched the coins, and +hid them at once in his ragged loin cloth, his expression changing to +something diabolical as he looked round to assure himself that no one +had observed us. + +“Now I will give you something to eat,” said he. + +What pleasure the possession of my money could have afforded him I am +unable to say; but inasmuch as it did give him evident delight I was not +sorry that I had parted with it so readily, for I had no doubt that he +would have had me killed if I had refused. One does not protest against +the vagaries of a den of wild beasts; and my companions were lower than +any beasts. While I devoured what Gunga Dass had provided, a coarse +chapatti and a cupful of the foul well-water, the people showed not the +faintest sign of curiosity--that curiosity which is so rampant, as a +rule, in an Indian village. + +I could even fancy that they despised me. At all events they treated me +with the most chilling indifference, and Gunga Dass was nearly as bad. +I plied him with questions about the terrible village, and received +extremely unsatisfactory answers. So far as I could gather, it had been +in existence from time immemorial--whence I concluded that it was at +least a century old--and during that time no one had ever been known to +escape from it. [I had to control myself here with both hands, lest the +blind terror should lay hold of me a second time and drive me raving +round the crater.] Gunga Dass took a malicious pleasure in emphasizing +this point and in watching me wince. Nothing that I could do would +induce him to tell me who the mysterious “They” were. + +“It is so ordered,” he would reply, “and I do not yet know any one who +has disobeyed the orders.” + +“Only wait till my servants find that I am missing,” I retorted, “and I +promise you that this place shall be cleared off the face of the earth, +and I'll give you a lesson in civility, too, my friend.” + +“Your servants would be torn in pieces before they came near this place; +and, besides, you are dead, my dear friend. It is not your fault, of +course, but none the less you are dead and buried.” + +At irregular intervals supplies of food, I was told, were dropped down +from the land side into the amphitheatre, and the inhabitants fought for +them like wild beasts. When a man felt his death coming on he retreated +to his lair and died there. The body was sometimes dragged out of the +hole and thrown on to the sand, or allowed to rot where it lay. + +The phrase “thrown on to the sand” caught my attention, and I asked +Gunga Dass whether this sort of thing was not likely to breed a +pestilence. + +“That,” said he, with another of his wheezy chuckles, “you may see for +yourself subsequently. You will have much time to make observations.” + +Whereat, to his great delight, I winced once more and hastily continued +the conversation:--“And how do you live here from day to day? What do +you do?” The question elicited exactly the same answer as before coupled +with the information that “this place is like your European heaven; +there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage.” + +Gunga Dass had been educated at a Mission School, and, as he himself +admitted, had he only changed his religion “like a wise man,” might have +avoided the living grave which was now his portion. But as long as I was +with him I fancy he was happy. + +Here was a Sahib, a representative of the dominant race, helpless as +a child and completely at the mercy of his native neighbors. In a +deliberate lazy way he set himself to torture me as a schoolboy would +devote a rapturous half-hour to watching the agonies of an impaled +beetle, or as a ferret in a blind burrow might glue himself comfortably +to the neck of a rabbit. The burden of his conversation was that there +was no escape “of no kind whatever,” and that I should stay here till I +died and was “thrown on to the sand.” If it were possible to forejudge +the conversation of the Damned on the advent of a new soul in their +abode, I should say that they would speak as Gunga Dass did to me +throughout that long afternoon. I was powerless to protest or answer; +all my energies being devoted to a struggle against the inexplicable +terror that threatened to overwhelm me again and again. I can compare +the feeling to nothing except the struggles of a man against the +overpowering nausea of the Channel passage--only my agony was of the +spirit and infinitely more terrible. + +As the day wore on, the inhabitants began to appear in full strength to +catch the rays of the afternoon sun, which were now sloping in at the +mouth of the crater. They assembled in little knots, and talked among +themselves without even throwing a glance in my direction. About four +o'clock, as far as I could judge Gunga Dass rose and dived into his lair +for a moment, emerging with a live crow in his hands. The wretched bird +was in a most draggled and deplorable condition, but seemed to be in no +way afraid of its master, Advancing cautiously to the river front, Gunga +Dass stepped from tussock to tussock until he had reached a smooth patch +of sand directly in the line of the boat's fire. The occupants of the +boat took no notice. Here he stopped, and, with a couple of dexterous +turns of the wrist, pegged the bird on its back with outstretched wings. +As was only natural, the crow began to shriek at once and beat the air +with its claws. In a few seconds the clamor had attracted the attention +of a bevy of wild crows on a shoal a few hundred yards away, where they +were discussing something that looked like a corpse. Half a dozen crows +flew over at once to see what was going on, and also, as it proved, to +attack the pinioned bird. Gunga Dass, who had lain down on a tussock, +motioned to me to be quiet, though I fancy this was a needless +precaution. In a moment, and before I could see how it happened, a +wild crow, who had grappled with the shrieking and helpless bird, was +entangled in the latter's claws, swiftly disengaged by Gunga Dass, and +pegged down beside its companion in adversity. Curiosity, it seemed, +overpowered the rest of the flock, and almost before Gunga Dass and I +had time to withdraw to the tussock, two more captives were struggling +in the upturned claws of the decoys. So the chase--if I can give it so +dignified a name--continued until Gunga Dass had captured seven crows. +Five of them he throttled at once, reserving two for further operations +another day. I was a good deal impressed by this, to me, novel method of +securing food, and complimented Gunga Dass on his skill. + +“It is nothing to do,” said he. “Tomorrow you must do it for me. You are +stronger than I am.” + +This calm assumption of superiority Upset me not a little, and I +answered peremptorily;--“Indeed, you old ruffian! What do you think I +have given you money for?” + +“Very well,” was the unmoved reply. “Perhaps not tomorrow, nor the day +after, nor subsequently; but in the end, and for many years, you will +catch crows and eat crows, and you will thank your European God that you +have crows to catch and eat.” + +I could have cheerfully strangled him for this; but judged it best under +the circumstances to smother my resentment. An hour later I was eating +one of the crows; and, as Gunga Dass had said, thanking my God that I +had a crow to eat. Never as long as I live shall I forget that evening +meal. The whole population were squatting on the hard sand platform +opposite their dens, huddled over tiny fires of refuse and dried rushes. +Death, having once laid his hand upon these men and forborne to strike, +seemed to stand aloof from them now; for most of our company were +old men, bent and worn and twisted with years, and women aged to all +appearance as the Fates themselves. They sat together in knots and +talked--God only knows what they found to discuss--in low equable tones, +curiously in contrast to the strident babble with which natives are +accustomed to make day hideous. Now and then an access of that sudden +fury which had possessed me in the morning would lay hold on a man or +woman; and with yells and imprecations the sufferer would attack the +steep slope until, baffled and bleeding, he fell back on the platform +incapable of moving a limb. The others would never even raise their +eyes when this happened, as men too well aware of the futility of their +fellows' attempts and wearied with their useless repetition. I saw four +such outbursts in the course of the evening. + +Gunga Dass took an eminently business-like view of my situation, and +while we were dining--I can afford to laugh at the recollection now, but +it was painful enough at the time-propounded the terms on which he would +consent to “do” for me. My nine rupees eight annas, he argued, at the +rate of three annas a day, would provide me with food for fifty-one +days, or about seven weeks; that is to say, he would be willing to cater +for me for that length of time. At the end of it I was to look after +myself. For a further consideration--videlicet my boots--he would be +willing to allow me to occupy the den next to his own, and would supply +me with as much dried grass for bedding as he could spare. + +“Very well, Gunga Dass,” I replied; “to the first terms I cheerfully +agree, but, as there is nothing on earth to prevent my killing you as +you sit here and taking everything that you have” (I thought of the two +invaluable crows at the time), “I flatly refuse to give you my boots and +shall take whichever den I please.” + +The stroke was a bold one, and I was glad when I saw that it had +succeeded. Gunga Dass changed his tone immediately, and disavowed all +intention of asking for my boots. At the time it did not strike me as at +all strange that I, a Civil Engineer, a man of thirteen years' standing +in the Service, and, I trust, an average Englishman, should thus +calmly threaten murder and violence against the man who had, for a +consideration it is true, taken me under his wing. I had left the world, +it seemed, for centuries. I was as certain then as I am now of my own +existence, that in the accursed settlement there was no law save that +of the strongest; that the living dead men had thrown behind them every +canon of the world which had cast them out; and that I had to depend +for my own life on my strength and vigilance alone. The crew of the +ill-fated Mignonette are the only men who would understand my frame of +mind. “At present,” I argued to myself, “I am strong and a match for six +of these wretches. It is imperatively necessary that I should, for my +own sake, keep both health and strength until the hour of my release +comes--if it ever does.” + +Fortified with these resolutions, I ate and drank as much as I could, +and made Gunga Dass understand that I intended to be his master, and +that the least sign of insubordination on his part would be visited with +the only punishment I had it in my power to inflict--sudden and violent +death. Shortly after this I went to bed. + +That is to say, Gunga Dass gave me a double armful of dried bents which +I thrust down the mouth of the lair to the right of his, and followed +myself, feet foremost; the hole running about nine feet into the +sand with a slight downward inclination, and being neatly shored with +timbers. From my den, which faced the river-front, I was able to watch +the waters of the Sutlej flowing past under the light of a young moon +and compose myself to sleep as best I might. + +The horrors of that night I shall never forget. My den was nearly as +narrow as a coffin, and the sides had been worn smooth and greasy by +the contact of innumerable naked bodies, added to which it smelled +abominably. Sleep was altogether out of question to one in my excited +frame of mind. As the night wore on, it seemed that the entire +amphitheatre was filled with legions of unclean devils that, trooping up +from the shoals below, mocked the unfortunates in their lairs. + +Personally I am not of an imaginative temperament,--very few Engineers +are,--but on that occasion I was as completely prostrated with nervous +terror as any woman. After half an hour or so, however, I was able once +more to calmly review my chances of escape. Any exit by the steep sand +walls was, of course, impracticable. I had been thoroughly convinced of +this some time before. It was possible, just possible, that I might, in +the uncertain moonlight, safely run the gauntlet of the rifle shots. The +place was so full of terror for me that I was prepared to undergo +any risk in leaving it. Imagine my delight, then, when after creeping +stealthily to the river-front I found that the infernal boat was not +there. My freedom lay before me in the next few steps! + +By walking out to the first shallow pool that lay at the foot of the +projecting left horn of the horseshoe, I could wade across, turn +the flank of the crater, and make my way inland. Without a moment's +hesitation I marched briskly past the tussocks where Gunga Dass had +snared the crows, and out in the direction of the smooth white sand +beyond. My first step from the tufts of dried grass showed me how +utterly futile was any hope of escape; for, as I put my foot down, I +felt an indescribable drawing, sucking motion of the sand below. Another +moment and my leg was swallowed up nearly to the knee. In the moonlight +the whole surface of the sand seemed to be shaken with devilish delight +at my disappointment. I struggled clear, sweating with terror and +exertion, back to the tussocks behind me and fell on my face. + +My only means of escape from the semicircle was protected with a +quicksand! + +How long I lay I have not the faintest idea; but I was roused at last +by the malevolent chuckle of Gunga Dass at my ear. “I would advise you, +Protector of the Poor” (the ruffian was speaking English) “to return to +your house. It is unhealthy to lie down here. Moreover, when the boat +returns, you will most certainly be rifled at.” He stood over me in the +dim light of the dawn, chuckling and laughing to himself. Suppressing +my first impulse to catch the man by the neck and throw him on to the +quicksand, I rose sullenly and followed him to the platform below the +burrows. + +Suddenly, and futilely as I thought while I spoke, I asked--“Gunga Dass, +what is the good of the boat if I can't get out anyhow?” I recollect +that even in my deepest trouble I had been speculating vaguely on the +waste of ammunition in guarding an already well protected foreshore. + +Gunga Dass laughed again and made answer:--“They have the boat only in +daytime. It is for the reason that there is a way. I hope we shall have +the pleasure of your company for much longer time. It is a pleasant spot +when you have been here some years and eaten roast crow long enough.” + +I staggered, numbed and helpless, toward the fetid burrow allotted to +me, and fell asleep. An hour or so later I was awakened by a piercing +scream--the shrill, high-pitched scream of a horse in pain. Those who +have once heard that will never forget the sound. I found some little +difficulty in scrambling out of the burrow. When I was in the open, I +saw Pornic, my poor old Pornic, lying dead on the sandy soil. How they +had killed him I cannot guess. Gunga Dass explained that horse was +better than crow, and “greatest good of greatest number is political +maxim. We are now Republic, Mister Jukes, and you are entitled to a fair +share of the beast. If you like, we will pass a vote of thanks. Shall I +propose?” + +Yes, we were a Republic indeed! A Republic of wild beasts penned at the +bottom of a pit, to eat and fight and sleep till we died. I attempted +no protest of any kind, but sat down and stared at the hideous sight +in front of me. In less time almost than it takes me to write this, +Pornic's body was divided, in some unclear way or other; the men and +women had dragged the fragments on to the platform and were preparing +their normal meal. Gunga Dass cooked mine. The almost irresistible +impulse to fly at the sand walls until I was wearied laid hold of me +afresh, and I had to struggle against it with all my might. Gunga Dass +was offensively jocular till I told him that if he addressed another +remark of any kind whatever to me I should strangle him where he sat. +This silenced him till silence became insupportable, and I bade him say +something. + +“You will live here till you die like the other Feringhi,” he said, +coolly, watching me over the fragment of gristle that he was gnawing. + +“What other Sahib, you swine? Speak at once, and don't stop to tell me a +lie.” + +“He is over there,” answered Gunga Dass, pointing to a burrow-mouth +about four doors ta the left of my own. “You can see for yourself. He +died in the burrow as you will die, and I will die, and as all these men +and women and the one child will also die.” + +“For pity's sake tell me all you know about him. Who was he? When did he +come, and when did he die?” + +This appeal was a weak step on my part. Gunga Dass only leered and +replied:--“I will not--unless you give me something first.” + +Then I recollected where I was, and struck the man between the eyes, +partially stunning him. He stepped down from the platform at once, and, +cringing and fawning and weeping and attempting to embrace my feet, led +me round to the burrow which he had indicated. + +“I know nothing whatever about the gentleman. Your God be my witness +that I do not. He was as anxious to escape as you were, and he was +shot from the boat, though we all did all things to prevent him from +attempting. He was shot here.” Gunga Dass laid his hand on his lean +stomach and bowed to the earth. + +“Well, and what then? Go on!” + +“And then--and then, Your Honor, we carried him in to his house and +gave him water, and put wet cloths on the wound, and he laid down in his +house and gave up the ghost.” + +“In how long? In how long?” + +“About half an hour, after he received his wound. I call Vishnu to +witness,” yelled the wretched man, “that I did everything for him. +Everything which was possible, that I did!” + +He threw himself down on the ground and clasped my ankles. But I had +my doubts about Gunga Dass's benevolence, and kicked him off as he lay +protesting. + +“I believe you robbed him of everything he had. But I can find out in a +minute or two. How long was the Sahib here?” + +“Nearly a year and a half. I think he must have gone mad. But hear me +swear, Protector of the Poor! Won't Your Honor hear me swear that I +never touched an article that belonged to him? What is Your Worship +going to do?” + +I had taken Gunga Dass by the waist and had hauled him on to the +platform opposite the deserted burrow. As I did so I thought of my +wretched fellow-prisoner's unspeakable misery among all these horrors +for eighteen months, and the final agony of dying like a rat in a hole, +with a bullet-wound in the stomach. Gunga Dass fancied I was going +to kill him and howled pitifully. The rest of the population, in the +plethora that follows a full flesh meal, watched us without stirring. + +“Go inside, Gunga Dass,” said I, “and fetch it out.” + +I was feeling sick and faint with horror now. Gunga Dass nearly rolled +off the platform and howled aloud. + +“But I am Brahmin, Sahib--a high-caste Brahmin. By your soul, by your +father's soul, do not make me do this thing!” + +“Brahmin or no Brahmin, by my soul and my father's soul, in you go!” + I said, and, seizing him by the shoulders, I crammed his head into +the mouth of the burrow, kicked the rest of him in, and, sitting down, +covered my face with my hands. + +At the end of a few minutes I heard a rustle and a creak; then Gunga +Dass in a sobbing, choking whisper speaking to himself; then a soft +thud--and I uncovered my eyes. + +The dry sand had turned the corpse entrusted to its keeping into a +yellow-brown mummy. I told Gunga Dass to stand off while I examined it. + +The body--clad in an olive-green hunting-suit much stained and worn, +with leather pads on the shoulders--was that of a man between thirty and +forty, above middle height, with light, sandy hair, long mustache, and a +rough unkempt beard. The left canine of the upper jaw was missing, and +a portion of the lobe of the right ear was gone. On the second finger of +the left hand was a ring--a shield-shaped bloodstone set in gold, with +a monogram that might have been either “B.K.” or “B.L.” On the third +finger of the right hand was a silver ring in the shape of a coiled +cobra, much worn and tarnished. Gunga Dass deposited a handful of +trifles he had picked out of the burrow at my feet, and, covering the +face of the body with my handkerchief, I turned to examine these. I give +the full list in the hope that it may lead to the identification of the +unfortunate man: + +1. Bowl of a briarwood pipe, serrated at the edge; much worn and +blackened; bound with string at the crew. + +2. Two patent-lever keys; wards of both broken. + +3. Tortoise-shell-handled penknife, silver or nickel name-plate, marked +with monogram “B.K.” + +4. Envelope, postmark Undecipherable, bearing a Victorian stamp, +addressed to “Miss Mon-” (rest illegible) -“ham-'nt.” + +5. Imitation crocodile-skin notebook with pencil. First forty-five pages +blank; four and a half illegible; fifteen others filled with private +memoranda relating chiefly to three persons--a Mrs. L. Singleton, +abbreviated several times to “Lot Single,” “Mrs. S. May,” and +“Garmison,” referred to in places as “Jerry” or “Jack.” + +6. Handle of small-sized hunting-knife. Blade snapped short. Buck's horn, +diamond cut, with swivel and ring on the butt; fragment of cotton cord +attached. + +It must not be supposed that I inventoried all these things on the spot +as fully as I have here written them down. The notebook first attracted +my attention, and I put it in my pocket with a view of studying it later +on. + +The rest of the articles I conveyed to my burrow for safety's sake, and +there being a methodical man, I inventoried them. I then returned to +the corpse and ordered Gunga Dass to help me to carry it out to the +river-front. While we were engaged in this, the exploded shell of an old +brown cartridge dropped out of one of the pockets and rolled at my feet. +Gunga Dass had not seen it; and I fell to thinking that a man does not +carry exploded cartridge-cases, especially “browns,” which will not +bear loading twice, about with him when shooting. In other words, that +cartridge-case had been fired inside the crater. Consequently there must +be a gun somewhere. I was on the verge of asking Gunga Dass, but checked +myself, knowing that he would lie. We laid the body down on the edge of +the quicksand by the tussocks. It was my intention to push it out and +let it be swallowed up--the only possible mode of burial that I could +think of. I ordered Gunga Dass to go away. + +Then I gingerly put the corpse out on the quicksand. In doing so--it +was lying face downward--I tore the frail and rotten khaki shooting-coat +open, disclosing a hideous cavity in the back. I have already told you +that the dry sand had, as it were, mummified the body. A moment's glance +showed that the gaping hole had been caused by a gun-shot wound; the +gun must have been fired with the muzzle almost touching the back. The +shooting-coat, being intact, had been drawn over the body after death, +which must have been instantaneous. The secret of the poor wretch's +death was plain to me in a flash. Some one of the crater, presumably +Gunga Dass, must have shot him with his own gun--the gun that fitted the +brown cartridges. He had never attempted to escape in the face of the +rifle-fire from the boat. + +I pushed the corpse out hastily, and saw it sink from sight literally in +a few seconds. I shuddered as I watched. In a dazed, half-conscious way +I turned to peruse the notebook. A stained and discolored slip of paper +bad been inserted between the binding and the back, and dropped out as I +opened the pages. This is what it contained:--“Four out from crow-clump: +three left; nine out; two right; three back; two left; fourteen out; two +left; seven out; one left; nine back; two right; six back; four right; +seven back.” The paper had been burned and charred at the edges. What it +meant I could not understand. I sat down on the dried bents turning +it over and over between my fingers, until I was aware of Gunga Dass +standing immediately behind me with glowing eyes and outstretched hands. + +“Have you got it?” he panted. “Will you not let me look at it also? I +swear that I will return it.” + +“Got what? Return what?” asked. + +“That which you have in your hands. It will help us both.” He stretched +out his long, bird-like talons, trembling with eagerness. + +“I could never find it,” he continued. “He had secreted it about his +person. Therefore I shot him, but nevertheless I was unable to obtain +it.” + +Gunga Dass had quite forgotten his little fiction about the +rifle-bullet. I received the information perfectly calmly. Morality is +blunted by consorting with the Dead who are alive. + +“What on earth are you raving about? What is it you want me to give +you?” + +“The piece of paper in the notebook. It will help us both. Oh, you fool! +You fool! Can you not see what it will do for us? We shall escape!” + +His voice rose almost to a scream, and he danced with excitement before +me. I own I was moved at the chance of my getting away. + +“Don't skip! Explain yourself. Do you mean to say that this slip of +paper will help us? What does it mean?” + +“Read it aloud! Read it aloud! I beg and I pray you to read it aloud.” + +I did so. Gunga Dass listened delightedly, and drew an irregular line in +the sand with his fingers. + +“See now! It was the length of his gun-barrels without the stock. I have +those barrels. Four gun-barrels out from the place where I caught crows +straight out; do you follow me? Then three left--Ah! how well I remember +when that man worked it out night after night Then nine out, and so on. +Out is always straight before you across the quicksand. He told me so +before I killed him.” + +“But if you knew all this why didn't you get out before?” + +“I did not know it. He told me that he was working it out a year and a +half ago, and how he was working it out night after night when the boat +had gone away, and he could get out near the quicksand safely. Then he +said that we would get away together. But I was afraid that he would +leave me behind one night when he had worked it all out, and so I shot +him. Besides, it is not advisable that the men who once get in here +should escape. Only I, and I am a Brahmin.” + +The prospect of escape had brought Gunga Dass's caste back to him. He +stood up, walked about and gesticulated violently. Eventually I managed +to make him talk soberly, and he told me how this Englishman had spent +six months night after night in exploring, inch by inch, the passage +across the quicksand; how he had declared it to be simplicity itself up +to within about twenty yards of the river bank after turning the flank +of the left horn of the horseshoe. This much he had evidently not +completed when Gunga Dass shot him with his own gun. + +In my frenzy of delight at the possibilities of escape I recollect +shaking hands effusively with Gunga Dass, after we had decided that we +were to make an attempt to get away that very night. It was weary work +waiting throughout the afternoon. + +About ten o'clock, as far as I could judge, when the Moon had just risen +above the lip of the crater, Gunga Dass made a move for his burrow to +bring out the gun-barrels whereby to measure our path. All the other +wretched inhabitants had retired to their lairs long ago. The guardian +boat drifted downstream some hours before, and we were utterly alone by +the crow-clump. Gunga Dass, while carrying the gun-barrels, let slip +the piece of paper which was to be our guide. I stooped down hastily to +recover it, and, as I did so, I was aware that the diabolical Brahmin +was aiming a violent blow at the back of my head with the gun-barrels. +It was too late to turn round. I must have received the blow somewhere +on the nape of my neck. A hundred thousand fiery stars danced before my +eyes, and I fell forwards senseless at the edge of, the quicksand. + +When I recovered consciousness, the Moon was going down, and I was +sensible of intolerable pain in the back of my head. Gunga Dass had +disappeared and my mouth was full of blood. I lay down again and prayed +that I might die without more ado. Then the unreasoning fury which I had +before mentioned, laid hold upon me, and I staggered inland toward the +walls of the crater. It seemed that some one was calling to me in a +whisper--“Sahib! Sahib! Sahib!” exactly as my bearer used to call me in +the morning I fancied that I was delirious until a handful of sand +fell at my feet. Then I looked up and saw a head peering down into +the amphitheatre--the head of Dunnoo, my dog-boy, who attended to my +collies. As soon as he had attracted my attention, he held up his hand +and showed a rope. I motioned, staggering to and fro for the while, that +he should throw it down. It was a couple of leather punkah-ropes knotted +together, with a loop at one end. I slipped the loop over my head and +under my arms; heard Dunnoo urge something forward; was conscious that I +was being dragged, face downward, up the steep sand slope, and the +next instant found myself choked and half fainting on the sand +hills overlooking the crater. Dunnoo, with his face ashy grey in the +moonlight, implored me not to stay but to get back to my tent at once. + +It seems that he had tracked Pornic's footprints fourteen miles across +the sands to the crater; had returned and told my servants, who flatly +refused to meddle with any one, white or black, once fallen into the +hideous Village of the Dead; whereupon Dunnoo had taken one of my ponies +and a couple of punkah-ropes, returned to the crater, and hauled me out +as I have described. + +To cut a long story short, Dunnoo is now my personal servant on a gold +mohur a month--a sum which I still think far too little for the services +he has rendered. Nothing on earth will induce me to go near that +devilish spot again, or to reveal its whereabouts more clearly than I +have done. Of Gunga Dass I have never found a trace, nor do I wish to +do. My sole motive in giving this to be published is the hope that some +one may possibly identify, from the details and the inventory which I +have given above, the corpse of the man in the olive-green hunting-suit. + + * * * * * + + + + +THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING + + Brother to a Prince and fellow to a beggar if he be found worthy. + +The Law, as quoted, lays down a fair conduct of life, and one not easy to +follow. I have been fellow to a beggar again and again under +circumstances which prevented either of us finding out whether the other +was worthy. I have still to be brother to a Prince, though I once came +near to kinship with what might have been a veritable King, and was +promised the reversion of a Kingdom--army, law-courts, revenue, and +policy all complete. But, today, I greatly fear that my King is dead, +and if I want a crown I must go hunt it for myself. + +The beginning of everything was in a railway-train upon the road to Mhow +from Ajmir. There had been a Deficit in the Budget, which necessitated +travelling, not Second-class, which is only half as dear as First-Class, +but by Intermediate, which is very awful indeed. There are no cushions +in the Intermediate class, and the population are either Intermediate, +which is Eurasian, or native, which for a long night journey is nasty, +or Loafer, which is amusing though intoxicated. Intermediates do not buy +from refreshment-rooms. They carry their food in bundles and pots, and +buy sweets from the native sweetmeat-sellers, and drink the roadside +water. This is why in hot weather Intermediates are taken out of the +carriages dead, and in all weathers are most properly looked down upon. + +My particular Intermediate happened to be empty till I reached +Nasirabad, when the big black-browed gentleman in shirt-sleeves entered, +and, following the custom of Intermediates, passed the time of day. He +was a wanderer and a vagabond like myself, but with an educated +taste for whisky. He told tales of things he had seen and done, of +out-of-the-way corners of the Empire into which he had penetrated, and +of adventures in which he risked his life for a few days' food. + +“If India was filled with men like you and me, not knowing more than +the crows where they'd get their next day's rations, it isn't seventy +millions of revenue the land would be paying--it's seven hundred +millions,” said he; and as I looked at his mouth and chin I was disposed +to agree with him. + +We talked politics,--the politics of Loaferdom that sees things from +the under side where the lath and plaster is not smoothed off,--and we +talked postal arrangements because my friend wanted to send a telegram +back from the next station to Ajmir, the turning-off place from the +Bombay to the Mhow line as you travel westward. My friend had no money +beyond eight annas which he wanted for dinner, and I had no money at +all, owing to the hitch in the Budget before mentioned. Further, I was +going into a wilderness where, though I should resume touch with the +Treasury, there were no telegraph offices. I was, therefore, unable to +help him in any way. + +“We might threaten a Station-master, and make him send a wire on tick,” + said my friend, “but that'd mean inquiries for you and for me, and I've +got my hands full these days. Did you say you were travelling back along +this line within any days?” + +“Within ten,” I said. + +“Can't you make it eight?” said he. “Mine is rather urgent business.” + +“I can send your telegrams within ten days if that will serve you,” I +said. + +“I couldn't trust the wire to fetch him, now I think of it. It's this +way. He leaves Delhi on the 23rd for Bombay. That means he'll be running +through Ajmir about the night of the 23rd.” + +“But I'm going into the Indian Desert,” I explained. + +“Well and good,” said he. “You'll be changing at Marwar Junction to get +into Jodhpore territory,--you must do that,--and he'll be coming through +Marwar Junction in the early morning of the 24th by the Bombay Mail. Can +you be at Marwar Junction on that time? 'T won't be inconveniencing you, +because I know that there's precious few pickings to be got out of these +Central India States--even though you pretend to be correspondent of the +'Backwoodsman.'” + +“Have you ever tried that trick?” I asked. + +“Again and again, but the Residents find you out, and then you get +escorted to the Border before you've time to get your knife into them. +But about my friend here. I must give him a word o' mouth to tell him +what's come to me, or else he won't know where to go. I would take it +more than kind of you if you was to come out of Central India in time to +catch him at Marwar Junction, and say to him, 'He has gone South for the +week.' He'll know what that means. He's a big man with a red beard, and +a great swell he is. + +“You'll find him sleeping like a gentleman with all his luggage round him +in a Second-class apartment. But don't you be afraid. + +“Slip down the window and say, 'He has gone South for the week,' and +he'll tumble. It's only cutting your time of stay in those parts by +two days. I ask you as a stranger--going to the West,” he said, with +emphasis. + +“Where have you come from?” said I. + +“From the East,” said he, “and I am hoping that you will give him the +message on the square--for the sake of my Mother as well as your own.” + +Englishmen are not usually softened by appeals to the memory of their +mothers; but for certain reasons, which will be fully apparent, I saw +fit to agree. + +“It's more than a little matter,” said he, “and that's why I asked +you to do it--and now I know that I can depend on you doing it. A +Second-class carriage at Marwar Junction, and a red-haired man asleep +in it. You'll be sure to remember. I get out at the next station, and I +must hold on there till he comes or sends me what I want.” + +“I'll give the message if I catch him,” I said, “and for the sake of +your Mother as well as mine I'll give you a word of advice. Don't try +to run the Central India States just now as the correspondent of the +'Backwoodsman.' There's a real one knocking about here, and it might +lead to trouble.” + +“Thank you,” said he, simply; “and when will the swine be gone? I +can't starve because he's ruining my work. I wanted to get hold of the +Degumber Rajah down here about his father's widow, and give him a jump.” + +“What did he do to his father's widow, then?” + +“Filled her up with red pepper and slippered her to death as she hung +from a beam. I found that out myself, and I'm the only man that would +dare going into the State to get hush-money for it. They'll try to +poison me, same as they did in Chortumna when I went on the loot there. +But you'll give the man at Marwar Junction my message?” + +He got out at a little roadside station, and I reflected. I had heard, +more than once, of men personating correspondents of newspapers and +bleeding small Native States with threats of exposure, but I had never +met any of the caste before. They lead a hard life, and generally die +with great suddenness. The Native States have a wholesome horror of +English newspapers, which may throw light on their peculiar methods of +government, and do their best to choke correspondents with champagne, +or drive them out of their mind with four-in-hand barouches. They do not +understand that nobody cares a straw for the internal administration +of Native States so long as oppression and crime are kept within decent +limits, and the ruler is not drugged, drunk, or diseased from one end +of the year to the other. They are the dark places of the earth, full +of unimaginable cruelty, touching the Railway and the Telegraph on one +side, and, on the other, the days of Harun-al-Raschid. When I left the +train I did business with divers Kings, and in eight days passed through +many changes of life. Sometimes I wore dress-clothes and consorted with +Princes and Politicals, drinking from crystal and eating from silver. +Sometimes I lay out upon the ground and devoured what I could get, from +a plate made of leaves, and drank the running water, and slept under the +same rug as my servant. It was all in the day's work. + +Then I headed for the Great Indian Desert upon the proper date, as I +had promised, and the night Mail set me down at Marwar Junction, where +a funny little, happy-go-lucky, native managed railway runs to Jodhpore. +The Bombay Mail from Delhi makes a short halt at Marwar. She arrived +just as I got in, and I had just time to hurry to her platform and go +down the carriages. There was only one Second-class on the train. +I slipped the window and looked down upon a flaming-red beard, half +covered by a railway-rug. That was my man, fast asleep, and I dug him +gently in the ribs. + +He woke with a grunt, and I saw his face in the light of the lamps. + +It was a great and shining face. + +“Tickets again?” said he. + +“No,” said I. “I am to tell you that he is gone South for the week. He +has gone South for the week!” + +The train had begun to move out. The red man rubbed his eyes. + +“He has gone South for the week,” he repeated. “Now that's just like his +impidence. Did he say that I was to give you anything? 'Cause I won't.” + +“He didn't,” I said, and dropped away, and watched the red lights die +out in the dark. It was horribly cold because the wind was blowing off +the sands. I climbed into my own train--not an Intermediate carriage +this time--and went to sleep. + +If the man with the beard had given me a rupee I should have kept it as +a memento of a rather curious affair. But the consciousness of having +done my duty was my only reward. + +Later on I reflected that two gentlemen like my friends could not do any +good if they foregathered and personated correspondents of newspapers, +and might, if they blackmailed one of the little rat-trap States +of Central India or Southern Rajputana, get themselves into serious +difficulties. I therefore took some trouble to describe them as +accurately as I could remember to people who would be interested in +deporting them; and succeeded, so I was later informed, in having them +headed back from the Degumber borders. + +Then I became respectable, and returned to an office where there were no +Kings and no incidents outside the daily manufacture of a newspaper. A +newspaper office seems to attract every conceivable sort of person, to +the prejudice of discipline. Zenana-mission ladies arrive, and beg that +the Editor will instantly abandon all his duties to describe a Christian +prize-giving in a back slum of a perfectly inaccessible village; +Colonels who have been overpassed for command sit down and sketch the +outline of a series of ten, twelve, or twenty-four leading articles on +Seniority versus Selection; missionaries wish to know why they have not +been permitted to escape from their regular vehicles of abuse, and swear +at a brother missionary under special patronage of the editorial We. +Stranded theatrical companies troop up to explain that they cannot pay +for their advertisements, but on their return from New Zealand or Tahiti +will do so with interest; inventors of patent punka-pulling machines, +carriage couplings, and unbreakable swords and axletrees call with +specifications in their pockets and hours at their disposal; tea +companies enter and elaborate their prospectuses with the office pens; +secretaries of ball committees clamour to have the glories of their last +dance more fully described; strange ladies rustle in and say, “I want a +hundred lady's cards printed at once, please,” which is manifestly part +of an Editor's duty; and every dissolute ruffian that ever tramped +the Grand Trunk Road makes it his business to ask for employment as a +proof-reader. And, all the time, the telephone-bell is ringing madly, +and Kings are being killed on the Continent, and Empires are saying, +“You're another,” and Mister Gladstone is calling down brimstone upon +the British Dominions, and the little black copyboys are whining, +“kaa-pi chay-ha-yeh” (“Copy wanted”), like tired bees, and most of the +paper is as blank as Modred's shield. + +But that is the amusing part of the year. There are six other months +when none ever come to call, and the thermometer walks inch by inch +up to the top of the glass, and the office is darkened to just above +reading-light, and the press-machines are red-hot to touch, and nobody +writes anything but accounts of amusements in the Hill-stations or +obituary notices. Then the telephone becomes a tinkling terror, because +it tells you of the sudden deaths of men and women that you knew +intimately, and the prickly heat covers you with a garment, and you +sit down and write: “A slight increase of sickness is reported from +the Khuda Janta Khan District. The outbreak is purely sporadic in +its nature, and, thanks to the energetic efforts of the District +authorities, is now almost at an end. It is, however, with deep regret +we record the death,” etc. + +Then the sickness really breaks out, and the less recording and +reporting the better for the peace of the subscribers. But the Empires +and the Kings continue to divert themselves as selfishly as before, and +the Foreman thinks that a daily paper really ought to come out once in +twenty-four hours, and all the people at the Hill-stations in the +middle of their amusements say, “Good gracious! why can't the paper be +sparkling? I'm sure there's plenty going on up here.” + +That is the dark half of the moon, and, as the advertisements say, “must +be experienced to be appreciated.” + +It was in that season, and a remarkably evil season, that the paper +began running the last issue of the week on Saturday night, which is to +say Sunday morning, after the custom of a London paper. This was a great +convenience, for immediately after the paper was put to bed the dawn +would lower the thermometer from 96 degrees to almost 84 degrees for +half an hour, and in that chill--you have no idea how cold is 84 degrees +on the grass until you begin to pray for it--a very tired man could get +off to sleep ere the heat roused him. + +One Saturday night it was my pleasant duty to put the paper to bed +alone. A King or courtier or a courtesan or a Community was going to +die or get a new Constitution, or do something that was important on +the other side of the world, and the paper was to be held open till the +latest possible minute in order to catch the telegram. + +It was a pitchy-black night, as stifling as a June night can be, and +the loo, the red-hot wind from the westward, was booming among the +tinder-dry trees and pretending that the rain was on its heels. + +Now and again a spot of almost boiling water would fall on the dust with +the flop of a frog, but all our weary world knew that was only pretence. +It was a shade cooler in the press-room than the office, so I sat there, +while the type ticked and clicked, and the night-jars hooted at the +windows, and the all but naked compositors wiped the sweat from their +foreheads and called for water. The thing that was keeping us back, +whatever it was, would not come off, though the loo dropped and the last +type was set, and the whole round earth stood still in the choking heat, +with its finger on its lip, to wait the event. I drowsed, and wondered +whether the telegraph was a blessing, and whether this dying man, or +struggling people, might be aware of the inconvenience the delay was +causing. There was no special reason beyond the heat and worry to make +tension, but, as the clock-hands crept up to three o'clock and the +machines spun their fly-wheels two and three times to see that all was +in order, before I said the word that would set them off, I could have +shrieked aloud. + +Then the roar and rattle of the wheels shivered the quiet into little +bits. I rose to go away, but two men in white clothes stood in front +of me. The first one said, “It's him!” The second said, “So it is!” And +they both laughed almost as loudly as the machinery roared, and mopped +their foreheads. We seed there was a light burning across the road, +and we were sleeping in that ditch there for coolness, and I said to my +friend here, “The office is open. Let's come along and speak to him as +turned us back from Degumber State,” said the smaller of the two. He was +the man I had met in the Mhow train, and his fellow was the red-bearded +man of Marwar Junction. There was no mistaking the eyebrows of the one +or the beard of the other. + +I was not pleased, because I wished to go to sleep, not to squabble with +loafers. “What do you want?” I asked. + +“Half an hour's talk with you, cool and comfortable, in the office,” + said the red-bearded man. “We'd like some drink,--the Contrack doesn't +begin yet, Peachey, so you needn't look,--but what we really want is +advice. We don't want money. We ask you as a favour, because we found +out you did us a bad turn about Degumber State.” + +I led from the press-room to the stifling office with the maps on the +walls, and the red-haired man rubbed his hands. “That's something like,” + said he. “This was the proper shop to come to. + +“Now, Sir, let me introduce you to Brother Peachey Carnehan, that's +him, and Brother Daniel Dravot, that is me, and the less said about +our professions the better, for we have been most things in our +time--soldier, sailor, compositor, photographer, proof-reader, +street-preacher, and correspondents of the 'Backwoodsman' when we +thought the paper wanted one. Carnehan is sober, and so am I. Look at us +first, and see that's sure. It will save you cutting into my talk. We'll +take one of your cigars apiece, and you shall see us light up.” + +I watched the test. The men were absolutely sober, so I gave them each a +tepid whisky-and-soda. + +“Well and good,” said Carnehan of the eyebrows, wiping the froth from +his moustache. “Let me talk now, Dan. We have been all over India, +mostly on foot. We have been boiler-fitters, engine-drivers, petty +contractors, and all that, and we have decided that India isn't big +enough for such as us.” + +They certainly were too big for the office. Dravot's beard seemed to +fill half the room and Carnehan's shoulders the other half, as they sat +on the big table. Carnehan continued: “The country isn't half worked +out because they that governs it won't let you touch it. They spend all +their blessed time in governing it, and you can't lift a spade, nor +chip a rock, nor look for oil, nor anything like that, without all the +Government saying, 'Leave it alone, and let us govern.' Therefore, such +as it is, we will let it alone, and go away to some other place where +a man isn't crowded and can come to his own. We are not little men, and +there is nothing that we are afraid of except Drink, and we have signed +a Contrack on that. + +“Therefore we are going away to be Kings.” + +“Kings in our own right,” muttered Dravot. + +“Yes, of course,” I said. “You've been tramping in the sun, and it's +a very warm night, and hadn't you better sleep over the notion? Come +tomorrow.” + +“Neither drunk nor sunstruck,” said Dravot. “We have slept over the +notion half a year, and require to see Books and Atlases, and we have +decided that there is only one place now in the world that two strong +men can Sar-a-whack. They call it Kafiristan. By my reckoning it's the +top right-hand corner of Afghanistan, not more than three hundred miles +from Peshawar. They have two and thirty heathen idols there, and we'll +be the thirty-third and fourth. It's a mountaineous country, the women +of those parts are very beautiful.” + +“But that is provided against in the Contrack,” said Carnehan. “Neither +Women nor Liquor, Daniel.” + +“And that's all we know, except that no one has gone there, and they +fight, and in any place where they fight a man who knows how to drill +men can always be a King. We shall go to those parts and say to any King +we find, 'D' you want to vanquish your foes?' and we will show him how +to drill men; for that we know better than anything else. Then we will +subvert that King and seize his Throne and establish a Dy-nasty.” + +“You'll be cut to pieces before you're fifty miles across the Border,” + I said. “You have to travel through Afghanistan to get to that country. +It's one mass of mountains and peaks and glaciers, and no Englishman has +been through it. The people are utter brutes, and even if you reached +them you couldn't do anything.” + +“That's more like,” said Carnehan. “If you could think us a little more +mad we would be more pleased. We have come to you to know about this +country, to read a book about it, and to be shown maps. We want you to +tell us that we are fools and to show us your books.” He turned to the +bookcases. + +“Are you at all in earnest?” I said. + +“A little,” said Dravot, sweetly. “As big a map as you have got, even +if it's all blank where Kafiristan is, and any books you've got. We can +read, though we aren't very educated.” + +I uncased the big thirty-two-miles-to-the-inch map of India and two +smaller Frontier maps, hauled down volume INF-KAN of the “Encyclopaedia +Britannica,” and the men consulted them. + +“See here!” said Dravot, his thumb on the map. “Up to Jagdallak, Peachey +and me know the road. We was there with Robert's Army. We'll have to +turn off to the right at Jagdallak through Laghmann territory. Then we +get among the hills--fourteen thousand feet--fifteen thousand--it will +be cold work there, but it don't look very far on the map.” + +I handed him Wood on the “Sources of the Oxus.” Carnehan was deep in the +“Encyclopaedia.” + +“They're a mixed lot,” said Dravot, reflectively; “and it won't help +us to know the names of their tribes. The more tribes the more they'll +fight, and the better for us. From Jagdallak to Ashang. H'mm!” + +“But all the information about the country is as sketchy and inaccurate +as can be,” I protested. “No one knows anything about it really. Here's +the file of the 'United Services' Institute.' Read what Bellew says.” + +“Blow Bellew!” said Carnehan. “Dan, they're a stinkin' lot of heathens, +but this book here says they think they're related to us English.” + +I smoked while the men poured over Raverty, Wood, the maps, and the +“Encyclopaedia.” + +“There is no use your waiting,” said Dravot, politely. “It's about four +o'clock now. We'll go before six o'clock if you want to sleep, and we +won't steal any of the papers. Don't you sit up. We're two harmless +lunatics, and if you come tomorrow evening down to the Serai we'll say +goodbye to you.” + +“You are two fools,” I answered. “You'll be turned back at the Frontier +or cut up the minute you set foot in Afghanistan. Do you want any money +or a recommendation down-country? I can help you to the chance of work +next week.” + +“Next week we shall be hard at work ourselves, thank you,” said Dravot. +“It isn't so easy being a King as it looks. When we've got our Kingdom +in going order we'll let you know, and you can come up and help us +govern it.” + +“Would two lunatics make a Contrack like that?” said Carnehan, with +subdued pride, showing me a greasy half-sheet of notepaper on which was +written the following. I copied it, then and there, as a curiosity. + +This Contrack between me and you persuing witnesseth in the name of +God--Amen and so forth. + +(One) That me and you will settle this matter together; i.e., to be +Kings of Kafiristan. + +(Two)That you and me will not, while this matter is being settled, look +at any Liquor, nor any Woman, black, white, or brown, so as to get mixed +up with one or the other harmful. + +(Three) That we conduct ourselves with Dignity and Discretion, and if +one of us gets into trouble the other will stay by him. + +Signed by you and me this day. + +Peachey Taliaferro Carnehan. + +Daniel Dravot. + +Both Gentlemen at Large. + + +“There was no need for the last article,” said Carnehan, blushing +modestly; “but it looks regular. Now you know the sort of men that +loafers are,--we are loafers, Dan, until we get out of India,--and +do you think that we would sign a Contrack like that unless we was in +earnest? We have kept away from the two things that make life worth +having.” + +“You won't enjoy your lives much longer if you are going to try this +idiotic adventure. Don't set the office on fire,” I said, “and go away +before nine o'clock.” + +I left them still poring over the maps and making notes on the back of +the “Contrack.” “Be sure to come down to the Serai tomorrow,” were their +parting words. + +The Kumharsen Serai is the great foursquare sink of humanity where the +strings of camels and horses from the North load and unload. All the +nationalities of Central Asia may be found there, and most of the folk +of India proper. Balkh and Bokhara there meet Bengal and Bombay, and try +to draw eye-teeth. You can buy ponies, turquoises, Persian pussy-cats, +saddle-bags, fat-tailed sheep, and musk in the Kumharsen Serai, and get +many strange things for nothing. In the afternoon I went down to see +whether my friends intended to keep their word or were lying there +drunk. + +A priest attired in fragments of ribbons and rags stalked up to me, +gravely twisting a child's paper whirligig. Behind him was his servant +bending under the load of a crate of mud toys. The two were loading up +two camels, and the inhabitants of the Serai watched them with shrieks +of laughter. + +“The priest is mad,” said a horse-dealer to me. “He is going up to Kabul +to sell toys to the Amir. He will either be raised to honour or have his +head cut off. He came in here this morning and has been behaving madly +ever since.” + +“The witless are under the protection of God,” stammered a flat-cheeked +Usbeg in broken Hindi. “They foretell future events.” + +“Would they could have foretold that my caravan would have been cut up +by the Shinwaris almost within shadow of the Pass!” grunted the Eusufzai +agent of a Rajputana trading-house whose goods had been diverted into +the hands of other robbers just across the Border, and whose misfortunes +were the laughing-stock of the bazaar. “Ohe', priest, whence come you +and whither do you go?” + +“From Roum have I come,” shouted the priest, waving his whirligig; “from +Roum, blown by the breath of a hundred devils across the sea! O thieves, +robbers, liars, the blessing of Pir Khan on pigs, dogs, and perjurers! +Who will take the Protected of God to the North to sell charms that are +never still to the Amir? The camels shall not gall, the sons shall not +fall sick, and the wives shall remain faithful while they are away, +of the men who give me place in their caravan. Who will assist me to +slipper the King of the Roos with a golden slipper with a silver heel? +The protection of Pir Khan be upon his labours!” He spread out the +skirts of his gabardine and pirouetted between the lines of tethered +horses. + +“There starts a caravan from Peshawar to Kabul in twenty days, Huzrut,” + said the Eusufzai trader. “My camels go therewith. Do thou also go and +bring us good luck.” + +“I will go even now!” shouted the priest. “I will depart upon my winged +camels, and be at Peshawar in a day! Ho! Hazar Mir Khan,” he yelled to +his servant, “drive out the camels, but let me first mount my own.” + +He leaped on the back of his beast as it knelt, and, turning round to +me, cried, “Come thou also, Sahib, a little along the road, and I will +sell thee a charm--an amulet that shall make thee King of Kafiristan.” + +Then the light broke upon me, and I followed the two camels out of the +Serai till we reached open road and the priest halted. + +“What d' you think o' that?” said he in English. “Carnehan can't talk +their patter, so I've made him my servant. He makes a handsome servant. +'T isn't for nothing that I've been knocking about the country for +fourteen years. Didn't I do that talk neat? We'll hitch on to a caravan +at Peshawar till we get to Jagdallak, and then we'll see if we can get +donkeys for our camels, and strike into Kafiristan. Whirligigs for the +Amir, O Lor'! Put your hand under the camelbags and tell me what you +feel.” + +I felt the butt of a Martini, and another and another. + +“Twenty of 'em,” said Dravot, placidly. “Twenty of 'em and ammunition to +correspond, under the whirligigs and the mud dolls.” + +“Heaven help you if you are caught with those things!” I said. “A +Martini is worth her weight in silver among the Pathans.” + +“Fifteen hundred rupees of capital--every rupee we could beg, borrow, or +steal--are invested on these two camels,” said Dravot. + +“We won't get caught. We're going through the Khaiber with a regular +caravan. Who'd touch a poor mad priest?” + +“Have you got everything you want?” I asked, overcome with astonishment. + +“Not yet, but we shall soon. Give us a memento of your kindness, +Brother. You did me a service yesterday, and that time in Marwar. Half +my Kingdom shall you have, as the saying is.” I slipped a small charm +compass from my watch-chain and handed it up to the priest. + +“Goodbye,” said Dravot, giving me hand cautiously. “It's the last time +we'll shake hands with an Englishman these many days. Shake hands with +him, Carnehan,” he cried, as the second camel passed me. + +Carnehan leaned down and shook hands. Then the camels passed away along +the dusty road, and I was left alone to wonder. My eye could detect no +failure in the disguises. The scene in the Serai proved that they were +complete to the native mind. There was just the chance, therefore, that +Carnehan and Dravot would be able to wander through Afghanistan without +detection. But, beyond, they would find death--certain and awful death. + +Ten days later a native correspondent, giving me the news of the day +from Peshawar, wound up his letter with: “There has been much laughter +here on account of a certain mad priest who is going in his estimation +to sell petty gauds and insignificant trinkets which he ascribes as +great charms to H. H. the Amir of Bokhara. He passed through Peshawar +and associated himself to the Second Summer caravan that goes to Kabul. +The merchants are pleased because through superstition they imagine that +such mad fellows bring good fortune.” + +The two, then, were beyond the Border. I would have prayed for them, but +that night a real King died in Europe, and demanded an obituary notice. + +The wheel of the world swings through the same phases again and again. +Summer passed and winter thereafter, and came and passed again. The +daily paper continued and I with it, and upon the third summer there +fell a hot night, a night issue, and a strained waiting for something to +be telegraphed from the other side of the world, exactly as had happened +before. A few great men had died in the past two years, the machines +worked with more clatter, and some of the trees in the office garden +were a few feet taller. But that was all the difference. + +I passed over to the press-room, and went through just such a scene as +I have already described. The nervous tension was stronger than it +had been two years before, and I felt the heat more acutely. At three +o'clock I cried, “Print off,” and turned to go, when there crept to my +chair what was left of a man. He was bent into a circle, his head was +sunk between his shoulders, and he moved his feet one over the other +like a bear. I could hardly see whether he walked or crawled--this +rag-wrapped, whining cripple who addressed me by name, crying that he +was come back. “Can you give me a drink?” he whimpered. “For the Lord's +sake, give me a drink!” + +I went back to the office, the man following with groans of pain, and I +turned up the lamp. + +“Don't you know me?” he gasped, dropping into a chair, and he turned his +drawn face, surmounted by a shock of gray hair, to the light. + +I looked at him intently. Once before had I seen eyebrows that met over +the nose in an inch-broad black band, but for the life of me I could not +tell where. + +“I don't know you,” I said, handing him the whisky. “What can I do for +you?” + +He took a gulp of the spirit raw, and shivered in spite of the +suffocating heat. + +“I've come back,” he repeated; “and I was the King of Kafiristan--me and +Dravot--crowned Kings we was! In this office we settled it--you setting +there and giving us the books. I am Peachey,--Peachey Taliaferro +Carnehan,--and you've been setting here ever since--O Lord!” + +I was more than a little astonished, and expressed my feelings +accordingly. + +“It's true,” said Carnehan, with a dry cackle, nursing his feet, which +were wrapped in rags--“true as gospel. Kings we were, with crowns upon +our heads--me and Dravot--poor Dan--oh, poor, poor Dan, that would never +take advice, not though I begged of him!” + +“Take the whisky,” I said, “and take your own time. Tell me all you can +recollect of everything from beginning to end. You got across the Border +on your camels, Dravot dressed as a mad priest and you his servant. Do +you remember that?” + +“I ain't mad--yet, but I shall be that way soon. Of course I remember. +Keep looking at me, or maybe my words will go all to pieces. Keep +looking at me in my eyes and don't say anything.” + +I leaned forward and looked into his face as steadily as I could. He +dropped one hand upon the table and I grasped it by the wrist. It +was twisted like a bird's claw, and upon the back was a ragged, red, +diamond-shaped scar. + +“No, don't look there. Look at me,” said Carnehan. “That comes +afterward, but for the Lord's sake don't distrack me. We left with that +caravan, me and Dravot playing all sorts of antics to amuse the people +we were with. Dravot used to make us laugh in the evenings when all the +people was cooking their dinners--cooking their dinners, and... +what did they do then? They lit little fires with sparks that went into +Dravot's beard, and we all laughed--fit to die. Little red fires they +was, going into Dravot's big red beard--so funny.” His eyes left mine +and he smiled foolishly. + +“You went as far as Jagdallak with that caravan,” I said, at a venture, +“after you had lit those fires. To Jagdallak, where you turned off to +try to get into Kafiristan.” + +“No, we didn't, neither. What are you talking about? We turned off +before Jagdallak, because we heard the roads was good. But they wasn't +good enough for our two camels--mine and Dravot's. When we left the +caravan, Dravot took off all his clothes and mine too, and said we would +be heathen, because the Kafirs didn't allow Mohammedans to talk to them. +So we dressed betwixt and between, and such a sight as Daniel Dravot +I never saw yet nor expect to see again. He burned half his beard, and +slung a sheepskin over his shoulder, and shaved his head into patterns. +He shaved mine too, and made me wear outrageous things to look like +a heathen. That was in a most mountaineous country, and our camels +couldn't go along any more because of the mountains. They were tall and +black, and coming home I saw them fight like wild goats--there are lots +of goats in Kafiristan. And these mountains, they never keep still, no +more than the goats. Always fighting they are, and don't let you sleep +at night.” + +“Take some more whisky,” I said, very slowly. “What did you and Daniel +Dravot do when the camels could go no farther because of the rough roads +that led into Kafiristan?” + +“What did which do? There was a party called Peachey Taliaferro Carnehan +that was with Dravot. Shall I tell you about him? He died out there in +the cold. Slap from the bridge fell old Peachey, turning and twisting in +the air like a penny whirligig that you can sell to the Amir. No; they +was two for three ha'pence, those whirligigs, or I am much mistaken and +woful sore... And then these camels were no use, and Peachey said to +Dravot, 'For the Lord's sake let's get out of this before our heads +are chopped off,' and with that they killed the camels all among the +mountains, not having anything in particular to eat, but first they took +off the boxes with the guns and the ammunition, till two men came along +driving four mules. Dravot up and dances in front of them, singing, +'Sell me four mules.' Says the first man, 'If you are rich enough to +buy, you are rich enough to rob;' but before ever he could put his hand +to his knife, Dravot breaks his neck over his knee, and the other party +runs away. So Carnehan loaded the mules with the rifles that was taken +off the camels, and together we starts forward into those bitter-cold +mountaineous parts, and never a road broader than the back of your +hand.” + +He paused for a moment, while I asked him if he could remember the +nature of the country through which he had journeyed. + +“I am telling you as straight as I can, but my head isn't as good as it +might be. They drove nails through it to make me hear better how Dravot +died. The country was mountaineous and the mules were most contrary, +and the inhabitants was dispersed and solitary. They went up and up, and +down and down, and that other party, Carnehan, was imploring of Dravot +not to sing and whistle so loud, for fear of bringing down the tremenjus +avalanches. But Dravot says that if a King couldn't sing it wasn't worth +being King, and whacked the mules over the rump, and never took no +heed for ten cold days. We came to a big level valley all among the +mountains, and the mules were near dead, so we killed them, not having +anything in special for them or us to eat. We sat upon the boxes, and +played odd and even with the cartridges that was jolted out. + +“Then ten men with bows and arrows ran down that valley, chasing twenty +men with bows and arrows, and the row was tremenjus. + +“They was fair men--fairer than you or me--with yellow hair and +remarkable well built. Says Dravot, unpacking the guns, 'This is the +beginning of the business. We'll fight for the ten men,' and with that +he fires two rifles at the twenty men, and drops one of them at two +hundred yards from the rock where he was sitting. The other men began to +run, but Carnehan and Dravot sits on the boxes picking them off at all +ranges, up and down the valley. Then we goes up to the ten men that +had run across the snow too, and they fires a footy little arrow at us. +Dravot he shoots above their heads, and they all falls down flat. Then +he walks over them and kicks them, and then he lifts them up and shakes +hands all round to make them friendly like. He calls them and gives them +the boxes to carry, and waves his hand for all the world as though he +was King already. They takes the boxes and him across the valley and up +the hill into a pine wood on the top, where there was half a dozen +big stone idols. Dravot he goes to the biggest--a fellow they call +Imbra--and lays a rifle and a cartridge at his feet, rubbing his nose +respectfully with his own nose, patting him on the head, and nods his +head, and says, 'That's all right. I'm in the know too, and these old +jimjams are my friends.' Then he opens his mouth and points down it, and +when the first man brings him food, he says, 'No;' and when the second +man brings him food, he says 'no;' but when one of the old priests and +the boss of the village brings him food, he says, 'Yes;' very haughty, +and eats it slow. That was how he came to our first village without any +trouble, just as though we had tumbled from the skies. But we tumbled +from one of those damned rope-bridges, you see, and--you couldn't expect +a man to laugh much after that?” + +“Take some more whisky and go on,” I said. “That was the first village +you came into. How did you get to be King?” + +“I wasn't King,” said Carnehan. “Dravot he was the King, and a handsome +man he looked with the gold crown on his head and all. Him and the other +party stayed in that village, and every morning Dravot sat by the side +of old Imbra, and the people came and worshipped. That was Dravot's +order. Then a lot of men came into the valley, and Carnehan Dravot picks +them off with the rifles before they knew where they was, and runs down +into the valley and up again the other side, and finds another village, +same as the first one, and the people all falls down flat on their +faces, and Dravot says, 'Now what is the trouble between you two +villages?' and the people points to a woman, as fair as you or me, that +was carried off, and Dravot takes her back to the first village and +counts up the dead--eight there was. For each dead man Dravot pours +a little milk on the ground and waves his arms like a whirligig, and +'That's all right,' says he. Then he and Carnehan takes the big boss of +each village by the arm, and walks them down the valley, and shows them +how to scratch a line with a spear right down the valley, and gives each +a sod of turf from both sides of the line. Then all the people comes +down and shouts like the devil and all, and Dravot says, 'Go and dig the +land, and be fruitful and multiply,' which they did, though they didn't +understand. Then we asks the names of things in their lingo--bread and +water and fire and idols and such; and Dravot leads the priest of each +village up to the idol, and says he must sit there and judge the people, +and if anything goes wrong he is to be shot. + +“Next week they was all turning up the land in the valley as quiet as +bees and much prettier, and the priests heard all the complaints and +told Dravot in dumb-show what it was about. 'That's just the beginning,' +says Dravot. 'They think we're Gods.' He and Carnehan picks out twenty +good men and shows them how to click off a rifle and form fours and +advance in line; and they was very pleased to do so, and clever to see +the hang of it. Then he takes out his pipe and his baccy-pouch, and +leaves one at one village and one at the other, and off we two goes to +see what was to be done in the next valley. That was all rock, and there +was a little village there, and Carnehan says, 'Send 'em to the old +valley to plant,' and takes 'em there and gives 'em some land that +wasn't took before. They were a poor lot, and we blooded 'em with a kid +before letting 'em into the new Kingdom. That was to impress the people, +and then they settled down quiet, and Carnehan went back to Dravot, who +had got into another valley, all snow and ice and most mountaineous. + +“There was no people there, and the Army got afraid; so Dravot shoots +one of them, and goes on till he finds some people in a village, and the +Army explains that unless the people wants to be killed they had better +not shoot their little matchlocks, for they had matchlocks. We makes +friends with the priest, and I stays there alone with two of the Army, +teaching the men how to drill; and a thundering big Chief comes across +the snow with kettledrums and horns twanging, because he heard there was +a new God kicking about. Carnehan sights for the brown of the men half +a mile across the snow and wings one of them. Then he sends a message +to the Chief that, unless he wished to be killed, he must come and shake +hands with me and leave his arms behind. The Chief comes alone first, +and Carnehan shakes hands with him and whirls his arms about, same as +Dravot used, and very much surprised that Chief was, and strokes +my eyebrows. Then Carnehan goes alone to the Chief, and asks him in +dumb-show if he had an enemy he hated. 'I have,' says the chief. So +Carnehan weeds out the pick of his men, and sets the two of the Army to +show them drill, and at the end of two weeks the men can manoeuvre about +as well as Volunteers. So he marches with the Chief to a great big plain +on the top of a mountain, and the Chief's men rushes into a village and +takes it, we three Martinis firing into the brown of the enemy. So we +took that village too, and I gives the Chief a rag from my coat, and +says, 'Occupy till I come;' which was scriptural. By way of a reminder, +when me and the Army was eighteen hundred yards away, I drops a bullet +near him standing on the snow, and all the people falls flat on their +faces. Then I sends a letter to Dravot wherever he be by land or by +sea.” + +At the risk of throwing the creature out of train I interrupted: “How +could you write a letter up yonder?” + +“The letter?--oh!--the letter! Keep looking at me between the eyes, +please. It was a string-talk letter, that we'd learned the way of it +from a blind beggar in the Punjab.” + +I remember that there had once come to the office a blind man with +a knotted twig, and a piece of string which he wound round the twig +according to some cipher of his own. He could, after the lapse of days +or hours, repeat the sentence which he had reeled up. + +He had reduced the alphabet to eleven primitive sounds, and tried to +teach me his method, but I could not understand. + +“I sent that letter to Dravot,” said Carnehan, “and told him to come +back because this Kingdom was growing too big for me to handle; and then +I struck for the first valley, to see how the priests were working. They +called the village we took along with the Chief, Bashkai, and the first +village we took, Er-Heb. The priests at Er-Heb was doing all right, but +they had a lot of pending cases about land to show me, and some men from +another village had been firing arrows at night. I went out and looked +for that village, and fired four rounds at it from a thousand yards. +That used all the cartridges I cared to spend, and I waited for Dravot, +who had been away two or three months, and I kept my people quiet. + +“One morning I heard the devil's own noise of drums and horns, and Dan +Dravot marches down the hill with his Army and a tail of hundreds of +men, and, which was the most amazing, a great gold crown on his head. +'My Gord, Carnehan,' says Daniel, 'this is a tremenjus business, and +we've got the whole country as far as it's worth having. I am the son +of Alexander by Queen Semiramis, and you're my younger brother and a +God too! It's the biggest thing we've ever seen. I've been marching and +fighting for six weeks with the Army, and every footy little village for +fifty miles has come in rejoiceful; and more than that, I've got the key +of the whole show, as you'll see, and I've got a crown for you! I told +'em to make two of 'em at a place called Shu, where the gold lies in the +rock like suet in mutton. Gold I've seen, and turquoise I've kicked out +of the cliffs, and there's garnets in the sands of the river, and here's +a chunk of amber that a man brought me. Call up all the priests and, +here, take your crown.' + +“One of the men opens a black hair bag, and I slips the crown on. It was +too small and too heavy, but I wore it for the glory. Hammered gold it +was--five pounds weight, like a hoop of a barrel. + +“'Peachey,' says Dravot, 'we don't want to fight no more. The Craft's +the trick, so help me!' and he brings forward that same Chief that I +left at Bashkai--Billy Fish we called him afterward, because he was so +like Billy Fish that drove the big tank-engine at Mach on the Bolan in +the old days. 'Shake hands with him,' says Dravot; and I shook hands +and nearly dropped, for Billy Fish gave me the Grip. I said nothing, but +tried him with the Fellow-craft Grip. He answers all right, and I tried +the Master's Grip, but that was a slip. 'A Fellow-craft he is!' I says +to Dan. 'Does he know the word?' 'He does,' says Dan, 'and all the +priests know. It's a miracle! The Chiefs and the priests can work a +Fellow-craft Lodge in a way that's very like ours, and they've cut the +marks on the rocks, but they don't know the Third Degree, and they've +come to find out. It's Gord's Truth. I've known these long years that +the Afghans knew up to the Fellow-craft Degree, but this is a miracle. +A God and a Grand Master of the Craft am I, and a Lodge in the Third +Degree I will open, and we'll raise the head priests and the Chiefs of +the villages.' + +“'It's against all the law,' I says, 'holding a Lodge without warrant +from any one; and you know we never held office in any Lodge.' + +“'It's a master stroke o' policy,' says Dravot. 'It means running the +country as easy as a four-wheeled bogie on a down grade. We can't stop +to inquire now, or they'll turn against us. I've forty Chiefs at my +heel, and passed and raised according to their merit they shall be. +Billet these men on the villages, and see that we run up a Lodge of some +kind. The temple of Imbra will do for a Lodge-room. The women must make +aprons as you show them. I'll hold a levee of Chiefs tonight and Lodge +tomorrow.' + +“I was fair run off my legs, but I wasn't such a fool as not to see what +a pull this Craft business gave us. I showed the priests' families how +to make aprons of the degrees, but for Dravot's apron the blue border +and marks was made of turquoise lumps on white hide, not cloth. We took +a great square stone in the temple for the Master's chair, and little +stones for the officer's chairs, and painted the black pavement with +white squares, and did what we could to make things regular. + +“At the levee which was held that night on the hillside with big +bonfires, Dravot gives out that him and me were Gods and sons of +Alexander, and Passed Grand Masters in the Craft, and was come to make +Kafiristan a country where every man should eat in peace and drink in +quiet, and specially obey us. Then the Chiefs come round to shake hands, +and they were so hairy and white and fair it was just shaking hands with +old friends. We gave them names according as they was like men we had +known in India--Billy Fish, Holly Dilworth, Pikky Kergan, that was +Bazaar-master when I was at Mhow, and so on, and so on. + +“The most amazing miracles was at Lodge next night. One of the old priests +was watching us continuous, and I felt uneasy, for I knew we'd have to +fudge the Ritual, and I didn't know what the men knew. The old priest +was a stranger come in from beyond the village of Bashkai. The minute +Dravot puts on the Master's apron that the girls had made for him, the +priest fetches a whoop and a howl, and tries to overturn the stone +that Dravot was sitting on. 'It's all up now,' I says. 'That comes of +meddling with the Craft without warrant!' Dravot never winked an +eye, not when ten priests took and tilted over the Grand Master's +chair--which was to say, the stone of Imbra. The priest begins rubbing +the bottom end of it to clear away the black dirt, and presently he +shows all the other priests the Master's Mark, same as was on Dravot's +apron, cut into the stone. Not even the priests of the temple of Imbra +knew it was there. The old chap falls flat on his face at Dravot's feet +and kisses 'em. 'Luck again,' says Dravot, across the Lodge, to me; +'they say it's the missing Mark that no one could understand the why of. + +“'We're more than safe now.' Then he bangs the butt of his gun for a +gavel and says, 'By virtue of the authority vested in me by my own right +hand and the help of Peachey, I declare myself Grand Master of all +Freemasonry in Kafiristan in this the Mother Lodge o' the country, and +King of Kafiristan equally with Peachey!' At that he puts on his crown +and I puts on mine,--I was doing Senior Warden,--and we opens the Lodge +in most ample form. It was an amazing miracle! The priests moved in +Lodge through the first two degrees almost without telling, as if the +memory was coming back to them. After that Peachey and Dravot raised +such as was worthy--high priests and Chiefs of far-off villages. Billy +Fish was the first, and I can tell you we scared the soul out of him. It +was not in any way according to Ritual, but it served our turn. We +didn't raise more than ten of the biggest men, because we didn't want to +make the Degree common. And they was clamouring to be raised. + +“'In another six months,' says Dravot, 'we'll hold another Communication +and see how you are working.' Then he asks them about their villages, +and learns that they was fighting one against the other, and were sick +and tired of it. And when they wasn't doing that they was fighting with +the Mohammedans. 'You can fight those when they come into our country,' +says Dravot. 'Tell off every tenth man of your tribes for a Frontier +guard, and send two hundred at a time to this valley to be drilled. +Nobody is going to be shot or speared any more so long as he does well, +and I know that you won't cheat me, because you're white people--sons +of Alexander--and not like common black Mohammedans. You are my people, +and, by God,' says he, running off into English at the end, 'I'll make a +damned fine Nation of you, or I'll die in the making!' + +“I can't tell all we did for the next six months, because Dravot did a +lot I couldn't see the hang of, and he learned their lingo in a way I +never could. My work was to help the people plough, and now and again +go out with some of the Army and see what the other villages were doing, +and make 'em throw rope bridges across the ravines which cut up the +country horrid. Dravot was very kind to me, but when he walked up and +down in the pine wood pulling that bloody red beard of his with both +fists I knew he was thinking plans I could not advise about, and I just +waited for orders. + +“But Dravot never showed me disrespect before the people. They were +afraid of me and the Army, but they loved Dan. He was the best of +friends with the priests and the Chiefs; but any one could come across +the hills with a complaint, and Dravot would hear him out fair, and call +four priests together and say what was to be done. + +“He used to call in Billy Fish from Bashkai, and Pikky Kergan from Shu, +and an old Chief we called Kafuzelum,--it was like enough to his real +name,--and hold councils with 'em when there was any fighting to be done +in small villages. That was his Council of War, and the four priests of +Bashkai, Shu, Khawak, and Madora was his Privy Council. Between the lot +of 'em they sent me, with forty men and twenty rifles, and sixty men +carrying turquoises, into the Ghorband country to buy those hand-made +Martini rifles, that come out of the Amir's workshops at Kabul, from one +of the Amir's Herati regiments that would have sold the very teeth out +of their mouths for turquoises. + +“I stayed in Ghorband a month, and gave the Governor there the pick of +my baskets for hush-money, and bribed the Colonel of the regiment some +more, and, between the two and the tribes-people, we got more than a +hundred hand-made Martinis, a hundred good Kohat Jezails that'll throw +to six hundred yards, and forty man--loads of very bad ammunition for +the rifles. I came back with what I had, and distributed 'em among +the men that the Chiefs sent in to me to drill. Dravot was too busy to +attend to those things, but the old Army that we first made helped me, +and we turned out five hundred men that could drill, and two hundred +that knew how to hold arms pretty straight. Even those cork-screwed, +hand-made guns was a miracle to them. Dravot talked big about +powder-shops and factories, walking up and down in the pine wood when +the winter was coming on. + +“'I won't make a Nation,' says he. 'I'll make an Empire! These men +aren't niggers; they're English! Look at their eyes--look at their +mouths. Look at the way they stand up. They sit on chairs in their own +houses. They're the Lost Tribes, or something like it, and they've grown +to be English. I'll take a census in the spring if the priests don't get +frightened. There must be a fair two million of 'em in these hills. The +villages are full o' little children. Two million people--two hundred +and fifty thousand fighting men--and all English! They only want the +rifles and a little drilling. Two hundred and fifty thousand men, ready +to cut in on Russia's right flank when she tries for India! Peachey, +man,' he says, chewing his beard in great hunks, 'we shall be +Emperors--Emperors of the Earth! Rajah Brooke will be a suckling to +us. I'll treat with the Viceroy on equal terms. I'll ask him to send me +twelve picked English--twelve that I know of--to help us govern a bit. +There's Mackray, Serjeant Pensioner at Segowli--many's the good dinner +he's given me, and his wife a pair of trousers. There's Donkin, the +Warder of Tounghoo Jail; there's hundreds that I could lay my hand on if +I was in India. The Viceroy shall do it for me; I'll send a man through +in the spring for those men, and I'll write for a dispensation from +the Grand Lodge for what I've done as Grand Master. That--and all the +Sniders that'll be thrown out when the native troops in India take up +the Martini. They'll be worn smooth, but they'll do for fighting in +these hills. Twelve English, a hundred thousand Sniders run through the +Amir's country in driblets,--I'd be content with twenty thousand in one +year,--and we'd be an Empire. + +“When everything was shipshape I'd hand over the crown--this crown I'm +wearing now--to Queen Victoria on my knees, and she'd say, 'Rise up, Sir +Daniel Dravot.' Oh, it's big! It's big, I tell you! But there's so much +to be done in every place--Bashkai, Khawak, Shu, and everywhere else. + +“'What is it?' I says. 'There are no more men coming in to be drilled +this autumn. Look at those fat black clouds. They're bringing the snow.' + +“'It isn't that,' says Daniel, putting his hand very hard on my +shoulder; 'and I don't wish to say anything that's against you, for no +other living man would have followed me and made me what I am as you +have done. You're a first-class Commander-in-Chief, and the people know +you; but--it's a big country, and somehow you can't help me, Peachey, in +the way I want to be helped.' + +“'Go to your blasted priests, then!' I said, and I was sorry when I made +that remark, but it did hurt me sore to find Daniel talking so superior, +when I'd drilled all the men and done all he told me. + +“'Don't let's quarrel, Peachey,' says Daniel, without cursing. 'You're +a King too, and the half of this Kingdom is yours; but can't you see, +Peachey, we want cleverer men than us now--three or four of 'em, that +we can scatter about for our Deputies. It's a hugeous great State, and +I can't always tell the right thing to do, and I haven't time for all I +want to do, and here's the winter coming on and all.' + +“He put half his beard into his mouth, all red like the gold of his +crown. + +“'I'm sorry, Daniel,' says I. 'I've done all I could. I've drilled +the men and shown the people how to stack their oats better; and I've +brought in those tinware rifles from Ghorband--but I know what you're +driving at. I take it Kings always feel oppressed that way.' + +“'There's another thing too,' says Dravot, walking up and down. 'The +winter's coming, and these people won't be giving much trouble, and if +they do we can't move about. I want a wife.' + +“'For Gord's sake leave the women alone!' I says. 'We've both got all +the work we can, though I am a fool. Remember the Contrack, and keep +clear o' women.'” + +“'The Contrack only lasted till such time as we was Kings; and Kings +we have been these months past,' says Dravot, weighing his crown in his +hand. 'You go get a wife too, Peachey--a nice, strappin', plump girl +that'll keep you warm in the winter. They're prettier than English +girls, and we can take the pick of 'em. Boil 'em once or twice in hot +water, and they'll come out like chicken and ham.' + +“'Don't tempt me!' I says. 'I will not have any dealings with a woman, +not till we are a dam' side more settled than we are now. I've been +doing the work o' two men, and you've been doing the work of three. +Let's lie off a bit, and see if we can get some better tobacco from +Afghan country and run in some good liquor; and no women.'” + +“'Who's talking o' women?' says Dravot. 'I said wife--a Queen to breed +a King's son for the King. A Queen out of the strongest tribe, that'll +make them your blood-brothers, and that'll lie by your side and tell +you all the people thinks about you and their own affairs. That's what I +want.' + +“'Do you remember that Bengali woman I kept at Mogul Serai when I was +a plate-layer?' says I. 'A fat lot o' good she was to me. She taught me +the lingo and one or two other things; but what happened? She ran away +with the Station-master's servant and half my month's pay. Then +she turned up at Dadur Junction in tow of a half-caste, and had the +impidence to say I was her husband--all among the drivers in the +running-shed too!' + +“'We've done with that,' says Dravot; 'these women are whiter than you +or me, and a Queen I will have for the winter months.' + +“'For the last time o' asking, Dan, do not,' I says. 'It'll only bring +us harm. The Bible says that Kings ain't to waste their strength on +women, 'specially when they've got a new raw Kingdom to work over.' + +“'For the last time of answering, I will,' said Dravot, and he went away +through the pine trees looking like a big red devil, the sun being on +his crown and beard and all. + +“But getting a wife was not as easy as Dan thought. He put it before the +Council, and there was no answer till Billy Fish said that he'd better +ask the girls. Dravot damned them all round. + +“'What's wrong with me?' he shouts, standing by the idol Imbra. 'Am I +a dog, or am I not enough of a man for your wenches? Haven't I put the +shadow of my hand over this country? Who stopped the last Afghan raid?' +It was me really, but Dravot was too angry to remember. 'Who bought your +guns? Who repaired the bridges? Who's the Grand Master of the sign cut +in the stone?' says he, and he thumped his hand on the block that he +used to sit on in Lodge, and at Council, which opened like Lodge always. +Billy Fish said nothing, and no more did the others. 'Keep your hair +on, Dan,' said I, 'and ask the girls. That's how it's done at Home, and +these people are quite English.' + +“'The marriage of the King is a matter of State,' says Dan, in a +white-hot rage, for he could feel, I hope, that he was going against +his better mind. He walked out of the Council-room, and the others sat +still, looking at the ground. + +“'Billy Fish,' says I to the Chief of Bashkai, 'what's the difficulty +here? A straight answer to a true friend.' + +“'You know,' says Billy Fish. 'How should a man tell you who knows +everything? How can daughters of men marry Gods or Devils? It's not +proper.' + +“I remembered something like that in the Bible; but, if after seeing us +as long as they had, they still believed we were Gods, it wasn't for me +to undeceive them. + +“'A God can do anything,' says I. 'If the King is fond of a girl he'll +not let her die.' 'She'll have to,' said Billy Fish. 'There are all +sorts of Gods and Devils in these mountains, and now and again a girl +marries one of them and isn't seen any more. Besides, you two know the +Mark cut in the stone. Only the Gods know that. We thought you were men +till you showed the sign of the Master.' + +“I wished then that we had explained about the loss of the genuine +secrets of a Master Mason at the first go-off; but I said nothing. All +that night there was a blowing of horns in a little dark temple half-way +down the hill, and I heard the girl crying fit to die. One of the +priests told us that she was being prepared to marry the King. + +“'I'll have no nonsense of that kind,' says Dan. 'I don't want to +interfere with your customs, but I'll take my own wife.' 'The girl's a +little bit afraid,' says the priest. 'She thinks she's going to die, and +they are a-heartening of her up down in the temple.' + +“'Hearten her very tender, then,' says Dravot, 'or I'll hearten you with +the butt of a gun so you'll never want to be heartened again.' + +“He licked his lips, did Dan, and stayed up walking about more than half +the night, thinking of the wife that he was going to get in the morning. +I wasn't any means comfortable, for I knew that dealings with a woman +in foreign parts, though you was a crowned King twenty times over, could +not but be risky. I got up very early in the morning while Dravot was +asleep, and I saw the priests talking together in whispers, and the +Chiefs talking together too, and they looked at me out of the corners of +their eyes. + +“'What is up, Fish?' I say to the Bashkai man, who was wrapped up in his +furs and looking splendid to behold. + +“'I can't rightly say,' says he; 'but if you can make the King drop all +this nonsense about marriage, you'll be doing him and me and yourself a +great service.' + +“'That I do believe,' says I. 'But sure, you know, Billy, as well as me, +having fought against and for us, that the King and me are nothing more +than two of the finest men that God Almighty ever made. Nothing more, I +do assure you.' + +“'That may be,' says Billy Fish, 'and yet I should be sorry if it was.' +He sinks his head upon his great fur cloak for a minute and thinks. +'King,' says he, 'be you man or God or Devil, I'll stick by you today. +I have twenty of my men with me, and they will follow me. We'll go to +Bashkai until the storm blows over.' + +“A little snow had fallen in the night, and everything was white except +the greasy fat clouds that blew down and down from the north. Dravot +came out with his crown on his head, swinging his arms and stamping his +feet, and looking more pleased than Punch. + +“'For the last time, drop it, Dan,' says I, in a whisper; 'Billy Fish +here says that there will be a row.' + +“'A row among my people!' says Dravot. 'Not much. Peachey, you're a fool +not to get a wife too. Where's the girl?' says he, with a voice as loud +as the braying of a jackass. 'Call up all the Chiefs and priests, and +let the Emperor see if his wife suits him.' + +“There was no need to call any one. They were all there leaning on their +guns and spears round the clearing in the centre of the pine wood. A lot +of priests went down to the little temple to bring up the girl, and the +horns blew fit to wake the dead. Billy Fish saunters round and gets as +close to Daniel as he could, and behind him stood his twenty men with +matchlocks--not a man of them under six feet. I was next to Dravot, and +behind me was twenty men of the regular Army. Up comes the girl, and a +strapping wench she was, covered with silver and turquoises, but white +as death, and looking back every minute at the priests. + +“'She'll do,' said Dan, looking her over. 'What's to be afraid of, lass? +Come and kiss me.' He puts his arm round her. She shuts her eyes, +gives a bit of a squeak, and down goes her face in the side of Dan's +flaming-red beard. + +“'The slut's bitten me!' says he, clapping his hand to his neck, and, +sure enough, his hand was red with blood. Billy Fish and two of his +matchlock men catches hold of Dan by the shoulders and drags him into +the Bashkai lot, while the priests howls in their lingo, 'Neither God +nor Devil, but a man!' I was all taken aback, for a priest cut at me in +front, and the Army behind began firing into the Bashkai men. + +“'God A'mighty!' says Dan, 'what is the meaning o' this?' + +“'Come back! Come away!' says Billy Fish. 'Ruin and Mutiny is the +matter. We'll break for Bashkai if we can.' + +“I tried to give some sort of orders to my men,--the men o' the regular +Army,--but it was no use, so I fired into the brown of 'em with an +English Martini and drilled three beggars in a line. The valley was full +of shouting, howling creatures, and every soul was shrieking, 'Not a God +nor a Devil, but only a man!' The Bashkai troops stuck to Billy Fish all +they were worth, but their matchlocks wasn't half as good as the Kabul +breech-loaders, and four of them dropped. Dan was bellowing like a bull, +for he was very wrathy; and Billy Fish had a hard job to prevent him +running out at the crowd. + +“'We can't stand,' says Billy Fish. 'Make a run for it down the valley! +The whole place is against us.' The matchlock-men ran, and we went down +the valley in spite of Dravot. He was swearing horrible and crying +out that he was a King. The priests rolled great stones on us, and +the regular Army fired hard, and there wasn't more than six men, not +counting Dan, Billy Fish, and Me, that came down to the bottom of the +valley alive. + +“Then they stopped firing, and the horns in the temple blew again. + +“'Come away--for Gord's sake come away!' says Billy Fish. 'They'll send +runners out to all the villages before ever we get to Bashkai. I can +protect you there, but I can't do anything now.” + +“My own notion is that Dan began to go mad in his head from that hour. +He stared up and down like a stuck pig. Then he was all for walking back +alone and killing the priests with his bare hands; which he could have +done. 'An Emperor am I,' says Daniel, 'and next year I shall be a Knight +of the Queen.' + +“'All right, Dan,' says I; 'but come along now while there's time.' + +“'It's your fault,' says he, 'for not looking after your Army better. +There was mutiny in the midst, and you didn't know--you damned +engine-driving, plate-laying, missionary's-pass-hunting hound!' He sat +upon a rock and called me every foul name he could lay tongue to. I was +too heart-sick to care, though it was all his foolishness that brought +the smash. + +“'I'm sorry, Dan,' says I, 'but there's no accounting for natives. This +business is our Fifty-seven. Maybe we'll make something out of it yet, +when we've got to Bashkai.' + +“'Let's get to Bashkai, then,' says Dan, 'and, by God, when I come +back here again I'll sweep the valley so there isn't a bug in a blanket +left!' + +“We walked all that day, and all that night Dan was stumping up and down +on the snow, chewing his beard and muttering to himself. + +“'There's no hope o' getting clear,' said Billy Fish. 'The priests have +sent runners to the villages to say that you are only men. Why didn't +you stick on as Gods till things was more settled? I'm a dead man,' says +Billy Fish, and he throws himself down on the snow and begins to pray to +his Gods. + +“Next morning we was in a cruel bad country--all up and down, no level +ground at all, and no food, either. The six Bashkai men looked at Billy +Fish hungry-way as if they wanted to ask something, but they never said +a word. At noon we came to the top of a flat mountain all covered with +snow, and when we climbed up into it, behold, there was an Army in +position waiting in the middle! + +“'The runners have been very quick,' says Billy Fish, with a little bit +of a laugh. 'They are waiting for us.' + +“Three or four men began to fire from the enemy's side, and a chance +shot took Daniel in the calf of the leg. That brought him to his senses. +He looks across the snow at the Army, and sees the rifles that we had +brought into the country. + +“'We're done for,' says he. 'They are Englishmen, these people,--and +it's my blasted nonsense that has brought you to this. Get back, Billy +Fish, and take your men away; you've done what you could, and now cut +for it. Carnehan,' says he, 'shake hands with me and go along with +Billy, Maybe they won't kill you. I'll go and meet 'em alone. It's me +that did it! Me, the King!' + +“'Go!' says I. 'Go to Hell, Dan! I'm with you here. Billy Fish, you +clear out, and we two will meet those folk.' + +“'I'm a Chief,' says Billy Fish, quite quiet. 'I stay with you. My men +can go.' + +“The Bashkai fellows didn't wait for a second word, but ran off, and Dan +and Me and Billy Fish walked across to where the drums were drumming and +the horns were horning. It was cold--awful cold. I've got that cold in +the back of my head now. There's a lump of it there.” + +The punka-coolies had gone to sleep. Two kerosene lamps were blazing in +the office, and the perspiration poured down my face and splashed on the +blotter as I leaned forward. Carnehan was shivering, and I feared that +his mind might go. I wiped my face, took a fresh grip of the piteously +mangled hands, and said, “What happened after that?” + +The momentary shift of my eyes had broken the clear current. + +“What was you pleased to say?” whined Carnehan. “They took them without +any sound. Not a little whisper all along the snow, not though the King +knocked down the first man that set hand on him--not though old Peachey +fired his last cartridge into the brown of 'em. Not a single solitary +sound did those swines make. They just closed up tight, and I tell you +their furs stunk. There was a man called Billy Fish, a good friend of us +all, and they cut his throat, Sir, then and there, like a pig; and the +King kicks up the bloody snow and says, 'We've had a dashed fine run for +our money. What's coming next?' But Peachey, Peachey Taliaferro, I tell +you, Sir, in confidence as betwixt two friends, he lost his head, Sir. +No, he didn't, neither. The King lost his head, so he did, all along o' +one of those cunning rope bridges. Kindly let me have the paper-cutter, +Sir. It tilted this way. They marched him a mile across that snow to a +rope bridge over a ravine with a river at the bottom. You may have seen +such. They prodded him behind like an ox. 'Damn your eyes!' says the +King. 'D' you suppose I can't die like a gentleman?' + +“He turns to Peachey--Peachey that was crying like a child. 'I've +brought you to this, Peachey,' says he. 'Brought you out of your happy +life to be killed in Kafiristan, where you was late Commander-in-Chief +of the Emperor's forces. Say you forgive me, Peachey.' 'I do,' says +Peachey. 'Fully and freely do I forgive you, Dan.' 'Shake hands, +Peachey,' says he. 'I'm going now.' Out he goes, looking neither right +nor left, and when he was plumb in the middle of those dizzy dancing +ropes, 'Cut you beggars,' he shouts; and they cut, and old Dan fell, +turning round and round and round, twenty thousand miles, for he took +half an hour to fall till he struck the water, and I could see his body +caught on a rock with the gold crown close beside. + +“But do you know what they did to Peachey between two pine trees? They +crucified him, Sir, as Peachey's hand will show. They used wooden pegs +for his hands and feet; but he didn't die. He hung there and screamed, +and they took him down next day, and said it was a miracle that he +wasn't dead. They took him down--poor old Peachey that hadn't done them +any harm--that hadn't done them any--” + +He rocked to and fro and wept bitterly, wiping his eyes with the back of +his scarred hands and moaning like a child for some ten minutes. + +“They was cruel enough to feed him up in the temple, because they said +he was more of a God than old Daniel that was a man. Then they turned +him out on the snow, and told him to go home, and Peachey came home in +about a year, begging along the roads quite safe; for Daniel Dravot he +walked before and said, 'Come along, Peachey. It's a big thing we're +doing.' The mountains they danced at night, and the mountains they tried +to fall on Peachey's head, but Dan he held up his hand, and Peachey came +along bent double. He never let go of Dan's hand, and he never let go +of Dan's head. They gave it to him as a present in the temple, to remind +him not to come again; and though the crown was pure gold and Peachey +was starving, never would Peachey sell the same. You know Dravot, Sir! +You knew Right Worshipful Brother Dravot! Look at him now!” + +He fumbled in the mass of rags round his bent waist; brought out a black +horsehair bag embroidered with silver thread; and shook therefrom on to +my table--the dried, withered head of Daniel Dravot! The morning sun, +that had long been paling the lamps, struck the red beard and blind +sunken eyes; struck, too, a heavy circlet of gold studded with raw +turquoises, that Carnehan placed tenderly on the battered temples. + +“You be'old now,” said Carnehan, “the Emperor in his 'abit as he +lived--the King of Kafiristan with his crown upon his head. Poor old +Daniel that was a monarch once!” + +I shuddered, for, in spite of defacements manifold, I recognised the +head of the man of Marwar Junction. Carnehan rose to go. I attempted to +stop him. He was not fit to walk abroad. “Let me take away the whisky, +and give me a little money,” he gasped. “I was a King once. I'll go to +the Deputy Commissioner and ask to set in the Poorhouse till I get my +health. No, thank you, I can't wait till you get a carriage for me. I've +urgent private affairs--in the south--at Marwar.” + +He shambled out of the office and departed in the direction of the +Deputy Commissioner's house. That day at noon I had occasion to go down +the blinding-hot Mall, and I saw a crooked man crawling along the white +dust of the roadside, his hat in his hand, quavering dolorously after +the fashion of street-singers at Home. There was not a soul in sight, +and he was out of all possible earshot of the houses. And he sang +through his nose, turning his head from right to left: + + “The Son of Man goes forth to war, + A golden crown to gain; + His blood-red banner streams afar-- + Who follows in His train?” + +I waited to hear no more, but put the poor wretch into my carriage and +drove him off to the nearest missionary for eventual transfer to the +Asylum. He repeated the hymn twice while he was with me, whom he did not +in the least recognise, and I left him singing it to the missionary. + +Two days later I inquired after his welfare of the Superintendent of the +Asylum. + +“He was admitted suffering from sunstroke. He died early yesterday +morning,” said the Superintendent. “Is it true that he was half an hour +bareheaded in the sun at midday?” + +“Yes,” said I; “but do you happen to know if he had anything upon him by +any chance when he died?” + +“Not to my knowledge,” said the Superintendent. + +And there the matter rests. + + * * * * * + + + + +“THE FINEST STORY IN THE WORLD” + + “O' ever the knightly years were gone + With the old world to the grave, + I was a king in Babylon + And you were a Christian slave.” + --W. E. Henley. + +His name was Charlie Mears; he was the only son of his mother who was a +widow, and he lived in the north of London, coming into the City +every day to work in a bank. He was twenty years old and suffered from +aspirations. I met him in a public billiard-saloon where the marker +called him by his given name, and he called the marker “Bulls-eyes.” + Charley explained, a little nervously, that he had only come to the +place to look on, and since looking on at games of skill is not a cheap +amusement for the young, I suggested that Charlie should go back to his +mother. + +That was our first step toward better acquaintance. He would call on +me sometimes in the evenings instead of running about London with his +fellow-clerks; and before long, speaking of himself as a young man must, +he told me of his aspirations, which were all literary. He desired to +make himself an undying name chiefly through verse, though he was not +above sending stories of love and death to the drop-a-penny-in-the-slot +journals. It was my fate to sit still while Charlie read me poems of +many hundred lines, and bulky fragments of plays that would surely +shake the world. My reward was his unreserved confidence, and the +self-revelations and troubles of a young man are almost as holy as those +of a maiden. + +Charlie had never fallen in love, but was anxious to do so on the first +opportunity; he believed in all things good and all things honorable, +but, at the same time, was curiously careful to let me see that he +knew his way about the world as befitted a bank clerk on twenty-five +shillings a week. He rhymed “dove” with “love” and “moon” with “June,” + and devoutly believed that they had never so been rhymed before. The +long lame gaps in his plays he filled up with hasty words of apology and +description and swept on, seeing all that he intended to do so clearly +that he esteemed it already done, and turned to me for applause. + +I fancy that his mother did not encourage his aspirations, and I know +that his writing-table at home was the edge of his washstand. This he +told me almost at the outset of our acquaintance; when he was ravaging +my bookshelves, and a little before I was implored to speak the truth +as to his chances of “writing something really great, you know.” Maybe +I encouraged him too much, for, one night, he called on me, his eyes +flaming with excitement, and said breathlessly: + +“Do you mind--can you let me stay here and write all this evening? I +won't interrupt you, I won't really. There's no place for me to write in +at my mother's.” + +“What's the trouble?” I said, knowing well what that trouble was. + +“I've a notion in my head that would make the most splendid story that +was ever written. Do let me write it out here. It's such a notion!” + +There was no resisting the appeal. I set him a table; he hardly +thanked me, but plunged into the work at once. For half an hour the pen +scratched without stopping. Then Charlie sighed and tugged his hair. The +scratching grew slower, there were more erasures, and at last ceased. +The finest story in the world would not come forth. + +“It looks such awful rot now” he said, mournfully. “And yet it seemed so +good when I was thinking about it. What's wrong?” + +I could not dishearten him by saying the truth. So I answered: “Perhaps +you don't feel in the mood for writing.” + +“Yes I do--except when I look at this stuff. Ugh!” + +“Read me what you've done,” I said. He read, and it was wondrous bad +and he paused at all the specially turgid sentences, expecting a little +approval; for he was proud of those sentences, as I knew he would be. + +“It needs compression,” I suggested, cautiously. + +“I hate cutting my things down. I don't think you could alter a word +here without spoiling the sense. It reads better aloud than when I was +writing it.” + +“Charlie, you're suffering from an alarming disease afflicting a +numerous class. Put the thing by, and tackle it again in a week.” + +“I want to do it at once. What do you think of it?” + +“How can I judge from a half-written tale? Tell me the story as it lies +in your head.” + +Charlie told, and in the telling there was everything that his ignorance +had so carefully prevented from escaping into the written word. I looked +at him, and wondering whether it were possible, that he did not know the +originality, the power of the notion that had come in his way? It was +distinctly a Notion among notions. Men had been puffed up with pride by +notions not a tithe as excellent and practicable. But Charlie babbled +on serenely, interrupting the current of pure fancy with samples of +horrible sentences that he purposed to use. I heard him out to the end. +It would be folly to allow his idea to remain in his own inept hands, +when I could do so much with it. Not all that could be done indeed; but, +oh so much! + +“What do you think?” he said, at last. “I fancy I shall call it 'The +Story of a Ship.'” + +“I think the idea's pretty good; but you won't Be able to handle it for +ever so long. Now I--” + +“Would it be of any use to you? Would you care to take it? I should be +proud,” said Charlie, promptly. + +There are few things sweeter in this world than the guileless, +hot-headed, intemperate, open admiration of a junior. Even a woman in +her blindest devotion does not fall into the gait of the man she adores, +tilt her bonnet to the angle at which he wears his hat, or interlard her +speech with his pet oaths. And Charlie did all these things. Still +it was necessary to salve my conscience before I possessed myself of +Charlie's thoughts. + +“Let's make a bargain. I'll give you a fiver for the notion,” I said. + +Charlie became a bank-clerk at once. + +“Oh, that's impossible. Between two pals, you know, if I may call you +so, and speaking as a man of the world, I couldn't. Take the notion if +it's any use to you. I've heaps more.” + +He had--none knew this better than I--but they were the notions of other +men. + +“Look at it as a matter of business--between men of the world,” I +returned. “Five pounds will buy you any number of poetry-books. Business +is business, and you may be sure I shouldn't give that price unless--” + +“Oh, if you put it that way,” said Charlie, visibly moved by the thought +of the books. The bargain was clinched with an agreement that he should +at unstated intervals come to me with all the notions that he possessed, +should have a table of his own to write at, and unquestioned right to +inflict upon me all his poems and fragments of poems. Then I said, “Now +tell me how you came by this idea.” + +“It came by itself.” Charlie's eyes opened a little. + +“Yes, but you told me a great deal about the hero that you must have +read before somewhere.” + +“I haven't any time for reading, except when you let me sit here, and +on Sundays I'm on my bicycle or down the river all day. There's nothing +wrong about the hero, is there?” + +“Tell me again and I shall understand clearly. You say that your hero +went pirating. How did he live?” + +“He was on the lower deck of this ship-thing that I was telling you +about.” + +“What sort of ship?” + +“It was the kind rowed with oars, and the sea spurts through the +oar-holes and the men row sitting up to their knees in water. Then +there's a bench running down between the two lines of oars and an +overseer with a whip walks up and down the bench to make the men work.” + +“How do you know that?” + +“It's in the table. There's a rope running overhead, looped to the upper +deck, for the overseer to catch hold of when the ship rolls. When the +overseer misses the rope once and falls among the rowers, remember the +hero laughs at him and gets licked for it. He's chained to his oar of +course--the hero.” + +“How is he chained?” + +“With an iron band round his waist fixed to the bench he sits on, and a +sort of handcuff on his left wrist chaining him to the oar. He's on the +lower deck where the worst men are sent, and the only light comes from +the hatchways and through the oar-holes. Can't you imagine the sunlight +just squeezing through between the handle and the hole and wobbling +about as the ship moves?” + +“I can, but I can't imagine your imagining it.” + +“How could it be any other way? Now you listen to me. The long oars on +the upper deck are managed by four men to each bench, the lower ones +by three, and the lowest of all by two. Remember it's quite dark on the +lowest deck and all the men there go mad. When a man dies at his oar +on that deck he isn't thrown overboard, but cut up in his chains and +stuffed through the oar-hole in little pieces.” + +“Why?” I demanded, amazed, not so much at the information as the tone of +command in which it was flung out. + +“To save trouble and to frighten the others. It needs two overseers to +drag a man's body up to the top deck; and if the men at the lower deck +oars were left alone, of course they'd stop rowing and try to pull up +the benches by all standing up together in their chains.” + +“You've a most provident imagination. Where have you been reading about +galleys and galley-slaves?” + +“Nowhere that I remember. I row a little when I get the chance. But, +perhaps, if you say so, I may have read something.” + +He went away shortly afterward to deal with booksellers, and I wondered +how a bank clerk aged twenty could put into my hands with a profligate +abundance of detail, all given with absolute assurance, the story of +extravagant and bloodthirsty adventure, riot, piracy, and death in +unnamed seas. He had led his hero a desperate dance through revolt +against the overseas, to command of a ship of his own, and ultimate +establishment of a kingdom on an island “somewhere in the sea, you +know”; and, delighted with my paltry five pounds, had gone out to buy +the notions of other men, that these might teach him how to write. I +had the consolation of knowing that this notion was mine by right of +purchase, and I thought that I could make something of it. + +When next he came to me he was drunk--royally drunk on many poets for +the first time revealed to him. His pupils were dilated, his words +tumbled over each other, and he wrapped himself in quotations. Most of +all was he drunk with Longfellow. + +“Isn't it splendid? Isn't it superb?” he cried, after hasty greetings. + +“Listen to this-- + +“'Wouldst thou,' so the helmsman answered, 'Know the secret of the sea? +Only those who brave its dangers Comprehend its mystery.' + +“By gum! + +“'Only those who brave its dangers Comprehend its mystery.'” he repeated +twenty times, walking up and down the room and forgetting me. “But I can +understand it too,” he said to himself. “I don't know how to thank you +for that fiver. And this; listen-- + +“'I remember the black wharves and the ships And the sea-tides tossing +free, And the Spanish sailors with bearded lips, And the beauty and +mystery of the ships, And the magic of the sea.' + +“I haven't braved any dangers, but I feel as if I knew all about it.” + +“You certainly seem to have a grip of the sea. Have you ever seen it?” + +“When I was a little chap I went to Brighton once; we used to live in +Coventry, though, before we came to London. I never saw it. + +“'When descends on the Atlantic The gigantic Storm-wind of the +Equinox.'” + +He shook me by the shoulder to make me understand the passion that was +shaking himself. + +“When that storm comes,” he continued, “I think that all the oars in +the ship that I was talking about get broken, and the rowers have their +chests smashed in by the bucking oar-heads. By the way, have you done +anything with that notion of mine yet?” + +“No. I was waiting to hear more of it from you. Tell me how in the world +you're so certain about the fittings of the ship. You know nothing of +ships.” + +“I don't know. It's as real as anything to me until I try to write it +down. I was thinking about it only last night in bed, after you had +loaned me 'Treasure Island'; and I made up a whole lot of new things to +go into the story.” + +“What sort of things?” + +“About the food the men ate; rotten figs and black beans and wine in a +skin bag, passed from bench to bench.” + +“Was the ship built so long ago as that?” + +“As what? I don't know whether it was long ago or not. It's only a +notion, but sometimes it seems just as real as if it was true. Do I +bother you with talking about it?” + +“Not in the least. Did you make up anything else?” + +“Yes, but it's nonsense.” Charlie flushed a little. + +“Never mind; let's hear about it.” + +“Well, I was thinking over the story, and after awhile I got out of bed +and wrote down on a piece of paper the sort of stuff the men might be +supposed to scratch on their oars with the edges of their handcuffs. It +seemed to make the thing more lifelike. It is so real to me, y'know.” + +“Have you the paper on you?” + +“Ye-es, but what's the use of showing it? It's only a lot of scratches. +All the same, we might have 'em reproduced in the book on the front +page.” + +“I'll attend to those details. Show me what your men wrote.” + +He pulled out of his pocket a sheet of note-paper, with a single line of +scratches upon it, and I put this carefully away. + +“What is it supposed to mean in English?” I said. + +“Oh, I don't know. Perhaps it means 'I'm beastly tired.' It's great +nonsense,” he repeated, “but all those men in the ship seem as real +people to me. Do do something to the notion soon; I should like to see +it written and printed.” + +“But all you've told me would make a long book.” + +“Make it then. You've only to sit down and write it out.” + +“Give me a little time. Have you any more notions?” + +“Not just now. I'm reading all the books I've bought. They're splendid.” + +When he had left I looked at the sheet of note-paper with the +inscription upon it. Then I took my head tenderly between both hands, to +make certain that it was not coming off or turning round. + +Then--but there seemed to be no interval between quitting my rooms and +finding myself arguing with a policeman outside a door marked Private +in a corridor of the British Museum. All I demanded, as politely as +possible, was “the Greek antiquity man.” The policeman knew nothing +except the rules of the Museum, and it became necessary to forage +through all the houses and offices inside the gates. An elderly +gentleman called away from his lunch put an end to my search by holding +the note-paper between finger and thumb and sniffing at it scornfully. + +“What does this mean? H'mm,” said he. “So far as I can ascertain it is +an attempt to write extremely corrupt Greek on the part”--here he glared +at me with intention--“of an extremely illiterate--ah--person.” He read +slowly from the paper, “Pollock, Erckman, Tauchnitz, Henniker”--four +names familiar to me. + +“Can you tell me what the corruption is supposed to mean--the gist of +the thing?” I asked. + +“'I have been--many times--overcome with weariness in this particular +employment. That is the meaning.'” He returned me the paper, and I fled +without a word of thanks, explanation, or apology. + +I might have been excused for forgetting much. To me of all men had been +given the chance to write the most marvelous tale in the world, nothing +less than the story of a Greek galley-slave, as told by himself. Small +wonder that his dreaming had seemed real to Charlie. The Fates that are +so careful to shut the doors of each successive life behind us had, in +this case, been neglectful, and Charlie was looking, though that he did +not know, where never man had been permitted to look with full knowledge +since Time began. Above all he was absolutely ignorant of the knowledge +sold to me for five pounds; and he would retain that ignorance, for +bank-clerks do not understand metempsychosis, and a sound commercial +education does not include Greek. He would supply me--here I capered +among the dumb gods of Egypt and laughed in their battered faces--with +material to make my tale sure--so sure that the world would hail it as +an impudent and vamped fiction. And I--I alone would know that it was +absolutely and literally true. I alone held this jewel to my hand for +the cutting and polishing. + +Therefore I danced again among the gods till a policeman saw me and took +steps in my direction. + +It remained now only to encourage Charlie to talk, and here there was no +difficulty. But I had forgotten those accursed books of poetry. He came +to me time after time, as useless as a surcharged phonograph--drunk on +Byron, Shelley, or Keats. Knowing now what the boy had been in his past +lives, and desperately anxious not to lose one word of his babble, I +could not hide from him my respect and interest. He misconstrued both +into respect for the present soul of Charlie Mears, to whom life was as +new as it was to Adam, and interest in his readings; and stretched my +patience to breaking point by reciting poetry--not his own now, but +that of others. I wished every English poet blotted out of the memory of +mankind. I blasphemed the mightiest names of song because they had drawn +Charlie from the path of direct narrative, and would, later, spur him to +imitate them; but I choked down my impatience until the first flood of +enthusiasm should have spent itself and the boy returned to his dreams. + +“What's the use of my telling you what I think, when these chaps wrote +things for the angels to read?” he growled, one evening. “Why don't you +write something like theirs?” + +“I don't think you're treating me quite fairly,” I said, speaking under +strong restraint. + +“I've given you the story,” he said, shortly replunging into “Lara.” + +“But I want the details.” + +“The things I make up about that damned ship that you call a galley? +They're quite easy. You can just make 'em up yourself. Turn up the gas a +little, I want to go on reading.” + +I could have broken the gas globe over his head for his amazing +stupidity. I could indeed make up things for myself did I only know what +Charlie did not know that he knew. But since the doors were shut behind +me I could only wait his youthful pleasure and strive to keep him +in good temper. One minute's want of guard might spoil a priceless +revelation: now and again he would toss his books aside--he kept them +in my rooms, for his mother would have been shocked at the waste of +good money had she seen them--and launched into his sea dreams. Again I +cursed all the poets of England. The plastic mind of the bank-clerk had +been overlaid, colored and distorted by that which he had read, and the +result as delivered was a confused tangle of other voices most like the +muttered song through a City telephone in the busiest part of the day. + +He talked of the galley--his own galley had he but known it--with +illustrations borrowed from the “Bride of Abydos.” He pointed the +experiences of his hero with quotations from “The Corsair,” and threw +in deep and desperate moral reflections from “Cain” and “Manfred,” + expecting me to use them all. Only when the talk turned on Longfellow +were the jarring cross-currents dumb, and I knew that Charlie was +speaking the truth as he remembered it. + +“What do you think of this?” I said one evening, as soon as I understood +the medium in which his memory worked best, and, before he could +expostulate read him the whole of “The Saga of King Olaf!” + +He listened open-mouthed, flushed his hands drumming on the back of the +sofa where he lay, till I came to the Songs of Emar Tamberskelver and +the verse: + +“Emar then, the arrow taking From the loosened string, Answered: 'That +was Norway breaking 'Neath thy hand, O King.'” + +He gasped with pure delight of sound. + +“That's better than Byron, a little,” I ventured. + +“Better? Why it's true! How could he have known?” + +I went back and repeated: + + “'What was that?' said Olaf, standing + On the quarter-deck, + 'Something heard I like the stranding + Of a shattered wreck.'” + +“How could he have known how the ships crash and the oars rip out and go +z-zzp all along the line? Why only the other night--But go back please +and read 'The Skerry of Shrieks' again.” + +“No, I'm tired. Let's talk. What happened the other night?” + +“I had an awful nightmare about that galley of ours. I dreamed I was +drowned in a fight. You see we ran alongside another ship in harbor. The +water was dead still except where our oars whipped it up. You know where +I always sit in the galley?” He spoke haltingly at first, under a fine +English fear of being laughed at. + +“No. That's news to me,” I answered, meekly, my heart beginning to beat. + +“On the fourth oar from the bow on the right side on the upper deck. +There were four of us at the oar, all chained. I remember watching the +water and trying to get my handcuffs off before the row began. Then we +closed up on the other ship, and all their fighting men jumped over our +bulwarks, and my bench broke and I was pinned down with the three other +fellows on top of me, and the big oar jammed across our backs.” + +“Well?” Charlie's eyes were alive and alight. He was looking at the wall +behind my chair. + +“I don't know how we fought. The men were trampling all over my back, +and I lay low. Then our rowers on the left side--tied to their oars, you +know--began to yell and back water. I could hear the water sizzle, and +we spun round like a cockchafer and I knew, lying where I was, that +there was a galley coming up bow-on, to ram us on the left side. I could +just lift up my head and see her sail over the bulwarks. We wanted to +meet her bow to bow, but it was too late. We could only turn a little +bit because the galley on our right had hooked herself on to us and +stopped our moving. Then, by gum! there was a crash! Our left oars began +to break as the other galley, the moving one y'know, stuck her nose into +them. Then the lower-deck oars shot up through the deck-planking, butt +first, and one of them jumped clean up into the air and came down again +close to my head.” + +“How was that managed?” + +“The moving galley's bow was plunking them back through their own +oarholes, and I could hear the devil of a shindy in the decks below. +Then her nose caught us nearly in the middle, and we tilted sideways, +and the fellows in the right-hand galley unhitched their hooks and +ropes, and threw things on to our upper deck--arrows, and hot pitch or +something that stung, and we went up and up and up on the left side, +and the right side dipped, and I twisted my head round and saw the water +stand still as it topped the right bulwarks, and then it curled over and +crashed down on the whole lot of us on the right side, and I felt it hit +my back, and I woke.” + +“One minute, Charlie. When the sea topped the bulwarks, what did it look +like?” I had my reasons for asking. A man of my acquaintance had +once gone down with a leaking ship in a still sea, and had seen the +water-level pause for an instant ere it fell on the deck. + +“It looked just like a banjo-string drawn tight, and it seemed to stay +there for years,” said Charlie. + +Exactly! The other man had said: “It looked like a silver wire laid down +along the bulwarks, and I thought it was never going to break.” He had +paid everything except the bare life for this little valueless piece of +knowledge, and I had traveled ten thousand weary miles to meet him +and take his knowledge at second hand. But Charlie, the bank-clerk, on +twenty-five shillings a week, he who had never been out of sight of a +London omnibus, knew it all. It was no consolation to me that once in +his lives he had been forced to die for his gains. I also must have died +scores of times, but behind me, because I could have used my knowledge, +the doors were shut. + +“And then?” I said, trying to put away the devil of envy. + +“The funny thing was, though, in all the mess I didn't feel a bit +astonished or frightened. It seemed as if I'd been in a good many +fights, because I told my next man so when the row began. But that cad +of an overseer on my deck wouldn't unloose our chains and give us a +chance. He always said that we'd all Be set free after a battle, but we +never were; We never were.” Charlie shook his head mournfully. + +“What a scoundrel!” + +“I should say he was. He never gave us enough to eat, and sometimes +we were so thirsty that we used to drink salt-water. I can taste that +salt-water still.'' + +“Now tell me something about the harbor where the fight was fought.” + +“I didn't dream about that. I know it was a harbor, though; because we +were tied up to a ring on a white wall and all the face of the stone +under water was covered with wood to prevent our ram getting chipped +when the tide made us rock.” + +“That's curious. Our hero commanded the galley? Didn't he?” + +“Didn't he just! He stood by the bows and shouted like a good 'un. He +was the man who killed the overseer.” + +“But you were all drowned together, Charlie, weren't you?” + +“I can't make that fit quite,” he said with a puzzled look. “The galley +must have gone down with all hands and yet I fancy that the hero went on +living afterward. Perhaps he climbed into the attacking ship. I wouldn't +see that, of course. I was dead, you know.” + +He shivered slightly and protested that he could remember no more. + +I did not press him further, but to satisfy myself that he lay in +ignorance of the workings of his own mind, deliberately introduced him +to Mortimer Collins's “Transmigration,” and gave him a sketch of the +plot before he opened the pages. + +“What rot it all is!” he said, frankly, at the end of an hour. “I don't +understand his nonsense about the Red Planet Mars and the King, and the +rest of it. Chuck me the Longfellow again.” + +I handed him the book and wrote out as much as I could remember of his +description of the sea-fight, appealing to him from time to time for +confirmation of fact or detail. He would answer without raising his eyes +from the book, as assuredly as though all his knowledge lay before flint +on the printed page. I spoke under the normal key of my voice that the +current might not be broken, and I know that he was not aware of what he +was saying, for his thoughts were out on the sea with Longfellow. + +“Charlie,” I asked, “when the rowers on the galleys mutinied how did +they kill their overseers?” + +“Tore up the benches and brained 'em. That happened when a heavy sea was +running. An overseer on the lower deck slipped from the centre plank and +fell among the rowers. They choked him to death against the side of the +ship with their chained hands quite quietly, and it was too dark for the +other overseer to see what had happened. When he asked, he was pulled +down too and choked, and the lower deck fought their way up deck by +deck, with the pieces of the broken benches banging behind 'em. How they +howled!” + +“And what happened after that?” + +“I don't know. The hero went away--red hair and red beard and all. That +was after he had captured our galley, I think.” + +The sound of my voice irritated him, and he motioned slightly with his +left hand as a man does when interruption jars. + +“You never told me he was redheaded before, or that he captured your +galley,” I said, after a discreet interval. + +Charlie did not raise his eyes. + +“He was as red as a red bear,” said he, abstractedly. “He came from the +north; they said so in the galley when he looked for rowers--not slaves, +but free men. Afterward--years and years afterward--news came from +another ship, or else he came back”--His lips moved in silence. He was +rapturously retasting some poem before him. + +“Where had he been, then?” I was almost whispering that the sentence +might come gentle to whichever section of Charlie's brain was working on +my behalf. + +“To the Beaches--the Long and Wonderful Beaches!” was the reply, after a +minute of silence. + +“To Furdurstrandi?” I asked, tingling from head to foot. + +“Yes, to Furdurstrandi,” he pronounced the word in a new fashion “And I +too saw”--The voice failed. + +“Do you know what you have said?” I shouted, incautiously. + +He lifted his eyes, fully roused now. “No!” he snapped. “I wish you'd +let a chap go on reading. Hark to this: + +“'But Othere, the old sea captain, He neither paused nor stirred Till +the king listened, and then + + Once more took up his pen + And wrote down every word. + + “'And to the King of the Saxons + In witness of the truth, + Raising his noble head, + He stretched his brown hand and said, + “Behold this walrus tooth.” + +“By Jove, what chaps those must have been, to go sailing all over the +shop never knowing where they'd fetch the land! Hah!” + +“Charlie,” I pleaded, “if you'll only be sensible for a minute or two +I'll make our hero in our tale every inch as good as Othere.” + +“Umph! Longfellow wrote that poem. I don't care about writing things +any more. I want to read.” He was thoroughly out of tune now, and raging +over my own ill-luck, I left him. + +Conceive yourself at the door of the world's treasure-house guarded by a +child--an idle irresponsible child playing knuckle-bones--on whose favor +depends the gift of the key, and you will imagine one-half my torment. +Till that evening Charlie had spoken nothing that might not lie within +the experiences of a Greek galley-slave. But now, or there was no virtue +in books, he had talked of some desperate adventure of the Vikings, of +Thorfin Karlsefne's sailing to Wineland, which is America, in the ninth +or tenth century. The battle in the harbor he had seen; and his own +death he had described. But this was a much more startling plunge into +the past. Was it possible that he had skipped half a dozen lives and was +then dimly remembering some episode of a thousand years later? It was +a maddening jumble, and the worst of it was that Charlie Mears in his +normal condition was the last person in the world to clear it up. I +could only wait and watch, but I went to bed that night full of the +wildest imaginings. There was nothing that was not possible if Charlie's +detestable memory only held good. + +I might rewrite the Saga of Thorfin Karlsefne as it had never been +written before, might tell the story of the first discovery of America, +myself the discoverer. But I was entirely at Charlie's mercy, and so +long as there was a three-and-six-penny Bohn volume within his reach +Charlie would not tell. I dared not curse him openly; I hardly dared jog +his memory, for I was dealing with the experiences of a thousand years +ago, told through the mouth of a boy of today; and a boy of today is +affected by every change of tone and gust of opinion, so that he lies +even when he desires to speak the truth. + +I saw no more of him for nearly a week. When next I met him it was in +Gracechurch Street with a billbook chained to his waist. + +Business took him over London Bridge and I accompanied him. He was very +full of the importance of that book and magnified it. + +As we passed over the Thames we paused to look at a steamer unloading +great slabs of white and brown marble. A barge drifted under the +steamer's stern and a lonely cow in that barge bellowed. + +Charlie's face changed from the face of the bank-clerk to that of an +unknown and--though he would not have believed this--a much shrewder +man. He flung out his arm across the parapet of the bridge, and laughing +very loudly, said: “When they heard our bulls bellow the Skroelings ran +away!” + +I waited only for an instant, but the barge and the cow had disappeared +under the bows of the steamer before I answered. + +“Charlie, what do you suppose are Skroelings?” + +“Never heard of 'em before. They sound like a new kind of seagull. What +a chap you are for asking questions!” he replied. “I have to go to the +cashier of the Omnibus Company yonder. Will you wait for me and we can +lunch somewhere together? I've a notion for a poem.” + +“No, thanks. I'm off. You're sure you know nothing about Skroelings?” + +“Not unless he's been entered for the Liverpool Handicap.” He nodded and +disappeared in the crowd. + +Now it is written in the Saga of Eric the Red or that of Thorfin +Karlsefne, that nine hundred years ago when Karlsefne's galleys came +to Leif's booths, which Leif had erected in the unknown land +called Markland, which may or may not have been Rhode Island, the +Skroelings--and the Lord He knows who these may or may not have +been--came to trade with the Vikings, and ran away because they were +frightened at the bellowing of the cattle which Thorfin had brought with +him in the ships. But what in the world could a Greek slave know of that +affair? I wandered up and down among the streets trying to unravel the +mystery, and the more I considered it, the more baffling it grew. One +thing only seemed certain and that certainty took away my breath for the +moment. If I came to full knowledge of anything at all, it would not be +one life of the soul in Charlie Mears's body, but half a dozen--half a +dozen several and separate existences spent on blue water in the morning +of the world! + +Then I walked round the situation. + +Obviously if I used my knowledge I should stand alone and unapproachable +until all men were as wise as myself. That would be something, but +manlike I was ungrateful. It seemed bitterly unfair that Charlie's +memory should fail me when I needed it most. + +Great Powers above--I looked up at them through the fog smoke--did the +Lords of Life and Death know what this meant to me? Nothing less than +eternal fame of the best kind; that comes from One, and is shared by one +alone. I would be content--remembering Clive, I stood astounded at my +own moderation,--with the mere right to tell one story, to work out one +little contribution to the light literature of the day. If Charlie were +permitted full recollection for one hour--for sixty short minutes--of +existences that had extended over a thousand years--I would forego all +profit and honor from all that I should make of his speech. I would take +no share in the commotion that would follow throughout the particular +corner of the earth that calls itself “the world.” The thing should be +put forth anonymously. Nay, I would make other men believe that they had +written it. They would hire bull-hided self-advertising Englishmen to +bellow it abroad. Preachers would found a fresh conduct of life upon it, +swearing that it was new and that they had lifted the fear of death from +all mankind. Every Orientalist in Europe would patronize it discursively +with Sanskrit and Pali texts. Terrible women would invent unclean +variants of the men's belief for the elevation of their sisters. +Churches and religions would war over it. Between the hailing and +re-starting of an omnibus I foresaw the scuffles that would arise among +half a dozen denominations all professing “the doctrine of the True +Metempsychosis as applied to the world and the New Era”; and saw, too, +the respectable English newspapers shying, like frightened kine, +over the beautiful simplicity of the tale. The mind leaped forward a +hundred--two hundred--a thousand years. I saw with sorrow that men would +mutilate and garble the story; that rival creeds would turn it upside +down till, at last, the western world which clings to the dread of death +more closely than the hope of life, would set it aside as an interesting +superstition and stampede after some faith so long forgotten that it +seemed altogether new. Upon this I changed the terms of the bargain that +I would make with the Lords of Life and Death. Only let me know, let me +write, the story with sure knowledge that I wrote the truth, and I would +burn the manuscript as a solemn sacrifice. Five minutes after the last +line was written I would destroy it all. But I must be allowed to write +it with absolute certainty. + +There was no answer. The flaming colors of an Aquarium poster caught my +eye and I wondered whether it would be wise or prudent to lure Charlie +into the hands of the professional mesmerist, and whether, if he were +under his power, he would speak of his past lives. If he did, and if +people believed him--but Charlie would be frightened and flustered, or +made conceited by the interviews. In either case he would begin to lie, +through fear or vanity. He was safest in my own hands. + +“They are very funny fools, your English,” said a voice at my elbow, and +turning round I recognized a casual acquaintance, a young Bengali law +student, called Grish Chunder, whose father had sent him to England to +become civilized. The old man was a retired native official, and on an +income of five pounds a month contrived to allow his son two hundred +pounds a year, and the run of his teeth in a city where he could pretend +to be the cadet of a royal house, and tell stories of the brutal Indian +bureaucrats who ground the faces of the poor. + +Grish Chunder was a young, fat, full-bodied Bengali dressed with +scrupulous care in frock coat, tall hat, light trousers and tan gloves. +But I had known him in the days when the brutal Indian Government paid +for his university education, and he contributed cheap sedition to Sachi +Durpan, and intrigued with the wives of his schoolmates. + +“That is very funny and very foolish,” he said, nodding at the poster. +“I am going down to the Northbrook Club. Will you come too?” + +I walked with him for some time. “You are not well,” he said. “What is +there in your mind? You do not talk.” + +“Grish Chunder, you've been too well educated to believe in a God, +haven't you?” + +“Oah, yes, here! But when I go home I must conciliate popular +superstition, and make ceremonies of purification, and my women will +anoint idols.” + +“And bang up tulsi and feast the purohit, and take you back into +caste again and make a good khuttri of you again, you advanced social +Free-thinker. And you'll eat desi food, and like it all, from the smell +in the courtyard to the mustard oil over you.” + +“I shall very much like it,” said Grish Chunder, unguardedly. “Once a +Hindu--always a Hindu. But I like to know what the English think they +know.” + +“I'll tell you something that one Englishman knows. It's an old tale to +you.” + +I began to tell the story of Charlie in English, but Grish Chunder put +a question in the vernacular, and the history went forward naturally in +the tongue best suited for its telling. After all it could never have +been told in English. Grish Chunder heard me, nodding from time to time, +and then came up to my rooms where I finished the tale. + +“Beshak,” he said, philosophically. “Lekin darwaza band hai. (Without +doubt, but the door is shut.) I have heard of this remembering of +previous existences among my people. It is of course an old tale with +us, but, to happen to an Englishman--a cow-fed Malechk--an outcast. By +Jove, that is most peculiar!” + +“Outcast yourself, Grish Chunder! You eat cow-beef every day. Let's +think the thing over. The boy remembers his incarnations.” + +“Does he know that?” said Grish Chunder, quietly, swinging his legs as +he sat on my table. He was speaking in English now. + +“He does not know anything. Would I speak to you if he did? Go on!” + +“There is no going on at all. If you tell that to your friends they will +say you are mad and put it in the papers. Suppose, now, you prosecute +for libel.” + +“Let's leave that out of the question entirely. Is there any chance of +his being made to speak?” + +“There is a chance. Oah, yess! But if he spoke it would mean that all +this world would end now--instanto--fall down on your head. These things +are not allowed, you know. As I said, the door is shut.” + +“Not a ghost of a chance?” + +“How can there be? You are a Christian, and it is forbidden to eat, in +your books, of the Tree of Life, or else you would never die. How shall +you all fear death if you all know what your friend does not know that +he knows? I am afraid to be kicked, but I am not afraid to die, because +I know what I know. You are not afraid to be kicked, but you are afraid +to die. If you were not, by God! you English would be all over the shop +in an hour, upsetting the balances of power, and making commotions. It +would not be good. But no fear. He will remember a little and a little +less, and he will call it dreams. Then he will forget altogether. When +I passed my First Arts Examination in Calcutta that was all in the +cram-book on Wordsworth. Trailing clouds of glory, you know.” + +“This seems to be an exception to the rule.” + +“There are no exceptions to rules. Some are not so hard-looking as +others, but they are all the same when you touch. If this friend of +yours said so-and-so and so-and-so, indicating that he remembered all +his lost lives, or one piece of a lost life, he would not be in the bank +another hour. He would be what you called sack because he was mad, and +they would send him to an asylum for lunatics. You can see that, my +friend.” + +“Of course I can, but I wasn't thinking of him. His name need never +appear in the story.” + +“Ah! I see. That story will never be written. You can try.” + +“I am going to.” + +“For your own credit and for the sake of money, of course?” + +“No. For the sake of writing the story. On my honor that will be all.” + +“Even then there is no chance. You cannot play with the Gods. It is a +very pretty story now. As they say, Let it go on that--I mean at that. +Be quick; he will not last long.” + +“How do you mean?” + +“What I say. He has never, so far, thought about a woman.” + +“Hasn't he though!” I remembered some of Charlie's confidences. + +“I mean no woman has thought about him. When that comes; bushogya--all +up' I know. There are millions of women here. Housemaids, for instance.” + +I winced at the thought of my story being ruined by a housemaid. + +And yet nothing was more probable. + +Grish Chunder grinned. + +“Yes--also pretty girls--cousins of his house, and perhaps not of his +house. One kiss that he gives back again and remembers will cure all +this nonsense or else”-- + +“Or else what? Remember he does not know that he knows.” + +“I know that. Or else, if nothing happens he will become immersed in the +trade and the financial speculations like the rest. It must be so. You +can see that it must be so. But the woman will come first, I think.” + +There was a rap at the door, and Charlie charged in impetuously. He had +been released from office, and by the look in his eyes I could see +that he had come over for a long talk; most probably with poems in his +pockets. Charlie's poems were very wearying, but sometimes they led him +to talk about the galley. + +Grish Chunder looked at him keenly for a minute. + +“I beg your pardon,” Charlie said, uneasily; “I didn't know you had any +one with you.” + +“I am going,” said Grish Chunder. + +He drew me into the lobby as he departed. + +“That is your man,” he said, quickly. “I tell you he will never speak +all you wish. That is rot--bosh. But he would be most good to make to +see things. Suppose now we pretend that it was only play”--I had never +seen Grish Chunder so excited--“and pour the ink-pool into his hand. +Eh, what do you think? I tell you that he could see anything that a man +could see. Let me get the ink and the camphor. He is a seer and he will +tell us very many things.” + +“He may be all you say, but I'm not going to trust him to your Gods and +devils.” + +“It will not hurt him. He will only feel a little stupid and dull when +he wakes up. You have seen boys look into the ink-pool before.” + +“That is the reason why I am not going to see it any more. You'd better +go, Grish Chunder.” + +He went, declaring far down the staircase that it was throwing away my +only chance of looking into the future. + +This left me unmoved, for I was concerned for the past, and no peering +of hypnotized boys into mirrors and ink-pools would help me do that. But +I recognized Grish Chunder's point of view and sympathized with it. + +“What a big black brute that was!” said Charlie, when I returned to +him. “Well, look here, I've just done a poem; dil it instead of playing +dominoes after lunch. May I read it?” + +“Let me read it to myself.” + +“Then you miss the proper expression. Besides, you always make my things +sound as if the rhymes were all wrong.” + +“Read it aloud, then. You're like the rest of 'em.” + +Charlie mouthed me his poem, and it was not much worse than the average +of his verses. He had been reading his book faithfully, but he was not +pleased when I told him that I preferred my Longfellow undiluted with +Charlie. + +Then we began to go through the MS. line by line; Charlie parrying every +objection and correction with: “Yes, that may be better, but you don't +catch what I'm driving at.” + +Charlie was, in one way at least, very like one kind of poet. + +There was a pencil scrawl at the back of the paper and “What's that?” I +said. + +“Oh that's not poetry 't all. It's some rot I wrote last night before I +went to bed and it was too much bother to hunt for rhymes; so I made it +a sort of a blank verse instead.” + +Here is Charlie's “blank verse”: + +“We pulled for you when the wind was against us and the sails were low. + +“Will you never let us go? + +“We ate bread and onions when you took towns or ran aboard quickly when +you were beaten back by the foe, + +“The captains walked up and down the deck in fair weather singing songs, +but we were below, + +“We fainted with our chins on the oars and you did not see that we were +idle for we still swung to and fro. + +“Will you never let us go? + +“The salt made the oar handles like sharkskin; our knees were cut to the +bone with salt cracks; our hair was stuck to our foreheads; and our lips +were cut to our gums and you whipped us because we could not row. + +“Will you never let us go? + +“But in a little time we shall run out of the portholes as the water +runs along the oarblade, and though you tell the others to row after us +you will never catch us till you catch the oar-thresh and tie up the +winds in the belly of the sail. Aho! “Will you never let us go?” + +“H'm. What's oar-thresh, Charlie?” + +“The water washed up by the oars. That's the sort of song they might +sing in the galley, y'know. Aren't you ever going to finish that story +and give me some of the profits?” + +“It depends on yourself. If you had only told me more about your hero in +the first instance it might have been finished by now. You're so hazy in +your notions.” + +“I only want to give you the general notion of it--the knocking about +from place to place and the fighting and all that. Can't you fill in the +rest yourself? Make the hero save a girl on a pirate-galley and marry +her or do something.” + +“You're a really helpful collaborator. I suppose the hero went through +some few adventures before he married.” + +“Well then, make him a very artful card--a low sort of man--a sort +of political man who went about making treaties and breaking them--a +black-haired chap who hid behind the mast when the fighting began.” + +“But you said the other day that he was red-haired.” + +“I couldn't have. Make him black-haired of course. You've no +imagination.” + +Seeing that I had just discovered the entire principles upon which the +half-memory falsely called imagination is based, I felt entitled to +laugh, but forbore, for the sake of the tale. + +“You're right. You're the man with imagination. A black-haired chap in a +decked ship,” I said. + +“No, an open ship--like a big boat.” + +This was maddening. + +“Your ship has been built and designed, closed and decked in; you said +so yourself,” I protested. + +“No, no, not that ship. That was open, or half decked because--By Jove +you're right. You made me think of the hero as a red-haired chap. +Of course if he were red, the ship would be an open one with painted +sails.” + +Surely, I thought he would remember now that he had served in two +galleys at least--in a three-decked Greek one under the black-haired +“political man,” and again in a Viking's open sea-serpent under the +man “red as a red bear” who went to Markland. The devil prompted me to +speak. + +“Why, 'of course,' Charlie?” said I. “I don't know. Are you making fun +of me?” + +The current was broken for the time being. I took up a notebook and +pretended to make many entries in it. + +“It's a pleasure to work with an imaginative chap like yourself,” I said +after a pause. “The way that you've brought out the character of the +hero is simply wonderful.” + +“Do you think so?” he answered, with a pleased flush. “I often tell +myself that there's more in me than my--than people think.” + +“There's an enormous amount in you.” + +“Then, won't you let me send an essay on The Ways of Bank Clerks to +Tit-Bits, and get the guinea prize?” + +“That wasn't exactly what I meant, old fellow: perhaps it would be +better to wait a little and go ahead with the galley-story.” + +“Ah, but I sha'n't get the credit of that. Tit-Bits would publish my +name and address if I win. What are you grinning at? They would.” + +“I know it. Suppose you go for a walk. I want to look through my notes +about our story.” + +Now this reprehensible youth who left me, a little hurt and put back, +might for aught he or I knew have been one of the crew of the Argo--had +been certainly slave or comrade to Thorfin Karlsefne. Therefore he was +deeply interested in guinea competitions. Remembering what Grish Chunder +had said I laughed aloud. The Lords of Life and Death would never allow +Charlie Mears to speak with full knowledge of his pasts, and I must even +piece out what he had told me with my own poor inventions while Charlie +wrote of the ways of bank-clerks. + +I got together and placed on one file all my notes; and the net result +was not cheering. I read them a second time. There was nothing that +might not have been compiled at second-hand from other people's +books--except, perhaps, the story of the fight in the harbor. The +adventures of a Viking bad been written many times before; the history +of a Greek galley-slave was no new thing, and though I wrote both, who +could challenge or confirm the accuracy of my details? I might as well +tell a tale of two thousand years hence. The Lords of Life and Death +were as cunning as Grish Chunder had hinted. They would allow nothing +to escape that might trouble or make easy the minds of men. Though I +was convinced of this, yet I could not leave the tale alone. Exaltation +followed reaction, not once, but twenty times in the next few weeks. My +moods varied with the March sunlight and flying clouds. By night or in +the beauty of a spring morning I perceived that I could write that tale +and shift continents thereby. In the wet, windy afternoons, I saw that +the tale might indeed be written, but would be nothing more than a +faked, false-varnished, sham-rusted piece of Wardour Street work at the +end. Then I blessed Charlie in many ways--though it was no fault of his. +He seemed to be busy with prize competitions, and I saw less and less of +him as the weeks went by and the earth cracked and grew ripe to spring, +and the buds swelled in their sheaths. He did not care to read or talk +of what he had read, and there was a new ring of self-assertion in +his voice. I hardly cared to remind him of the galley when we met; but +Charlie alluded to it on every occasion, always as a story from which +money was to be made. + +“I think I deserve twenty-five per cent., don't I, at least,” he said, +with beautiful frankness. “I supplied all the ideas, didn't I?” + +This greediness for silver was a new side in his nature. I assumed that +it had been developed in the City, where Charlie was picking up the +curious nasal drawl of the underbred City man. + +“When the thing's done we'll talk about it. I can't make anything of it +at present. Red-haired or black-haired hero are equally difficult.” + +He was sitting by the fire staring at the red coals. “I can't understand +what you find so difficult. It's all as clean as mud to me,” he replied. +A jet of gas puffed out between the bars, took light and whistled +softly. “Suppose we take the red-haired hero's adventures first, from +the time that he came south to my galley and captured it and sailed to +the Beaches.” + +I knew better now than to interrupt Charlie. I was out of reach of +pen and paper, and dared not move to get them lest I should break the +current. The gas-jet puffed and whinnied, Charlie's voice dropped almost +to a whisper, and he told a tale of the sailing of an open galley to +Furdurstrandi, of sunsets on the open sea, seen under the curve of the +one sail evening after evening when the galley's beak was notched into +the centre of the sinking disc, and “we sailed by that for we had no +other guide,” quoth Charlie. He spoke of a landing on an island and +explorations in its woods, where the crew killed three men whom they +found asleep under the pines. Their ghosts, Charlie said, followed the +galley, swimming and choking in the water, and the crew cast lots and +threw one of their number overboard as a sacrifice to the strange gods +whom they had offended. Then they ate sea-weed when their provisions +failed, and their legs swelled, and their leader, the red-haired man, +killed two rowers who mutinied, and after a year spent among the woods +they set sail for their own country, and a wind that never failed +carried them back so safely that they all slept at night. This and much +more Charlie told. Sometimes the voice fell so low that I could not +catch the words, though every nerve was on the strain. He spoke of their +leader, the red-haired man, as a pagan speaks of his God; for it was he +who cheered them and slew them impartially as he thought best for their +needs; and it was he who steered them for three days among floating ice, +each floe crowded with strange beasts that “tried to sail with us,” said +Charlie, “and we beat them back with the handles of the oars.” + +The gas-jet went out, a burned coal gave way, and the fire settled down +with a tiny crash to the bottom of the grate. Charlie ceased speaking, +and I said no word. + +“By Jove!” he said, at last, shaking his head. “I've been staring at the +fire till I'm dizzy. What was I going to say?” + +“Something about the galley.” + +“I remember now. It's 25 per cent. of the profits, isn't it?” + +“It's anything you like when I've done the tale.” + +“I wanted to be sure of that. I must go now. I've, I've an appointment.” + And he left me. + +Had my eyes not been held I might have known that that broken muttering +over the fire was the swan-song of Charlie Mears. But I thought it the +prelude to fuller revelation. At last and at last I should cheat the +Lords of Life and Death! + +When next Charlie came to me I received him with rapture. He was nervous +and embarrassed, but his eyes were very full of light, and his lips a +little parted. + +“I've done a poem,” he said; and then quickly: “it's the best I've ever +done. Read it.” He thrust it into my hand and retreated to the window. + +I groaned inwardly. It would be the work of half an hour to +criticise--that is to say praise--the poem sufficiently to please +Charlie. Then I had good reason to groan, for Charlie, discarding his +favorite centipede metres, had launched into shorter and choppier verse, +and verse with a motive at the back of it. This is what I read: + + “The day is most fair, the cheery wind + Halloos behind the hill, + Where bends the wood as seemeth good, + + And the sapling to his will! + Riot O wind; there is that in my blood + That would not have thee still! + + “She gave me herself, O Earth, O Sky: + Grey sea, she is mine alone--I + Let the sullen boulders hear my cry, + And rejoice tho' they be but stone! + + 'Mine! I have won her O good brown earth, + Make merry! 'Tis bard on Spring; + Make merry; my love is doubly worth + All worship your fields can bring! + Let the hind that tills you feel my mirth + At the early harrowing.” + +“Yes, it's the early harrowing, past a doubt,” I said, with a dread at +my heart. Charlie smiled, but did not answer. + + “Red cloud of the sunset, tell it abroad; I am victor. + Greet me O Sun, Dominant master and absolute lord + Over the soul of one!” + +“Well?” said Charlie, looking over my shoulder. + +I thought it far from well, and very evil indeed, when he silently laid +a photograph on the paper--the photograph of a girl with a curly head, +and a foolish slack mouth. + +“Isn't it--isn't it wonderful?” he whispered, pink to the tips of his +ears, wrapped in the rosy mystery of first love. “I didn't know; I +didn't think--it came like a thunderclap.” + +“Yes. It comes like a thunderclap. Are you very happy, Charlie?” + +“My God--she--she loves me!” He sat down repeating the last words to +himself. I looked at the hairless face, the narrow shoulders already +bowed by desk-work, and wondered when, where, and bow he had loved in +his past lives. + +“What will your mother say?” I asked, cheerfully. + +“I don't care a damn what she says.” + +At twenty the things for which one does not care a damn should, +properly, be many, but one must not include mothers in the list. I told +him this gently; and he described Her, even as Adam must have described +to the newly named beasts the glory and tenderness and beauty of Eve. +Incidentally I learned that She was a tobacconist's assistant with a +weakness for pretty dress, and had told him four or five times already +that She had never been kissed by a man before. + +Charlie spoke on, and on, and on; while I, separated from him by +thousands of years, was considering the beginnings of things. Now I +understood why the Lords of Life and Death shut the doors so carefully +behind us. It is that we may not remember our first wooings. Were it not +so, our world would be without inhabitants in a hundred years. + +“Now, about that galley-story,” I said, still more cheerfully, in a +pause in the rush of the speech. + +Charlie looked up as though he had been hit. “The galley--what galley? +Good heavens, don't joke, man! This is serious! You don't know how +serious it is!” + +Grish Chunder was right. Charlie had tasted the love of woman that kills +remembrance, and the “finest story” in the world would never be written. + + * * * * * + + + + +VOLUME IV UNDER THE DEODARS + + + + +THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE + + +I + + In the pleasant orchard-closes + “God bless all our gains,” say we; + But “May God bless all our losses,” + Better suits with our degree. + --The Lost Bower. + +This is the history of a failure; but the woman who failed said that it +might be an instructive tale to put into print for the benefit of the +younger generation. The younger generation does not want instruction, +being perfectly willing to instruct if any one will listen to it. None +the less, here begins the story where every right-minded story should +begin, that is to say at Simla, where all things begin and many come to +an evil end. + +The mistake was due to a very clever woman making a blunder and not +retrieving it. Men are licensed to stumble, but a clever woman's mistake +is outside the regular course of Nature and Providence; since all good +people know that a woman is the only infallible thing in this world, +except Government Paper of the '70 issue, bearing interest at four and +a half per cent. Yet, we have to remember that six consecutive days of +rehearsing the leading part of The Fallen Age, at the New Gaiety Theatre +where the plaster is not yet properly dry, might have brought about an +unhingement of spirits which, again, might have led to eccentricities. + +Mrs. Hauksbee came to “The Foundry” to tiffin with Mrs. Mallowe, her one +bosom friend, for she was in no sense “a woman's woman.” And it was a +woman's tiffin, the door shut to all the world; and they both talked +chiffons, which is French for Mysteries. + +“I've enjoyed an interval of sanity,” Mrs. Hauksbee announced, after +tiffin was over and the two were comfortably settled in the little +writing-room that opened out of Mrs. Mallowe's bedroom. + +“My dear girl, what has he done?” said Mrs. Mallowe, sweetly. It is +noticeable that ladies of a certain age call each other “dear girl,” + just as commissioners of twenty-eight years' standing address their +equals in the Civil List as “my boy.” + +“There's no he in the case. Who am I that an imaginary man should be +always credited to me? Am I an Apache?” + +“No, dear, but somebody's scalp is generally drying at your wigwam-door. +Soaking, rather.” + +This was an allusion to the Hawley Boy, who was in the habit of riding +all across Simla in the Rains, to call on Mrs. Hauksbee. That lady +laughed. + +“For my sins, the Aide at Tyrconnel last night told me off to The +Mussuck. Hsh! Don't laugh. One of my most devoted admirers. When the +duff came--some one really ought to teach them to make pudding at +Tyrconnel--The Mussuck was at liberty to attend to me.” + +“Sweet soul! I know his appetite,” said Mrs. Mallowe. “Did he, oh did +he, begin his wooing?” + +“By a special mercy of Providence, no. He explained his importance as a +Pillar of the Empire. I didn't laugh.” + +“Lucy, I don't believe you.” + +“Ask Captain Sangar; he was on the other side. Well, as I was saying, +The Mussuck dilated.” + +“I think I can see him doing it,” said Mrs. Mallowe, pensively, +scratching her fox-terrier's ears. + +“I was properly impressed. Most properly. I yawned openly. 'Strict +supervision, and play them off one against the other,' said The +Mussuck, shoveling down his ice by tureenfuls, I assure you. 'That, Mrs. +Hauksbee, is the secret of our Government.'” + +Mrs. Mallowe laughed long and merrily. “And what did you say?” + +“Did you ever know me at loss for an answer yet? I said: 'So I have +observed in my dealings with you.' The Mussuck swelled with pride. He is +coming to call on me tomorrow. The Hawley Boy is coming too.” + +“'Strict supervision and play them off one against the other. That, Mrs. +Hauksbee, is the secret of our Government.' And I dare say if we could +get to The Mussuck's heart, we should find that he considers himself a +man of the world.” + +“As he is of the other two things. I like The Mussuck, and I won't have +you call him names. He amuses me.” + +“He has reformed you, too, by what appears. Explain the interval of +sanity, and hit Tim on the nose with the paper-cutter, please. That dog +is too fond of sugar. Do you take milk in yours?” + +“No, thanks. Polly, I'm wearied of this life. It's hollow.” + +“Turn religious, then. I always said that Rome would be your fate.” + +“Only exchanging half a dozen attaches in red for one and in black, and +if I fasted, the wrinkles would come, and never, never go. Has it ever +struck you, dear, that I'm getting old?” + +“Thanks for your courtesy. I'll return it. Ye-es we are both not +exactly--how shall I put it?” + +“What we have been. 'I feel it in my bones,' as Mrs. Crossley says. +Polly, I've wasted my life.” + +“As how?” + +“Never mind how. I feel it. I want to be a Power before I die.” + +“Be a Power then. You've wits enough for anything--and beauty?” + +Mrs. Hauksbee pointed a teaspoon straight at her hostess. “Polly, if you +heap compliments on me like this, I shall cease to believe that you're a +woman. Tell me how I am to be a Power.” + +“Inform The Mussuck that he is the most fascinating and slimmest man in +Asia, and he'll tell you anything and everything you please.” + +“Bother The Mussuck! I mean an intellectual Power--not a gas-power. +Polly, I'm going to start a salon.” + +Mrs. Mallowe turned lazily on the sofa and rested her head on her hand. +“Hear the words of the Preacher, the son of Baruch,” she said. + +“Will you talk sensibly?” + +“I will, dear, for I see that you are going to make a mistake.” + +“I never made a mistake in my life at least, never one that I couldn't +explain away afterward.” + +“Going to make a mistake,” went on Mrs. Mallowe, composedly. “It is +impossible to start a salon in Simla. A bar would be much more to the +point.” + +“Perhaps, but why? It seems so easy.” + +“Just what makes it so difficult. How many clever women are there in +Simla?” + +“Myself and yourself,” said Mrs. Hauksbee, without a moment's +hesitation. + +“Modest woman! Mrs. Feardon would thank you for that. And how many +clever men?” + +“Oh--er--hundreds,” said Mrs. Hauksbee, vaguely. + +“What a fatal blunder! Not one. They are all bespoke of the Government. +Take my husband, for instance. Jack was a clever man, though I say so +who shouldn't. Government has eaten him up. All his ideas and powers of +conversation--he really used to be a good talker, even to his wife, +in the old days--are taken from him by this--this kitchen-sink of a +Government. That's the case with every man up here who is at work. I +don't suppose a Russian convict under the knout is able to amuse the +rest of his gang; and all our men-folk here are gilded convicts.” + +“But there are scores--” + +“I know what you're going to say. Scores of idle men up on leave. I +admit it, but they are all of two objectionable sets, The Civilian who'd +be delightful if he had the military man's knowledge of the world and +style, and the military man who'd be adorable if lie had the Civilian's +culture.” + +“Detestable word! Have Civilians Culchaw? I never studied the breed +deeply.” + +“Don't make fun of Jack's service. Yes. They're like the teapots in the +Lakka Bazar--good material but not polished. They can't help themselves, +poor dears. A Civilian only begins to be tolerable after he has knocked +about the world for fifteen years.” + +“And a military man?” + +“When he has had the same amount of service. The young of both species +are horrible. You would have scores of them in your salon.” + +“I would not!” said Mrs. Hauksbee, fiercely. “I would tell the bearer to +darwaza band them. I'd put their own colonels and commissioners at the +door to turn them away. I'd give them to the Topsham girl to play with.” + +“The Topsham girl would be grateful for the gift. But to go back to the +salon. Allowing that you had gathered all your men and women together, +what would you do with them? Make them talk? They would all with one +accord begin to flirt. Your salon would become a glorified Peliti's--a +'Scandal Point' by lamplight.” + +“There's a certain amount of wisdom in that view.” + +“There's all the wisdom in the world in it. Surely, twelve Simla seasons +ought to have taught you that you can't focus anything in India; and +a salon, to be any good at all, must be permanent. In two seasons your +roomful would be scattered all over Asia. We are only little bits of +dirt on the hillsides--here one day and blown down the khud the next. +We have lost the art of talking--at least our men have. We have no +cohesion”-- + +“George Eliot in the flesh,” interpolated Mrs. Hauksbee, wickedly. + +“And collectively, my dear scoffer, we, men and women alike, have no +influence. + +“Come into the veranda and look at the Mall!” + +The two looked down on the now rapidly filling road, for all Simla was +abroad to steal a stroll between a shower and a fog. + +“How do you propose to fix that river? Look! There's The Mussuck--head +of goodness knows what. He is a power in the land, though he does eat +like a costermonger. There's Colonel Blone, and General Grucher, and Sir +Dugald Delane, and Sir Henry Haughton, and Mr. Jellalatty. All Heads of +Departments, and all powerful.” + +“And all my fervent admirers,” said Mrs. Hauksbee, piously. “Sir Henry +Haughton raves about me. But go on.” + +“One by one, these men are worth something. Collectively, they're just +a mob of Anglo-Indians. Who cares for what Anglo-Indians say? Your salon +won't weld the Departments together and make you mistress of India, +dear. And these creatures won't talk administrative 'shop' in a +crowd--your salon--because they are so afraid of the men in the lower +ranks overhearing it. They have forgotten what of Literature and Art +they ever knew, and the women”-- + +“Can't talk about anything except the last Gymkhana, or the sins of +their last nurse. I was calling on Mrs. Derwills this morning.” + +“You admit that? They can talk to the subalterns though, and the +subalterns can talk to them. Your salon would suit their views +admirably, if you respected the religious prejudices of the country and +provided plenty of kala juggahs.” + +“Plenty of kala juggahs. Oh my poor little idea! Kala juggahs in a +salon! But who made you so awfully clever?” + +“Perhaps I've tried myself; or perhaps I know a woman who has. I have +preached and expounded the whole matter and the conclusion thereof”-- + +“You needn't go on. 'Is Vanity.' Polly, I thank you. These vermin--” + Mrs. Hauksbee waved her hand from the veranda to two men in the crowd +below who had raised their hats to her--“these vermin shall not rejoice +in a new Scandal Point or an extra Peliti's. I will abandon the notion +of a salon. It did seem so tempting, though. But what shall I do? I must +do something.” + +“Why? Are not Abana and Pharphar”-- + +“Jack has made you nearly as bad as himself! I want to, of course. I'm +tired of everything and everybody, from a moonlight picnic at Seepee to +the blandishments of The Mussuck.” + +“Yes--that comes, too, sooner or later, Have you nerve enough to make +your bow yet?” + +Mrs. Hauksbee's mouth shut grimly. Then she laughed. “I think I +see myself doing it. Big pink placards on the Mall: 'Mrs. Hauksbee! +Positively her last appearance on any stage! This is to give notice!' No +more dances; no more rides; no more luncheons; no more theatricals with +supper to follow; no more sparring with one's dearest, dearest friend; +no more fencing with an inconvenient man who hasn't wit enough to clothe +what he's pleased to call his sentiments in passable speech; no more +parading of The Mussuck while Mrs. Tarkass calls all round Simla, +spreading horrible stories about me? No more of anything that is +thoroughly wearying, abominable and detestable, but, all the same, makes +life worth the having. Yes! I see it all! Don't interrupt, Polly, +I'm inspired. A mauve and white striped 'cloud' round my excellent +shoulders, a seat in the fifth row of the Gaiety, and both horses sold. +Delightful vision! A comfortable armchair, situated in three different +draughts, at every ballroom; and nice, large, sensible shoes for all +the couples to stumble over as they go into the veranda! Then at +supper. Can't you imagine the scene? The greedy mob gone away. Reluctant +subaltern, pink all over like a newly-powdered baby--they really ought +to tan subalterns before they are exported--Polly--sent back by the +hostess to do his duty. Slouches up to me across the room, tugging at +a glove two sizes too large for him--I hate a man who wears gloves like +overcoats--and trying to look as if he'd thought of it from the first. +'May I ah--have the pleasure 'f takin' you 'nt' supper?' Then I get up +with a hungry smile. Just like this.” + +“Lucy, how can you be so absurd?” + +“And sweep out on his arm. So! After supper I shall go away early, you +know, because I shall be afraid of catching cold. No one will look for +my 'rickshaw. Mine, so please you! I shall stand, always with that mauve +and white 'cloud' over my head, while the wet soaks into my dear, old, +venerable feet and Tom swears and shouts for the mem-sahib's gharri. +Then home to bed at half-past eleven! Truly excellent life helped out +by the visits of the Padri, just fresh from burying somebody down +below there.” She pointed through the pines, toward the Cemetery, and +continued with vigorous dramatic gesture--“Listen! I see it all down, +down even to the stays! Such stays! Six-eight a pair, Polly, with red +flannel--or list is it?--that they put into the tops of those fearful +things. I can draw you a picture of them.” + +“Lucy, for Heaven's sake, don't go waving your arms about in that +idiotic manner! Recollect, every one can see you from the Mall.” + +“Let them see! They'll think I am rehearsing for The Fallen Angel. Look! +There's The Mussuck. How badly he rides. There!” + +She blew a kiss to the venerable Indian administrator with infinite +grace. + +“Now,” she continued, “he'll be chaffed about that at the Club in the +delicate manner those brutes of men affect, and the Hawley Boy will tell +me all about it--softening the details for fear of shocking me. That boy +is too good to live, Polly. I've serious thoughts of recommending him to +throw up his Commission and go into the Church. In his present frame of +mind he would obey me. Happy, happy child.” + +“Never again,” said Mrs. Mallowe, with an affectation of indignation, +“shall you tiffin here! 'Lucindy, your behavior is scand'lus.'” + +“All your fault,” retorted Mrs. Hauksbee, “for suggesting such a thing +as my abdication. No! Jamais--nevaire! I will act, dance, ride, frivol, +talk scandal, dine out, and appropriate the legitimate captives of any +woman I choose until I d-r-r-rop or a better woman than I puts me to +shame before all Simla--and it's dust and ashes in my mouth while I'm +doing it!” + +She swept into the drawing-room, Mrs. Mallowe followed and put an arm +round her waist. + +“I'm not!” said Mrs. Hauksbee, defiantly, rummaging for her +handkerchief. “I've been dining out the last ten nights, and rehearsing +in the afternoon. You'd be tired yourself. It's only because I'm tired.” + +Mrs. Mallowe did not offer Mrs. Hauksbee any pity or ask her to lie +down, but gave her another cup of tea, and went on with the talk. + +“I've been through that too, dear,” she said. + +“I remember,” said Mrs. Hauksbee, a gleam of fun on her face. “In '84 +wasn't it? You went out a great deal less next season.” + +Mrs. Mallowe smiled in a superior and Sphinxlike fashion. + +“I became an Influence,” said she. + +“Good gracious, child, you didn't join the Theosophists and kiss +Buddha's big toe, did you? I tried to get into their set once, but they +cast me out for a skeptic--without a chance of improving my poor little +mind, too.” + +“No, I didn't Theosophilander. Jack says”-- + +“Never mind Jack. What a husband says is known before. What did you do?” + +“I made a lasting impression.” + +“So have I--for four months. But that didn't console me in the least. I +hated the man. Will you stop smiling in that inscrutable way and tell me +what you mean?” + +Mrs. Mallowe told. + +* * * * * * + +“And--you--mean--to--say that it is absolutely Platonic on both sides?” + +“Absolutely, or I should never have taken it up.” + +“And his last promotion was due to you?” + +Mrs. Mallowe nodded. + +“And you warned him against the Topsham girl?” + +Another nod. + +“And told him of Sir Dugald Delane's private memo about him?” + +A third nod. + +“Why?” + +“What a question to ask a woman! Because it amused me at first. I am +proud of my property now. If I live he shall continue to be successful. +Yes, I will put him upon the straight road to Knighthood, and everything +else that a man values. The rest depends upon himself.” + +“Polly, you are a most extraordinary woman.” + +“Not in the least. I'm concentrated, that's all. You diffuse yourself, +dear; and though all Simla knows your skill in managing a team”-- + +“Can't you choose a prettier word?” + +“Team, of half a dozen, from The Mussuck to the Hawley Boy, you gain +nothing by it. Not even amusement.” + +“And you?” + +“Try my recipe. Take a man, not a boy, mind, but an almost mature, +unattached man, and be this guide, philosopher, and friend. You'll find +it the most interesting occupation that you ever embarked on. It can be +done--you needn't look like that--because I've done it.” + +“There's an element of risk about it that makes the notion attractive. +I'll get such a man and say to him, 'Now, understand that there must be +no flirtation. Do exactly what I tell you, profit by my instruction and +counsels, and all will yet be well,' as Toole says. Is that the idea?” + +“More or less,” said Mrs. Mallowe with an unfathomable smile. “But be +sure he understands that there must be no flirtation.” + + +II + + Dribble-dribble-trickle-trickle + What a lot of raw dust! + My dollie's had an accident + And out came all the sawdust! --Nursery Rhyme. + +So Mrs. Hauksbee, in “The Foundry” which overlooks Simla Mall, sat at +the feet of Mrs. Mallowe and gathered wisdom. The end of the Conference +was the Great Idea upon which Mrs. Hauksbee so plumed herself. + +“I warn you,” said Mrs. Mallowe, beginning to repent of her suggestion, +“that the matter is not half so easy as it looks. Any woman--even the +Topsham girl--can catch a man, but very, very few know how to manage him +when caught.” + +“My child,” was the answer, “I've been a female St. Simon Stylites +looking down upon men for these--these years past. Ask The Mussuck +whether I can manage them.” + +Mrs. Hauksbee departed humming, “I'll go to him and say to him in manner +most ironical.” Mrs. Mallowe laughed to herself. Then she grew suddenly +sober. “I wonder whether I've done well in advising that amusement? +Lucy's a clever woman, but a thought too careless.” + +A week later, the two met at a Monday Pop. “Well?” said Mrs. Mallowe. + +“I've caught him!” said Mrs. Hauksbee; her eyes were dancing with +merriment. + +“Who is it, mad woman? I'm sorry I ever spoke to you about it.” + +“Look between the pillars. In the third row; fourth from the end. You +can see his face now. Look!” + +“Otis Yeere! Of all the improbable and impossible people! I don't +believe you.” + +“Hsh! Wait till Mrs. Tarkass begins murdering Milton Wellings; and I'll +tell you all about it. S-s-ss! That woman's voice always reminds me of +an Underground train coming into Earl's Court with the brakes on. Now +listen. It is really Otis Yeere.” + +“So I see, but does it follow that he is your property?” + +“He is! By right of trove. I found him, lonely and unbefriended, the +very next night after our talk, at the Dugald Delane's burra-khana. I +liked his eyes, and I talked to him. Next day he called. Next day we +went for a ride together, and today he's tied to my 'rickshaw-wheels +hand and foot. You'll see when the concert's over. He doesn't know I'm +here yet.” + +“Thank goodness you haven't chosen a boy. What are you going to do with +him, assuming that you've got him?” + +“Assuming, indeed! Does a woman--do I--ever make a mistake in that sort +of thing? First”--Mrs. Hauksbee ticked off the items ostentatiously on +her little gloved fingers--“First, my dear, I shall dress him properly. +At present his raiment is a disgrace, and he wears a dress shirt like +a crumpled sheet of the 'Pioneer'. Secondly, after I have made him +presentable, I shall form his manners--his morals are above reproach.” + +“You seem to have discovered a great deal about him considering the +shortness of your acquaintance.” + +“Surely you ought to know that the first proof a man gives of his +interest in a woman is by talking to her about his own sweet self. +If the woman listens without yawning, he begins to like her. If she +flatters the animal's vanity, he ends by adoring her.” + +“In some cases.” + +“Never mind the exceptions. I know which one you are thinking of. +Thirdly, and lastly, after he is polished and made pretty, I shall, as +you said, be his guide, philosopher and friend, and he shall become a +success--as great a success as your friend. I always wondered how +that man got on. Did The Mussuck come to you with the Civil List and, +dropping on one knee--no, two knees, a' la Gibbon--hand it to you and +say, 'Adorable angel, choose your friend's appointment'?” + +“Lucy, your long experiences of the Military Department have demoralized +you. One doesn't do that sort of thing on the Civil Side.” + +“No disrespect meant to Jack's Service, my dear. I only asked for +information. Give me three months, and see what changes I shall work in +my prey.” + +“Go your own way since you must. But I'm sorry that I was weak enough to +suggest the amusement.” + +“'I am all discretion, and may be trusted to an in-finite extent,'” + quoted Mrs. Hauksbee from The Fallen Angel; and the conversation ceased +with Mrs. Tarkass's last, long-drawn war-whoop. + +Her bitterest enemies--and she had many--could hardly accuse Mrs. +Hauksbee of wasting her time. Otis Yeere was one of those wandering +“dumb” characters, foredoomed through life to be nobody's property. Ten +years in Her Majesty's Bengal Civil Service, spent, for the most part, +in undesirable Districts, had given him little to be proud of, and +nothing to bring confidence. Old enough to have lost the first +fine careless rapture that showers on the immature 'Stunt imaginary +Commissionerships and Stars, and sends him into the collar with coltish +earnestness and abandon; too young to be yet able to look back upon the +progress he had made, and thank Providence that under the conditions of +the day he had come even so far, he stood upon the “dead-centre” of his +career. And when a man stands still, he feels the slightest impulse from +without. Fortune had ruled that Otis Yeere should be, for the first part +of his service, one of the rank and file who are ground up in the wheels +of the Administration; losing heart and soul, and mind and strength, +in the process. Until steam replaces manual power in the working of the +Empire, there must always be this percentage--must always be the men +who are used up, expended, in the mere mechanical routine. For these +promotion is far off and the mill-grind of every day very near and +instant. The Secretariats know them only by name; they are not the +picked men of the Districts with the Divisions and Collectorates +awaiting them. They are simply the rank and file--the food for +fever--sharing with the ryot and the plough-bullock the honor of being +the plinth on which the State rests. The older ones have lost their +aspirations; the younger are putting theirs aside with a sigh. Both +learn to endure patiently until the end of the day. Twelve years in the +rank and file, men say, will sap the hearts of the bravest and dull the +wits of the most keen. + +Out of this life Otis Yeere had fled for a few months, drifting, for the +sake of a little masculine society, into Simla. When his leave was over +he would return to his swampy, sour-green, undermanned district, +the native Assistant, the native Doctor, the native Magistrate, the +steaming, sweltering Station, the ill-kempt City, and the undisguised +insolence of the Municipality that babbled away the lives of men. Life +was cheap, however. The soil spawned humanity, as it bred frogs in +the Rains, and the gap of the sickness of one season was filled to +overflowing by the fecundity of the next. Otis was unfeignedly thankful +to lay down his work for a little while and escape from the seething, +whining, weakly hive, impotent to help itself, but strong in its power +to cripple, thwart, and annoy the weary-eyed man who, by official irony, +was said to be “in charge” of it. + +* * * * * + +“I knew there were women-dowdies in Bengal. They come up here sometimes. +But I didn't know that there were men-dowdies, too.” + +Then, for the first time, it occurred to Otis Yeere that his clothes +were rather ancestral in appearance. It will be seen from the above that +his friendship with Mrs Hauksbee had made great strides. + +As that lady truthfully says, a man is never so happy as when he is +talking about himself. From Otis Yeere's lips Mrs Hauksbee, before long, +learned everything that she wished to know about the subject of her +experiment; learned what manner of life he had led in what she vaguely +called “those awful cholera districts”; learned too, but this knowledge +came later, what manner of life he had purposed to lead and what dreams +he had dreamed in the year of grace '77, before the reality had knocked +the heart out of him. Very pleasant are the shady bridle-paths round +Prospect Hill for the telling of such confidences. + +“Not yet,” said Mrs. Hauksbee to Mrs. Mallowe. “Not yet. I must wait +until the man is properly dressed, at least. Great Heavens, is it +possible that he doesn't know what an honor it is to be taken up by Me!” + +Mrs. Hauksbee did not reckon false modesty as one of her failings. + +“Always with Mrs. Hauksbee!” murmured Mrs. Mallowe, with her sweetest +smile, to Otis. “Oh you men, you men! Here are our Punjabis growling +because you've monopolized the nicest woman in Simla. They'll tear you +to pieces on the Mall, some day, Mr. Yeere.” + +Mrs. Mallowe rattled down-hill, having satisfied herself, by a glance +through the fringe of her sunshade, of the effect of her words. + +The shot went home. Of a surety Otis Yeere was somebody in this +bewildering whirl of Simla--had monopolized the nicest woman in it and +the Punjabis were growling. The notion justified a mild glow of vanity. +He had never looked upon his acquaintance with Mrs. Hauksbee as a matter +for general interest. + +The knowledge of envy was a pleasant feeling to the man of no account. +It was intensified later in the day when a luncher at the Club said, +spitefully, “Well, for a debilitated Ditcher, Yeere, you are going it. +Hasn't any kind friend told you that she's the most dangerous woman in +Simla?” + +Yeere chuckled and passed out. When, oh when, would his new clothes be +ready? He descended into the Mall to inquire; and Mrs. Hauksbee, +coming over the Church Ridge in her 'rickshaw, looked down upon him +approvingly. “He's learning to carry himself as if he were a man, +instead of a piece of furniture, and”--she screwed up her eyes to see +the better through the sunlight--“he is a man when he holds himself like +that. Oh blessed Conceit, what should we be without you?” + +With the new clothes came a new stock of self-confidence. Otis Yeere +discovered that he could enter a room without breaking into a gentle +perspiration--could cross one, even to talk to Mrs. Hauksbee, as though +rooms were meant to be crossed. He was for the first time in nine years +proud of himself, and contented with his life, satisfied with his new +clothes, and rejoicing in the friendship of Mrs. Hauksbee. + +“Conceit is what the poor fellow wants,” she said in confidence to Mrs. +Mallowe. “I believe they must use Civilians to plough the fields with in +Lower Bengal. You see I have to begin from the very beginning--haven't +I? But you'll admit, won't you, dear, that he is immensely improved +since I took him in hand. Only give me a little more time and he won't +know himself.” + +Indeed, Yeere was rapidly beginning to forget what he had been. One of +his own rank and file put the matter brutally when he asked Yeere, in +reference to nothing, “And who has been making you a Member of Council, +lately? You carry the side of half a dozen of 'em.” + +“I--I'm awf'ly sorry. I didn't mean it, you know,” said Yeere, +apologetically. + +“There'll be no holding you,” continued the old stager, grimly. “Climb +down, Otis--climb down, and get all that beastly affectation knocked out +of you with fever! Three thousand a month wouldn't support it.” + +Yeere repeated the incident to Mrs. Hauksbee. He had come to look upon +her as his Mother Confessor. + +“And you apologized!” she said. “Oh, shame! I hate a man who apologizes. +Never apologize for what your friend called 'side.' Never! It's a man's +business to be insolent and overbearing until he meets with a stronger. +Now, you bad boy, listen to me.” + +Simply and straightforwardly, as the 'rickshaw loitered round Jakko, +Mrs. Hauksbee preached to Otis Yeere the Great Gospel of Conceit, +illustrating it with living pictures encountered during their Sunday +afternoon stroll. + +“Good gracious!” she ended, with the personal argument, “you'll +apologize next for being my attache?” + +“Never!” said Otis Yeere. “That's another thing altogether. I shall +always be”-- + +“What's coming?” thought Mrs. Hauksbee. + +“Proud of that,” said Otis. + +“Safe for the present,” she said to herself. + +“But I'm afraid I have grown conceited. Like Jeshurun, you know. When +he waxed fat, then he kicked. It's the having no worry on one's mind and +the Hill air, I suppose.” + +“Hill air, indeed!” said Mrs. Hauksbee to herself. “He'd have been +hiding in the Club till the last day of his leave, if I hadn't +discovered him.” And aloud--“Why shouldn't you be? You have every right +to.” + +“I! Why?” + +“Oh, hundreds of things. I'm not going to waste this lovely afternoon +by explaining; but I know you have. What was that heap of manuscript you +showed me about the grammar of the aboriginal--what's their names?” + +“Gullals. A piece of nonsense. I've far too much work to do to bother +over Gullals now. You should see my District. Come down with your +husband some day and I'll show you round. Such a lovely place in the +Rains! A sheet of water with the railway-embankment and the snakes +sticking out, and, in the summer, green flies and green squash. The +people would die of fear if you shook a dogwhip at 'em. But they know +you're forbidden to do that, so they conspire to make your life a burden +to you. My District's worked by some man at Darjiling, on the strength +of u native pleader's false reports. Oh, it's a heavenly place!” + +Otis Yeere laughed bitterly. + +“There's not the least necessity that you should stay in it. Why do +you?” + +“Because I must. How'm I to get out of it?” + +“How! In a hundred and fifty ways. If there weren't so many people on +the road, I'd like to box your ears. Ask, my dear boy, ask! Look, There +is young Hexarly with six years' service and half your talents. He asked +for what he wanted, and he got it. See, down by the Convent! There's +McArthurson who has come to his present position by asking--sheer, +downright asking--after he had pushed himself out of the rank and file. +One man is as good as another in your service--believe me. I've seen +Simla for more seasons than I care to think about. Do you suppose men +are chosen for appointments because of their special fitness beforehand? +You have all passed a high test--what do you call it?--in the beginning, +and, except for the few who have gone altogether to the bad, you can all +work hard. Asking does the rest. Call it cheek, call it insolence, call +it anything you like, but ask! Men argue--yes, I know what men say--that +a man, by the mere audacity of his request, must have some good in him. +A weak man doesn't say: 'Give me this and that.' He whines 'Why haven't +I been given this and that?' If you were in the Army, I should say learn +to spin plates or play a tambourine with your toes. As it is--ask! You +belong to a Service that ought to be able to command the Channel Fleet, +or set a leg at twenty minutes' notice, and yet you hesitate over asking +to escape from a squashy green district where you admit you are not +master. Drop the Bengal Government altogether. Even Darjiling is +a little out-of-the-way hole. I was there once, and the rents were +extortionate. Assert yourself. Get the Government of India to take you +over. Try to get on the Frontier, where every man has a grand chance +if he can trust himself. Go somewhere! Do something! You have twice the +wits and three times the presence of the men up here, and, and”-- + +Mrs. Hauksbee paused for breath; then continued--“and in any way you +look at it, you ought to. You who could go so far!” + +“I don't know,” said Yeere, rather taken aback by the unexpected +eloquence. “1 haven't such a good opinion of myself.” + +It was not strictly Platonic, but it was Policy. Mrs. Hauksbee laid +her hand lightly upon the ungloved paw that rested on the turned-back +'rickshaw hood, and, looking the man full in the face, said tenderly, +almost too tenderly, “I believe in you if you mistrust yourself. Is that +enough, my friend?” + +“It is enough,” answered Otis, very solemnly. + +He was silent for a long time, redreaming the dreams that he had dreamed +eight years ago, but through them all ran, as sheet-lightning through +golden cloud, the light of Mrs. Hauksbee's violet eyes. + +Curious and impenetrable are the mazes of Simla life--the only existence +in this desolate land worth the living. Gradually it went abroad among +men and women, in the pauses between dance, play and Gymkhana, that Otis +Yeere, the man with the newly-lit light of self-confidence in his eyes, +had “done something decent” in the wilds whence he came. He had brought +an erring Municipality to reason, appropriated the funds on his own +responsibility, and saved the lives of hundreds, He knew more about +the Gullals than any living man. Had a vast knowledge of the aboriginal +tribes; was, in spite of his juniority, the greatest authority on the +aboriginal Gullals. No one quite knew who or what the Gullals were till +The Mussuck, who had been calling on Mrs. Hauksbee, and prided himself +upon picking people's brains, explained they were a tribe of ferocious +hillmen, somewhere near Sikkim, whose friendship even the Great Indian +Empire would find it worth her while to secure. Now we know that Otis +Yeere had showed Mrs. Hauksbee his MS notes of six years' standing on +the same Gullals. He had told her, too, how, sick and shaken with the +fever their negligence had bred, crippled by the loss of his pet clerk, +and savagely angry at the desolation in his charge, he had once damned +the collective eyes of his “intelligent local board” for a set of +haramzadas. Which act of “brutal and tyrannous oppression” won him +a Reprimand Royal from the Bengal Government; but in the anecdote as +amended for Northern consumption we find no record of this. Hence we are +forced to conclude that Mrs. Hauksbee “edited” his reminiscences before +sowing them in idle ears, ready, as she well knew, to exaggerate good or +evil. And Otis Yeere bore himself as befitted the hero of many tales. + +“You can talk to me when you don't fall into a brown study. Talk now, +and talk your brightest and best,” said Mrs. Hauksbee. + +Otis needed no spur. Look to a man who has the counsel of a woman of or +above the world to back him. So long as he keeps his head, he can meet +both sexes on equal ground--an advantage never intended by Providence, +who fashioned Man on one day and Woman on another, in sign that neither +should know more than a very little of the other's life. Such a man goes +far, or, the counsel being withdrawn, collapses suddenly while his world +seeks the reason. + +Generalled by Mrs. Hauksbee who, again, had all Mrs. Mallowe's wisdom +at her disposal, proud of himself and, in the end, believing in himself +because he was believed in, Otis Yeere stood ready for any fortune that +might befall, certain that it would be good. He would fight for his own +hand, and intended that this second struggle should lead to better issue +than the first helpless surrender of the bewildered 'Stunt. + +What might have happened, it is impossible to say. This lamentable thing +befell, bred directly by a statement of Mrs. Hauksbee that she would +spend the next season in Darjiling. + +“Are you certain of that?” said Otis Yeere. + +“Quite. We're writing about a house now.” + +Otis Yeere “stopped dead,” as Mrs. Hauksbee put it in discussing the +relapse with Mrs. Mallowe. + +“He has behaved,” she said, angrily, “just like Captain Kerrington's +pony--only Otis is a donkey--at the last Gymkhana. Planted his forefeet +and refused to go on another step. Polly, my man's going to disappoint +me. What shall I do?” + +As a rule, Mrs. Mallowe does not approve of staring, but on this +occasion she opened her eyes to the utmost. + +“You have managed cleverly so far,” she said. “Speak to him, and ask him +what he means.” + +“I will--at tonight's dance.” + +“No-o, not at a dance,” said Mrs. Mallowe, cautiously. “Men are never +themselves quite at dances. Better wait till tomorrow morning.” + +“Nonsense. If he's going to revert in this insane way, there isn't a day +to lose. Are you going? No? Then sit up for me, there's a dear. I shan't +stay longer than supper under any circumstances.” + +Mrs. Mallowe waited through the evening, looking long and earnestly into +the fire, and sometimes smiling to herself. + +* * * * * + +“Oh! oh! oh! The man's an idiot! A raving, positive idiot! I'm sorry I +ever saw him!” + +Mrs. Hauksbee burst into Mrs. Mallowe's house, at midnight, almost in +tears. + +“What in the world has happened?” said Mrs. Mallowe, but her eyes showed +that she had guessed an answer. + +“Happened! Everything has happened! He was there. I went to him and +said, 'Now, what does this nonsense mean?' Don't laugh, dear, I can't +bear it. But you know what I mean I said. Then it was a square, and +I sat it out with him and wanted an explanation, and he said--Oh! I +haven't patience with such idiots! You know what I said about going +to Darjiling next year? It doesn't matter to me where I go. I'd have +changed the Station and lost the rent to have saved this. He said, in +so many words, that he wasn't going to try to work up any more, +because--because he would be shifted into a province away from +Darjiling, and his own District, where these creatures are, is within a +day's journey”-- + +“Ah-hh!” said Mrs. Mallowe, in a tone of one who has successfully +tracked an obscure word through a large dictionary. + +“Did you ever hear of anything so mad--so absurd? And he had the ball +at his feet. He had only to kick it! I would have made him anything! +Anything in the wide world. He could have gone to the world's end. I +would have helped him. I made him, didn't I, Polly? Didn't I create +that man? Doesn't he owe everything to me? And to reward me, just when +everything was nicely arranged, by this lunacy that spoiled everything!” + +“Very few men understand your devotion thoroughly.” + +“Oh, Polly, don't laugh at me! I give men up from this hour. I could +have killed him then and there. What right had this man--this Thing I +had picked out of his filthy paddy-fields--to make love to me?” + +“He did that, did he?” + +“He did. I don't remember half he said, I was so angry. Oh, but such +a funny thing happened! I can't help laughing at it now, though I felt +nearly ready to cry with rage. He raved and I stormed--I'm afraid we +must have made an awful noise in our kala juggah. Protect my character, +dear, if it's all over Simla by tomorrow--and then he bobbed forward in +the middle of this insanity--I firmly believe the man's demented--and +kissed me!” + +“Morals above reproach,” purred Mrs. Mallowe. + +“So they were--so they are! It was the most absurd kiss. I don't believe +he'd ever kissed a woman in his life before. I threw my head back, and +it was a sort of slidy, pecking dab, just on the end of the chin--here.” + Mrs. Hauksbee tapped her masculine little chin with her fan. “Then, of +course, I was furiously angry, and told him that he was no gentleman, +and I was sorry I'd ever met him, and so on. He was crushed so easily +that I couldn't be very angry. Then I came away straight to you.” + +“Was this before or after supper?” + +“Oh! before--oceans before. Isn't it perfectly disgusting?” + +“Let me think. I withhold judgment till tomorrow. Morning brings +counsel.” + +But morning brought only a servant with a dainty bouquet of Annandale +roses for Mrs. Hauksbee to wear at the dance at Viceregal Lodge that +night. + +“He doesn't seem to be very penitent,” said Mrs. Mallowe. “What's the +billet-doux in the centre?” + +Mrs. Hauksbee opened the neatly folded note,--another accomplishment +that she had taught Otis,--read it, and groaned tragically. + +“Last wreck of a feeble intellect! Poetry! Is it his own, do you think? +Oh, that I ever built my hopes on such a maudlin idiot!” + +“No. It's a quotation from Mrs. Browning, and, in view of the facts of +the case, as Jack says, uncommonly well chosen. Listen: + + “'Sweet thou has trod on a heart-- + Pass! There's a world full of men + And women as fair as thou art, + Must do such things now and then. + + “'Thou only hast stepped unaware-- + Malice not one can impute; + And why should a heart have been there, + In the way of a fair woman's foot?' + +“I didn't--I didn't--I didn't!” said Mrs. Hauksbee, angrily, her +eyes filling with tears; “there was no malice at all. Oh, it's too +vexatious!” + +“You've misunderstood the compliment,” said Mrs. Mallowe. “He clears +you completely and--ahem--I should think by this, that he has cleared +completely too. My experience of men is that when they begin to quote +poetry, they are going to flit. Like swans singing before they die, you +know.” + +“Polly, you take my sorrows in a most unfeeling way.” + +“Do I? Is it so terrible? If he's hurt your vanity, I should say that +you've done a certain amount of damage to his heart.” + +“Oh, you never can tell about a man!” said Mrs. Hauksbee, with deep +scorn. + +* * * * * + +Reviewing the matter as an impartial outsider, it strikes me that I'm +about the only person who has profited by the education of Otis Yeere. +It comes to twenty-seven pages and bittock. + + + + +AT THE PIT'S MOUTH + + Men say it was a stolen tide-- + The Lord that sent it he knows all, + But in mine ear will aye abide + The message that the bells let fall, + And awesome bells they were to me, + That in the dark rang, “Enderby.” + --Jean Ingelow. + +Once upon a time there was a man and his Wife and a Tertium Quid. + +All three were unwise, but the Wife was the unwisest. The Man should +have looked after his Wife, who should have avoided the Tertium Quid, +who, again, should have married a wife of his own, after clean and +open flirtations, to which nobody can possibly object, round Jakko or +Observatory Hill. When you see a young man with his pony in a white +lather, and his hat on the back of his head flying down-hill at fifteen +miles an hour to meet a girl who will be properly surprised to meet +him, you naturally approve of that young man, and wish him Staff +Appointments, and take an interest in his welfare, and, as the proper +time comes, give them sugar-tongs or side-saddles, according to your +means and generosity. + +The Tertium Quid flew down-hill on horseback, but it was to meet the +Man's Wife; and when he flew up-hill it was for the same end. The Man +was in the Plains, earning money for his Wife to spend on dresses and +four-hundred-rupee bracelets, and inexpensive luxuries of that kind. He +worked very hard, and sent her a letter or a post-card daily. She also +wrote to him daily, and said that she was longing for him to come up to +Simla. The Tertium Quid used to lean over her shoulder and laugh as she +wrote the notes. Then the two would ride to the Post Office together. + +Now, Simla is a strange place and its customs are peculiar; nor is +any man who has not spent at least ten seasons there qualified to pass +judgment on circumstantial evidence, which is the most untrustworthy in +the Courts. For these reasons, and for others which need not appear, +I decline to state positively whether there was anything irretrievably +wrong in the relations between the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid. If +there was, and hereon you must form your own opinion, it was the Man's +Wife's fault. She was kittenish in her manners, wearing generally an +air of soft and fluffy innocence. But she was deadly learned and +evil-instructed; and, now and again, when the mask dropped, men saw +this, shuddered and almost drew back. Men are occasionally particular, +and the least particular men are always the most exacting. + +Simla is eccentric in its fashion of tearing friendships. Certain +attachments which have set and crystallized through half a dozen seasons +acquire almost the sanctity of the marriage bond, and are revered as +such. Again, certain attachments equally old, and, to all appearance, +equally venerable, never seem to win any recognized official status; +while a chance-sprung acquaintance now two months born, steps into the +place which by right belongs to the senior. There is no law reducible to +print which regulates these affairs. + +Some people have a gift which secures them infinite toleration, and +others have not. The Man's Wife had not. If she looked over the garden +wall, for instance, women taxed her with stealing their husbands. She +complained pathetically that she was not allowed to choose her own +friends. When she put up her big white muff to her lips, and gazed over +it and under her eyebrows at you as she said this thing, you felt +that she had been infamously misjudged, and that all the other women's +instincts were all wrong; which was absurd. She was not allowed to own +the Tertium Quid in peace; and was so strangely constructed that she +would not have enjoyed peace had she been so permitted. She preferred +some semblance of intrigue to cloak even her most commonplace actions. + +After two months of riding, first round Jakko, then Elysium, then Summer +Hill, then Observatory Hill, then under Jutogh, and lastly up and down +the Cart Road as far as the Tara Devi gap in the dusk, she said to the +Tertium Quid, “Frank, people say we are too much together, and people +are so horrid.” + +The Tertium Quid pulled his moustache, and replied that horrid people +were unworthy of the consideration of nice people. + +“But they have done more than talk--they have written--written to my +hubby--I'm sure of it,” said the Man's Wife, and she pulled a letter +from her husband out of her saddle-pocket and gave it to the Tertium +Quid. + +It was an honest letter, written by an honest man, then stewing in the +Plains on two hundred rupees a month (for he allowed his wife eight +hundred and fifty), and in a silk banian and cotton trousers. It is said +that, perhaps, she had no thought of the unwisdom of allowing her name +to be so generally coupled with the Tertium Quid's; that she was too +much of a child to understand the dangers of that sort of thing; that +he, her husband, was the last man in the world to interfere jealously +with her little amusements and interests, but that it would be better +were she to drop the Tertium Quid quietly and for her husband's sake. +The letter was sweetened with many pretty little pet names, and it +amused the Tertium Quid considerably. He and She laughed over it, so +that you, fifty yards away, could see their shoulders shaking while the +horses slouched along side by side. + +Their conversation was not worth reporting. The upshot of it was that, +next day, no one saw the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid together. They +had both gone down to the Cemetery, which, as a rule, is only visited +officially by the inhabitants of Simla. + +A Simla funeral with the clergyman riding, the mourners riding, and the +coffin creaking as it swings between the bearers, is one of the most +depressing things on this earth, particularly when the procession passes +under the wet, dank dip beneath the Rockcliffe Hotel, where the sun is +shut out and all the hill streams are wailing and weeping together as +they go down the valleys. + +Occasionally folk tend the graves, but we in India shift and are +transferred so often that, at the end of the second year, the Dead have +no friends--only acquaintances who are far too busy amusing themselves +up the hill to attend to old partners. The idea of using a Cemetery as +a rendezvous is distinctly a feminine one. A man would have said simply +“Let people talk. We'll go down the Mall.” A woman is made differently, +especially if she be such a woman as the Man's Wife. She and the Tertium +Quid enjoyed each other's society among the graves of men and women whom +they had known and danced with aforetime. + +They used to take a big horse-blanket and sit on the grass a little to +the left of the lower end, where there is a dip in the ground and where +the occupied graves stop short and the ready-made ones are not ready. +Each well-regulated India Cemetery keeps half a dozen graves permanently +open for contingencies and incidental wear and tear. In the Hills these +are more usually baby's size, because children who come up weakened and +sick from the Plains often succumb to the effects of the Rains in +the Hills or get pneumonia from their ayahs taking them through damp +pine-woods after the sun has set. In Cantonments, of course, the man's +size is more in request; these arrangements varying with the climate and +population. + +One day when the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid had just arrived in the +Cemetery, they saw some coolies breaking ground. They had marked out a +full-size grave, and the Tertium Quid asked them whether any Sahib was +sick. They said that they did not know; but it was an order that they +should dig a Sahib's grave. + +“Work away,” said the Tertium Quid, “and let's see how it's done.” + +The coolies worked away, and the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid watched +and talked for a couple of hours while the grave was being deepened Then +a coolie, taking the earth in blankets as it was thrown up, jumped over +the grave. + +“That's queer,” said the Tertium Quid. “Where's my ulster?” + +“What's queer?” said the Man's Wife. + +“I have got a chill down my back just as if a goose had walked over my +grave.” + +“Why do you look at the thing, then?” said the Man's Wife. “Let us go.” + +The Tertium Quid stood at the head of the grave, and stared without +answering for a space. Then he said, dropping a pebble down, “It +is nasty and cold; horribly cold. I don't think I shall come to the +Cemetery any more. I don't think grave-digging is cheerful.” + +The two talked and agreed that the Cemetery was depressing. They also +arranged for a ride next day out from the Cemetery through the Mashobra +Tunnel up to Fagoo and back, because all the world was going to a +garden-party at Viceregal Lodge, and all the people of Mashobra would go +too. + +Coming up the Cemetery road, the Tertium Quid's horse tried to bolt up +hill, being tired with standing so long, and managed to strain a back +sinew. + +“I shall have to take the mare tomorrow,” said the Tertium Quid, “and +she will stand nothing heavier than a snaffle.” + +They made their arrangements to meet in the Cemetery, after allowing +all the Mashobra people time to pass into Simla. That night it rained +heavily, and next day, when the Tertium Quid came to the trysting-place, +he saw that the new grave had a foot of water in it, the ground being a +tough and sour clay. + +“'Jove! That looks beastly,” said the Tertium Quid. “Fancy being boarded +up and dropped into that well!” + +They then started off to Fagoo, the mare playing with the snaffle and +picking her way as though she were shod with satin, and the sun shining +divinely. The road below Mashobra to Fagoo is officially styled the +Himalayan-Thibet Road; but in spite of its name it is not much more than +six feet wide in most places, and the drop into the valley below must be +anything between one and two thousand feet. + +“Now we're going to Thibet,” said the Man's Wife merrily, as the horses +drew near to Fagoo. She was riding on the cliff-side. + +“Into Thibet,” said the Tertium Quid, “ever so far from people who say +horrid things, and hubbies who write stupid letters. With you--to the +end of the world!” + +A coolie carrying a log of wood came round a corner, and the mare went +wide to avoid him--forefeet in and haunches out, as a sensible mare +should go. + +“To the world's end,” said the Man's Wife, and looked unspeakable things +over her near shoulder at the Tertium Quid. + +He was smiling, but, while she looked, the smile froze stiff as it were +on his face, and changed to a nervous grin--the sort of grin men wear +when they are not quite easy in their saddles. The mare seemed to be +sinking by the stem, and her nostrils cracked while she was trying to +realize what was happening. The rain of the night before had rotted the +drop-side of the Himalayan-Thibet Road, and it was giving way under +her. “What are you doing?” said the Man's Wife. The Tertium Quid gave no +answer. He grinned nervously and set his spurs into the mare, who rapped +with her forefeet on the road, and the struggle began. The Man's Wife +screamed, “Oh, Frank, get off!” + +But the Tertium Quid was glued to the saddle--his face blue and +white--and he looked into the Man's Wife's eyes. Then the Man's Wife +clutched at the mare's head and caught her by the nose instead of the +bridle. The brute threw up her head and went down with a scream, the +Tertium Quid upon her, and the nervous grin still set on his face. + +The Man's Wife heard the tinkle-tinkle of little stones and loose earth +falling off the roadway, and the sliding roar of the man and horse going +down. Then everything was quiet, and she called on Frank to leave his +mare and walk up. But Frank did not answer. He was underneath the mare, +nine hundred feet below, spoiling a patch of Indian corn. + +As the revellers came back from Viceregal Lodge in the mists of the +evening, they met a temporarily insane woman, on a temporarily mad +horse, swinging round the corners, with her eyes and her mouth open, and +her head like the head of the Medusa. She was stopped by a man at the +risk of his life, and taken out of the saddle, a limp heap, and put on +the bank to explain herself. This wasted twenty minutes, and then she +was sent home in a lady's 'rickshaw, still with her mouth open and her +hands picking at her riding-gloves. + +She was in bed through the following three days, which were rainy; so +she missed attending the funeral of the Tertium Quid, who was lowered +into eighteen inches of water, instead of the twelve to which he had +first objected. + + + + +A WAYSIDE COMEDY + + Because to every purpose there is time and judgment, therefore + the misery of man is great upon him. + --Eccles. viii. 6. + +Fate and the Government of India have turned the Station of Kashima into +a prison; and, because there is no help for the poor souls who are now +lying there in torment, I write this story, praying that the Government +of India may be moved to scatter the European population to the four +winds. + +Kashima is bound on all sides by the rock-tipped circle of the Dosehri +hills. In Spring, it is ablaze with roses; in Summer, the roses die and +the hot winds blow from the hills; in Autumn, the white mists from +the hills cover the place as with water; and in Winter the frosts nip +everything young and tender to earth-level. There is but one view in +Kashima--a stretch of perfectly flat pasture and plough-land, running up +to the grey-blue scrub of the Dosehri hills. + +There are no amusements, except snipe and tiger shooting; but the tigers +have been long since hunted from their lairs in the rock-caves, and the +snipe only come once a year. Narkarra--one hundred and forty-three miles +by road--is the nearest station to Kashima. But Kashima never goes +to Narkarra, where there are at least twelve English people. It stays +within the circle of the Dosehri hills. + +All Kashima acquits Mrs. Vansuythen of any intention to do harm; but all +Kashima knows that she, and she alone, brought about their pain. + +Boulte, the Engineer, Mrs. Boulte, and Captain Kurrell know this. They +are the English population of Kashima, if we except Major Vansuythen, +who is of no importance whatever, and Mrs. Vansuythen, who is the most +important of all. + +You must remember, though you will not understand, that all laws weaken +in a small and hidden community where there is no public opinion. When +a man is absolutely alone in a Station he runs a certain risk of +falling into evil ways. The risk is multiplied by every addition to +the population up to twelve--the Jury-number. After that, fear and +consequent restraint begin, and human action becomes less grotesquely +jerky. + +There was deep peace in Kashima till Mrs. Vansuythen arrived. She was a +charming woman, every one said so everywhere; and she charmed every +one. In spite of this, or, perhaps, because of this, since Fate is so +perverse, she cared only for one man, and he was Major Vansuythen. Had +she been plain or stupid, this matter would have been intelligible to +Kashima. But she was a fair woman, with very still grey eyes, the color +of a lake just before the light of the sun touches it. No man who had +seen those eyes, could, later on, explain what fashion of woman she was +to look upon. The eyes dazzled him. Her own sex said that she was “not +bad looking, but spoiled by pretending to be so grave.” And yet her +gravity was natural It was not her habit to smile. She merely went +through life, looking at those who passed; and the women objected while +the men fell down and worshipped. + +She knows and is deeply sorry for the evil she has done to Kashima; but +Major Vansuythen cannot understand why Mrs. Boulte does not drop in +to afternoon tea at least three times a week. “When there are only two +women in one Station, they ought to see a great deal of each other,” + says Major Vansuythen. + +Long and long before ever Mrs. Vansuythen came out of those far-away +places where there is society and amusement, Kurrell had discovered that +Mrs. Boulte was the one woman in the world for him and--you dare not +blame them. Kashima was as out of the world as Heaven or the Other +Place, and the Dosehri hills kept their secret well. Boulte had no +concern in the matter. He was in camp for a fortnight at a time. He was +a hard, heavy man, and neither Mrs. Boulte nor Kurrell pitied him. They +had all Kashima and each other for their very, very own; and Kashima +was the Garden of Eden in those days. When Boulte returned from his +wanderings he would slap Kurrell between the shoulders and call him “old +fellow,” and the three would dine together. Kashima was happy then when +the judgment of God seemed almost as distant as Narkarra or the railway +that ran down to the sea. But the Government sent Major Vansuythen to +Kashima, and with him came his wife. + +The etiquette of Kashima is much the same as that of a desert island. +When a stranger is cast away there, all hands go down to the shore to +make him welcome. Kashima assembled at the masonry platform close to +the Narkarra Road, and spread tea for the Vansuythens. That ceremony was +reckoned a formal call, and made them free of the Station, its rights +and privileges. When the Vansuythens were settled down, they gave a tiny +housewarming to all Kashima; and that made Kashima free of their house, +according to the immemorial usage of the Station. + +Then the Rains came, when no one could go into camp, and the Narkarra +Road was washed away by the Kasun River, and in the cup-like pastures +of Kashima the cattle waded knee-deep. The clouds dropped down from the +Dosehri hills and covered everything. + +At the end of the Rains, Boulte's manner toward his wife changed and +became demonstratively affectionate. They had been married twelve years, +and the change startled Mrs. Boulte, who hated her husband with the hate +of a woman who has met with nothing but kindness from her mate, and, in +the teeth of this kindness, had done him a great wrong. Moreover, +she had her own trouble to fight with--her watch to keep over her own +property, Kurrell. For two months the Rains had hidden the Dosehri hills +and many other things besides; but when they lifted, they showed Mrs. +Boulte that her man among men, her Ted--for she called him Ted in the +old days when Boulte was out of earshot--was slipping the links of the +allegiance. + +“The Vansuythen Woman has taken him,” Mrs. Boulte said to herself; +and when Boulte was away, wept over her belief, in the face of the +over-vehement blandishments of Ted. Sorrow in Kashima is as fortunate +as Love, because there is nothing to weaken it save the flight of Time. +Mrs. Boulte had never breathed her suspicion to Kurrell because she was +not certain; and her nature led her to be very certain before she took +steps in any direction. That is why she behaved as she did. + +Boulte came into the house one evening, and leaned against the +door-posts of the drawing-room, chewing his moustache. Mrs. Boulte was +putting some flowers into a vase. There is a pretence of civilization +even in Kashima. + +“Little woman,” said Boulte, quietly, “do you care for me?” + +“Immensely,” said she, with a laugh. “Can you ask it?” + +“But I'm serious,” said Boulte. “Do you care for me?” + +Mrs. Boulte dropped the flowers, and turned round quickly. “Do you want +an honest answer?” + +“Ye-es, I've asked for it.” + +Mrs. Boulte spoke in a low, even voice for five minutes, very +distinctly, that there might be no misunderstanding her meaning. When +Samson broke the pillars of Gaza, he did a little thing, and one not to +be compared to the deliberate pulling down of a woman's homestead about +her own ears. There was no wise female friend to advise Mrs. Boulte, +the singularly cautious wife, to hold her hand. She struck at Boulte's +heart, because her own was sick with suspicion of Kurrell, and worn out +with the long strain of watching alone through the Rains. There was +no plan or purpose in her speaking. The sentences made themselves; and +Boulte listened leaning against the door-post with his hands in his +pockets. When all was over, and Mrs. Boulte began to breathe through her +nose before breaking out into tears, he laughed and stared straight in +front of him at the Dosehri hills. + +“Is that all?” he said. “Thanks, I only wanted to know, you know.” + +“What are you going to do?” said the woman, between her sobs. + +“Do! Nothing. What should I do? Kill Kurrell or send you Home, or +apply for leave to get a divorce? It's two days' dak into Narkarra.” He +laughed again and went on: “I'll tell you what you can do. You can ask +Kurrell to dinner tomorrow--no, on Thursday, that will allow you time to +pack--and you can bolt with him. I give you my word I won't follow.” + +He took up his helmet and went out of the room, and Mrs. Boulte sat till +the moonlight streaked the floor, thinking and thinking and thinking. +She had done her best upon the spur of the moment to pull the house +down; but it would not fall. Moreover, she could not understand her +husband, and she was afraid. Then the folly of her useless truthfulness +struck her, and she was ashamed to write to Kurrell, saying: “I have +gone mad and told everything. My husband says that I am free to elope +with you. Get a dak for Thursday, and we will fly after dinner.” There +was a cold-bloodedness about that procedure which did not appeal to her. +So she sat still in her own house and thought. + +At dinner-time Boulte came back from his walk, white and worn and +haggard, and the woman was touched at his distress. As the evening wore +on, she muttered some expression of sorrow, something approaching to +contrition. Boulte came out of a brown study and said, “Oh, that! I +wasn't thinking about that. By the way, what does Kurrell say to the +elopement?” + +“I haven't seen him,” said Mrs. Boulte. “Good God! is that all?” + +But Boulte was not listening, and her sentence ended in a gulp. + +The next day brought no comfort to Mrs. Boulte, for Kurrell did not +appear, and the new life that she, in the five minutes' madness of the +previous evening, had hoped to build out of the ruins of the old, seemed +to be no nearer. + +Boulte ate his breakfast, advised her to see her Arab pony fed in the +veranda, and went out. The morning wore through, and at midday the +tension became unendurable. Mrs. Boulte could not cry. She had finished +her crying in the night, and now she did not want to be left alone. +Perhaps the Vansuythen woman would talk to her; and, since talking +opens the heart, perhaps there might be some comfort to be found in her +company. She was the only other woman in the Station. + +In Kashima there are no regular calling-hours. Every one can drop in +upon every one else at pleasure. Mrs. Boulte put on a big terai hat, and +walked across to the Vansuythens's house to borrow last week's Queen. +The two compounds touched, and instead of going up the drive, she +crossed through the gap in the cactus-hedge, entering the house from +the back. As she passed through the dining-room, she heard, behind +the purdah that cloaked the drawing-room door, her husband's voice, +saying--“But on my Honor! On my Soul and Honor, I tell you she doesn't +care for me. She told me so last night. I would have told you then if +Vansuythen hadn't been with you. If it is for her sake that you'll have +nothing to say to me, you can make your mind easy. It's Kurrell.” + +“What?” said Mrs. Vansuythen, with an hysterical little laugh. “Kurrell! +Oh, it can't be. You two must have made some horrible mistake. Perhaps +you--you lost your temper, or misunderstood, or something. Things can't +be as wrong as you say.” + +Mrs. Vansuythen had shifted her defence to avoid the man's pleading, and +was desperately trying to keep him to a side-issue. + +“There must be some mistake,” she insisted, “and it can be all put right +again.” + +Boulte laughed grimly. + +“It can't be Captain Kurrell! He told me that he had never taken the +least--the least interest in your wife, Mr. Boulte. Oh, do listen! He +said he had not. He swore he had not,” said Mrs. Vansuythen. + +The purdah rustled, and the speech was cut short by the entry of a +little, thin woman with big rings round her eyes. Mrs. Vansuythen stood +up with a gasp. + +“What was that you said?” asked Mrs. Boulte. “Never mind that man. What +did Ted say to you? What did he say to you? What did he say to you?” + +Mrs. Vansuythen sat down helplessly on the sofa, overborne by the +trouble of her questioner. + +“He said--I can't remember exactly what he said--but I understood him +to say--that is--But, really, Mrs. Boulte, isn't it rather a strange +question?” + +“Will you tell me what he said?” repeated Mrs. Boulte. + +Even a tiger will fly before a bear robbed of her whelps, and Mrs. +Vansuythen was only an ordinarily good woman. She began in a sort of +desperation: “Well, he said that he never cared for you at all, and, +of course, there was not the least reason why he should have, +and--and--that was all.” + +“You said he swore he had not cared for me. Was that true?” + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Vansuythen, very softly. + +Mrs. Boulte wavered for an instant where she stood, and then fell +forward fainting. + +“What did I tell you?” said Boulte, as though the conversation had been +unbroken. “You can see for yourself she cares for him.” The light began +to break into his dull mind, and he went on--“And he--what was he saying +to you?” + +But Mrs. Vansuythen, with no heart for explanations or impassioned +protestations, was kneeling over Mrs. Boulte. + +“Oh, you brute!” she cried. “Are all men like this? Help me to get her +into my room--and her face is cut against the table. Oh, will you be +quiet, and help me to carry her? I hate you, and I hate Captain Kurrell. +Lift her up carefully and now--go! Go away!” + +Boulte carried his wife into Mrs. Vansuythen's bedroom and departed +before the storm of that lady's wrath and disgust, impenitent +and burning with jealousy. Kurrell had been making love to Mrs. +Vansuythen--would do Vansuythen as great a wrong as he had done Boulte, +who caught himself considering whether Mrs. Vansuythen would faint if +she discovered that the man she loved had foresworn her. + +In the middle of these meditations, Kurrell came cantering along the +road and pulled up with a cheery, “Good mornin'. 'Been mashing Mrs. +Vansuythen as usual, eh? Bad thing for a sober, married man, that. What +will Mrs Boulte say?” + +Boulte raised his head and said, slowly, “Oh, you liar!” + +Kurrell's face changed. “What's that?” he asked, quickly. + +“Nothing much,” said Boulte. “Has my wife told you that you two are free +to go off whenever you please? She has been good enough to explain +the situation to me. You've been a true friend to me, Kurrell--old +man--haven't you?” + +Kurrell groaned, and tried to frame some sort of idiotic sentence about +being willing to give “satisfaction.” But his interest in the woman was +dead, had died out in the Rains, and, mentally, he was abusing her for +her amazing indiscretion. It would have been so easy to have broken off +the thing gently and by degrees, and now he was saddled with--Boulte's +voice recalled him. + +“I don't think I should get any satisfaction from killing you, and I'm +pretty sure you'd get none from killing me.” + +Then in a querulous tone, ludicrously disproportioned to his wrongs, +Boulte added--“'Seems rather a pity that you haven't the decency to keep +to the woman, now you've got her. You've been a true friend to her too, +haven't you?” + +Kurrell stared long and gravely. The situation was getting beyond him. + +“What do you mean?” he said. + +Boulte answered, more to himself than the questioner: “My wife came +over to Mrs. Vansuythen's just now; and it seems you'd been telling +Mrs. Vansuythen that you'd never cared for Emma. I suppose you lied, as +usual. What had Mrs. Vansuythen to do with you, or you with her? Try to +speak the truth for once in a way.” + +Kurrell took the double insult without wincing, and replied by another +question: “Go on. What happened?” + +“Emma fainted,” said Boulte, simply. “But, look here, what had you been +saying to Mrs. Vansuythen?” + +Kurrell laughed. Mrs. Boulte had, with unbridled tongue, made havoc of +his plans; and he could at least retaliate by hurting the man in whose +eyes he was humiliated and shown dishonorable. + +“Said to her? What does a man tell a lie like that for? I suppose I said +pretty much what you've said, unless I'm a good deal mistaken.” + +“I spoke the truth,” said Boulte, again more to himself than Kurrell. +“Emma told me she hated me. She has no right in me.” + +“No! I suppose not. You're only her husband, y'know. And what did Mrs. +Vansuythen say after you had laid your disengaged heart at her feet?” + +Kurrell felt almost virtuous as he put the question. + +“I don't think that matters,” Boulte replied; “and it doesn't concern +you.” + +“But it does! I tell you it does” began Kurrell, shamelessly. + +The sentence was cut by a roar of laughter from Boulte's lips. Kurrell +was silent for an instant, and then he, too, laughed--laughed long and +loudly, rocking in his saddle. It was an unpleasant sound--the mirthless +mirth of these men on the long, white line of the Narkarra Road. There +were no strangers in Kashima, or they might have thought that captivity +within the Dosehri hills had driven half the European population mad. +The laughter ended abruptly, and Kurrell was the first to speak. + +“Well, what are you going to do?” + +Boulte looked up the road, and at the hills. “Nothing,” said he, +quietly; “what's the use? It's too ghastly for anything. We must let the +old life go on. I can only call you a hound and a liar, and I can't go +on calling you names forever. Besides which, I don't feel that I'm much +better. We can't get out of this place. What is there to do?” + +Kurrell looked round the rat-pit of Kashima and made no reply. The +injured husband took up the wondrous tale. + +“Ride on, and speak to Emma if you want to. God knows I don't care what +you do.” + +He walked forward and left Kurrell gazing blankly after him. Kurrell did +not ride on either to see Mrs. Boulte or Mrs. Vansuythen. He sat in his +saddle and thought, while his pony grazed by the roadside. + +The whir of approaching wheels roused him. Mrs. Vansuythen was driving +home Mrs. Boulte, white and wan, with a cut on her forehead. + +“Stop, please,” said Mrs. Boulte “I want to speak to Ted.” + +Mrs. Vansuythen obeyed, but as Mrs. Boulte leaned forward, putting her +hand upon the splash-board of the dog-cart, Kurrell spoke. + +“I've seen your husband, Mrs. Boulte.” + +There was no necessity for any further explanation. The man's eyes were +fixed, not upon Mrs. Boulte, but her companion. Mrs. Boulte saw the +look. + +“Speak to him!” she pleaded, turning to the woman at her side. “Oh, +speak to him! Tell him what you told me just now. Tell him you hate him. +Tell him you hate him!” + +She bent forward and wept bitterly, while the sais, impassive, went +forward to hold the horse. Mrs. Vansuythen turned scarlet and dropped +the reins. She wished to be no party to such unholy explanations. + +“I've nothing to do with it,” she began, coldly; but Mrs. Boulte's sobs +overcame her, and she addressed herself to the man. “I don't know what +I am to say, Captain Kurrell. I don't know what I can call you. I think +you've--you've behaved abominably, and she has cut her forehead terribly +against the table.” + +“It doesn't hurt. It isn't anything,” said Mrs. Boulte feebly. “That +doesn't matter. Tell him what you told me. Say you don't care for him. +Oh, Ted, won't you believe her?” + +“Mrs. Boulte has made me understand that you were--that you were fond of +her once upon a time,” went on Mrs. Vansuythen. + +“Well!” said Kurrell brutally. “It seems to me that Mrs. Boulte had +better be fond of her own husband first.” + +“Stop!” said Mrs. Vansuythen. “Hear me first. I don't care--I don't want +to know anything about you and Mrs. Boulte; but I want you to know that +I hate you, that I think you are a cur, and that I'll never, never speak +to you again. Oh, I don't dare to say what I think of you, you--man! +_Sais,_ gorah _ko_ jane _do_.” + +“I want to speak to Ted,” moaned Mrs. Boulte, but the dog-cart rattled +on, and Kurrell was left on the road, shamed, and boiling with wrath +against Mrs. Boulte. + +He waited till Mrs. Vansuythen was driving back to her own house, +and, she being freed from the embarrassment of Mrs. Boulte's presence, +learned for the second time her opinion of himself and his actions. + +In the evenings, it was the wont of all Kashima to meet at the platform +on the Narkarra Road, to drink tea, and discuss the trivialities of +the day. Major Vansuythen and his wife found themselves alone at the +gathering-place for almost the first time in their remembrance; and +the cheery Major, in the teeth of his wife's remarkably reasonable +suggestion that the rest of the Station might be sick, insisted upon +driving round to the two bungalows and unearthing the population. + +“Sitting in the twilight!” said he, with great indignation to the +Boultes. “That'll never do! Hang it all, we're one family here! You must +come out, and so must Kurrell. I'll make him bring his banjo.” So great +is the power of honest simplicity and a good digestion over guilty +consciences that all Kashima did turn out, even down to the banjo; and +the Major embraced the company in one expansive grin. As he grinned, +Mrs. Vansuythen raised her eyes for an instant and looked at all +Kashima. Her meaning was clear. Major Vansuythen would never know +anything. He was to be the outsider in that happy family whose cage was +the Dosehri hills. + +“You're singing villainously out of tune, Kurrell,” said the Major, +truthfully. “Pass me that banjo.” + +And he sang in excruciating-wise till the stars came out and all Kashima +went to dinner. + +* * * * * + +That was the beginning of the New Life of Kashima--the life that Mrs. +Boulte made when her tongue was loosened in the twilight. + +Mrs. Vansuythen has never told the Major; and since be insists upon +keeping up a burdensome geniality, she has been compelled to break her +vow of not speaking to Kurrell. This speech, which must of necessity +preserve the semblance of politeness and interest, serves admirably to +keep alive the flame of jealousy and dull hatred in Boulte's bosom, as +it awakens the same passions in his wife's heart. Mrs. Boulte hates +Mrs. Vansuythen because she has taken Ted from her, and, in some curious +fashion, hates her because Mrs. Vansuythen--and here the wife's eyes see +far more clearly than the husband's--detests Ted. And Ted--that gallant +captain and honorable man--knows now that it is possible to hate a woman +once loved, to the verge of wishing to silence her forever with blows. +Above all, is he shocked that Mrs. Boulte cannot see the error of her +ways. + +Boulte and he go out tiger-shooting together in all friendship. Boulte +has put their relationship on a most satisfactory footing. + +“You're a blackguard,” he says to Kurrell, “and I've lost any +self-respect I may ever have had; but when you're with me, I can +feel certain that you are not with Mrs. Vansuythen, or making Emma +miserable.” + +Kurrell endures anything that Boulte may say to him. Sometimes they are +away for three days together, and then the Major insists upon his +wife going over to sit with Mrs. Boulte; although Mrs. Vansuythen has +repeatedly declared that she prefers her husband's company to any in the +world. From the way in which she clings to him, she would certainly seem +to be speaking the truth. + +But of course, as the Major says, “in a little Station we must all be +friendly.” + + + + +THE HILL OF ILLUSION + + What rendered vain their deep desire? + A God, a God their severance ruled, + And bade between their shores to be + The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea. + --Matthew Arnold. + +HE. Tell your jhampanis not to hurry so, dear. They forget I'm fresh +from the Plains. + +SHE. Sure proof that I have not been going out with any one. Yes, they +are an untrained crew. Where do we go? + +HE. As usual--to the world's end. No, Jakko. + +SHE. Have your pony led after you, then. It's a long round. + +HE. And for the last time, thank Heaven! + +SHE. Do you mean that still? I didn't dare to write to you about +it... all these months. + +HE. Mean it! I've been shaping my affairs to that end since Autumn. What +makes you speak as though it had occurred to you for the first time? + +SHE. I! Oh! I don't know. I've had long enough to think, too. + +HE. And you've changed your mind? + +SHE. No. You ought to know that I am a miracle of constancy. What are +your--arrangements? + +HE. Ours, Sweetheart, please. + +SHE. Ours, be it then. My poor boy, how the prickly heat has marked your +forehead! Have you ever tried sulphate of copper in water? + +HE. It'll go away in a day or two up here. The arrangements are simple +enough. Tonga in the early morning--reach Kalka at twelve--Umballa at +seven--down, straight by night train, to Bombay, and then the steamer of +the 21st for Rome. That's my idea. The Continent and Sweden--a ten-week +honeymoon. + +SHE. Ssh! Don't talk of it in that way. It makes me afraid. Guy, how +long have we two been insane? + +HE. Seven months and fourteen days; I forget the odd hours exactly, but +I'll think. + +SHE. I only wanted to see if you remembered. Who are those two on the +Blessington Road? + +HE. Eabrey and the Penner woman. What do they matter to us? Tell me +everything that you've been doing and saying and thinking. + +SHE. Doing little, saying less, and thinking a great deal. I've hardly +been out at all. + +Ha. That was wrong of you. You haven't been moping? + +SHE. Not very much. Can you wonder that I'm disinclined for amusement? + +HE. Frankly, I do. Where was the difficulty? + +SHE. In this only. The more people I know and the more I'm known here, +the wider spread will be the news of the crash when it comes. I don't +like that. + +HE. Nonsense. We shall be out of it. + +SHE. You think so? + +HE. I'm sure of it, if there is any power in steam or horse-flesh to +carry us away. Ha! ha! + +SHE. And the fun of the situation comes in--where, my Lancelot? + +HE. Nowhere, Guinevere. I was only thinking of something. + +SHE. They say men have a keener sense of humor than women. Now _I_ was +thinking of the scandal. + +HE. Don't think of anything so ugly. We shall be beyond it. + +SHE. It will be there all the same in the mouths of Simla--telegraphed +over India, and talked of at the dinners--and when He goes out they +will stare at Him to see how He takes it. And we shall be dead, Guy +dear--dead and cast into the outer darkness where there is-- + +HE. Love at least. Isn't that enough? + +SHE. I have said so. + +HE. And you think so still? + +SHE. What do you think? + +Ha. What have I _done_? It means equal ruin to me, as the world reckons +it--outcasting, the loss of my appointment, the breaking of my life's +work. I pay my price. + +SHE. And are you so much above the world that you can afford to pay it? +Am I? + +Ha. My Divinity--what else? + +SHE. A very ordinary woman I'm afraid, but, so far, respectable. How'd +you do, Mrs. Middleditch? Your husband? I think he's riding down +to Annandale with Colonel Statters. Yes, isn't it divine after the +rain?--Guy, how long am I to be allowed to bow to Mrs. Middleditch? Till +the 17th? + +HE. Frowsy Scotchwoman? What is the use of bringing her into the +discussion? You were saying? + +SHE. Nothing. Have you ever seen a man hanged? + +HE. Yes. Once. + +SHE. What was it for? + +HE. Murder, of course. + +SHE. Murder. Is that so great a sin after all? I wonder how he felt +before the drop fell. + +HE. I don't think he felt much. What a gruesome little woman it is this +evening! You're shivering. Put on your cape, dear. + +SHE. I think I will. Oh! Look at the mist coming over Sanjaoli; and I +thought we should have sunshine on the Ladies' Mile! Let's turn back. + +HE. What's the good? There's a cloud on Elysium Hill, and that means +it's foggy all down the Mall. We'll go on. It'll blow away before we get +to the Convent, perhaps. 'Jove! It is chilly. + +SHE. You feel it, fresh from below. Put on your ulster. What do you +think of my cape? + +HE. Never ask a man his opinion of a woman's dress when he is +desperately and abjectly in love with the wearer. Let me look. Like +everything else of yours it's perfect. Where did you get it from? + +SHE. He gave it me, on Wednesday... our wedding-day, you know. + +HE. The deuce He did! He's growing generous in his old age. D'you like +all that frilly, bunchy stuff at the throat? I don't. + +SHE. Don't you? + + “Kind Sir, O' your courtesy, + As you go by the town, Sir, + Pray you O' your love for me, + Buy me a russet gown, Sir.” + +HE. I won't say: “Keek into the draw-well, Janet, Janet.” Only wait a +little, darling, and you shall be stocked with russet gowns and +everything else. + +SHE. And when the frocks wear out, you'll get me new ones--and +everything else? + +HE. Assuredly. + +SHE. I wonder! + +HE. Look here, Sweetheart, I didn't spend two days and two nights in +the train to hear you wonder. I thought we'd settled all that at +Shaifazehat. + +SHE (dreamily). At Shaifazehat? Does the Station go on still? That +was ages and ages ago. It must be crumbling to pieces. All except the +Amirtollah kutcha road. I don't believe that could crumble till the Day +of Judgment. + +Ha. You think so? What is the mood now? + +SHE. I can't tell. How cold it is! Let us get on quickly. + +Ha. Better walk a little. Stop your jhampanis and get out. What's the +matter with you this evening, dear? + +SHE. Nothing. You must grow accustomed to my ways. If I'm boring you +I can go home. Here's Captain Congleton coming; I dare say he'll be +willing to escort me. + +Ha. Goose! Between us, too! Damn Captain Congleton. There! + +SHE. Chivalrous Knight! Is it your habit to swear much in talking? It +jars a little, and you might swear at me. + +HE. My angel! I didn't know what I was saying; and you changed so +quickly that I couldn't follow. I'll apologize in dust and ashes. + +SHE. There'll be enough of those later on. Good night, Captain +Congleton. Going to the singing-quadrilles already? What dances am I +giving you next week? No! You must have written them down wrong. Five +and Seven, I said. If you've made a mistake, I certainly don't intend to +suffer for it. You must alter your programme. + +HE. I thought you told me that you had not been going out much this +season? + +SHE. Quite true, but when I do I dance with Captain Congleton. He dances +very nicely. + +HE. And sit out with him, I suppose? + +SHE. Yes. Have you any objection? Shall I stand under the chandelier in +future? + +HE. What does he talk to you about? + +SHE. What do men talk about when they sit out? + +Ha. Ugh! Don't! Well now I'm up, you must dispense with the fascinating +Congleton for a while. I don't like him. + +SHE. (after a pause). Do you know what you have said? + +HE. 'Can't say that I do exactly. I'm not in the best of tempers. + +SHE. So I see... and feel. My true and faithful lover, where is your +“eternal constancy,” “unalterable trust,” and “reverent devotion”? I +remember those phrases; you seem to have forgotten them. I mention a +man's name-- + +HE. A good deal more than that. + +SHE. Well, speak to him about a dance--perhaps the last dance that I +shall ever dance in my life before I... before I go away; and you at once +distrust and insult me. + +HE. I never said a word. + +SHE. How much did you imply? Guy, is this amount of confidence to be our +stock to start the new life on? + +HE. No, of course not. I didn't mean that. On my word of honor, I +didn't. Let it pass, dear. Please let it pass. + +SHE. This once--yes--and a second time, and again and again, all through +the years when I shall be unable to resent it. You want too much, my +Lancelot, and... you know too much. + +HE. How do you mean? + +SHE. That is a part of the punishment. There cannot be perfect trust +between us. + +HE. In Heaven's name, why not? + +SHE. Hush! The Other Place is quite enough. Ask yourself. + +HE. I don't follow. + +SHE. You trust me so implicitly that when I look at another man--Never +mind, Guy. Have you ever made love to a girl--a good girl? + +HE. Something of the sort. Centuries ago--in the Dark Ages, before I +ever met you, dear. + +SHE. Tell me what you said to her. + +HE. What does a man say to a girl? I've forgotten. + +SHE. I remember. He tells her that he trusts her and worships the ground +she walks on, and that he'll love and honor and protect her till her +dying day; and so she marries in that belief. At least, I speak of one +girl who was not protected. + +HE. Well, and then? + +SHE. And then, Guy, and then, that girl needs ten times the love and +trust and honor--yes, honor--that was enough when she was only a mere +wife if--if--the other life she chooses to lead is to be made even +bearable. Do you understand? + +HE. Even bearable! It'll he Paradise. + +SHE. Ah! Can you give me all I've asked for--not now, nor a few months +later, but when you begin to think of what you might have done if you +had kept your own appointment and your caste here--when you begin to +look upon me as a drag and a burden? I shall want it most, then, Guy, +for there will be no one in the wide world but you. + +HE. You're a little over-tired tonight, Sweetheart, and you're taking a +stage view of the situation. After the necessary business in the Courts, +the road is clear to-- + +SHE. “The holy state of matrimony!” Ha! ha! ha! + +HE. Ssh! Don't laugh in that horrible way! + +SHE. I-I c-c-c-can't help it! Isn't it too absurd! Ah! Ha! ha! ha! Guy, +stop me quick or I shall--l-l-laugh till we get to the Church. + +HE. For goodness' sake, stop! Don't make an exhibition of yourself. What +is the matter with you? + +SHE. N-nothing. I'm better now. + +HE. That's all right. One moment, dear. There's a little wisp of hair +got loose from behind your right ear and it's straggling over your +cheek. So! + +SHE. Thank'oo. I'm 'fraid my hat's on one side, too. + +HE. What do you wear these huge dagger bonnet-skewers for? They're big +enough to kill a man with. + +SHE. Oh! Don't kill me, though. You're sticking it into my head! Let me +do it. You men are so clumsy. + +HE. Have you had many opportunities of comparing us--in this sort of +work? + +SHE. Guy, what is my name? + +HE. Eh! I don't follow. + +SHE. Here's my cardcase. Can you read? + +HE. Yes. Well? + +SHE. Well, that answers your question. You know the other man's name. Am +I sufficiently humbled, or would you like to ask me if there is any one +else? + +HE. I see now. My darling, I never meant that for an instant. I was only +joking. There! Lucky there's no one on the road. They'd be scandalized. + +SHE. They'll be more scandalized before the end. + +HE. Do-on't! I don't like you to talk in that way. + +SHE. Unreasonable man! Who asked me to face the situation and accept +it? Tell me, do I look like Mrs. Penner? Do I look like a naughty woman? +Swear I don't! Give me your word of honor, my honorable friend, that I'm +not like Mrs. Buzgago. That's the way she stands, with her hands clasped +at the back of her head. D'you like that? + +HE. Don't be affected. + +SHE. I'm not. I'm Mrs. Buzgago. Listen! + + Pendant une anne' toute entiere + Le regiment n'a pas r'paru. + Au Ministere de la Guerre + On le r'porta comme perdu. + + On se r'noncait a r'trouver sa trace, + Quand un matin subitement, + On le vit r'paraitre sur la place + L'Colonel toujours en avant. + +That's the way she rolls her r's. Am I like her? + +HE. No, but I object when you go on like an actress and sing stuff of +that kind. Where in the world did you pick up the Chanson du Colonel? It +isn't a drawing-room song. It isn't proper. + +SHE. Mrs. Buzgago taught it me. She is both drawing-room and proper, and +in another month she'll shut her drawing-room to me, and thank God she +isn't as improper as I am. Oh, Guy, Guy! I wish I was like some women +and had no scruples about--what is it Keene says?--“Wearing a corpse's +hair and being false to the bread they eat.” + +HE. I am only a man of limited intelligence, and just now, very +bewildered. When you have quite finished flashing through all your moods +tell me, and I'll try to understand the last one. + +SHE. Moods, Guy! I haven't any. I'm sixteen years old and you're just +twenty, and you've been waiting for two hours outside the school in the +cold. And now I've met you, and now we're walking home together. Does +that suit you, My Imperial Majesty? + +HE. No. We aren't children. Why can't you be rational? + +SHE. He asks me that when I'm going to commit suicide for his sake, and, +and--I don't want to be French and rave about my mother, but have I ever +told you that I have a mother, and a brother who was my pet before I +married? He's married now. Can't you imagine the pleasure that the news +of the elopement will give him? Have you any people at Home, Guy, to be +pleased with your performances? + +HE. One or two. One can't make omelets without breaking eggs. + +SHE (slowly). I don't see the necessity-- + +HE. Hah! What do you mean? + +SHE. Shall I speak the truth? + +HE. Under the circumstances, perhaps it would be as well. + +SHE. Guy, I'm afraid. + +HE. I thought we'd settled all that. What of? + +SHE. Of you. + +HE. Oh, damn it all! The old business! This is too had! + +SHE. Of you. + +HE. And what now? + +SHE. What do you think of me? + +HE. Beside the question altogether. What do you intend to do? + +SHE. I daren't risk it. I'm afraid. If I could only cheat-- + +HE. A la Buzgago? No, thanks. That's the one point on which I have any +notion of Honor. I won't eat his salt and steal too. I'll loot openly or +not at all. + +SHE. I never meant anything else. + +HE. Then, why in the world do you pretend not to be willing to come? + +SHE. It's not pretence, Guy. I am afraid. + +HE. Please explain. + +SHE. It can't last, Guy. It can't last. You'll get angry, and then +you'll swear, and then you'll get jealous, and then you'll mistrust +me--you do now--and you yourself will be the best reason for doubting. +And I--what shall I do? I shall be no better than Mrs. Buzgago found +out--no better than any one. And you'll know that. Oh, Guy, can't you +see? + +HE. I see that you are desperately unreasonable, little woman. + +SHE. There! The moment I begin to object, you get angry. What will you +do when I am only your property--stolen property? It can't be, Guy. It +can't be! I thought it could, but it can't. You'll get tired of me. + +HE. I tell you I shall not. Won't anything make you understand that? + +SHE. There, can't you see? If you speak to me like that now, you'll call +me horrible names later, if I don't do everything as you like. And if +you were cruel to me, Guy, where should I go--where should I go? I can't +trust you. Oh! I can't trust you! + +HE. I suppose I ought to say that I can trust you. I've ample reason. + +SHE. Please don't, dear. It hurts as much as if you hit me. + +HE. It isn't exactly pleasant for me. + +SHE. I can't help it. I wish I were dead! I can't trust you, and I don't +trust myself. Oh, Guy, let it die away and be forgotten! + +HE. Too late now. I don't understand you--I won't--and I can't trust +myself to talk this evening. May I call tomorrow? + +SHE. Yes. No! Oh, give me time! The day after. I get into my 'rickshaw +here and meet Him at Peliti's. You ride. + +HE. I'll go on to Peliti's too. I think I want a drink. My world's +knocked about my ears and the stars are falling. Who are those brutes +howling in the Old Library? + +SHE. They're rehearsing the singing-quadrilles for the Fancy Ball. Can't +you hear Mrs. Buzgago's voice? She has a solo. It's quite a new idea. +Listen. + +MRS. BUZGAGO (in the Old Library, con. molt. exp.). + +See-saw! Margery Daw! Sold her bed to lie upon straw. Wasn't she a silly +slut To sell her bed and lie upon dirt? + +Captain Congleton, I'm going to alter that to “flirt.” It sound better. + +HE. No, I've changed my mind about the drink. Good night, little lady. I +shall see you tomorrow? + +SHE. Yes. Good night, Guy. Don't be angry with me. + +HE. Angry! You know I trust you absolutely. Good night and--God bless +you! + +(Three seconds later. Alone.) Hmm! I'd give something to discover +whether there's another man at the back of all this. + + + + +A SECOND-RATE WOMAN + + Est fuga, volvitur rota, + On we drift; where looms the dim port? + One Two Three Four Five contribute their quota: + Something is gained if one caught but the import, + Show it us, Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. + + --Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. + +“DRESSED! Don't tell me that woman ever dressed in her life. She stood +in the middle of her room while her ayah--no, her husband--it must have +been a man--threw her clothes at her. She then did her hair with her +fingers, and rubbed her bonnet in the flue under the bed. I know she +did, as well as if I had assisted at the orgy. Who is she?” said Mrs. +Hauksbee. + +“Don't!” said Mrs. Mallowe, feebly. “You make my head ache. I'm +miserable today. Stay me with fondants, comfort me with chocolates, for +I am--Did you bring anything from Peliti's?” + +“Questions to begin with. You shall have the sweets when you have +answered them. Who and what is the creature? There were at least half +a dozen men round her, and she appeared to be going to sleep in their +midst.” + +“Delville,” said Mrs. Mallowe, “'Shady' Delville, to distinguish her +from Mrs. Jim of that ilk. She dances as untidily as she dresses, I +believe, and her husband is somewhere in Madras. Go and call, if you are +so interested.” + +“What have I to do with Shigramitish women? She merely caught my +attention for a minute, and I wondered at the attraction that a dowd +has for a certain type of man. I expected to see her walk out of her +clothes--until I looked at her eyes.” + +“Hooks and eyes, surely,” drawled Mrs. Mallowe. + +“Don't be clever, Polly. You make my head ache. And round this hayrick +stood a crowd of men--a positive crowd!” + +“Perhaps they also expected”-- + +“Polly, don't be Rabelaisian!” + +Mrs. Mallowe curled herself up comfortably on the sofa, and turned her +attention to the sweets. She and Mrs. Hauksbee shared the same house +at Simla; and these things befell two seasons after the matter of Otis +Yeere, which has been already recorded. + +Mrs. Hauksbee stepped into the veranda and looked down upon the Mall, +her forehead puckered with thought. + +“Hah!” said Mrs. Hauksbee, shortly. “Indeed!” + +“What is it?” said Mrs. Mallowe, sleepily. + +“That dowd and The Dancing Master--to whom I object.” + +“Why to The Dancing Master? He is a middle-aged gentleman, of reprobate +and romantic tendencies, and tries to be a friend of mine.” + +“Then make up your mind to lose him. Dowds cling by nature, and I should +imagine that this animal--how terrible her bonnet looks from above!--is +specially clingsome.” + +“She is welcome to The Dancing Master so far as I am concerned. I never +could take an interest in a monotonous liar. The frustrated aim of his +life is to persuade people that he is a bachelor.” + +“0--oh! I think I've met that sort of man before. And isn't he?” + +“No. He confided that to me a few days ago. Ugh! Some men ought to Be +killed.” + +“What happened then?” + +“He posed as the horror of horrors--a misunderstood man. Heaven knows +the femme incomprise is sad enough and had enough--but the other thing!” + +“And so fat too! I should have laughed in his face. Men seldom confide +in me. How is it they come to you?” + +“For the sake of impressing me with their careers in the past. Protect +me from men with confidences!” + +“And yet you encourage them?” + +“What can I do? They talk. I listen, and they vow that I am sympathetic. +I know I always profess astonishment even when the plot is--of the most +old possible.” + +“Yes. Men are so unblushingly explicit if they are once allowed to talk, +whereas women's confidences are full of reservations and fibs, except”-- + +“When they go mad and babble of the Unutterabilities after a week's +acquaintance. Really, if you come to consider, we know a great deal more +of men than of our own sex.” + +“And the extraordinary thing is that men will never believe it. They say +we are trying to hide something.” + +“They are generally doing that on their own account. Alas! These +chocolates pall upon me, and I haven't eaten more than a dozen. I think +I shall go to sleep.” + +“Then you'll get fat dear. If you took more exercise and a more +intelligent interest in your neighbors you would--” + +“Be as much loved as Mrs. Hauksbee. You're a darling in many ways and I +like you--you are not a woman's woman--but why do you trouble yourself +about mere human beings?” + +“Because in the absence of angels, who I am sure would be horribly dull, +men and women are the most fascinating things in the whole wide world, +lazy one. I am interested in The Dowd--I am interested in The Dancing +Master--I am interested in the Hawley Boy--and I am interested in you.” + +“Why couple me with the Hawley Boy? He is your property.” + +“Yes, and in his own guileless speech, I'm making a good thing out +of him. When he is slightly more reformed, and has passed his Higher +Standard, or whatever the authorities think fit to exact from him, I +shall select a pretty little girl, the Holt girl, I think, and”--here +she waved her hands airily--“'whom Mrs. Hauksbee hath joined together +let no man put asunder.' That's all.” + +“And when you have yoked May Holt with the most notorious detrimental +in Simla, and earned the undying hatred of Mamma Holt, what will you do +with me, Dispenser of the Destinies of the Universe?” + +Mrs. Hauksbee dropped into a low chair in front of the fire, and, chin +in band, gazed long and steadfastly at Mrs. Mallowe. + +“I do not know,” she said, shaking her head, “what I shall do with you, +dear. It's obviously impossible to marry you to some one else--your +husband would object and the experiment might not be successful +after all. I think I shall begin by preventing you from--what is +it?--'sleeping on ale-house benches and snoring in the sun.'” + +“Don't! I don't like your quotations. They are so rude. Go to the +Library and bring me new books.” + +“While you sleep? No! If you don't come with me, I shall spread your +newest frock on my 'rickshaw-bow, and when any one asks me what I am +doing, I shall say that I am going to Phelps's to get it let out. I +shall take care that Mrs. MacNamara sees me. Put your things on, there's +a good girl.” + +Mrs. Mallowe groaned and obeyed, and the two went off to the Library, +where they found Mrs. Delville and the man who went by the nickname of +The Dancing Master. By that time Mrs Mallowe was awake and eloquent. + +“That is the Creature!” said Mrs Hauksbee, with the air of one pointing +out a slug in the road. + +“No,” said Mrs. Mallowe. “The man is the Creature. Ugh! Good-evening, +Mr. Bent. I thought you were coming to tea this evening.” + +“Surely it was for tomorrow, was it not?” answered The Dancing Master. +“I understood... I fancied... I'm so sorry... How very unfortunate!...” + +But Mrs. Mallowe had passed on. + +“For the practiced equivocator you said he was,” murmured Mrs. Hauksbee, +“he strikes me as a failure. Now wherefore should he have preferred a +walk with The Dowd to tea with us? Elective affinities, I suppose--both +grubby. Polly, I'd never forgive that woman as long as the world rolls.” + +“I forgive every woman everything,” said Mrs. Mallowe. “He will be a +sufficient punishment for her. What a common voice she has!” + +Mrs. Delville's voice was not pretty, her carriage was even less lovely, +and her raiment was strikingly neglected. All these things Mrs. Mallowe +noticed over the top of a magazine. + +“Now what is there in her?” said Mrs. Hauksbee. “Do you see what I meant +about the clothes falling off? If I were a man I would perish sooner +than be seen with that rag-bag. And yet, she has good eyes, but--oh!” + +“What is it?” + +“She doesn't know how to use them! On my Honor, she does not. Look! Oh +look! Untidiness I can endure, but ignorance never! The woman's a fool.” + +“H'sh! She'll hear you.” + +“All the women in Simla are fools. She'll think I mean some one else. +Now she's going out. What a thoroughly objectionable couple she and The +Dancing Master make! Which reminds me. Do you suppose they'll ever dance +together?” + +“Wait and see. I don't envy her the conversation of The Dancing +Master--loathly man. His wife ought to be up here before long.” + +“Do you know anything about him?” + +“Only what he told me. It may be all a fiction. He married a girl bred +in the country, I think, and, being an honorable, chivalrous soul, told +me that he repented his bargain and sent her to her mother as often as +possible--a person who has lived in the Doon since the memory of man +and goes to Mussoorie when other people go Home. The wife is with her at +present. So he says.” + +'Babies?' + +“One only, but he talks of his wife in a revolting way. I hated him for +it. He thought he was being epigrammatic and brilliant.” + +“That is a vice peculiar to men. I dislike him because he is generally +in the wake of some girl, disappointing the Eligibles. He will persecute +May Holt no more, unless I am much mistaken.” + +“No. I think Mrs. Delville may occupy his attention for a while.” + +“Do you suppose she knows that he is the head of a family?” + +“Not from his lips. He swore me to eternal secrecy. Wherefore I tell +you. Don't you know that type of man?” + +“Not intimately, thank goodness! As a general rule, when a man begins to +abuse his wife to me, I find that the Lord gives me wherewith to answer +him according to his folly; and we part with a coolness between us. I +laugh.” + +“I'm different. I've no sense of humor.” + +“Cultivate it, then. It has been my mainstay for more years than I care +to think about. A well-educated sense of Humor will save a woman when +Religion, Training, and Home influences fail; and we may all need +salvation sometimes.” + +“Do you suppose that the Delville woman has humor?” + +“Her dress betrays her. How can a Thing who wears her supple'ment under +her left arm have any notion of the fitness of things--much less their +folly? If she discards The Dancing Master after having once seen him +dance, I may respect her, Otherwise-- + +“But are we not both assuming a great deal too much, dear? You saw +the woman at Peliti's--half an hour later you saw her walking with The +Dancing Master--an hour later you met her here at the Library.” + +“Still with The Dancing Master, remember.” + +“Still with The Dancing Master, I admit, but why on the strength of that +should you imagine”-- + +“I imagine nothing. I have no imagination. I am only convinced that The +Dancing Master is attracted to The Dowd because he is objectionable +in every way and she in every other. If I know the man as you have +described him, he holds his wife in slavery at present.” + +“She is twenty years younger than he.” + +“Poor wretch! And, in the end, after he has posed and swaggered and +lied--he has a mouth under that ragged moustache simply made for +lies--he will be rewarded according to his merits.” + +“I wonder what those really are,” said Mrs. Mallowe. + +But Mrs. Hauksbee, her face close to the shelf of the new books, was +humming softly: “What shall he have who killed the Deer!” She was a lady +of unfettered speech. + +One month later, she announced her intention of calling upon Mrs. +Delville. Both Mrs. Hauksbee and Mrs. Mallowe were in morning wrappers, +and there was a great peace in the land. + +“I should go as I was,” said Mrs. Mallowe. “It would be a delicate +compliment to her style.” + +Mrs. Hauksbee studied herself in the glass. + +“Assuming for a moment that she ever darkened these doors, I should put +on this robe, after all the others, to show her what a morning +wrapper ought to be. It might enliven her. As it is, I shall go in the +dove-colored--sweet emblem of youth and innocence--and shall put on my +new gloves.” + +“If you really are going, dirty tan would be too good; and you know that +dove--color spots with the rain.” + +“I care not. I may make her envious. At least I shall try, though one +cannot expect very much from a woman who puts a lace tucker into her +habit.” + +“Just Heavens! When did she do that?” + +“Yesterday--riding with The Dancing Master. I met them at the back of +Jakko, and the rain had made the lace lie down. To complete the effect, +she was wearing an unclean terai with the elastic under her chin. I felt +almost too well content to take the trouble to despise her.” + +“The Hawley Boy was riding with you. What did he think?” + +“Does a boy ever notice these things? Should I like him if he did? +He stared in the rudest way, and just when I thought he had seen the +elastic, he said, 'There's something very taking about that face.' I +rebuked him on the spot. I don't approve of boys being taken by faces.” + +“Other than your own. I shouldn't be in the least surprised if the +Hawley Boy immediately went to call.” + +“I forbade him. Let her be satisfied with The Dancing Master, and his +wife when she comes up. I'm rather curious to see Mrs. Bent and the +Delville woman together.” + +Mrs. Hauksbee departed and, at the end of an hour, returned slightly +flushed. + +“There is no limit to the treachery of youth! I ordered the Hawley +Boy, as he valued my patronage, not to call. The first person I stumble +over--literally stumble over--in her poky, dark, little drawing-room +is, of course, the Hawley Boy. She kept us waiting ten minutes, and then +emerged as though he had been tipped out of the dirty-clothes +basket. You know my way, dear, when I am all put out. I was Superior, +crrrushingly Superior! 'Lifted my eyes to Heaven, and had heard +of nothing--'dropped my eyes on the carpet and 'really didn't +know'--'played with my cardcase and 'supposed so.' The Hawley Boy +giggled like a girl, and I had to freeze him with scowls between the +sentences.” + +“And she?” + +“She sat in a heap on the edge of a couch, and managed to convey the +impression that she was suffering from stomach-ache, at the very least. +It was all I could do not to ask after her symptoms. When I rose she +grunted just like a buffalo in the water--too lazy to move.” + +“Are you certain?”-- + +“Am I blind, Polly? Laziness, sheer laziness, nothing else--or her +garments were only constructed for sitting down in. I stayed for a +quarter of an hour trying to penetrate the gloom, to guess what her +surroundings were like, while she stuck out her tongue.” + +“Lu--cy!” + +“Well--I'll withdraw the tongue, though I'm sure if she didn't do it +when I was in the room, she did the minute I was outside. At any rate, +she lay in a lump and grunted. Ask the Hawley Boy, dear. I believe the +grunts were meant for sentences, but she spoke so indistinctly that I +can't swear to it.” + +“You are incorrigible, simply.” + +“I am not! Treat me civilly, give me peace with honor, don't put the +only available seat facing the window, and a child may eat jam in my +lap before Church. But I resent being grunted at. Wouldn't you? Do you +suppose that she communicates her views on life and love to The Dancing +Master in a set of modulated 'Grmphs'?” + +“You attach too much importance to The Dancing Master.” + +“He came as we went, and The Dowd grew almost cordial at the sight of +him. He smiled greasily, and moved about that darkened dog-kennel in a +suspiciously familiar way.” + +“Don't be uncharitable. Any sin but that I'll forgive.” + +“Listen to the voice of History. I am only describing what I saw. He +entered, the heap on the sofa revived slightly, and the Hawley Boy and +I came away together. He is disillusioned, but I felt it my duty to +lecture him severely for going there. And that's all.” + +“Now for Pity's sake leave the wretched creature and The Dancing Master +alone. They never did you any harm.” + +“No harm? To dress as an example and a stumbling-block for half Simla, +and then to find this Person who is dressed by the hand of God--not that +I wish to disparage Him for a moment, but you know the tikka-dhurzie +way He attires those lilies of the field--this Person draws the eyes of +men--and some of them nice men? It's almost enough to make one discard +clothing. I told the Hawley Boy so.” + +“And what did that sweet youth do?” + +“Turned shell-pink and looked across the far blue hills like a +distressed cherub. Am I talking wildly, Polly? Let me say my say, and +I shall be calm. Otherwise I may go abroad and disturb Simla with a few +original reflections. Excepting always your own sweet self, there isn't +a single woman in the land who understands me when I am--what's the +word?” + +“Tete-Fele'e,” suggested Mrs. Mallowe. + +“Exactly! And now let us have tiffin. The demands of Society are +exhausting, and as Mrs. Delville says”--Here Mrs. Hauksbee, to the +horror of the khitmatgars, lapsed into a series of grunts, while Mrs. +Mallowe stared in lazy surprise. + +“'God gie us a gude conceit of oorselves,'” said Mrs. Hauksbee, piously, +returning to her natural speech. “Now, in any other woman that would +have been vulgar. I am consumed with curiosity to see Mrs. Bent. I +expect complications.” + +“Woman of one idea,” said Mrs. Mallowe, shortly; “all complications are +as old as the hills! I have lived through or near all--all--ALL!” + +“And yet do not understand that men and women never behave twice alike. +I am old who was young--if ever I put my head in your lap, you dear, big +sceptic, you will learn that my parting is gauze--but never, no never +have I lost my interest in men and women. Polly, I shall see this +business Out to the bitter end.” + +“I am going to sleep,” said Mrs. Mallowe, calmly. “I never interfere +with men or women unless I am compelled,” and she retired with dignity +to her own room. + +Mrs. Hauksbee's curiosity was not long left ungratified, for Mrs. Bent +came up to Simla a few days after the conversation faithfully reported +above, and pervaded the Mall by her husband's side. + +“Behold!” said Mrs. Hauksbee, thoughtfully rubbing her nose. “That is +the last link of the chain, if we omit the husband of the Delville, +whoever he may be. Let me consider. The Bents and the Delvilles inhabit +the same hotel; and the Delville is detested by the Waddy--do you know +the Waddy?--who is almost as big a dowd. The Waddy also abominates the +male Bent, for which, if her other sins do not weigh too heavily, she +will eventually be caught up to Heaven.” + +“Don't be irreverent,” said Mrs. Mallowe. “I like Mrs. Bent's face.” + +“I am discussing the Waddy,” returned Mrs. Hauksbee, loftily. “The Waddy +will take the female Bent apart, after having borrowed--yes!--everything +that she can, from hairpins to babies' bottles. Such, my dear, is life +in a hotel. The Waddy will tell the female Bent facts and fictions about +The Dancing Master and The Dowd.” + +“Lucy, I should like you better if you were not always looking into +people's back bedrooms.” + +“Anybody can look into their front drawing-rooms; and remember whatever +I do, and whatever I look, I never talk--as the Waddy will. Let us hope +that The Dancing Master's greasy smile and manner of the pedagogue will +soften the heart of that cow, his wife. If mouths speak truth, I should +think that little Mrs. Bent could get very angry on occasion. + +“But what reason has she for being angry?” + +“What reason! The Dancing Master in himself is a reason. How does it go? +'If in his life some trivial errors fall, Look in his face and you'll +believe them all.' I am prepared to credit any evil of The Dancing +Master, because I hate him so. And The Dowd is so disgustingly badly +dressed”-- + +“That she, too, is capable of every iniquity? I always prefer to believe +the best of everybody. It saves so much trouble.” + +“Very good. I prefer to believe the worst. It saves useless expenditure +of sympathy. And you may be quite certain that the Waddy believes with +me.” + +Mrs. Mallowe sighed and made no answer. + +The conversation was holden after dinner while Mrs. Hauksbee was +dressing for a dance. + +“I am too tired to go,” pleaded Mrs. Mallowe, and Mrs. Hauksbee left +her in peace till two in the morning, when she was aware of emphatic +knocking at her door. + +“Don't be very angry, dear,” said Mrs. Hauksbee. “My idiot of an ayah +has gone home, and, as I hope to sleep tonight, there isn't a soul in +the place to unlace me.” + +“Oh, this is too bad!” said Mrs. Mallowe sulkily. + +“'Can't help it. I'm a lone, lorn grass-widow, dear, but I will not +sleep in my stays. And such news, too! Oh, do unlace me, there's a +darling! The Dowd--The Dancing Master--I and the Hawley Boy--You know +the North veranda?” + +“How can I do anything if you spin round like this?” protested Mrs. +Mallowe, fumbling with the knot of the laces. + +“Oh, I forget. I must tell my tale without the aid of your eyes. Do you +know you've lovely eyes, dear? Well to begin with, I took the Hawley Boy +to a kala juggah.” + +“Did he want much taking?” + +“Lots! There was an arrangement of loose-boxes in kanats, and she was in +the next one talking to him.” + +“Which? How? Explain.” + +“You know what I mean--The Dowd and The Dancing Master. We could hear +every word and we listened shamelessly--'specially the Hawley Boy. +Polly, I quite love that woman!” + +“This is interesting. There! Now turn round. What happened?” + +“One moment. Ah-h! Blessed relief. I've been looking forward to taking +them off for the last half-hour--which is ominous at my time of life. +But, as I was saying, we listened and heard The Dowd drawl worse +than ever. She drops her final g's like a barmaid or a blue-blooded +Aide-de-Camp. 'Look he-ere, you're gettin' too fond 0' me,' she said, +and The Dancing Master owned it was so in language that nearly made +me ill. The Dowd reflected for a while. Then we heard her say, 'Look +he-ere, Mister Bent, why are you such an awful liar?' I nearly exploded +while The Dancing Master denied the charge. It seems that he never told +her he was a married man.” + +“I said he wouldn't.” + +“And she had taken this to heart, on personal grounds, I suppose. She +drawled along for five minutes, reproaching him with his perfidy and +grew quite motherly. 'Now you've got a nice little wife of your own--you +have,' she said. 'She's ten times too good for a fat old man like you, +and, look he-ere, you never told me a word about her, and I've been +thinkin' about it a good deal, and I think you're a liar.' Wasn't that +delicious? The Dancing Master maundered and raved till the Hawley Boy +suggested that he should burst in and beat him. His voice runs up +into an impassioned squeak when he is afraid. The Dowd must be an +extraordinary woman. She explained that had he been a bachelor she might +not have objected to his devotion; but since he was a married man and +the father of a very nice baby, she considered him a hypocrite, and this +she repeated twice. She wound up her drawl with: 'An I'm tellin' you +this because your wife is angry with me, an' I hate quarrellin' with any +other woman, an' I like your wife. You know how you have behaved for the +last six weeks. You shouldn't have done it, indeed you shouldn't. You're +too old an' fat.' Can't you imagine how The Dancing Master would wince +at that! 'Now go away,' she said. 'I don't want to tell you what I think +of you, because I think you are not nice. I'll stay he-ere till the next +dance begins.' Did you think that the creature had so much in her?” + +“I never studied her as closely as you did. It sounds unnatural. What +happened?” + +“The Dancing Master attempted blandishment, reproof, jocularity, and the +style of the Lord High Warden, and I had almost to pinch the Hawley Boy +to make him keep quiet. She grunted at the end of each sentence and, in +the end he went away swearing to himself, quite like a man in a novel. +He looked more objectionable than ever. I laughed. I love that woman--in +spite of her clothes. And now I'm going to bed. What do you think of +it?” + +“I sha'n't begin to think till the morning,” said Mrs. Mallowe, +yawning “Perhaps she spoke the truth. They do fly into it by accident +sometimes.” + +Mrs. Hauksbee's account of her eavesdropping was an ornate one but +truthful in the main. For reasons best known to herself, Mrs. “Shady” + Delville had turned upon Mr Bent and rent him limb from limb, casting +him away limp and disconcerted ere she withdrew the light of her eyes +from him permanently. Being a man of resource, and anything but pleased +in that he had been called both old and fat, he gave Mrs. Bent to +understand that he had, during her absence in the Doon, been the victim +of unceasing persecution at the hands of Mrs. Delville, and he told the +tale so often and with such eloquence that he ended in believing it, +while his wife marvelled at the manners and customs of “some women.” + When the situation showed signs of languishing, Mrs. Waddy was always on +hand to wake the smouldering fires of suspicion in Mrs. Bent's bosom +and to contribute generally to the peace and comfort of the hotel. Mr. +Bent's life was not a happy one, for if Mrs. Waddy's story were true, +he was, argued his wife, untrustworthy to the last degree. If his own +statement was true, his charms of manner and conversation were so +great that he needed constant surveillance. And he received it, till +he repented genuinely of his marriage and neglected his personal +appearance. Mrs. Delville alone in the hotel was unchanged. She removed +her chair some six paces toward the head of the table, and occasionally +in the twilight ventured on timid overtures of friendship to Mrs. Bent, +which were repulsed. + +“She does it for my sake,” hinted the Virtuous Bent. + +“A dangerous and designing woman,” purred Mrs. Waddy. + +Worst of all, every other hotel in Simla was full! + +* * * * * + +“Polly, are you afraid of diphtheria?” + +“Of nothing in the world except smallpox. Diphtheria kills, but it +doesn't disfigure. Why do you ask?” + +“Because the Bent baby has got it, and the whole hotel is upside down +in consequence. The Waddy has 'set her five young on the rail' and fled. +The Dancing Master fears for his precious throat, and that miserable +little woman, his wife, has no notion of what ought to be done. She +wanted to put it into a mustard bath--for croup!” + +“Where did you learn all this?” + +“Just now, on the Mall. Dr. Howlen told me. The Manager of the hotel +is abusing the Bents, and the Bents are abusing the manager. They are a +feckless couple.” + +“Well. What's on your mind?” + +“This; and I know it's a grave thing to ask. Would you seriously object +to my bringing the child over here, with its mother?” + +“On the most strict understanding that we see nothing of The Dancing +Master.” + +“He will be only too glad to stay away. Polly, you're an angel. The +woman really is at her wits' end.” + +“And you know nothing about her, careless, and would hold her up to +public scorn if it gave you a minute's amusement. Therefore you risk +your life for the sake of her brat. No, Loo, I'm not the angel. I shall +keep to my rooms and avoid her. But do as you please--only tell me why +you do it.” + +Mrs. Hauksbee's eyes softened; she looked out of the window and back +into Mrs. Mallowe's face. + +“I don't know,” said Mrs. Hauksbee, simply. + +“You dear!” + +“Polly!--and for aught you knew you might have taken my fringe off. +Never do that again without warning. Now we'll get the rooms ready. I +don't suppose I shall be allowed to circulate in society for a month.” + +“And I also. Thank goodness I shall at last get all the sleep I want.” + +Much to Mrs. Bent's surprise she and the baby were brought over to +the house almost before she knew where she was. Bent was devoutly and +undisguisedly thankful, for he was afraid of the infection, and also +hoped that a few weeks in the hotel alone with Mrs. Delville might lead +to explanations. Mrs. Bent had thrown her jealousy to the winds in her +fear for her child's life. + +“We can give you good milk,” said Mrs. Hauksbee to her, “and our house +is much nearer to the Doctor's than the hotel, and you won't feel as +though you were living in a hostile camp Where is the dear Mrs. Waddy? +She seemed to be a particular friend of yours.” + +“They've all left me,” said Mrs. Bent, bitterly. “Mrs. Waddy went first. +She said I ought to be ashamed of myself for introducing diseases there, +and I am sure it wasn't my fault that little Dora”-- + +“How nice!” cooed Mrs. Hauksbee. “The Waddy is an infectious disease +herself--'more quickly caught than the plague and the taker runs +presently mad.' I lived next door to her at the Elysium, three years +ago. Now see, you won't give us the least trouble, and I've ornamented +all the house with sheets soaked in carbolic. It smells comforting, +doesn't it? Remember I'm always in call, and my ayah's at your service +when yours goes to her meals and--and... if you cry I'll never forgive +you.” + +Dora Bent occupied her mother's unprofitable attention through the day +and the night. The Doctor called thrice in the twenty-four hours, and +the house reeked with the smell of the Condy's Fluid, chlorine-water, +and carbolic acid washes. Mrs. Mallowe kept to her own rooms--she +considered that she had made sufficient concessions in the cause of +humanity--and Mrs. Hauksbee was more esteemed by the Doctor as a help in +the sick-room than the half-distraught mother. + +“I know nothing of illness,” said Mrs. Hauksbee to the Doctor. “Only +tell me what to do, and I'll do it.” + +“Keep that crazy woman from kissing the child, and let her have as +little to do with the nursing as you possibly can,” said the Doctor; +“I'd turn her out of the sick-room, but that I honestly believe she'd +die of anxiety. She is less than no good, and I depend on you and the +ayahs, remember.” + +Mrs. Hauksbee accepted the responsibility, though it painted olive +hollows under her eyes and forced her to her oldest dresses. Mrs. Bent +clung to her with more than childlike faith. + +“I know you'll, make Dora well, won't you?” she said at least twenty +times a day; and twenty times a day Mrs. Hauksbee answered valiantly, +“Of course I will.” + +But Dora did not improve, and the Doctor seemed to be always in the +house. + +“There's some danger of the thing taking a bad turn,” he said; “I'll +come over between three and four in the morning tomorrow.” + +“Good gracious!” said Mrs. Hauksbee. “He never told me what the turn +would be! My education has been horribly neglected; and I have only this +foolish mother-woman to fall back upon.” + +The night wore through slowly, and Mrs. Hauksbee dozed in a chair by the +fire. There was a dance at the Viceregal Lodge, and she dreamed of it +till she was aware of Mrs. Bent's anxious eyes staring into her own. + +“Wake up! Wake up! Do something!” cried Mrs. Bent, piteously. “Dora's +choking to death! Do you mean to let her die?” + +Mrs. Hauksbee jumped to her feet and bent over the bed. The child was +fighting for breath, while the mother wrung her hands despairing. + +“Oh, what can I do? What can you do? She won't stay still! I can't hold +her. Why didn't the Doctor say this was coming?” screamed Mrs. Bent. +“Won't you help me? She's dying!” + +“I-I've never seen a child die before!” stammered Mrs. Hauksbee, +feebly, and then--let none blame her weakness after the strain of long +watching--she broke down, and covered her face with her hands. The ayahs +on the threshold snored peacefully. + +There was a rattle of 'rickshaw wheels below, the clash of an opening +door, a heavy step on the stairs, and Mrs. Delville entered to find Mrs. +Bent screaming for the Doctor as she ran round the room. Mrs. Hauksbee, +her hands to her ears, and her face buried in the chintz of a chair, was +quivering with pain at each cry from the bed, and murmuring, “Thank God, +I never bore a child! Oh! thank God, I never bore a child!” + +Mrs. Delville looked at the bed for an instant, took Mrs. Bent by the +shoulders, and said, quietly, “Get me some caustic. Be quick.” + +The mother obeyed mechanically. Mrs. Delville had thrown herself down by +the side of the child and was opening its mouth. + +“Oh, you're killing her!” cried Mrs. Bent. “Where's the Doctor! Leave +her alone!” + +Mrs. Delville made no reply for a minute, but busied herself with the +child. + +“Now the caustic, and hold a lamp behind my shoulder. Will you do as you +are told? The acid-bottle, if you don't know what I mean,” she said. + +A second time Mrs. Delville bent over the child. Mrs. Hauksbee, her face +still hidden, sobbed and shivered. One of the ayahs staggered sleepily +into the room, yawning: “Doctor Sahib come.” + +Mrs. Delville turned her head. + +“You're only just in time,” she said. “It was chokin' her when I came +in, an' I've burned it.” + +“There was no sign of the membrane getting to the air-passages after the +last steaming. It was the general weakness, I feared,” said the Doctor +half to himself, and he whispered as he looked. “You've done what I +should have been afraid to do without consultation.” + +“She was dyin',” said Mrs. Delville, under her breath. “Can you do +anythin'? What a mercy it was I went to the dance!” + +Mrs. Hauksbee raised her head. + +“Is it all over?” she gasped. “I'm useless--I'm worse than useless! What +are you doing here?” + +She stared at Mrs. Delville, and Mrs. Bent, realizing for the first time +who was the Goddess from the Machine, stared also. + +Then Mrs. Delville made explanation, putting on a dirty long glove and +smoothing a crumpled and ill-fitting ball-dress. + +“I was at the dance, an' the Doctor was tellin' me about your baby bein' +so ill. So I came away early, an' your door was open, an' I-I lost my +boy this way six months ago, an' I've been tryin' to forget it ever +since, an' I-I-I-am very sorry for intrudin' an' anythin' that has +happened.” + +Mrs. Bent was putting out the Doctor's eye with a lamp as he stooped +over Dora. + +“Take it away,” said the Doctor. “I think the child will do, thanks to +you, Mrs. Delville. I should have come too late, but, I assure you”--he +was addressing himself to Mrs. Delville--“I had not the faintest reason +to expect this. The membrane must have grown like a mushroom. Will one +of you help me, please?” + +He had reason for the last sentence. Mrs. Hauksbee had thrown herself +into Mrs. Delville's arms, where she was weeping bitterly, and Mrs. Bent +was unpicturesquely mixed up with both, while from the tangle came the +sound of many sobs and much promiscuous kissing. + +“Good gracious! I've spoilt all your beautiful roses!” said Mrs. +Hauksbee, lifting her head from the lump of crushed gum and calico +atrocities on Mrs. Delville's shoulder and hurrying to the Doctor. + +Mrs. Delville picked up her shawl, and slouched out of the room, mopping +her eyes with the glove that she had not put on. + +“I always said she was more than a woman,” sobbed Mrs. Hauksbee, +hysterically, “and that proves it!” + +* * * * * + +Six weeks later, Mrs. Bent and Dora had returned to the hotel. Mrs. +Hauksbee had come out of the Valley of Humiliation, had ceased to +reproach herself for her collapse in an hour of need, and was even +beginning to direct the affairs of the world as before. + +“So nobody died, and everything went off as it should, and I kissed The +Dowd, Polly. I feel so old. Does it show in my face?” + +“Kisses don't as a rule, do they? Of course you know what the result of +The Dowd's providential arrival has been.” + +“They ought to build her a statue--only no sculptor dare copy those +skirts.” + +“Ah!” said Mrs. Mallowe, quietly. “She has found another reward. The +Dancing Master has been smirking through Simla giving every one to +understand that she came because of her undying love for him--for +him--to save his child, and all Simla naturally believes this.” + +“But Mrs. Bent”-- + +“Mrs. Bent believes it more than any one else. She won't speak to The +Dowd now. Isn't The Dancing Master an angel?” + +Mrs. Hauksbee lifted up her voice and raged till bedtime. The doors of +the two rooms stood open. + +“Polly,” said a voice from the darkness, “what did that +American-heiress-globe-trotter-girl say last season when she was tipped +out of her 'rickshaw turning a corner? Some absurd adjective that made +the man who picked her up explode.” + +“'Paltry,'” said Mrs. Mallowe. “Through her nose--like this--'Ha-ow +pahltry!'” + +“Exactly,” said the voice. “Ha-ow pahltry it all is!” + +“Which?” + +“Everything. Babies, Diphtheria, Mrs. Bent and The Dancing Master, I +whooping in a chair, and The Dowd dropping in from the clouds. I wonder +what the motive was--all the motives.” + +“Um!” + +“What do you think?” + +“Don't ask me. She was a woman. Go to sleep.” + +* * * * * + + + + +ONLY A SUBALTERN + + ... Not only to enforce by command but to encourage by + example the energetic discharge of duty and the steady + endurance of the difficulties and privations inseparable + from Military Service. --Bengal Army Regulations. + +THEY made Bobby Wick pass an examination at Sandhurst. He was a +gentleman before he was gazetted, so, when the Empress announced that +“Gentleman-Cadet Robert Hanna Wick” was posted as Second Lieutenant to +the Tyneside Tail Twisters at Kram Bokhar, he became an officer and a +gentleman, which is an enviable thing; and there was joy in the house of +Wick where Mamma Wick and all the little Wicks fell upon their knees and +offered incense to Bobby by virtue of his achievements. + +Papa Wick had been a Commissioner in his day, holding authority over +three millions of men in the Chota-Buldana Division, building great +works for the good of the land, and doing his best to make two blades +of grass grow where there was but one before. Of course, nobody knew +anything about this in the little English village where he was just “old +Mr. Wick” and had forgotten that he was a Companion of the Order of the +Star of India. + +He patted Bobby on the shoulder and said: “Well done, my boy!” + +There followed, while the uniform was being prepared, an interval of +pure delight, during which Bobby took brevet-rank as a “man” at the +women-swamped tennis-parties and tea-fights of the village, and, I dare +say, had his joining-time been extended, would have fallen in love with +several girls at once. Little country villages at Home are very full of +nice girls, because all the young men come out to India to make their +fortunes. + +“India,” said Papa Wick, “is the place. I've had thirty years of it and, +begad, I'd like to go back again. When you join the Tail Twisters you'll +be among friends, if every one hasn't forgotten Wick of Chota-Buldana, +and a lot of people will be kind to you for our sakes. The mother will +tell you more about outfit than I can, but remember this. Stick to your +Regiment, Bobby--stick to your Regiment. You'll see men all round you +going into the Staff Corps, and doing every possible sort of duty but +regimental, and you may be tempted to follow suit. Now so long as you +keep within your allowance, and I haven't stinted you there, stick to +the Line, the whole Line and nothing but the Line. Be careful how you +back another young fool's bill, and if you fall in love with a woman +twenty years older than yourself, don't tell me about it, that's all.” + +With these counsels, and many others equally valuable, did Papa Wick +fortify Bobby ere that last awful night at Portsmouth when the Officers' +Quarters held more inmates than were provided for by the Regulations, +and the liberty-men of the ships fell foul of the drafts for India, and +the battle raged from the Dockyard Gates even to the slums of Longport, +while the drabs of Fratton came down and scratched the faces of the +Queen's Officers. + +Bobby Wick, with an ugly bruise on his freckled nose, a sick and shaky +detachment to manoeuvre inship and the comfort of fifty scornful females +to attend to, had no time to feel homesick till the Malabar reached +mid-Channel, when he doubled his emotions with a little guard-visiting +and a great many other matters. + +The Tail Twisters were a most particular Regiment. Those who knew them +least said that they were eaten up with “side.” But their reserve and +their internal arrangements generally were merely protective diplomacy. +Some five years before, the Colonel commanding had looked into the +fourteen fearless eyes of seven plump and juicy subalterns who had all +applied to enter the Staff Corps, and had asked them why the three +stars should he, a colonel of the Line, command a dashed nursery for +double-dashed bottle-suckers who put on condemned tin spurs and rode +qualified mokes at the hiatused heads of forsaken Black Regiments. He +was a rude man and a terrible. Wherefore the remnant took measures [with +the half-butt as an engine of public opinion] till the rumor went abroad +that young men who used the Tail Twisters as a crutch to the Staff +Corps, had many and varied trials to endure. However a regiment had just +as much right to its own secrets as a woman. + +When Bobby came up from Deolali and took his place among the Tail +Twisters, it was gently But firmly borne in upon him that the Regiment +was his father and his mother and his indissolubly wedded wife, and +that there was no crime under the canopy of heaven blacker than that +of bringing shame on the Regiment, which was the best-shooting, +best-drilled, best-set-up, bravest, most illustrious, and in all +respects most desirable Regiment within the compass of the Seven Seas. +He was taught the legends of the Mess Plate from the great grinning +Golden Gods that had come out of the Summer Palace in Pekin to the +silver-mounted markhor-horn snuff-mull presented by the last C. 0. [he +who spake to the seven subalterns]. And every one of those legends told +him of battles fought at long odds, without fear as without support; of +hospitality catholic as an Arab's; of friendships deep as the sea and +steady as the fighting-line; of honor won by hard roads for honor's +sake; and of instant and unquestioning devotion to the Regiment--the +Regiment that claims the lives of all and lives forever. + +More than once, too, he came officially into contact with the Regimental +colors, which looked like the lining of a bricklayer's hat on the end +of a chewed stick. Bobby did not kneel and worship them, because British +subalterns are not constructed in that manner. Indeed, he condemned them +for their weight at the very moment that they were filling with awe and +other more noble sentiments. + +But best of all was the occasion when he moved with the Tail Twisters, +in review order at the breaking of a November day. Allowing for duty-men +and sick, the Regiment was one thousand and eighty strong, and Bobby +belonged to them; for was he not a Subaltern of the Line the whole Line +and nothing but the Line--as the tramp of two thousand one hundred and +sixty sturdy ammunition boots attested. He would not have changed places +with Deighton of the Horse Battery, whirling by in a pillar of cloud +to a chorus of “Strong right! Strong left!” or Hogan-Yale of the White +Hussars, leading his squadron for all it was worth, with the price of +horseshoes thrown in; or “Tick” Boileau, trying to live up to his fierce +blue and gold turban while the wasps of the Bengal Cavalry stretched +to a gallop in the wake of the long, lollopping Walers of the White +Hussars. + +They fought through the clear cool day, and Bobby felt a little thrill +run down his spine when he heard the tinkle-tinkle-tinkle of the empty +cartridge-cases hopping from the breech-blocks after the roar of the +volleys; for he knew that he should live to hear that sound in action. +The review ended in a glorious chase across the plain--batteries +thundering after cavalry to the huge disgust of the White Hussars, and +the Tyneside Tail Twisters hunting a Sikh Regiment, till the lean lathy +Singhs panted with exhaustion. Bobby was dusty and dripping long before +noon, but his enthusiasm was merely focused--not diminished. + +He returned to sit at the feet of Revere, his “skipper,” that is to say, +the Captain of his Company, and to be instructed in the dark art and +mystery of managing men, which is a very large part of the Profession of +Arms. + +“If you haven't a taste that way,” said Revere, between his puffs of +his cheroot, “you'll never be able to get the hang of it, but remember +Bobby, 'tisn't the best drill, though drill is nearly everything, that +hauls a Regiment through Hell and out on the other side. It's the man +who knows how to handle men--goat-men, swine-men, dog-men, and so on.” + +“Dormer, for instance,” said Bobby. “I think he comes under the head of +fool-men. He mopes like a sick owl.” + +“That's where you make your mistake, my son. Dormer isn't a fool yet, +but he's a dashed dirty soldier, and his room corporal makes fun of his +socks before kit-inspection. Dormer, being two-thirds pure brute, goes +into a corner and growls.” + +“How do you know?” said Bobby, admiringly. + +“Because a Company commander has to know these things--because, if he +does not know, he may have crime--ay, murder--brewing under his very +nose and yet not see that it's there. Dormer is being badgered out of +his mind--big as he is--and he hasn't intellect enough to resent it. +He's taken to quiet boozing and, Bobby, when the butt of a room goes on +the drink, or takes to moping by himself, measures are necessary to pull +him out of himself.” + +“What measures? 'Man can't run round coddling his men forever.” + +“No. The men would precious soon show him that he was not wanted. +You've got to”--Here the Color-sergeant entered with some papers; Bobby +reflected for a while as Revere looked through the Company forms. + +“Does Dormer do anything, Sergeant?” Bobby asked, with the air of one +continuing an interrupted conversation. + +“No, sir. Does 'is dooty like a hortomato,” said the Sergeant, who +delighted in long words. “A dirty soldier, and 'e's under full stoppages +for new kit. It's covered with scales, sir.” + +“Scales? What scales?” + +“Fish-scales, sir. 'E's always pokin' in the mud by the river an' +a-cleanin' them muchly-fish with 'is thumbs.” Revere was still absorbed +in the Company papers, and the Sergeant, who was sternly fond of Bobby, +continued,--“'E generally goes down there when 'e's got 'is skinful, +beggin' your pardon, sir, an' they do say that the more lush +in-he-briated 'e is, the more fish 'e catches. They call 'im the Looney +Fish-monger in the Comp'ny, sir.” + +Revere signed the last paper and the Sergeant retreated. + +“It's a filthy amusement,” sighed Bobby to himself. Then aloud to +Revere: “Are you really worried about Dormer?” + +“A little. You see he's never mad enough to send to a hospital, or +drunk enough to run in, but at any minute he may flare up, brooding and +sulking as he does. He resents any interest being shown in him, and the +only time I took him out shooting he all but shot me by accident.” + +“I fish,” said Bobby, with a wry face. “I hire a country-boat and go +down the river from Thursday to Sunday, and the amiable Dormer goes with +me--if you can spare us both.” + +“You blazing young fool!” said Revere, but his heart was full of much +more pleasant words. + +Bobby, the Captain of a dhoni, with Private Dormer for mate, dropped +down the river on Thursday morning--the Private at the bow, the +Subaltern at the helm. The Private glared uneasily at the Subaltern, who +respected the reserve of the Private. + +After six hours, Dormer paced to the stern, saluted, and said--“Beg +y'pardon, sir, but was you ever on the Durh'm Canal?” + +“No,” said Bobby Wick. “Come and have some tiffin.” + +They ate in silence. As the evening fell, Private Dormer broke forth, +speaking to himself--“Hi was on the Durh'm Canal, jes' such a night, +come next week twelve month, a-trailin' of my toes in the water.” He +smoked and said no more till bedtime. + +The witchery of the dawn turned the grey river-reaches to purple, gold, +and opal; and it was as though the lumbering dhoni crept across the +splendors of a new heaven. + +Private Dormer popped his head out of his blanket and gazed at the glory +below and around. + +“Well--damn-my-eyes!” said Private Dormer, in an awed whisper. “This +'ere is like a bloomin' gallantry-show!” For the rest of the day he was +dumb, but achieved an ensanguined filthiness through the cleaning of big +fish. + +The boat returned on Saturday evening. Dormer had been struggling with +speech since noon. As the lines and luggage were being disembarked, he +found tongue. + +“Beg y'pardon--sir,” he said, “but would you--would you min' shakin' +'ands with me, sir?” + +“Of course not,” said Bobby, and he shook accordingly. Dormer returned +to barracks and Bobby to mess. + +“He wanted a little quiet and some fishing, I think,” said Bobby. “My +aunt, but he's a filthy sort of animal! Have you ever seen him clean +'them, muchly-fish with 'is thumbs'?” + +“Anyhow,” said Revere, three weeks later, “he's doing his best to keep +his things clean.” + +When the spring died, Bobby joined in the general scramble for Hill +leave, and to his surprise and delight secured three months. + +“As good a boy as I want,” said Revere, the admiring skipper. + +“The best of the batch,” said the Adjutant to the Colonel. “Keep back +that young skrim-shanker Porkiss, sir, and let Revere make him sit up.” + +So Bobby departed joyously to Simla Pahar with a tin box of gorgeous +raiment. + +“Son of Wick--old Wick of Chota-Buldana? Ask him to dinner, dear,” said +the aged men. + +“What a nice boy!” said the matrons and the maids. + +“First-class place, Simla. Oh, ri-ipping!” said Bobby Wick, and ordered +new white cord breeches on the strength of it. + +“We're in a bad way,” wrote Revere to Bobby at the end of two months. +“Since you left, the Regiment has taken to fever and is fairly rotten +with it--two hundred in hospital, about a hundred in cells--drinking to +keep off fever--and the Companies on parade fifteen file strong at the +outside. There's rather more sickness in the out-villages than I care +for, but then I'm so blistered with prickly-heat that I'm ready to hang +myself. What's the yarn about your mashing a Miss Haverley up there? Not +serious, I hope? You're over-young to hang millstones round your neck, +and the Colonel will turf you out of that in double-quick time if you +attempt it.” + +It was not the Colonel that brought Bobby out of Simla, but a much more +to be respected Commandant. The sick ness in the out-villages spread, +the Bazar was put out of bounds, and then came the news that the +Tail Twisters must go into camp. The message flashed to the Hill +stations.--“Cholera--Leave stopped--Officers recalled.” Alas, for the +white gloves in the neatly soldered boxes, the rides and the dances and +picnics that were to he, the loves half spoken, and the debts unpaid! +Without demur and without question, fast as tongue could fly or pony +gallop, back to their Regiments and their Batteries, as though they were +hastening to their weddings, fled the subalterns. + +Bobby received his orders on returning from a dance at Viceregal Lodge +where he had--but only the Haverley girl knows what Bobby had said or +how many waltzes he had claimed for the next ball. Six in the morning +saw Bobby at the Tonga Office in the drenching rain, the whirl of the +last waltz still in his ears, and an intoxication due neither to wine +nor waltzing in his brain. + +“Good man!” shouted Deighton of the Horse Battery, through the mists. +“Whar you raise dat tonga? I'm coming with you. Ow! But I've had a head +and a half. I didn't sit out all night. They say the Battery's awful +bad,” and he hummed dolorously--Leave the what at the what's-its-name, +Leave the flock without shelter, Leave the corpse uninterred, Leave the +bride at the altar! + +“My faith! It'll be more bally corpse than bride, though, this journey. Jump +in, Bobby. Get on, Coachman!” + +On the Umballa platform waited a detachment of officers discussing the +latest news from the stricken cantonment, and it was here that Bobby +learned the real condition of the Tail Twisters. + +“They went into camp,” said an elderly Major recalled from the +whist-tables at Mussoorie to a sickly Native Regiment, “they went into +camp with two hundred and ten sick in carts. Two hundred and ten fever +cases only, and the balance looking like so many ghosts with sore eyes. +A Madras Regiment could have walked through 'em.” + +“But they were as fit as be-damned when I left them!” said Bobby. + +“Then you'd better make them as fit as be-damned when you rejoin,” said +the Major, brutally. + +Bobby pressed his forehead against the rain-splashed windowpane as the +train lumbered across the sodden Doab, and prayed for the health of the +Tyneside Tail Twisters. Naini Tal had sent down her contingent with +all speed; the lathering ponies of the Dalhousie Road staggered into +Pathankot, taxed to the full stretch of their strength; while from +cloudy Darjiling the Calcutta Mail whirled up the last straggler of the +little army that was to fight a fight, in which was neither medal nor +honor for the winning, against an enemy none other than “the sickness +that destroyeth in the noonday.” + +And as each man reported himself, he said: “This is a bad business,” + and went about his own forthwith, for every Regiment and Battery in the +cantonment was under canvas, the sickness bearing them company. + +Bobby fought his way through the rain to the Tail Twisters' temporary +mess, and Revere could have fallen on the boy's neck for the joy of +seeing that ugly, wholesome phiz once more. + +“Keep 'em amused and interested,” said Revere. “They went on the drink, +poor fools, after the first two cases, and there was no improvement. Oh, +it's good to have you back, Bobby! Porkiss is a--never mind.” + +Deighton came over from the Artillery camp to attend a dreary mess +dinner, and contributed to the general gloom by nearly weeping over the +condition of his beloved Battery. Porkiss so far forgot himself as to +insinuate that the presence of the officers could do no earthly good, +and that the best thing would be to send the entire Regiment into +hospital and “let the doctors look after them.” Porkiss was demoralized +with fear, nor was his peace of mind restored when Revere said coldly: +“Oh! The sooner you go out the better, if that's your way of thinking. +Any public school could send us fifty good men in your place, but it +takes time, time, Porkiss, and money, and a certain amount of trouble, +to make a Regiment. 'S'pose you're the person we go into camp for, eh?” + +Whereupon Porkiss was overtaken with a great and chilly fear which a +drenching in the rain did not allay, and, two days later, quitted this +world for another where, men do fondly hope, allowances are made for the +weaknesses of the flesh. The Regimental Sergeant-Major looked wearily +across the Sergeants' Mess tent when the news was announced. + +“There goes the worst of them,” he said. “It'll take the best, and then, +please God, it'll stop.” The Sergeants were silent till one said: “It +couldn't be him!” and all knew of whom Travis was thinking. + +Bobby Wick stormed through the tents of his Company, rallying, +rebuking mildly, as is consistent with the Regulations, chaffing the +faint-hearted: haling the sound into the watery sunlight when there +was a break in the weather, and bidding them be of good cheer for +their trouble was nearly at an end; scuttling on his dun pony round +the outskirts of the camp and heading back men who, with the innate +perversity of British soldier's, were always wandering into infected +villages, or drinking deeply from rain-flooded marshes; comforting the +panic-stricken with rude speech, and more than once tending the dying +who had no friends--the men without “townies”; organizing, with banjos +and burned cork, Sing-songs which should allow the talent of the +Regiment full play; and generally, as he explained, “playing the giddy +garden-goat all round.” + +“You're worth half a dozen of us, Bobby,” said Revere in a moment of +enthusiasm. “How the devil do you keep it up?” + +Bobby made no answer, but had Revere looked into the breast-pocket of +his coat he might have seen there a sheaf of badly-written letters which +perhaps accounted for the power that possessed the boy. A letter came +to Bobby every other day. The spelling was not above reproach, but the +sentiments must have been most satisfactory, for on receipt Bobby's eyes +softened marvelously, and he was wont to fall into a tender abstraction +for a while ere, shaking his cropped head, he charged into his work. + +By what power he drew after him the hearts of the roughest, and the +Tail Twisters counted in their ranks some rough diamonds indeed, was +a mystery to both skipper and C. O., who learned from the regimental +chaplain that Bobby was considerably more in request in the hospital +tents than the Reverend John Emery. + +“The men seem fond of you. Are you in the hospitals much?” said the +Colonel, who did his daily round and ordered the men to get well with a +hardness that did not cover his bitter grief. + +“A little, sir,” said Bobby. + +“Shouldn't go there too often if I were you. They say it's not +contagious, but there's no use in running unnecessary risks. We can't +afford to have you down, y'know.” + +Six days later, it was with the utmost difficulty that the post-runner +plashed his way out to the camp with mailbags, for the rain was falling +in torrents. Bobby received a letter, bore it off to his tent, and, the +programme for the next week's Sing-song being satisfactorily disposed +of, sat down to answer it. For an hour the unhandy pen toiled over the +paper, and where sentiment rose to more than normal tide-level Bobby +Wick stuck out his tongue and breathed heavily. He was not used to +letter-writing. + +“Beg y'pardon, sir,” said a voice at the tent door; “but Dormer's 'orrid +bad, sir, an' they've taken him orf, sir. + +“Damn Private Dormer and you too!” said Bobby Wick running the blotter +over the half-finished letter. “Tell him I'll come in the morning.” + +“'E's awful bad, sir,” said the voice, hesitatingly. There was an +undecided squelching of heavy boots. + +“Well?” said Bobby, impatiently. + +“Excusin' 'imself before an' for takin' the liberty, 'e says it would be +a comfort for to assist 'im, sir, if”-- + +“Tattoo lao! Get my pony! Here, come in out of the rain till I'm ready. +What blasted nuisances you are! That's brandy. Drink some; you want it. +Hang on to my stirrup and tell me if I go mo fast.” + +Strengthened by a four-finger “nip” which he swallowed without a wink, +the Hospital Orderly kept up with the slipping, mud-stained, and very +disgusted pony as it shambled to the hospital tent. + +Private Dormer was certainly “'orrid bad.” He had all but reached the +stage of collapse and was not pleasant to look upon. + +“What's this, Dormer?” said Bobby, bending over the man. “You're not +going out this time. You've got to come fishin' with me once or twice +more yet.” + +The blue lips parted and in the ghost of a whisper said,--“Beg y'pardon, +sir, disturbin' of you now, but would you min' 'oldin' my 'and, sir?” + +Bobby sat on the side of the bed, and the icy cold hand closed on his +own like a vice, forcing a lady's ring which was on the little finger +deep into the flesh. Bobby set his lips and waited, the water dripping +from the hem of his trousers. An hour passed and the grasp of the hand +did not relax, nor did the expression on the drawn face change. Bobby +with infinite craft lit himself a cheroot with the left hand--his right +arm was numbed to the elbow--and resigned himself to a night of pain. + +Dawn showed a very white-faced Subaltern sitting on the side of a +sick man's cot, and a Doctor in the doorway using language unfit for +publication. + +“Have you been here all night, you young ass?” said the Doctor. + +“There or thereabouts,” said Bobby, ruefully. “He's frozen on to me.” + +Dormer's mouth shut with a click. He turned his head and sighed. The +clinging band opened, and Bobby's arm fell useless at his side. + +“He'll do,” said the Doctor, quietly. “It must have been a toss-up all +through the night. 'Think you're to be congratulated on this case.” + +“Oh, bosh!” said Bobby. “I thought the man had gone out long +ago--only--only I didn't care to take my hand away. Rub my arm down, +there's a good chap. What a grip the brute has! I'm chilled to the +marrow!” He passed out of the tent shivering. + +Private Dormer was allowed to celebrate his repulse of Death by strong +waters. Four days later, he sat on the side of his cot and said to the +patients mildly: “I'd 'a' liken to 'a' spoken to 'im--so I should.” + +But at that time Bobby was reading yet another letter--he had the most +persistent correspondent of any man in camp--and was even then about to +write that the sickness had abated, and in another week at the outside +would be gone. He did not intend to say that the chill of a sick man's +hand seemed to have struck into the heart whose capacities for affection +he dwelt on at such length. He did intend to enclose the illustrated +programme of the forthcoming Sing-song whereof he was not a little +proud. He also intended to write on many other matters which do not +concern us, and doubtless would have done so but for the slight feverish +headache which made him dull and unresponsive at mess. + +“You are overdoing it, Bobby,” said his skipper. “'Might give the rest +of us credit of doing a little work. You go on as if you were the whole +Mess rolled into one. Take it easy.” + +“I will,” said Bobby. “I'm feeling done up, somehow.” Revere looked at +him anxiously and said nothing. + +There was a flickering of lanterns about the camp that night, and a +rumor that brought men out of their cots to the tent doors, a paddling +of the naked feet of doolie-bearers and the rush of a galloping horse. + +“Wot's up?” asked twenty tents; and through twenty tents ran the +answer--“Wick, 'e's down.” + +They brought the news to Revere and he groaned. “Any one but Bobby and I +shouldn't have cared! The Sergeant-Major was right.” + +“Not going out this journey,” gasped Bobby, as he was lifted from +the doolie. “Not going out this journey.” Then with an air of supreme +conviction--“I can't, you see.” + +“Not if I can do anything!” said the Surgeon-Major, who had hastened +over from the mess where he had been dining. + +He and the Regimental Surgeon fought together with Death for the life +of Bobby Wick. Their work was interrupted by a hairy apparition in a +blue-grey dressing-gown who stared in horror at the bed and cried--“Oh, +my Gawd. It can't be 'im!” until an indignant Hospital Orderly whisked +him away. + +If care of man and desire to live could have done aught, Bobby would +have been saved. As it was, he made a fight of three days, and the +Surgeon-Major's brow uncreased. “We'll save him yet,” he said; and the +Surgeon, who, though he ranked with the Captain, had a very youthful +heart, went out upon the word and pranced joyously in the mud. + +“Not going out this journey,” whispered Bobby Wick, gallantly, at the +end of the third day. + +“Bravo!” said the Surgeon-Major. “That's the way to look at it, Bobby.” + +As evening fell a grey shade gathered round Bobby's mouth, and he turned +his face to the tent wall wearily. The Surgeon-Major frowned. + +“I'm awfully tired,” said Bobby, very faintly. “What's the use of +bothering me with medicine? I-don't-want-it. Let me alone.” + +The desire for life had departed, and Bobby was content to drift away on +the easy tide of Death. + +“It's no good,” said the Surgeon-Major. “He doesn't want to live. He's +meeting it, poor child.” And he blew his nose. + +Half a mile away, the regimental band was playing the overture to the +Sing-song, for the men had been told that Bobby was out of danger. The +clash of the brass and the wail of the horns reached Bobby's ears. + + Is there a single joy or pain, + That I should never kno-ow? + You do not love me, 'tis in vain, + Bid me goodbye and go! + +An expression of hopeless irritation crossed the boy's face, and he +tried to shake his head. + +The Surgeon-Major bent down--“What is it? Bobby?”-- + +“Not that waltz,” muttered Bobby. “That's our own--our very ownest own. +Mummy dear.” + +With this he sank into the stupor that gave place to death early next +morning. + +Revere, his eyes red at the rims and his nose very white, went into +Bobby's tent to write a letter to Papa Wick which should bow the white +head of the ex-Commissioner of Chota-Buldana in the keenest sorrow of +his life. Bobby's little store of papers lay in confusion on the table, +and among them a half-finished letter. The last sentence ran: “So you +see, darling, there is really no fear, because as long as I know you +care for me and I care for you, nothing can touch me.” + +Revere stayed in the tent for an hour. When he came out, his eyes were +redder than ever. + +* * * * * + +Private Conklin sat on a turned-down bucket, and listened to a not unfamiliar +tune. Private Conklin was a convalescent and should have been tenderly +treated. + +“Ho!” said Private Conklin. “There's another bloomin' orf'cer dead.” + +The bucket shot from under him, and his eyes filled with a smithyful of +sparks. A tall man in a blue-grey bedgown was regarding him with deep +disfavor. + +“You ought to take shame for yourself, Conky! Orf'cer?--bloomin' +orf'cer? I'll learn you to misname the likes of 'im. Hangel! Bloomin' +Hangel! That's wot 'e is!” + +And the Hospital Orderly was so satisfied with the justice of the +punishment that he did not even order Private Dormer back to his cot. + +* * * * * + + + + +IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE + + Hurrah! hurrah! a soldier's life for me! + Shout, boys, shout! for it makes you jolly and free. + --The Ramrod Corps. + +People who have seen, say that one of the quaintest spectacles of +human frailty is an outbreak of hysterics in a girls' school. It starts +without warning, generally on a hot afternoon among the elder pupils. A +girl giggles till the giggle gets beyond control. Then she throws up her +head, and cries, “Honk, honk, honk,” like a wild goose, and tears mix +with the laughter. If the mistress be wise she will rap out something +severe at this point to check matters. If she be tender-hearted, and +send for a drink of water, the chances are largely in favor of another +girl laughing at the afflicted one and herself collapsing. Thus the +trouble spreads, and may end in half of what answers to the Lower Sixth +of a boys' school rocking and whooping together. Given a week of warm +weather, two stately promenades per diem, a heavy mutton and rice meal +in the middle of the day, a certain amount of nagging from the teachers, +and a few other things, some amazing effects develop. At least this is +what folk say who have had experience. + +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 dithering, 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 brute's +ammunition!” + +Thomas isn't a brute, and his business, which is to look after the +virtuous people, demands that he shall have his ammunition to his hand. +He doesn't wear silk stockings, and he really ought to be 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 M'Kenna, +whose history is well known in the regiment and elsewhere. He had his +Colonel's 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, Slane's +grievance was that the affair would Be only a hired-carriage wedding, +and he felt that the “eeklar” of that was meagre. Miss M'Kenna did +not care so much. The Sergeant's wife was helping her to make her +wedding-dress, and she was very busy. Slane was, just then, the only +moderately contented man in 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 drinking 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 cantonments--it was too hot for any sort of game, +and almost too hot for vice--and 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: “I'll 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 be 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 him--the +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 parrot's head; “ye 'ear that, Sim?” + +And Simmons used to turn over on his stomach and make answer: “I 'ear. +Take 'eed you don't 'ear something one of these days.” + +In the restless nights, after he had been asleep all day, fits of blind +rage came upon Simmons 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 Losson's +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 man's 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 Sergeant's wife died of heat-apoplexy 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. + +“Owl It's you, is it?” they said and laughed foolishly. “We t h o u g +h t 'twas”--Simmons rose slowly. If the accident had so shaken his +fellows, what would not the reality do? + +“You thought it was--did 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. “Don't 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's head. The +prompt answer was a shot which, fired at random, found its billet in +Losson's throat. Losson fell forward without a word, and the others +scattered. + +“You thought it was!” yelled Simmons. “You're drivin' me to it! I tell +you you're drivin' me to it! Get up, Losson, an' don't lie shammin' +there--you an' your blasted parrit that druv me to it!” + +But there was an unaffected reality about Losson's pose that showed +Simmons what he had done. The men were still clamoring on the veranda. +Simmons appropriated two more packets of ammunition and ran into the +moonlight, muttering: “I'll make a night of it. Thirty roun's, an' the +last for myself. Take you that, you dogs!” + +He dropped on one knee and fired into the brown of the men on the +veranda, but the bullet flew high, and landed in the brickwork with a +vicious phat 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. + +“I'll learn you to spy on me!” he shouted; “I'll learn you to give me +dorg's names! Come on the 'ole lot o' you! Colonel John Anthony Deever, +C.B.!”--he turned toward the Infantry Mess and shook his rifle--“you +think yourself the devil of a man--but I tell you that if you put your +ugly old carcass outside o' that door, I'll make you the poorest-lookin' +man in the army. Come out, Colonel John Anthony Deever, C.B.! Come +out and see me practiss on the rainge. I'm the crack shot of the 'ole +bloomin' battalion.” In proof of which statement Simmons fired at the +lighted windows of the mess-house. + +“Private Simmons, E Comp'ny, on the Cavalry p'rade-ground, Sir, with +thirty rounds,” said a Sergeant breathlessly to the Colonel. “Shootin' +right and lef', Sir. Shot Private Losson. What's to be done, Sir?” + +Colonel John Anthony Deever, C.B., sallied out, only to be saluted by s +spurt of dust at his feet. + +“Pull up!” said the Second in Command; “I don't want my step in that +way, Colonel. He's as dangerous as a mad dog.” + +“Shoot him like one, then,” said the Colonel, bitterly, “if he won't +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 band, threw +himself down on the ground, and wormed his way toward the well. + +“Don't shoot,” said he to the men round him; “like as not you'll hit me. +I'll catch the beggar, livin'.” + +Simmons ceased shouting for a while, and the noise of trap-wheels could +be heard across the plain. Major Oldyn, commanding the Horse Battery, +was coming back from a dinner in the Civil Lines; was driving after his +usual custom--that is to say, as fast as the horse could go. + +“A orf'cer! A blooming spangled orf'cer,” shrieked Simmons; “I'll make a +scarecrow of that orf'cer!” The trap stopped. + +“What's this?” demanded the Major of Gunners. “You there, drop your +rifle.” + +“Why, it's Jerry Blazes! I ain't got no quarrel with you, Jerry Blazes. +Pass frien', an' all's well!” + +But Jerry Blazes had not the faintest intention of passing a dangerous +murderer. He was, as his 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. + +“Don't make me do it, Sir,” said Simmons; “I ain't got nothing agin you. +Ah! you would?”--the Major broke into a run--“Take that then!” + +The Major dropped with a bullet through his shoulder, and Simmons stood +over him. He had lost the satisfaction of killing Losson in the desired +way: 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: “He's killed Jerry Blazes!” But in the shelter of the +well-pillars Simmons was safe except when he stepped out to fire. “I'll +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' I'll do for you.” + +“I'm comm',” said Corporal Slane, briefly; “you've done a bad day's +work, Sim. Come out 'ere an' come back with me.” + +“Come to,”--laughed Simmons, sending a cartridge home with his thumb. +“Not before I've 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' I'll kick Jerry +Blazes' 'ead in, and shoot you after.” + +“I ain't movin',” said the Corporal, raising his head; “you daren't 'it +a man on 'is legs. Let go o' Jerry Blazes an' come out o' that with your +fistes. Come an' 'it me. You daren't, 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. + +“Don't 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 Slane's stomach, but the weedy Corporal +knew something of Simmons's 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 leg--exactly as Gonds stand +when they meditate--and 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 don't know that guard, Sim,” said Slane, spitting out the +dust as he rose. Then raising his voice, “Come an' take him orf. +I've 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 kicker's +discomfiture. + +Slane walked to Jerry Blazes and hung over him with ostentatious +anxiety, while Simmons, weeping with pain, was carried away. “'Ope you +ain't '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. “S'elp me, I believe 'e's dead. Well, if that ain't my +blooming luck all over!” + +But the Major was destined to lead his Battery 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 Slane's 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 y'pardon, Sir.” Could the Major see his way to +letting the Slane-M'Kenna 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 ain't a beauty to look at, but I wasn't goin' to 'ave a hired +turn-out. Jerry Blazes? If I 'adn't 'a' wanted something, Sim might ha' +blowed Jerry Blazes' blooming 'ead into Hirish stew for aught I'd 'a' +cared.” + +And they hanged Private Simmons--hanged 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 didn't 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. + + + + +THE ENLIGHTENMENTS OF PAGETT, M.P. + + “Because half a dozen grasshoppers under a fern make the field ring + with their importunate chink while thousands of great cattle, + reposed beneath the shadow of the British oak, chew the cud and are + silent, pray do not imagine that those who make the noise are the + only inhabitants of the field--that, of course, they are many in + number or that, after all, they are other than the little, + shrivelled, meagre, hopping, though loud and troublesome insects of + the hour.” + --Burke: “Reflections on the Revolution in France.” + +They were sitting in the veranda of “the splendid palace of an Indian +Pro-Consul”; surrounded by all the glory and mystery of the immemorial +East. In plain English it was a one-storied, ten-roomed, whitewashed, +mud-roofed bungalow, set in a dry garden of dusty tamarisk trees and +divided from the road by a low mud wall. The green parrots screamed +overhead as they flew in battalions to the river for their morning +drink. Beyond the wall, clouds of fine dust showed where the cattle and +goats of the city were passing afield to graze. The remorseless white +light of the winter sunshine of Northern India lay upon everything and +improved nothing, from the whining Persian-wheel by the lawn-tennis +court to the long perspective of level road and the blue, domed tombs of +Mohammedan saints just visible above the trees. + +“A Happy New Year,” said Orde to his guest. “It's the first you've ever +spent out of England, isn't it?” + +“Yes. 'Happy New Year,” said Pagett, smiling at the sunshine. “What a +divine climate you have here! Just think of the brown cold fog hanging +over London now!” And he rubbed his hands. + +It was more than twenty years since he had last seen Orde, his +schoolmate, and their paths in the world had divided early. The one +had quitted college to become a cog-wheel in the machinery of the great +Indian Government; the other more blessed with goods, had been whirled +into a similar position in the English scheme. Three successive +elections had not affected Pagett's position with a loyal constituency, +and he had grown insensibly to regard himself in some sort as a pillar +of the Empire, whose real worth would be known later on. After a few +years of conscientious attendance at many divisions, after newspaper +battles innumerable and the publication of interminable correspondence, +and more hasty oratory than in his calmer moments he cared to think +upon, it occurred to him, as it had occurred to many of his fellows in +Parliament, that a tour to India would enable him to sweep a larger lyre +and address himself to the problems of Imperial administration with a +firmer hand. Accepting, therefore, a general invitation extended to him +by Orde some years before, Pagett bad taken ship to Karachi, and only +overnight had been received with joy by the Deputy-Commissioner of +Amara. They had sat late, discussing the changes and chances of twenty +years, recalling the names of the dead, and weighing the futures of the +living, as is the custom of men meeting after intervals of action. + +Next morning they smoked the after-breakfast pipe in the veranda, still +regarding each other curiously, Pagett, in a light grey frock-coat and +garments much too thin for the time of the year, and a puggried +sun-hat carefully and wonderfully made, Orde in a shooting coat, riding +breeches, brown cowhide boots with spurs, and a battered flax helmet. He +had ridden some miles in the early morning to inspect a doubtful river +dam. The men's faces differed as much as their attire. Orde's worn and +wrinkled around the eyes, and grizzled at the temples, was the harder +and more square of the two, and it was with something like envy that the +owner looked at the comfortable outlines of Pagett's blandly receptive +countenance, the clear skin, the untroubled eye, and the mobile, +clean-shaved lips. + +“And this is India!” said Pagett for the twentieth time staring long and +intently at the grey feathering of the tamarisks. + +“One portion of India only. It's very much like this for 300 miles +in every direction. By the way, now that you have rested a little--I +wouldn't ask the old question before--what d'you think of the country?” + +“'Tis the most pervasive country that ever yet was seen. I acquired +several pounds of your country coming up from Karachi. The air is heavy +with it, and for miles and miles along that distressful eternity of rail +there's no horizon to show where air and earth separate.” + +“Yes. It isn't easy to see truly or far in India. But you had a decent +passage out, hadn't you?” + +“Very good on the whole. Your Anglo-Indian may be unsympathetic about +one's political views; but he has reduced ship life to a science.” + +“The Anglo-Indian is a political orphan, and if he's wise he won't be +in a hurry to be adopted by your party grandmothers. But how were your +companions, unsympathetic?” + +“Well, there was a man called Dawlishe, a judge somewhere in this +country it seems, and a capital partner at whist by the way, and when I +wanted to talk to him about the progress of India in a political sense +(Orde hid a grin, which might or might not have been sympathetic), the +National Congress movement, and other things in which, as a Member of +Parliament, I'm of course interested, he shifted the subject, and when I +once cornered him, he looked me calmly in the eye, and said: 'That's all +Tommy rot. Come and have a game at Bull.' You may laugh; but that isn't +the way to treat a great and important question; and, knowing who I was, +well, I thought it rather rude, don't you know; and yet Dawlishe is a +thoroughly good fellow.” + +“Yes; he's a friend of mine, and one of the straightest men I know. I +suppose, like many Anglo-Indians, he felt it was hopeless to give you +any just idea of any Indian question without the documents before you, +and in this case the documents you want are the country and the people.” + +“Precisely. That was why I came straight to you, bringing an open mind +to bear on things. I'm anxious to know what popular feeling in India +is really like y'know, now that it has wakened into political life. +The National Congress, in spite of Dawlishe, must have caused great +excitement among the masses?” + +“On the contrary, nothing could be more tranquil than the state of +popular feeling; and as to excitement, the people would as soon be +excited over the 'Rule of Three' as over the Congress.” + +“Excuse me, Orde, but do you think you are a fair judge? Isn't the +official Anglo-Indian naturally jealous of any external influences +that might move the masses, and so much opposed to liberal ideas, truly +liberal ideas, that he can scarcely be expected to regard a popular +movement with fairness?” + +“What did Dawlishe say about Tommy Rot? Think a moment, old man. You +and I were brought up together; taught by the same tutors, read the same +books, lived the same life, and new languages, and work among new +races; while you, more fortunate, remain at home. Why should I change +my mind--our mind--because I change my sky? Why should I and the +few hundred Englishmen in my service become unreasonable, prejudiced +fossils, while you and your newer friends alone remain bright and +open-minded? You surely don't fancy civilians are members of a Primrose +League?” + +“Of course not, but the mere position of an English official gives him +a point of view which cannot but bias his mind on this question.” Pagett +moved his knee up and down a little uneasily as he spoke. + +“That sounds plausible enough, but, like more plausible notions on +Indian matters, I believe it's a mistake. You'll find when you come to +consult the unofficial Briton that our fault, as a class--I speak of +the civilian now--is rather to magnify the progress that has been made +toward liberal institutions. It is of English origin, such as it is, and +the stress of our work since the Mutiny--only thirty years ago--has +been in that direction. No, I think you will get no fairer or more +dispassionate view of the Congress business than such men as I can give +you. But I may as well say at once that those who know most of India, +from the inside, are inclined to wonder at the noise our scarcely begun +experiment makes in England.” + +“But surely the gathering together of Congress delegates is of itself a +new thing.” + +“There's nothing new under the sun When Europe was a jungle half Asia +flocked to the canonical conferences of Buddhism; and for centuries the +people have gathered at Pun, Hurdwar, Trimbak, and Benares in immense +numbers. A great meeting, what you call a mass meeting, is really one of +the oldest and most popular of Indian institutions in this topsy-turvy +land, and though they have been employed in clerical work for +generations they have no practical knowledge of affairs. A ship's clerk +is a useful person, but he is scarcely the captain; and an orderly room +writer, however smart he may be, is not the colonel. You see, the writer +class in India has never till now aspired to anything like command. It +wasn't allowed to. The Indian gentleman, for thousands of years past, +has resembled Victor Hugo's noble: + +“'Un vrai sire Chatelain Laisse ecrire Le vilain. Sa main digne Quand il +signe Egratigne Le velin.' + +“And the little egratignures he most likes to make have been scored +pretty deeply by the sword.” + +“But this is childish and mediaeval nonsense!” + +“Precisely; and from your, or rather our, point of view the pen is +mightier than the sword. In this country it's otherwise. The fault +lies in our Indian balances, not yet adjusted to civilized weights and +measures.” + +“Well, at all events, this literary class represent the natural +aspirations and wishes of the people at large, though it may not exactly +lead them, and, in spite of all you say, Orde, I defy you to find +a really sound English Radical who would not sympathize with those +aspirations.” + +Pagett spoke with some warmth, and he had scarcely ceased when a +well-appointed dog-cart turned into the compound gates, and Orde +rose saying: “Here is Edwards, the Master of the Lodge I neglect so +diligently, come to talk about accounts, I suppose.” + +As the vehicle drove up under the porch Pagett also rose, saying with +the trained effusion born of much practice: “But this is also my friend, +my old and valued friend Edwards. I'm delighted to see you. I knew you +were in India, but not exactly where.” + +“Then it isn't accounts, Mr. Edwards,” said Orde, cheerily. + +“Why, no, sir; I heard Mr. Pagett was coming, and as our works were +closed for the New Year I thought I would drive over and see him.” + +“A very happy thought. Mr. Edwards, you may not know, Orde, was a +leading member of our Radical Club at Switchton when I was beginning +political life, and I owe much to his exertions. There's no pleasure +like meeting an old friend, except, perhaps, making a new one. I +suppose, Mr. Edwards, you stick to the good old cause?” + +“Well, you see, sir, things are different out here. There's precious +little one can find to say against the Government, which was the main of +our talk at home, and them that do say things are not the sort o' people +a man who respects himself would like to be mixed up with. There are no +politics, in a manner of speaking, in India. It's all work.” + +“Surely you are mistaken, my good friend. Why I have come all the way +from England just to see the working of this great National movement.” + +“I don't know where you're going to find the nation as moves to begin +with, and then you'll be hard put to it to find what they are moving +about. It's like this, sir,” said Edwards, who had not quite relished +being called “my good friend.” “They haven't got any grievance--nothing +to hit with, don't you see, sir; and then there's not much to hit +against, because the Government is more like a kind of general +Providence, directing an old-established state of things, than that +at home, where there's something new thrown down for us to fight about +every three months.” + +“You are probably, in your workshops, full of English mechanics, out of +the way of learning what the masses think.” + +“I don't know so much about that. There are four of us English foremen, +and between seven and eight hundred native fitters, smiths, carpenters, +painters, and such like.” + +“And they are full of the Congress, of course?” + +“Never hear a word of it from year's end to year's end, and I speak the +talk too. But I wanted to ask how things are going on at home--old Tyler +and Brown and the rest?” + +“We will speak of them presently, but your account of the indifference +of your men surprises me almost as much as your own. I fear you are a +backslider from the good old doctrine, Edwards.” Pagett spoke as one who +mourned the death of a near relative. + +“Not a bit, Sir, but I should be if I took up with a parcel of baboos, +pleaders, and schoolboys, as never did a day's work in their lives, and +couldn't if they tried. And if you was to poll us English railway +men, mechanics, tradespeople, and the like of that all up and down the +country from Peshawur to Calcutta, you would find us mostly in a tale +together. And yet you'd know we're the same English you pay some respect +to at home at 'lection time, and we have the pull o' knowing something +about it.” + +“This is very curious, but you will let me come and see you, and perhaps +you will kindly show me the railway works, and we will talk things over +at leisure. And about all old friends and old times,” added Pagett, +detecting with quick insight a look of disappointment in the mechanic's +face. + +Nodding briefly to Orde, Edwards mounted his dog-cart and drove off. + +“It's very disappointing,” said the Member to Orde, who, while his +friend discoursed with Edwards, had been looking over a bundle of +sketches drawn on grey paper in purple ink, brought to him by a +Chuprassee. + +“Don't let it trouble you, old chap,” 'said Orde, sympathetically. “Look +here a moment, here are some sketches by the man who made the carved +wood screen you admired so much in the dining-room, and wanted a copy +of, and the artist himself is here too.” + +“A native?” said Pagett. + +“Of course,” was the reply, “Bishen Singh is his name, and he has two +brothers to help him. When there is an important job to do, the three go +into partnership, but they spend most of their time and all their money +in litigation over an inheritance, and I'm afraid they are getting +involved, Thoroughbred Sikhs of the old rock, obstinate, touchy, +bigoted, and cunning, but good men for all that. Here is Bishen +Singh--shall we ask him about the Congress?” + +But Bishen Singh, who approached with a respectful salaam, had never +heard of it, and he listened with a puzzled face and obviously feigned +interest to Orde's account of its aims and objects, finally shaking his +vast white turban with great significance when he learned that it was +promoted by certain pleaders named by Orde, and by educated natives. +He began with labored respect to explain how he was a poor man with no +concern in such matters, which were all under the control of God, but +presently broke out of Urdu into familiar Punjabi, the mere sound of +which had a rustic smack of village smoke-reek and plough-tail, as +he denounced the wearers of white coats, the jugglers with words who +filched his field from him, the men whose backs were never bowed in +honest work; and poured ironical scorn on the Bengali. He and one of +his brothers had seen Calcutta, and being at work there had Bengali +carpenters given to them as assistants. + +“Those carpenters!” said Bishen Singh. “Black apes were more efficient +workmates, and as for the Bengali babu--tchick!” The guttural click +needed no interpretation, but Orde translated the rest, while Pagett +gazed with interest at the wood-carver. + +“He seems to have a most illiberal prejudice against the Bengali,” said +the M.P. + +“Yes, it's very sad that for ages outside Bengal there should be so +bitter a prejudice. Pride of race, which also means race-hatred, is the +plague and curse of India and it spreads far,” Orde pointed with his +riding-whip to the large map of India on the veranda wall. + +“See! I begin with the North,” said he. “There's the Afghan, and, as +a highlander, he despises all the dwellers in Hindoostan--with the +exception of the Sikh, whom he hates as cordially as the Sikh hates him. +The Hindu loathes Sikh and Afghan, and the Rajput--that's a little lower +down across this yellow blot of desert--has a strong objection, to put +it mildly, to the Maratha who, by the way, poisonously hates the Afghan. +Let's go North a minute. The Sindhi hates everybody I've mentioned. Very +good, we'll take less warlike races. The cultivator of Northern India +domineers over the man in the next province, and the Behari of the +Northwest ridicules the Bengali. They are all at one on that point. +I'm giving you merely the roughest possible outlines of the facts, of +course.” + +Bishen Singh, his clean cut nostrils still quivering, watched the large +sweep of the whip as it traveled from the frontier, through Sindh, the +Punjab and Rajputana, till it rested by the valley of the Jumna. + +“Hate--eternal and inextinguishable hate,” concluded Orde, flicking the +lash of the whip across the large map from East to West as he sat down. +“Remember Canning's advice to Lord Granville, 'Never write or speak of +Indian things without looking at a map.'” + +Pagett opened his eyes, Orde resumed. “And the race-hatred is only a +part of it. What's really the matter with Bishen Singh is class-hatred, +which, unfortunately, is even more intense and more widely spread. +That's one of the little drawbacks of caste, which some of your recent +English writers find an impeccable system.” + +The wood-carver was glad to be recalled to the business of his craft, +and his eyes shone as he received instructions for a carved wooden +doorway for Pagett, which he promised should be splendidly executed and +despatched to England in six months. It is an irrelevant detail, but in +spite of Orde's reminders, fourteen months elapsed before the work was +finished. Business over, Bishen Singh hung about, reluctant to take his +leave, and at last joining his hands and approaching Orde with bated +breath and whispering humbleness, said he had a petition to make. Orde's +face suddenly lost all trace of expression. “Speak on, Bishen Singh,” + said he, and the carver in a whining tone explained that his case +against his brothers was fixed for hearing before a native judge +and--here he dropped his voice still lower till he was summarily stopped +by Orde, who sternly pointed to the gate with an emphatic Begone! + +Bishen Singh, showing but little sign of discomposure, salaamed +respectfully to the friends and departed. + +Pagett looked inquiry; Orde, with complete recovery of his usual +urbanity, replied: “It's nothing, only the old story, he wants his case +to be tried by an English judge--they all do that--but when he began +to hint that the other side were in improper relations with the native +judge I had to shut him up. Gunga Ram, the man he wanted to make +insinuations about, may not be very bright; but he's as honest as +daylight on the bench. But that's just what one can't get a native to +believe.” + +“Do you really mean to say these people prefer to have their cases tried +by English judges?” + +“Why, certainly.” + +Pagett drew a long breath. “I didn't know that before.” At this point a +phaeton entered the compound, and Orde rose with “Confound it, there's +old Rasul Ali Khan come to pay one of his tiresome duty calls. I'm +afraid we shall never get through our little Congress discussion.” + +Pagett was an almost silent spectator of the grave formalities of +a visit paid by a punctilious old Mahommedan gentleman to an Indian +official; and was much impressed by the distinction of manner and fine +appearance of the Mohammedan landholder. When the exchange of polite +banalities came to a pause, he expressed a wish to learn the courtly +visitor's opinion of the National Congress. + +Orde reluctantly interpreted, and with a smile which even Mohammedan +politeness could not save from bitter scorn, Rasul Ali Khan intimated +that he knew nothing about it and cared still less. It was a kind of +talk encouraged by the Government for some mysterious purpose of its +own, and for his own part he wondered and held his peace. + +Pagett was far from satisfied with this, and wished to have the old +gentleman's opinion on the propriety of managing all Indian affairs on +the basis of an elective system. + +Orde did his best to explain, but it was plain the visitor was bored +and bewildered. Frankly, he didn't think much of committees; they had +a Municipal Committee at Lahore and had elected a menial servant, an +orderly, as a member. He had been informed of this on good authority, +and after that, committees had ceased to interest him. But all was +according to the rule of Government, and, please God, it was all for the +best. + +“What an old fossil it is!” cried Pagett, as Orde returned from seeing +his guest to the door; “just like some old blue-blooded hidalgo of +Spain. What does he really think of the Congress after all, and of the +elective system?” + +“Hates it all like poison. When you are sure of a majority, election +is a fine system; but you can scarcely expect the Mahommedans, the most +masterful and powerful minority in the country, to contemplate their own +extinction with joy. The worst of it is that he and his co-religionists, +who are many, and the landed proprietors, also, of Hindu race, are +frightened and put out by this election business and by the importance +we have bestowed on lawyers, pleaders, writers, and the like, who have, +up to now, been in abject submission to them. They say little, but +after all they are the most important fagots in the great bundle of +communities, and all the glib bunkum in the world would not pay for +their estrangement. They have controlled the land.” + +“But I am assured that experience of local self-government in your +municipalities has been most satisfactory, and when once the principle +is accepted in your centres, don't you know, it is bound to spread, and +these important--ah--people of yours would learn it like the rest. I see +no difficulty at all,” and the smooth lips closed with the complacent +snap habitual to Pagett, M.P., the “man of cheerful yesterdays and +confident tomorrows.” + +Orde looked at him with a dreary smile. + +“The privilege of election has been most reluctantly withdrawn from +scores of municipalities, others have had to be summarily suppressed, +and, outside the Presidency towns, the actual work done has been badly +performed. This is of less moment, perhaps--it only sends up the +local death-rates--than the fact that the public interest in municipal +elections, never very strong, has waned, and is waning, in spite of +careful nursing on the part of Government servants.” + +“Can you explain this lack of interest?” said Pagett, putting aside the +rest of Orde's remarks. + +“You may find a ward of the key in the fact that only one in every +thousand of our population can spell. Then they are infinitely more +interested in religion and caste questions than in any sort of politics. +When the business of mere existence is over, their minds are occupied by +a series of interests, pleasures, rituals, superstitions, and the like, +based on centuries of tradition and usage. You, perhaps, find it hard to +conceive of people absolutely devoid of curiosity, to whom the book, the +daily paper, and the printed speech are unknown, and you would describe +their life as blank. That's a profound mistake. You are in another +land, another century, down on the bed-rock of society, where the family +merely, and not the community, is all-important. The average Oriental +cannot be brought to look beyond his clan. His life, too, is more +complete and self-sufficing, and less sordid and low-thoughted than you +might imagine. It is bovine and slow in some respects, but it is never +empty. You and I are inclined to put the cart before the horse, and to +forget that it is the man that is elemental, not the book. 'The corn and +the cattle are all my care, And the rest is the will of God.' Why should +such folk look up from their immemorially appointed round of duty and +interests to meddle with the unknown and fuss with voting-papers. How +would you, atop of all your interests care to conduct even one-tenth +of your life according to the manners and customs of the Papuans, let's +say? That's what it comes to.” + +“But if they won't take the trouble to vote, why do you anticipate that +Mohammedans, proprietors, and the rest would be crushed by majorities of +them?” + +Again Pagett disregarded the closing sentence. + +“Because, though the landholders would not move a finger on any purely +political question, they could be raised in dangerous excitement by +religious hatreds. Already the first note of this has been sounded by +the people who are trying to get up an agitation on the cow-killing +question, and every year there is trouble over the Mohammedan Muharrum +processions. + +“But who looks after the popular rights, being thus unrepresented?” + +“The Government of Her Majesty the Queen, Empress of India, in which, if +the Congress promoters are to be believed, the people have an implicit +trust; for the Congress circular, specially prepared for rustic +comprehension, says the movement is 'for the remission of tax, +the advancement of Hindustan, and the strengthening of the British +Government.' This paper is headed in large letters-'MAY THE PROSPERITY +OF THE EMPIRE OF INDIA ENDURE.'” + +“Really!” said Pagett, “that shows some cleverness. But there are +things better worth imitation in our English methods of--er--political +statement than this sort of amiable fraud.” + +“Anyhow,” resumed Orde, “you perceive that not a word is said about +elections and the elective principle, and the reticence of the Congress +promoters here shows they are wise in their generation.” + +“But the elective principle must triumph in the end, and the little +difficulties you seem to anticipate would give way on the introduction +of a well-balanced scheme, capable of indefinite extension.” + +“But is it possible to devise a scheme which, always assuming that +the people took any interest in it, without enormous expense, ruinous +dislocation of the administration and danger to the public peace, can +satisfy the aspirations of Mr. Hume and his following, and yet safeguard +the interests of the Mahommedans, the landed and wealthy classes, the +Conservative Hindus, the Eurasians, Parsees, Sikhs, Rajputs, native +Christians, domiciled Europeans and others, who are each important and +powerful in their way?” + +Pagett's attention, however, was diverted to the gate, where a group of +cultivators stood in apparent hesitation. + +“Here are the twelve Apostles, by Jove--come straight out of Raffaele's +cartoons,” said the M.P., with the fresh appreciation of a newcomer. + +Orde, loth to be interrupted, turned impatiently toward the villagers, +and their leader, handing his long staff to one of his companions, +advanced to the house. + +“It is old Jelbo, the Lumherdar, or head-man of Pind Sharkot, and a very +intelligent man for a villager.” + +The Jat farmer had removed his shoes and stood smiling on the edge of +the veranda. His strongly marked features glowed with russet bronze, and +his bright eyes gleamed under deeply set brows, contracted by lifelong +exposure to sunshine. His beard and moustache streaked with grey swept +from bold cliffs of brow and cheek in the large sweeps one sees drawn +by Michael Angelo, and strands of long black hair mingled with the +irregularly piled wreaths and folds of his turban. The drapery of stout +blue cotton cloth thrown over his broad shoulders and girt round his +narrow loins, hung from his tall form in broadly sculptured folds, +and he would have made a superb model for an artist in search of a +patriarch. + +Orde greeted him cordially, and after a polite pause the countryman +started off with a long story told with impressive earnestness. Orde +listened and smiled, interrupting the speaker at times to argue and +reason with him in a tone which Pagett could hear was kindly, and +finally checking the flux of words was about to dismiss him, when Pagett +suggested that he should be asked about the National Congress. + +But Jelbo had never heard of it. He was a poor man and such things, by +the favor of his Honor, did not concern him. + +“What's the matter with your big friend that he was so terribly in +earnest?” asked Pagett, when he had left. + +“Nothing much. He wants the blood of the people in the next village, who +have had smallpox and cattle plague pretty badly, and by the help of +a wizard, a currier, and several pigs have passed it on to his own +village. 'Wants to know if they can't be run in for this awful crime. +It seems they made a dreadful charivari at the village boundary, threw a +quantity of spell-bearing objects over the border, a buffalo's skull and +other things; then branded a chamur--what you would call a currier--on +his hinder parts and drove him and a number of pigs over into Jelbo's +village. Jelbo says he can bring evidence to prove that the wizard +directing these proceedings, who is a Sansi, has been guilty of theft, +arson, cattle-killing, perjury and murder, but would prefer to have him +punished for bewitching them and inflicting smallpox.” + +“And how on earth did you answer such a lunatic?” + +“Lunatic!--the old fellow is as sane as you or I; and he has some ground +of complaint against those Sansis. I asked if he would like a native +superintendent of police with some men to make inquiries, but he +objected on the grounds the police were rather worse than smallpox and +criminal tribes put together.” + +“Criminal tribes--er--I don't quite understand,” said Pagett. + +“We have in India many tribes of people who in the slack anti-British +days became robbers, in various kind, and preyed on the people. They are +being restrained and reclaimed little by little, and in time will become +useful citizens, but they still cherish hereditary traditions of +crime, and are a difficult lot to deal with. By the way what about the +political rights of these folk under your schemes? The country people +call them vermin, but I suppose they would be electors with the rest.” + +“Nonsense--special provision would be made for them in a well-considered +electoral scheme, and they would doubtless be treated with fitting +severity,” said Pagett, with a magisterial air. + +“Severity, yes--but whether it would be fitting is doubtful. Even those +poor devils have rights, and, after all, they only practice what they +have been taught.” + +“But criminals, Orde!” + +“Yes, criminals with codes and rituals of crime, gods and godlings of +crime, and a hundred songs and sayings in praise of it. Puzzling, isn't +it?” + +“It's simply dreadful. They ought to be put down at once. Are there many +of them?” + +“Not more than about sixty thousand in this province, for many of the +tribes broadly described as criminal are really vagabond and criminal +only on occasion, while others are being settled and reclaimed. They are +of great antiquity, a legacy from the past, the golden, glorious +Aryan past of Max Muller, Birdwood and the rest of your spindrift +philosophers.” + +An orderly brought a card to Orde, who took it with a movement of +irritation at the interruption, and banded it to Pagett; a large card +with a ruled border in red ink, and in the centre in schoolboy copper +plate, Mr. Dma Nath. “Give salaam,” said the civilian, and there +entered in haste a slender youth, clad in a closely fitting coat of grey +homespun, tight trousers, patent-leather shoes, and a small black velvet +cap. His thin cheek twitched, and his eyes wandered restlessly, for the +young man was evidently nervous and uncomfortable, though striving to +assume a free and easy air. + +“Your honor may perhaps remember me,” he said in English, and Orde +scanned him keenly. + +“I know your face somehow. You belonged to the Shershah district I +think, when I was in charge there?” + +“Yes, Sir, my father is writer at Shershah, and your honor gave me a +prize when I was first in the Middle School examination five years ago. +Since then I have prosecuted my studies, and I am now second year's +student in the Mission College--” + +“Of course: you are Kedar Nath's son--the boy who said he liked +geography better than play or sugar cakes, and I didn't believe you. How +is your father getting on?” + +“He is well, and he sends his salaam, but his circumstances are +depressed, and he also is down on his luck.” + +“You learn English idioms at the Mission College, it seems.” + +“Yes, sir, they are the best idioms, and my father ordered me to ask +your honor to say a word for him to the present incumbent of your +honor's shoes, the latchet of which he is not worthy to open, and who +knows not Joseph; for things are different at Shershah now, and my +father wants promotion.” + +“Your father is a good man, and I will do what I can for him.” + +At this point a telegram was handed to Orde, who, after glancing at it, +said he must leave his young friend whom he introduced to Pagett, “a +member of the English House of Commons who wishes to learn about India.” + +Orde had scarcely retired with his telegram when Pagett began: + +“Perhaps you can tell me something of the National Congress movement?” + +“Sir, it is the greatest movement of modern times, and one in which all +educated men like us must join. All our students are for the Congress.” + +“Excepting, I suppose, Mahommedans, and the Christians?” said Pagett, +quick to use his recent instruction. + +“These are some mere exceptions to the universal rule.” + +“But the people outside the College, the working classes, the +agriculturists; your father and mother, for instance.” + +“My mother,” said the young man, with a visible effort to bring +himself to pronounce the word, “has no ideas, and my father is not +agriculturist, nor working class; he is of the Kayeth caste; but he had +not the advantage of a collegiate education, and he does not know +much of the Congress. It is a movement for the educated +young-man”--connecting adjective and noun in a sort of vocal hyphen. + +“Ah, yes,” said Pagett, feeling he was a little off the rails, “and what +are the benefits you expect to gain by it?” + +“Oh, sir, everything. England owes its greatness to Parliamentary +institutions, and we should at once gain the same high position in +scale of nations. Sir, we wish to have the sciences, the arts, the +manufactures, the industrial factories, with steam engines, and other +motive powers and public meetings, and debates. Already we have a +debating club in connection with the college, and elect a Mr. Speaker. +Sir, the progress must come. You also are a Member of Parliament and +worship the great Lord Ripon,” said the youth, breathlessly, and his +black eyes flashed as he finished his commaless sentences. + +“Well,” said Pagett, drily, “it has not yet occurred to me to worship +his Lordship, although I believe he is a very worthy man, and I am not +sure that England owes quite all the things you name to the House of +Commons. You see, my young friend, the growth of a nation like ours +is slow, subject to many influences, and if you have read your history +aright”-- + +“Sir. I know it all--all! Norman Conquest, Magna Charta, Runnymede, +Reformation, Tudors, Stuarts, Mr. Milton and Mr. Burke, and I have +read something of Mr. Herbert Spencer and Gibbon's 'Decline and Fall,' +Reynolds' 'Mysteries of the Court,' and”-- + +Pagett felt like one who had pulled the string of a shower-bath +unawares, and hastened to stop the torrent with a question as to what +particular grievances of the people of India the attention of an elected +assembly should be first directed. But young Mr. Dma Nath was slow to +particularize. There were many, very many demanding consideration. Mr. +Pagett would like to hear of one or two typical examples. The Repeal of +the Arms Act was at last named, and the student learned for the first +time that a license was necessary before an Englishman could carry a +gun in England. Then natives of India ought to be allowed to become +Volunteer Riflemen if they chose, and the absolute equality of the +Oriental with his European fellow-subject in civil status should be +proclaimed on principle, and the Indian Army should be considerably +reduced. The student was not, however, prepared with answers to Mr. +Pagett's mildest questions on these points, and he returned to vague +generalities, leaving the M.P. so much impressed with the crudity of +his views that he was glad on Orde's return to say goodbye to his “very +interesting” young friend. + +“What do you think of young India?” asked Orde. + +“Curious, very curious--and callow.” + +“And yet,” the civilian replied, “one can scarcely help sympathizing +with him for his mere youth's sake. The young orators of the Oxford +Union arrived at the same conclusions and showed doubtless just the +same enthusiasm. If there were any political analogy between India and +England, if the thousand races of this Empire were one, if there were +any chance even of their learning to speak one language, if, in short, +India were a Utopia of the debating-room, and not a real land, this +kind of talk might be worth listening to, but it is all based on false +analogy and ignorance of the facts.” + +“But he is a native and knows the facts.” + +“He is a sort of English schoolboy, but married three years, and the +father of two weaklings, and knows less than most English schoolboys. +You saw all he is and knows, and such ideas as he has acquired are +directly hostile to the most cherished convictions of the vast majority +of the people.” + +“But what does he mean by saying he is a student of a mission college? +Is he a Christian?” + +“He meant just what he said, and he is not a Christian, nor ever will +he be. Good people in America, Scotland and England, most of whom would +never dream of collegiate education for their own sons, are pinching +themselves to bestow it in pure waste on Indian youths. Their scheme +is an oblique, subterranean attack on heathenism; the theory being that +with the jam of secular education, leading to a University degree, the +pill of moral or religious instruction may he coaxed down the heathen +gullet.” + +“But does it succeed; do they make converts?” + +“They make no converts, for the subtle Oriental swallows the jam and +rejects the pill; but the mere example of the sober, righteous, and +godly lives of the principals and professors who are most excellent and +devoted men, must have a certain moral value. Yet, as Lord Lansdowne +pointed out the other day, the market is dangerously overstocked +with graduates of our Universities who look for employment in the +administration. An immense number are employed, but year by year the +college mills grind out increasing lists of youths foredoomed to +failure and disappointment, and meanwhile, trades, manufactures, and the +industrial arts are neglected, and in fact regarded with contempt by our +new literary mandarins in posse.” + +“But our young friend said he wanted steam-engines and factories,” said +Pagett. + +“Yes, he would like to direct such concerns. He wants to begin at the +top, for manual labor is held to be discreditable, and he would never +defile his hands by the apprenticeship which the architects, engineers, +and manufacturers of England cheerfully undergo; and he would be aghast +to learn that the leading names of industrial enterprise in England +belonged a generation or two since, or now belong, to men who wrought +with their own hands. And, though he talks glibly of manufacturers, he +refuses to see that the Indian manufacturer of the future will be the +despised workman of the present. It was proposed, for example, a few +weeks ago, that a certain municipality in this province should establish +an elementary technical school for the sons of workmen. The stress of +the opposition to the plan came from a pleader who owed all he had to a +college education bestowed on him gratis by Government and missions. +You would have fancied some fine old crusted Tory squire of the last +generation was speaking. 'These people,' he said, 'want no education, +for they learn their trades from their fathers, and to teach a workman's +son the elements of mathematics and physical science would give him +ideas above his business. They must be kept in their place, and it was +idle to imagine that there was any science in wood or iron work.' And he +carried his point. But the Indian workman will rise in the social scale +in spite of the new literary caste.” + +“In England we have scarcely begun to realize that there is an +industrial class in this country, yet, I suppose, the example of men, +like Edwards for instance, must tell,” said Pagett, thoughtfully. + +“That you shouldn't know much about it is natural enough, for there are +but few sources of information. India in this, as in other respects, is +like a badly kept ledger--not written up to date. And men like Edwards +are, in reality, missionaries, who by precept and example are teaching +more lessons than they know. Only a few, however, of their crowds of +subordinates seem to care to try to emulate them, and aim at individual +advancement; the rest drop into the ancient Indian caste groove.” + +“How do you mean?” asked Pagett. + +“Well, it is found that the new railway and factory workmen, the fitter, +the smith, the engine-driver, and the rest are already forming separate +hereditary castes. You may notice this down at Jamalpur in Bengal, +one of the oldest railway centres; and at other places, and in other +industries, they are following the same inexorable Indian law.” + +“Which means?” queried Pagett. + +“It means that the rooted habit of the people is to gather in small +self-contained, self-sufficing family groups with no thought or care for +any interests but their own--a habit which is scarcely compatible with +the right acceptation of the elective principle.” + +“Yet you must admit, Orde, that though our young friend was not able to +expound the faith that is in him, your Indian army is too big.” + +“Not nearly big enough for its main purpose. And, as a side issue, there +are certain powerful minorities of fighting folk whose interests an +Asiatic Government is bound to consider. Arms is as much a means of +livelihood as civil employ under Government and law. And it would be +a heavy strain on British bayonets to hold down Sikhs, Jats, Bilochis, +Rohillas, Rajputs, Bhils, Dogras, Pathans, and Gurkhas to abide by the +decisions of a numerical majority opposed to their interests. Leave the +'numerical majority' to itself without the British bayonets--a flock of +sheep might as reasonably hope to manage a troop of collies.” + +“This complaint about excessive growth of the army is akin to another +contention of the Congress party. They protest against the malversation +of the whole of the moneys raised by additional taxes as a Famine +Insurance Fund to other purposes. You must be aware that this special +Famine Fund has all been spent on frontier roads and defences and +strategic railway schemes as a protection against Russia.” + +“But there was never a special famine fund raised by special taxation +and put by as in a box. No sane administrator would dream of such +a thing. In a time of prosperity a finance minister, rejoicing in +a margin, proposed to annually apply a million and a half to the +construction of railways and canals for the protection of districts +liable to scarcity, and to the reduction of the annual loans for public +works. But times were not always prosperous, and the finance minister +had to choose whether he would bang up the insurance scheme for a year +or impose fresh taxation. When a farmer hasn't got the little surplus +he hoped to have for buying a new wagon and draining a low-lying field +corner, you don't accuse him of malversation, if he spends what he has +on the necessary work of the rest of his farm.” + +A clatter of hoofs was heard, and Orde looked up with vexation, but his +brow cleared as a horseman halted under the porch. + +“Hello, Orde! just looked in to ask if you are coming to polo on +Tuesday: we want you badly to help to crumple up the Krab Bokhar team.” + +Orde explained that he had to go out into the District, and while the +visitor complained that though good men wouldn't play, duffers were +always keen, and that his side would probably be beaten, Pagett rose to +look at his mount, a red, lathered Biloch mare, with a curious lyrelike +incurving of the ears. “Quite a little thoroughbred in all other +respects,” said the M.P., and Orde presented Mr. Reginald Burke, Manager +of the Siad and Sialkote Bank to his friend. + +“Yes, she's as good as they make 'em, and she's all the female I possess +and spoiled in consequence, aren't you, old girl?” said Burke, patting +the mare's glossy neck as she backed and plunged. + +“Mr. Pagett,” said Orde, “has been asking me about the Congress. What is +your opinion?” Burke turned to the M. P. with a frank smile. + +“Well, if it's all the same to you, sir, I should say, Damn the +Congress, but then I'm no politician, but only a business man.” + +“You find it a tiresome subject?” + +“Yes, it's all that, and worse than that, for this kind of agitation is +anything but wholesome for the country.” + +“How do you mean?” + +“It would be a long job to explain, and Sara here won't stand, but you +know how sensitive capital is, and how timid investors are. All this +sort of rot is likely to frighten them, and we can't afford to frighten +them. The passengers aboard an Ocean steamer don't feel reassured when +the ship's way is stopped, and they hear the workmen's hammers tinkering +at the engines down below. The old Ark's going on all right as she is, +and only wants quiet and room to move. Them's my sentiments, and those +of some other people who have to do with money and business.” + +“Then you are a thick-and-thin supporter of the Government as it is.” + +“Why, no! The Indian Government is much too timid with its money--like +an old maiden aunt of mine--always in a funk about her investments. They +don't spend half enough on railways for instance, and they are slow in +a general way, and ought to be made to sit up in all that concerns +the encouragement of private enterprise, and coaxing out into use the +millions of capital that lie dormant in the country.” + +The mare was dancing with impatience, and Burke was evidently anxious to +be off, so the men wished him goodbye. + +“Who is your genial friend who condemns both Congress and Government in +a breath?” asked Pagett, with an amused smile. + +“Just now he is Reggie Burke, keener on polo than on anything else, +but if you go to the Sind and Sialkote Bank tomorrow you would find Mr. +Reginald Burke a very capable man of business, known and liked by an +immense constituency North and South of this.” + +“Do you think he is right about the Government's want of enterprise?” + +“I should hesitate to say. Better consult the merchants and chambers +of commerce in Cawnpore, Madras, Bombay, and Calcutta. But though these +bodies would like, as Reggie puts it, to make Government sit up, it is +an elementary consideration in governing a country like India, which +must be administered for the benefit of the people at large, that the +counsels of those who resort to it for the sake of making money should +be judiciously weighed and not allowed to overpower the rest. They are +welcome guests here, as a matter of course, but it has been found best +to restrain their influence. Thus the rights of plantation laborers, +factory operatives, and the like, have been protected, and the +capitalist, eager to get on, has not always regarded Government action +with favor. It is quite conceivable that under an elective system the +commercial communities of the great towns might find means to secure +majorities on labor questions and on financial matters.” + +“They would act at least with intelligence and consideration.” + +“Intelligence, yes; but as to consideration, who at the present moment +most bitterly resents the tender solicitude of Lancashire for the +welfare and protection of the Indian factory operative? English and +native capitalists running cotton mills and factories.” + +“But is the solicitude of Lancashire in this matter entirely +disinterested?” + +“It is no business of mine to say. I merely indicate an example of how +a powerful commercial interest might hamper a Government intent in the +first place on the larger interests of humanity.” + +Orde broke off to listen a moment. “There's Dr. Lathrop talking to my +wife in the drawing-room,” said he. + +“Surely not; that's a lady's voice, and if my ears don't deceive me, an +American.” + +“Exactly, Dr. Eva McCreery Lathrop, chief of the new Women's Hospital +here, and a very good fellow forbye. Good morning, Doctor,” he said, as +a graceful figure came out on the veranda, “you seem to be in trouble. I +hope Mrs. Orde was able to help you.” + +“Your wife is real kind and good, I always come to her when I'm in a fix +but I fear it's more than comforting I want.” + +“You work too hard and wear yourself out,” said Orde, kindly. “Let me +introduce my friend, Mr. Pagett, just fresh from home, and anxious to +learn his India. You could tell him something of that more important +half of which a mere man knows so little.” + +“Perhaps I could if I'd any heart to do it, but I'm in trouble, I've +lost a case, a case that was doing well, through nothing in the world +but inattention on the part of a nurse I had begun to trust. And when I +spoke only a small piece of my mind she collapsed in a whining heap on +the floor. It is hopeless.” + +The men were silent, for the blue eyes of the lady doctor were dim. +Recovering herself she looked up with a smile, half sad, half humorous, +“And I am in a whining heap, too; but what phase of Indian life are you +particularly interested in, sir?” + +“Mr. Pagett intends to study the political aspect of things and the +possibility of bestowing electoral institutions on the people.” + +“Wouldn't it be as much to the purpose to bestow point-lace collars +on them? They need many things more urgently than votes. Why it's like +giving a bread-pill for a broken leg.” + +“Er--I don't quite follow,” said Pagett, uneasily. + +“Well, what's the matter with this country is not in the least +political, but an all round entanglement of physical, social, and moral +evils and corruptions, all more or less due to the unnatural treatment +of women. You can't gather figs from thistles, and so long as the system +of infant marriage, the prohibition of the remarriage of widows, +the lifelong imprisonment of wives and mothers in a worse than penal +confinement, and the withholding from them of any kind of education +or treatment as rational beings continues, the country can't advance a +step. Half of it is morally dead, and worse than dead, and that's just +the half from which we have a right to look for the best impulses. It's +right here where the trouble is, and not in any political considerations +whatsoever.” + +“But do they marry so early?” said Pagett, vaguely. + +“The average age is seven, but thousands are married still earlier. One +result is that girls of twelve and thirteen have to bear the burden +of wifehood and motherhood, and, as might be expected, the rate of +mortality both for mothers and children is terrible. Pauperism, +domestic unhappiness, and a low state of health are only a few of the +consequences of this. Then, when, as frequently happens, the boy-husband +dies prematurely, his widow is condemned to worse than death. She may +not remarry, must live a secluded and despised life, a life so unnatural +that she sometimes prefers suicide; more often she goes astray. You +don't know in England what such words as 'infant-marriage,' 'baby-wife,' +'girl-mother,' and 'virgin-widow' mean; but they mean unspeakable +horrors here.” + +“Well, but the advanced political party here will surely make it their +business to advocate social reforms as well as political ones,” said +Pagett. + +“Very surely they will do no such thing,” said the lady doctor, +emphatically. “I wish I could make you understand. Why, even of the +funds devoted to the Marchioness of Dufferin's organization for medical +aid to the women of India, it was said in print and in speech, that they +would be better spent on more college scholarships for men. And in +all the advanced parties' talk--God forgive them--and in all their +programmes, they carefully avoid all such subjects. They will talk about +the protection of the cow, for that's an ancient superstition--they +can all understand that; but the protection of the women is a new and +dangerous idea.” She turned to Pagett impulsively: + +“You are a member of the English Parliament. Can you do nothing? The +foundations of their life are rotten--utterly and bestially rotten. I +could tell your wife things that I couldn't tell you. I know the inner +life that belongs to the native, and I know nothing else; and believe +me you might as well try to grow golden-rod in a mushroom-pit as to make +anything of a people that are born and reared as these--these things +'re. The men talk of their rights and privileges. I have seen the women +that bear these very men, and again--may God forgive the men!” + +Pagett's eyes opened with a large wonder. Dr. Lathrop rose +tempestuously. + +“I must be off to lecture,” said she, “and I'm sorry that I can't +show you my hospitals; but you had better believe, sir, that it's more +necessary for India than all the elections in creation.” + +“That's a woman with a mission, and no mistake,” said Pagett, after a +pause. + +“Yes; she believes in her work, and so do I,” said Orde. “I've a notion +that in the end it will be found that the most helpful work done +for India in this generation was wrought by Lady Dufferin in drawing +attention--what work that was, by the way, even with her husband's great +name to back it to the needs of women here. In effect, native habits and +beliefs are an organized conspiracy against the laws of health and happy +life--but there is some dawning of hope now.” + +“How d'you account for the general indifference, then?” + +“I suppose it's due in part to their fatalism and their utter +indifference to all human suffering. How much do you imagine the great +province of the Punjab with over twenty million people and half a score +rich towns has contributed to the maintenance of civil dispensaries last +year? About seven thousand rupees.” + +“That's seven hundred pounds,” said Pagett, quickly. + +“I wish it was,” replied Orde; “but anyway, it's an absurdly inadequate +sum, and shows one of the blank sides of Oriental character.” + +Pagett was silent for a long time. The question of direct and personal +pain did not lie within his researches. He preferred to discuss the +weightier matters of the law, and contented himself with murmuring: +“They'll do better later on.” Then, with a rush, returning to his first +thought: + +“But, my dear Orde, if it's merely a class movement of a local and +temporary character, how d' you account for Bradlaugh, who is at least a +man of sense, taking it up?” + +“I know nothing of the champion of the New Brahmins but what I see in +the papers. I suppose there is something tempting in being hailed by a +large assemblage as the representative of the aspirations of two hundred +and fifty millions of people. Such a man looks 'through all the roaring +and the wreaths,' and does not reflect that it is a false perspective, +which, as a matter of fact, hides the real complex and manifold India +from his gaze. He can scarcely be expected to distinguish between the +ambitions of a new oligarchy and the real wants of the people of whom he +knows nothing. But it's strange that a professed Radical should come to +be the chosen advocate of a movement which has for its aim the revival +of an ancient tyranny. Shows how even Radicalism can fall into academic +grooves and miss the essential truths of its own creed. Believe me, +Pagett, to deal with India you want first-hand knowledge and experience. +I wish he would come and live here for a couple of years or so.” + +“Is not this rather an ad hominem style of argument?” + +“Can't help it in a case like this. Indeed, I am not sure you ought not +to go further and weigh the whole character and quality and upbringing +of the man. You must admit that the monumental complacency with which he +trotted out his ingenious little Constitution for India showed a strange +want of imagination and the sense of humor.” + +“No, I don't quite admit it,” said Pagett. + +“Well, you know him and I don't, but that's how it strikes a stranger.” + He turned on his heel and paced the veranda thoughtfully. “And, after +all, the burden of the actual, daily unromantic toil falls on the +shoulders of the men out here, and not on his own. He enjoys all the +privileges of recommendation without responsibility, and we--well, +perhaps, when you've seen a little more of India you'll understand. To +begin with, our death rate's five times higher than yours--I speak +now for the brutal bureaucrat--and we work on the refuse of worked-out +cities and exhausted civilizations, among the bones of the dead. In the +case of the Congress meetings, the only notable fact is that the priests +of the altar are British, not Buddhist, Jain or Brahminical, and that +the whole thing is a British contrivance kept alive by the efforts of +Messrs. Hume, Eardley, Norton, and Digby.” + +“You mean to say, then, it's not a spontaneous movement?” + +“What movement was ever spontaneous in any true sense of the word? This +seems to be more factitious than usual. You seem to know a great deal +about it; try it by the touchstone of subscriptions, a coarse but fairly +trustworthy criterion, and there is scarcely the color of money in it. +The delegates write from England that they are out of pocket for +working expenses, railway fares, and stationery--the mere pasteboard +and scaffolding of their show. It is, in fact, collapsing from mere +financial inanition.” + +“But you cannot deny that the people of India, who are, perhaps, too +poor to subscribe, are mentally and morally moved by the agitation,” + Pagett insisted. + +“That is precisely what I do deny. The native side of the movement is +the work of a limited class, a microscopic minority, as Lord Dufferin +described it, when compared with the people proper, but still a very +interesting class, seeing that it is of our own creation. It is composed +almost entirely of those of the literary or clerkly castes who have +received an English education.” + +“Surely that's a very important class. Its members must be the ordained +leaders of popular thought.” + +“Anywhere else they might be leaders, but they have no social weight +here.” + +Pagett laughed. “That's an epigrammatic way of putting it, Orde.” + +“Is it? Let's see,” said the Deputy Commissioner of Amara, striding into +the sunshine toward a half-naked gardener potting roses. He took the +man's hoe, and went to a rain-scarped bank at the bottom of the garden. + +“Come here, Pagett,” he said, and cut at the sun-baked soil. After +three strokes there rolled from under the blade of the hoe the half of a +clanking skeleton that settled at Pagett's feet in an unseemly jumble of +bones. The M.P. drew back. + +“Our houses are built on cemeteries,” said Orde. “There are scores of +thousands of graves within ten miles.” + +Pagett was contemplating the skull with the awed fascination of a man +who has but little to do with the dead. “India's a very curious place,” + said he, after a pause. + +“Ah? You'll know all about it in three months. Come in to lunch,” said +Orde. + + + + + +VOLUME V PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS + + + + +LISPETH + + Look, you have cast out Love! What Gods are these + You bid me please? + The Three in One, the One in Three? Not so! + To my own Gods I go. + It may be they shall give me greater ease + Than your cold Christ and tangled Trinities. + --The Convert. + +She was the daughter of Sonoo, a Hill-man, and Jadeh his wife. One +year their maize failed, and two bears spent the night in their only +poppy-field just above the Sutlej Valley on the Kotgarh side; so, next +season, they turned Christian, and brought their baby to the Mission +to be baptized. The Kotgarh Chaplain christened her Elizabeth, and +“Lispeth” is the Hill or pahari pronunciation. + +Later, cholera came into the Kotgarh Valley and carried off Sonoo and +Jadeh, and Lispeth became half-servant, half-companion to the wife of +the then Chaplain of Kotgarh. This was after the reign of the Moravian +missionaries, but before Kotgarh had quite forgotten her title of +“Mistress of the Northern Hills.” + +Whether Christianity improved Lispeth, or whether the gods of her own +people would have done as much for her under any circumstances, I do not +know; but she grew very lovely. When a Hill girl grows lovely, she is +worth traveling fifty miles over bad ground to look upon. Lispeth had a +Greek face--one of those faces people paint so often, and see so seldom. +She was of a pale, ivory color and, for her race, extremely tall. Also, +she possessed eyes that were wonderful; and, had she not been dressed in +the abominable print-cloths affected by Missions, you would, meeting her +on the hill-side unexpectedly, have thought her the original Diana of +the Romans going out to slay. + +Lispeth took to Christianity readily, and did not abandon it when she +reached womanhood, as do some Hill girls. Her own people hated her +because she had, they said, become a memsahib and washed herself daily; +and the Chaplain's wife did not know what to do with her. Somehow, +one cannot ask a stately goddess, five foot ten in her shoes, to clean +plates and dishes. So she played with the Chaplain's children and took +classes in the Sunday School, and read all the books in the house, and +grew more and more beautiful, like the Princesses in fairy tales. The +Chaplain's wife said that the girl ought to take service in Simla as a +nurse or something “genteel.” But Lispeth did not want to take service. +She was very happy where she was. + +When travellers--there were not many in those years--came to Kotgarh, +Lispeth used to lock herself into her own room for fear they might take +her away to Simla, or somewhere out into the unknown world. + +One day, a few months after she was seventeen years old, Lispeth went +out for a walk. She did not walk in the manner of English ladies--a mile +and a half out, and a ride back again. She covered between twenty and +thirty miles in her little constitutionals, all about and about, between +Kotgarh and Narkunda. This time she came back at full dusk, stepping +down the breakneck descent into Kotgarh with something heavy in her +arms. The Chaplain's wife was dozing in the drawing-room when Lispeth +came in breathing hard and very exhausted with her burden. Lispeth put +it down on the sofa, and said simply: + +“This is my husband. I found him on the Bagi Road. He has hurt himself. +We will nurse him, and when he is well, your husband shall marry him to +me.” + +This was the first mention Lispeth had ever made of her matrimonial +views, and the Chaplain's wife shrieked with horror. However, the man on +the sofa needed attention first. He was a young Englishman, and his head +had been cut to the bone by something jagged. Lispeth said she had found +him down the khud, so she had brought him in. + +He was breathing queerly and was unconscious. + +He was put to bed and tended by the Chaplain, who knew something of +medicine; and Lispeth waited outside the door in case she could be +useful. She explained to the Chaplain that this was the man she meant +to marry; and the Chaplain and his wife lectured her severely on the +impropriety of her conduct. Lispeth listened quietly, and repeated her +first proposition. It takes a great deal of Christianity to wipe out +uncivilized Eastern instincts, such as falling in love at first sight. +Lispeth, having found the man she worshipped, did not see why she should +keep silent as to her choice. She had no intention of being sent away, +either. She was going to nurse that Englishman until he was well enough +to marry her. This was her little programme. + +After a fortnight of slight fever and inflammation, the Englishman +recovered coherence and thanked the Chaplain and his wife, and +Lispeth--especially Lispeth--for their kindness. He was a traveller in +the East, he said--they never talked about “globe-trotters” in those +days, when the P. & O. fleet was young and small--and had come from +Dehra Dun to hunt for plants and butterflies among the Simla hills. No +one at Simla, therefore, knew anything about him. He fancied he must +have fallen over the cliff while stalking a fern on a rotten tree-trunk, +and that his coolies must have stolen his baggage and fled. He thought +he would go back to Simla when he was a little stronger. He desired no +more mountaineering. + +He made small haste to go away, and recovered his strength slowly. + +Lispeth objected to being advised either by the Chaplain or his wife; +so the latter spoke to the Englishman, and told him how matters stood in +Lispeth's heart. He laughed a good deal, and said it was very pretty and +romantic, a perfect idyl of the Himalayas; but, as he was engaged to a +girl at Home, he fancied that nothing would happen. Certainly he would +behave with discretion. He did that. Still he found it very pleasant to +talk to Lispeth, and walk with Lispeth, and say nice things to her, and +call her pet names while he was getting strong enough to go away. It +meant nothing at all to him, and everything in the world to Lispeth. She +was very happy while the fortnight lasted, because she had found a man +to love. + +Being a savage by birth, she took no trouble to hide her feelings, and +the Englishman was amused. When he went away, Lispeth walked with him, +up the Hill as far as Narkunda, very troubled and very miserable. The +Chaplain's wife, being a good Christian and disliking anything in +the shape of fuss or scandal--Lispeth was beyond her management +entirely--had told the Englishman to tell Lispeth that he was coming +back to marry her. “She is but a child, you know, and, I fear, at heart +a heathen,” said the Chaplain's wife. So all the twelve miles up the +hill the Englishman, with his arm around Lispeth's waist, was assuring +the girl that he would come back and marry her; and Lispeth made him +promise over and over again. She wept on the Narkunda Ridge till he had +passed out of sight along the Muttiani path. + +Then she dried her tears and went in to Kotgarh again, and said to the +Chaplain's wife: “He will come back and marry me. He has gone to his +own people to tell them so.” And the Chaplain's wife soothed Lispeth +and said: “He will come back.” At the end of two months, Lispeth grew +impatient, and was told that the Englishman had gone over the seas +to England. She knew where England was, because she had read little +geography primers; but, of course, she had no conception of the nature +of the sea, being a Hill girl. + +There was an old puzzle-map of the World in the House. Lispeth had +played with it when she was a child. She unearthed it again, and put it +together of evenings, and cried to herself, and tried to imagine where +her Englishman was. As she had no ideas of distance or steamboats, +her notions were somewhat erroneous. It would not have made the least +difference had she been perfectly correct; for the Englishman had no +intention of coming back to marry a Hill girl. He forgot all about her +by the time he was butterfly-hunting in Assam. He wrote a book on the +East afterwards. Lispeth's name did not appear. + +At the end of three months, Lispeth made daily pilgrimage to Narkunda +to see if her Englishman was coming along the road. It gave her comfort, +and the Chaplain's wife, finding her happier, thought that she was +getting over her “barbarous and most indelicate folly.” A little later +the walks ceased to help Lispeth and her temper grew very bad. The +Chaplain's wife thought this a profitable time to let her know the real +state of affairs--that the Englishman had only promised his love to keep +her quiet--that he had never meant anything, and that it was “wrong and +improper” of Lispeth to think of marriage with an Englishman, who was of +a superior clay, besides being promised in marriage to a girl of his own +people. Lispeth said that all this was clearly impossible, because he +had said he loved her, and the Chaplain's wife had, with her own lips, +asserted that the Englishman was coming back. + +“How can what he and you said be untrue?” asked Lispeth. + +“We said it as an excuse to keep you quiet, child,” said the Chaplain's +wife. + +“Then you have lied to me,” said Lispeth, “you and he?” + +The Chaplain's wife bowed her head, and said nothing. Lispeth was +silent, too for a little time; then she went out down the valley, and +returned in the dress of a Hill girl--infamously dirty, but without the +nose and ear rings. She had her hair braided into the long pig-tail, +helped out with black thread, that Hill women wear. + +“I am going back to my own people,” said she. “You have killed Lispeth. +There is only left old Jadeh's daughter--the daughter of a pahari and +the servant of Tarka Devi. You are all liars, you English.” + +By the time that the Chaplain's wife had recovered from the shock of the +announcement that Lispeth had 'verted to her mother's gods, the girl had +gone; and she never came back. + +She took to her own unclean people savagely, as if to make up the +arrears of the life she had stepped out of; and, in a little time, she +married a wood-cutter who beat her, after the manner of paharis, and her +beauty faded soon. + +“There is no law whereby you can account for the vagaries of the +heathen,” said the Chaplain's wife, “and I believe that Lispeth was +always at heart an infidel.” Seeing she had been taken into the Church +of England at the mature age of five weeks, this statement does not do +credit to the Chaplain's wife. + +Lispeth was a very old woman when she died. She always had a perfect +command of English, and when she was sufficiently drunk, could sometimes +be induced to tell the story of her first love-affair. + +It was hard then to realize that the bleared, wrinkled creature, so +like a wisp of charred rag, could ever have been “Lispeth of the Kotgarh +Mission.” + + + + +THREE AND--AN EXTRA. + + “When halter and heel ropes are slipped, do not give chase with + sticks but with gram.” --Punjabi Proverb. + +After marriage arrives a reaction, sometimes a big, sometimes a little +one; but it comes sooner or later, and must be tided over by both +parties if they desire the rest of their lives to go with the current. + +In the case of the Cusack-Bremmils this reaction did not set in till the +third year after the wedding. Bremmil was hard to hold at the best +of times; but he was a beautiful husband until the baby died and Mrs. +Bremmil wore black, and grew thin, and mourned as if the bottom of the +universe had fallen out. Perhaps Bremmil ought to have comforted her. He +tried to do so, I think; but the more he comforted the more Mrs. Bremmil +grieved, and, consequently, the more uncomfortable Bremmil grew. The +fact was that they both needed a tonic. And they got it. Mrs. Bremmil +can afford to laugh now, but it was no laughing matter to her at the +time. + +You see, Mrs. Hauksbee appeared on the horizon; and where she existed +was fair chance of trouble. At Simla her bye-name was the “Stormy +Petrel.” She had won that title five times to my own certain knowledge. +She was a little, brown, thin, almost skinny, woman, with big, rolling, +violet-blue eyes, and the sweetest manners in the world. You had only to +mention her name at afternoon teas for every woman in the room to rise +up, and call her--well--NOT blessed. She was clever, witty, brilliant, +and sparkling beyond most of her kind; but possessed of many devils of +malice and mischievousness. She could be nice, though, even to her own +sex. But that is another story. + +Bremmil went off at score after the baby's death and the general +discomfort that followed, and Mrs. Hauksbee annexed him. She took no +pleasure in hiding her captives. She annexed him publicly, and saw that +the public saw it. He rode with her, and walked with her, and talked +with her, and picnicked with her, and tiffined at Peliti's with her, +till people put up their eyebrows and said: “Shocking!” Mrs. Bremmil +stayed at home turning over the dead baby's frocks and crying into the +empty cradle. She did not care to do anything else. But some eight dear, +affectionate lady-friends explained the situation at length to her in +case she should miss the cream of it. Mrs. Bremmil listened quietly, +and thanked them for their good offices. She was not as clever as Mrs. +Hauksbee, but she was no fool. She kept her own counsel, and did not +speak to Bremmil of what she had heard. This is worth remembering. +Speaking to, or crying over, a husband never did any good yet. + +When Bremmil was at home, which was not often, he was more affectionate +than usual; and that showed his hand. The affection was forced partly to +soothe his own conscience and partly to soothe Mrs. Bremmil. It failed +in both regards. + +Then “the A.-D.-C. in Waiting was commanded by Their Excellencies, Lord +and Lady Lytton, to invite Mr. and Mrs. Cusack-Bremmil to Peterhoff on +July 26th at 9.30 P. M.”--“Dancing” in the bottom-left-hand corner. + +“I can't go,” said Mrs. Bremmil, “it is too soon after poor little +Florrie--but it need not stop you, Tom.” + +She meant what she said then, and Bremmil said that he would go just to +put in an appearance. Here he spoke the thing which was not; and Mrs. +Bremmil knew it. She guessed--a woman's guess is much more accurate than +a man's certainty--that he had meant to go from the first, and with Mrs. +Hauksbee. She sat down to think, and the outcome of her thoughts was +that the memory of a dead child was worth considerably less than the +affections of a living husband. + +She made her plan and staked her all upon it. In that hour she +discovered that she knew Tom Bremmil thoroughly, and this knowledge she +acted on. + +“Tom,” said she, “I shall be dining out at the Longmores' on the evening +of the 26th. You'd better dine at the club.” + +This saved Bremmil from making an excuse to get away and dine with +Mrs. Hauksbee, so he was grateful, and felt small and mean at the same +time--which was wholesome. Bremmil left the house at five for a ride. +About half-past five in the evening a large leather-covered basket came +in from Phelps' for Mrs. Bremmil. She was a woman who knew how to dress; +and she had not spent a week on designing that dress and having it +gored, and hemmed, and herring-boned, and tucked and rucked (or whatever +the terms are) for nothing. It was a gorgeous dress--slight mourning. I +can't describe it, but it was what The Queen calls “a creation”--a thing +that hit you straight between the eyes and made you gasp. She had not +much heart for what she was going to do; but as she glanced at the long +mirror she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had never looked so +well in her life. She was a large blonde and, when she chose, carried +herself superbly. + +After the dinner at the Longmores, she went on to the dance--a little +late--and encountered Bremmil with Mrs. Hauksbee on his arm. + +That made her flush, and as the men crowded round her for dances she +looked magnificent. She filled up all her dances except three, and those +she left blank. Mrs. Hauksbee caught her eye once; and she knew it was +war--real war--between them. She started handicapped in the struggle, +for she had ordered Bremmil about just the least little bit in the world +too much; and he was beginning to resent it. Moreover, he had never seen +his wife look so lovely. + +He stared at her from doorways, and glared at her from passages as she +went about with her partners; and the more he stared, the more taken was +he. He could scarcely believe that this was the woman with the red eyes +and the black stuff gown who used to weep over the eggs at breakfast. + +Mrs. Hauksbee did her best to hold him in play, but, after two dances, +he crossed over to his wife and asked for a dance. + +“I'm afraid you've come too late, MISTER Bremmil,” she said, with her +eyes twinkling. + +Then he begged her to give him a dance, and, as a great favor, she +allowed him the fifth waltz. Luckily it stood vacant on his programme. +They danced it together, and there was a little flutter round the room. +Bremmil had a sort of notion that his wife could dance, but he never +knew she danced so divinely. At the end of that waltz he asked for +another--as a favor, not as a right; and Mrs. Bremmil said: “Show me +your programme, dear!” He showed it as a naughty little schoolboy hands +up contraband sweets to a master. + +There was a fair sprinkling of “H” on it besides “H” at supper. + +Mrs. Bremmil said nothing, but she smiled contemptuously, ran her pencil +through 7 and 9--two “H's”--and returned the card with her own name +written above--a pet name that only she and her husband used. Then she +shook her finger at him, and said, laughing: “Oh, you silly, SILLY boy!” + +Mrs. Hauksbee heard that, and--she owned as much--felt that she had the +worst of it. Bremmil accepted 7 and 9 gratefully. They danced 7, and +sat out 9 in one of the little tents. What Bremmil said and what Mrs. +Bremmil said is no concern of any one's. + +When the band struck up “The Roast Beef of Old England,” the two went +out into the verandah, and Bremmil began looking for his wife's dandy +(this was before 'rickshaw days) while she went into the cloak-room. +Mrs. Hauksbee came up and said: “You take me in to supper, I think, Mr. +Bremmil.” Bremmil turned red and looked foolish. “Ah--h'm! I'm going +home with my wife, Mrs. Hauksbee. I think there has been a little +mistake.” Being a man, he spoke as though Mrs. Hauksbee were entirely +responsible. + +Mrs. Bremmil came out of the cloak-room in a swansdown cloak with a +white “cloud” round her head. She looked radiant; and she had a right +to. + +The couple went off in the darkness together, Bremmil riding very close +to the dandy. + +Then says Mrs. Hauksbee to me--she looked a trifle faded and jaded in +the lamplight: “Take my word for it, the silliest woman can manage a +clever man; but it needs a very clever woman to manage a fool.” + +Then we went in to supper. + + + + +THROWN AWAY. + + “And some are sulky, while some will plunge + [So ho! Steady! Stand still, you!] + Some you must gentle, and some you must lunge. + [There! There! Who wants to kill you?] + Some--there are losses in every trade-- + Will break their hearts ere bitted and made, + Will fight like fiends as the rope cuts hard, + And die dumb-mad in the breaking-yard.” + --Toolungala Stockyard Chorus. + +To rear a boy under what parents call the “sheltered life system” is, if +the boy must go into the world and fend for himself, not wise. Unless he +be one in a thousand he has certainly to pass through many unnecessary +troubles; and may, possibly, come to extreme grief simply from ignorance +of the proper proportions of things. + +Let a puppy eat the soap in the bath-room or chew a newly-blacked boot. +He chews and chuckles until, by and by, he finds out that blacking and +Old Brown Windsor make him very sick; so he argues that soap and boots +are not wholesome. Any old dog about the house will soon show him the +unwisdom of biting big dogs' ears. Being young, he remembers and goes +abroad, at six months, a well-mannered little beast with a chastened +appetite. If he had been kept away from boots, and soap, and big dogs +till he came to the trinity full-grown and with developed teeth, just +consider how fearfully sick and thrashed he would be! Apply that motion +to the “sheltered life,” and see how it works. It does not sound pretty, +but it is the better of two evils. + +There was a Boy once who had been brought up under the “sheltered life” + theory; and the theory killed him dead. He stayed with his people all +his days, from the hour he was born till the hour he went into Sandhurst +nearly at the top of the list. He was beautifully taught in all that +wins marks by a private tutor, and carried the extra weight of “never +having given his parents an hour's anxiety in his life.” What he learnt +at Sandhurst beyond the regular routine is of no great consequence. +He looked about him, and he found soap and blacking, so to speak, very +good. He ate a little, and came out of Sandhurst not so high as he went +in. + +Them there was an interval and a scene with his people, who expected +much from him. Next a year of living “unspotted from the world” in a +third-rate depot battalion where all the juniors were children, and all +the seniors old women; and lastly he came out to India, where he was cut +off from the support of his parents, and had no one to fall back on in +time of trouble except himself. + +Now India is a place beyond all others where one must not take things +too seriously--the midday sun always excepted. Too much work and too +much energy kill a man just as effectively as too much assorted vice or +too much drink. Flirtation does not matter because every one is being +transferred and either you or she leave the Station, and never return. +Good work does not matter, because a man is judged by his worst output +and another man takes all the credit of his best as a rule. Bad work +does not matter, because other men do worse, and incompetents hang on +longer in India than anywhere else. Amusements do not matter, because +you must repeat them as soon as you have accomplished them once, and +most amusements only mean trying to win another person's money. + +Sickness does not matter, because it's all in the day's work, and if you +die another man takes over your place and your office in the eight +hours between death and burial. Nothing matters except Home furlough +and acting allowances, and these only because they are scarce. This is a +slack, kutcha country where all men work with imperfect instruments; and +the wisest thing is to take no one and nothing in earnest, but to escape +as soon as ever you can to some place where amusement is amusement and a +reputation worth the having. + +But this Boy--the tale is as old as the Hills--came out, and took all +things seriously. He was pretty and was petted. He took the pettings +seriously, and fretted over women not worth saddling a pony to call +upon. He found his new free life in India very good. + +It DOES look attractive in the beginning, from a Subaltern's point of +view--all ponies, partners, dancing, and so on. He tasted it as the +puppy tastes the soap. Only he came late to the eating, with a growing +set of teeth. He had no sense of balance--just like the puppy--and could +not understand why he was not treated with the consideration he received +under his father's roof. This hurt his feelings. + +He quarrelled with other boys, and, being sensitive to the marrow, +remembered these quarrels, and they excited him. He found whist, and +gymkhanas, and things of that kind (meant to amuse one after office) +good; but he took them seriously too, just as he took the “head” that +followed after drink. He lost his money over whist and gymkhanas because +they were new to him. + +He took his losses seriously, and wasted as much energy and interest +over a two-gold-mohur race for maiden ekka-ponies with their manes +hogged, as if it had been the Derby. One-half of this came from +inexperience--much as the puppy squabbles with the corner of the +hearth-rug--and the other half from the dizziness bred by stumbling out +of his quiet life into the glare and excitement of a livelier one. No +one told him about the soap and the blacking because an average man +takes it for granted that an average man is ordinarily careful in regard +to them. It was pitiful to watch The Boy knocking himself to pieces, as +an over-handled colt falls down and cuts himself when he gets away from +the groom. + +This unbridled license in amusements not worth the trouble of breaking +line for, much less rioting over, endured for six months--all through +one cold weather--and then we thought that the heat and the knowledge +of having lost his money and health and lamed his horses would sober +The Boy down, and he would stand steady. In ninety-nine cases out of a +hundred this would have happened. You can see the principle working in +any Indian Station. But this particular case fell through because The +Boy was sensitive and took things seriously--as I may have said some +seven times before. Of course, we couldn't tell how his excesses struck +him personally. + +They were nothing very heart-breaking or above the average. He might be +crippled for life financially, and want a little nursing. + +Still the memory of his performances would wither away in one hot +weather, and the shroff would help him to tide over the money troubles. +But he must have taken another view altogether and have believed himself +ruined beyond redemption. His Colonel talked to him severely when the +cold weather ended. That made him more wretched than ever; and it was +only an ordinary “Colonel's wigging!” + +What follows is a curious instance of the fashion in which we are all +linked together and made responsible for one another. THE thing that +kicked the beam in The Boy's mind was a remark that a woman made when he +was talking to her. There is no use in repeating it, for it was only a +cruel little sentence, rapped out before thinking, that made him flush +to the roots of his hair. He kept himself to himself for three days, and +then put in for two days' leave to go shooting near a Canal Engineer's +Rest House about thirty miles out. He got his leave, and that night +at Mess was noisier and more offensive than ever. He said that he was +“going to shoot big game,” and left at half-past ten o'clock in an ekka. + +Partridge--which was the only thing a man could get near the Rest +House--is not big game; so every one laughed. + +Next morning one of the Majors came in from short leave, and heard +that The Boy had gone out to shoot “big game.” The Major had taken an +interest in The Boy, and had, more than once, tried to check him in +the cold weather. The Major put up his eyebrows when he heard of the +expedition and went to The Boy's room, where he rummaged. + +Presently he came out and found me leaving cards on the Mess. + +There was no one else in the ante-room. + +He said: “The Boy has gone out shooting. DOES a man shoot [missing] with +a revolver and a writing-case?” + +I said: “Nonsense, Major!” for I saw what was in his mind. + +He said: “Nonsense or nonsense, I'm going to the Canal now--at once. I +don't feel easy.” + +Then he thought for a minute, and said: “Can you lie?” + +“You know best,” I answered. “It's my profession.” + +“Very well,” said the Major; “you must come out with me now--at +once--in an ekka to the Canal to shoot black-buck. Go and put on +shikar-kit--quick--and drive here with a gun.” + +The Major was a masterful man; and I knew that he would not give orders +for nothing. So I obeyed, and on return found the Major packed up in an +ekka--gun-cases and food slung below--all ready for a shooting-trip. + +He dismissed the driver and drove himself. We jogged along quietly +while in the station; but as soon as we got to the dusty road across the +plains, he made that pony fly. A country-bred can do nearly anything at +a pinch. We covered the thirty miles in under three hours, but the poor +brute was nearly dead. + +Once I said: “What's the blazing hurry, Major?” + +He said, quietly: “The Boy has been alone, by himself, for--one, two, +five--fourteen hours now! I tell you, I don't feel easy.” + +This uneasiness spread itself to me, and I helped to beat the pony. + +When we came to the Canal Engineer's Rest House the Major called for The +Boy's servant; but there was no answer. Then we went up to the house, +calling for The Boy by name; but there was no answer. + +“Oh, he's out shooting,” said I. + +Just then I saw through one of the windows a little hurricane-lamp +burning. This was at four in the afternoon. We both stopped dead in the +verandah, holding our breath to catch every sound; and we heard, inside +the room, the “brr--brr--brr” of a multitude of flies. The Major said +nothing, but he took off his helmet and we entered very softly. + +The Boy was dead on the charpoy in the centre of the bare, lime-washed +room. He had shot his head nearly to pieces with his revolver. The +gun-cases were still strapped, so was the bedding, and on the table lay +The Boy's writing-case with photographs. He had gone away to die like a +poisoned rat! + +The Major said to himself softly: “Poor Boy! Poor, POOR devil!” Then he +turned away from the bed and said: “I want your help in this business.” + +Knowing The Boy was dead by his own hand, I saw exactly what that help +would be, so I passed over to the table, took a chair, lit a cheroot, +and began to go through the writing-case; the Major looking over my +shoulder and repeating to himself: “We came too late!--Like a rat in a +hole!--Poor, POOR devil!” + +The Boy must have spent half the night in writing to his people, and to +his Colonel, and to a girl at Home; and as soon as he had finished, must +have shot himself, for he had been dead a long time when we came in. + +I read all that he had written, and passed over each sheet to the Major +as I finished it. + +We saw from his accounts how very seriously he had taken everything. +He wrote about “disgrace which he was unable to bear”--“indelible +shame”--“criminal folly”--“wasted life,” and so on; besides a lot of +private things to his Father and Mother too much too sacred to put into +print. The letter to the girl at Home was the most pitiful of all; and +I choked as I read it. The Major made no attempt to keep dry-eyed. +I respected him for that. He read and rocked himself to and fro, and +simply cried like a woman without caring to hide it. The letters were so +dreary and hopeless and touching. We forgot all about The Boy's follies, +and only thought of the poor Thing on the charpoy and the scrawled +sheets in our hands. It was utterly impossible to let the letters go +Home. + +They would have broken his Father's heart and killed his Mother after +killing her belief in her son. + +At last the Major dried his eyes openly, and said: “Nice sort of thing +to spring on an English family! What shall we do?” + +I said, knowing what the Major had brought me but for: “The Boy died +of cholera. We were with him at the time. We can't commit ourselves to +half-measures. Come along.” + +Then began one of the most grimy comic scenes I have ever taken part +in--the concoction of a big, written lie, bolstered with evidence, to +soothe The Boy's people at Home. I began the rough draft of a letter, +the Major throwing in hints here and there while he gathered up all the +stuff that The Boy had written and burnt it in the fireplace. It was a +hot, still evening when we began, and the lamp burned very badly. In due +course I got the draft to my satisfaction, setting forth how The Boy was +the pattern of all virtues, beloved by his regiment, with every promise +of a great career before him, and so on; how we had helped him through +the sickness--it was no time for little lies, you will understand--and +how he had died without pain. I choked while I was putting down these +things and thinking of the poor people who would read them. + +Then I laughed at the grotesqueness of the affair, and the laughter +mixed itself up with the choke--and the Major said that we both wanted +drinks. + +I am afraid to say how much whiskey we drank before the letter was +finished. It had not the least effect on us. Then we took off The Boy's +watch, locket, and rings. + +Lastly, the Major said: “We must send a lock of hair too. A woman values +that.” + +But there were reasons why we could not find a lock fit to send. + +The Boy was black-haired, and so was the Major, luckily. I cut off a +piece of the Major's hair above the temple with a knife, and put it into +the packet we were making. The laughing-fit and the chokes got hold of +me again, and I had to stop. The Major was nearly as bad; and we both +knew that the worst part of the work was to come. + +We sealed up the packet, photographs, locket, seals, ring, letter, and +lock of hair with The Boy's sealing-wax and The Boy's seal. + +Then the Major said: “For God's sake let's get outside--away from the +room--and think!” + +We went outside, and walked on the banks of the Canal for an hour, +eating and drinking what we had with us, until the moon rose. I know now +exactly how a murderer feels. Finally, we forced ourselves back to the +room with the lamp and the Other Thing in it, and began to take up +the next piece of work. I am not going to write about this. It was too +horrible. We burned the bedstead and dropped the ashes into the Canal; +we took up the matting of the room and treated that in the same way. +I went off to a village and borrowed two big hoes--I did not want the +villagers to help--while the Major arranged--the other matters. It took +us four hours' hard work to make the grave. As we worked, we argued out +whether it was right to say as much as we remembered of the Burial of +the Dead. + +We compromised things by saying the Lord's Prayer with a private +unofficial prayer for the peace of the soul of The Boy. Then we filled +in the grave and went into the verandah--not the house--to lie down to +sleep. We were dead-tired. + +When we woke the Major said, wearily: “We can't go back till tomorrow. +We must give him a decent time to die in. He died early THIS morning, +remember. That seems more natural.” So the Major must have been lying +awake all the time, thinking. + +I said: “Then why didn't we bring the body back to the cantonments?” + +The Major thought for a minute:--“Because the people bolted when they +heard of the cholera. And the ekka has gone!” + +That was strictly true. We had forgotten all about the ekka-pony, and he +had gone home. + +So, we were left there alone, all that stifling day, in the Canal Rest +House, testing and re-testing our story of The Boy's death to see if it +was weak at any point. A native turned up in the afternoon, but we said +that a Sahib was dead of cholera, and he ran away. As the dusk gathered, +the Major told me all his fears about The Boy, and awful stories of +suicide or nearly-carried-out suicide--tales that made one's hair crisp. +He said that he himself had once gone into the same Valley of the Shadow +as the Boy, when he was young and new to the country; so he understood +how things fought together in The Boy's poor jumbled head. He also said +that youngsters, in their repentant moments, consider their sins much +more serious and ineffaceable than they really are. We talked together +all through the evening, and rehearsed the story of the death of The +Boy. As soon as the moon was up, and The Boy, theoretically, just +buried, we struck across country for the Station. We walked from eight +till six o'clock in the morning; but though we were dead-tired, we did +not forget to go to The Boy's room and put away his revolver with the +proper amount of cartridges in the pouch. Also to set his writing-case +on the table. We found the Colonel and reported the death, feeling more +like murderers than ever. Then we went to bed and slept the clock round; +for there was no more in us. + +The tale had credence as long as was necessary, for every one forgot +about The Boy before a fortnight was over. Many people, however, found +time to say that the Major had behaved scandalously in not bringing in +the body for a regimental funeral. The saddest thing of all was a letter +from The Boy's mother to the Major and me--with big inky blisters all +over the sheet. She wrote the sweetest possible things about our great +kindness, and the obligation she would be under to us as long as she +lived. + +All things considered, she WAS under an obligation; but not exactly as +she meant. + + + + +MISS YOUGHAL'S SAIS. + + When Man and Woman are agreed, what can the Kazi do? --Mahomedan + Proverb. + +Some people say that there is no romance in India. Those people are +wrong. Our lives hold quite as much romance as is good for us. + +Sometimes more. + +Strickland was in the Police, and people did not understand him; so +they said he was a doubtful sort of man and passed by on the other side. +Strickland had himself to thank for this. He held the extraordinary +theory that a Policeman in India should try to know as much about the +natives as the natives themselves. Now, in the whole of Upper India, +there is only ONE man who can pass for Hindu or Mohammedan, chamar or +faquir, as he pleases. He is feared and respected by the natives from +the Ghor Kathri to the Jamma Musjid; and he is supposed to have the gift +of invisibility and executive control over many Devils. But what good +has this done him with the Government? None in the world. He has never +got Simla for his charge; and his name is almost unknown to Englishmen. + +Strickland was foolish enough to take that man for his model; and, +following out his absurd theory, dabbled in unsavory places no +respectable man would think of exploring--all among the native +riff-raff. He educated himself in this peculiar way for seven years, and +people could not appreciate it. He was perpetually “going Fantee” among +the natives, which, of course, no man with any sense believes in. He was +initiated into the Sat Bhai at Allahabad once, when he was on leave; he +knew the Lizard-Song of the Sansis, and the Halli-Hukk dance, which is +a religious can-can of a startling kind. When a man knows who dances the +Halli-Hukk, and how, and when, and where, he knows something to be proud +of. He has gone deeper than the skin. But Strickland was not proud, +though he had helped once, at Jagadhri, at the Painting of the Death +Bull, which no Englishman must even look upon; had mastered the +thieves'-patter of the changars; had taken a Eusufzai horse-thief alone +near Attock; and had stood under the mimbar-board of a Border mosque and +conducted service in the manner of a Sunni Mollah. + +His crowning achievement was spending eleven days as a faquir in the +gardens of Baba Atal at Amritsar, and there picking up the threads of +the great Nasiban Murder Case. But people said, justly enough: “Why on +earth can't Strickland sit in his office and write up his diary, and +recruit, and keep quiet, instead of showing up the incapacity of his +seniors?” So the Nasiban Murder Case did him no good departmentally; +but, after his first feeling of wrath, he returned to his outlandish +custom of prying into native life. By the way, when a man once acquires +a taste for this particular amusement, it abides with him all his days. +It is the most fascinating thing in the world; Love not excepted. Where +other men took ten days to the Hills, Strickland took leave for what +he called shikar, put on the disguise that appealed to him at the time, +stepped down into the brown crowd, and was swallowed up for a while. He +was a quiet, dark young fellow--spare, black-eyes--and, when he was not +thinking of something else, a very interesting companion. Strickland +on Native Progress as he had seen it was worth hearing. Natives hated +Strickland; but they were afraid of him. He knew too much. + +When the Youghals came into the station, Strickland--very gravely, as he +did everything--fell in love with Miss Youghal; and she, after a +while, fell in love with him because she could not understand him. Then +Strickland told the parents; but Mrs. Youghal said she was not going to +throw her daughter into the worst paid Department in the Empire, and old +Youghal said, in so many words, that he mistrusted Strickland's ways +and works, and would thank him not to speak or write to his daughter +any more. “Very well,” said Strickland, for he did not wish to make +his lady-love's life a burden. After one long talk with Miss Youghal he +dropped the business entirely. + +The Youghals went up to Simla in April. + +In July, Strickland secured three months' leave on “urgent private +affairs.” He locked up his house--though not a native in the Providence +would wittingly have touched “Estreekin Sahib's” gear for the world--and +went down to see a friend of his, an old dyer, at Tarn Taran. + +Here all trace of him was lost, until a sais met me on the Simla Mall +with this extraordinary note: + +“Dear old man, + +“Please give bearer a box of cheroots--Supers, No. I, for preference. +They are freshest at the Club. I'll repay when I reappear; but at +present I'm out of Society. + +“Yours, + +“E. STRICKLAND.” + +I ordered two boxes, and handed them over to the sais with my love. + +That sais was Strickland, and he was in old Youghal's employ, attached +to Miss Youghal's Arab. The poor fellow was suffering for an English +smoke, and knew that whatever happened I should hold my tongue till the +business was over. + +Later on, Mrs. Youghal, who was wrapped up in her servants, began +talking at houses where she called of her paragon among saises--the man +who was never too busy to get up in the morning and pick flowers for +the breakfast-table, and who blacked--actually BLACKED--the hoofs of his +horse like a London coachman! The turnout of Miss Youghal's Arab was a +wonder and a delight. Strickland--Dulloo, I mean--found his reward +in the pretty things that Miss Youghal said to him when she went out +riding. Her parents were pleased to find she had forgotten all her +foolishness for young Strickland and said she was a good girl. + +Strickland vows that the two months of his service were the most rigid +mental discipline he has ever gone through. Quite apart from the little +fact that the wife of one of his fellow-saises fell in love with him and +then tried to poison him with arsenic because he would have nothing +to do with her, he had to school himself into keeping quiet when Miss +Youghal went out riding with some man who tried to flirt with her, and +he was forced to trot behind carrying the blanket and hearing every +word! Also, he had to keep his temper when he was slanged in “Benmore” + porch by a policeman--especially once when he was abused by a Naik he +had himself recruited from Isser Jang village--or, worse still, when a +young subaltern called him a pig for not making way quickly enough. + +But the life had its compensations. He obtained great insight into the +ways and thefts of saises--enough, he says, to have summarily convicted +half the chamar population of the Punjab if he had been on business. He +became one of the leading players at knuckle-bones, which all jhampanis +and many saises play while they are waiting outside the Government House +or the Gaiety Theatre of nights; he learned to smoke tobacco that was +three-fourths cowdung; and he heard the wisdom of the grizzled Jemadar +of the Government House saises, whose words are valuable. He saw many +things which amused him; and he states, on honor, that no man can +appreciate Simla properly, till he has seen it from the sais's point of +view. + +He also says that, if he chose to write all he saw, his head would be +broken in several places. + +Strickland's account of the agony he endured on wet nights, hearing the +music and seeing the lights in “Benmore,” with his toes tingling for a +waltz and his head in a horse-blanket, is rather amusing. One of these +days, Strickland is going to write a little book on his experiences. +That book will be worth buying; and even more, worth suppressing. + +Thus, he served faithfully as Jacob served for Rachel; and his leave was +nearly at an end when the explosion came. He had really done his best to +keep his temper in the hearing of the flirtations I have mentioned; but +he broke down at last. An old and very distinguished General took +Miss Youghal for a ride, and began that specially offensive +“you're-only-a-little-girl” sort of flirtation--most difficult for +a woman to turn aside deftly, and most maddening to listen to. Miss +Youghal was shaking with fear at the things he said in the hearing of +her sais. Dulloo--Strickland--stood it as long as he could. Then he +caught hold of the General's bridle, and, in most fluent English, +invited him to step off and be heaved over the cliff. Next minute Miss +Youghal began crying; and Strickland saw that he had hopelessly given +himself away, and everything was over. + +The General nearly had a fit, while Miss Youghal was sobbing out the +story of the disguise and the engagement that wasn't recognized by the +parents. Strickland was furiously angry with himself and more angry +with the General for forcing his hand; so he said nothing, but held +the horse's head and prepared to thrash the General as some sort of +satisfaction, but when the General had thoroughly grasped the story, and +knew who Strickland was, he began to puff and blow in the saddle, and +nearly rolled off with laughing. He said Strickland deserved a V. C., +if it were only for putting on a sais's blanket. Then he called himself +names, and vowed that he deserved a thrashing, but he was too old to +take it from Strickland. Then he complimented Miss Youghal on her lover. + +The scandal of the business never struck him; for he was a nice old man, +with a weakness for flirtations. Then he laughed again, and said +that old Youghal was a fool. Strickland let go of the cob's head, +and suggested that the General had better help them, if that was his +opinion. Strickland knew Youghal's weakness for men with titles and +letters after their names and high official position. + +“It's rather like a forty-minute farce,” said the General, “but begad, I +WILL help, if it's only to escape that tremendous thrashing I deserved. +Go along to your home, my sais-Policeman, and change into decent kit, +and I'll attack Mr. Youghal. Miss Youghal, may I ask you to canter home +and wait?”......... + +About seven minutes later, there was a wild hurroosh at the Club. + +A sais, with a blanket and head-rope, was asking all the men he knew: +“For Heaven's sake lend me decent clothes!” As the men did not recognize +him, there were some peculiar scenes before Strickland could get a hot +bath, with soda in it, in one room, a shirt here, a collar there, a pair +of trousers elsewhere, and so on. He galloped off, with half the Club +wardrobe on his back, and an utter stranger's pony under him, to the +house of old Youghal. + +The General, arrayed in purple and fine linen, was before him. + +What the General had said Strickland never knew, but Youghal received +Strickland with moderate civility; and Mrs. Youghal, touched by the +devotion of the transformed Dulloo, was almost kind. + +The General beamed, and chuckled, and Miss Youghal came in, and almost +before old Youghal knew where he was, the parental consent had been +wrenched out and Strickland had departed with Miss Youghal to the +Telegraph Office to wire for his kit. The final embarrassment was when +an utter stranger attacked him on the Mall and asked for the stolen +pony. + +So, in the end, Strickland and Miss Youghal were married, on the strict +understanding that Strickland should drop his old ways, and stick to +Departmental routine, which pays best and leads to Simla. + +Strickland was far too fond of his wife, just then, to break his word, +but it was a sore trial to him; for the streets and the bazars, and the +sounds in them, were full of meaning to Strickland, and these called to +him to come back and take up his wanderings and his discoveries. Some +day, I will tell you how he broke his promise to help a friend. That +was long since, and he has, by this time, been nearly spoilt for what +he would call shikar. He is forgetting the slang, and the beggar's cant, +and the marks, and the signs, and the drift of the undercurrents, which, +if a man would master, he must always continue to learn. + +But he fills in his Departmental returns beautifully. + + + + +YOKED WITH AN UNBELIEVER. + + I am dying for you, and you are dying for another. --Punjabi + Proverb. + +When the Gravesend tender left the P. & 0. steamer for Bombay and went +back to catch the train to Town, there were many people in it crying. +But the one who wept most, and most openly was Miss Agnes Laiter. She +had reason to cry, because the only man she ever loved--or ever could +love, so she said--was going out to India; and India, as every one +knows, is divided equally between jungle, tigers, cobras, cholera, and +sepoys. + +Phil Garron, leaning over the side of the steamer in the rain, felt very +unhappy too; but he did not cry. He was sent out to “tea.” What “tea” + meant he had not the vaguest idea, but fancied that he would have to +ride on a prancing horse over hills covered with tea-vines, and draw a +sumptuous salary for doing so; and he was very grateful to his uncle +for getting him the berth. He was really going to reform all his slack, +shiftless ways, save a large proportion of his magnificent salary +yearly, and, in a very short time, return to marry Agnes Laiter. Phil +Garron had been lying loose on his friends' hands for three years, and, +as he had nothing to do, he naturally fell in love. He was very nice; +but he was not strong in his views and opinions and principles, and +though he never came to actual grief his friends were thankful when +he said good-bye, and went out to this mysterious “tea” business near +Darjiling. They said:--“God bless you, dear boy! Let us never see your +face again,”--or at least that was what Phil was given to understand. + +When he sailed, he was very full of a great plan to prove himself +several hundred times better than any one had given him credit for--to +work like a horse, and triumphantly marry Agnes Laiter. He had many good +points besides his good looks; his only fault being that he was weak, +the least little bit in the world weak. He had as much notion of economy +as the Morning Sun; and yet you could not lay your hand on any one item, +and say: “Herein Phil Garron is extravagant or reckless.” Nor could +you point out any particular vice in his character; but he was +“unsatisfactory” and as workable as putty. + +Agnes Laiter went about her duties at home--her family objected to the +engagement--with red eyes, while Phil was sailing to Darjiling--“a port +on the Bengal Ocean,” as his mother used to tell her friends. He was +popular enough on board ship, made many acquaintances and a moderately +large liquor bill, and sent off huge letters to Agnes Laiter at each +port. Then he fell to work on this plantation, somewhere between +Darjiling and Kangra, and, though the salary and the horse and the work +were not quite all he had fancied, he succeeded fairly well, and gave +himself much unnecessary credit for his perseverance. + +In the course of time, as he settled more into collar, and his work grew +fixed before him, the face of Agnes Laiter went out of his mind and only +came when he was at leisure, which was not often. He would forget +all about her for a fortnight, and remember her with a start, like a +school-boy who has forgotten to learn his lesson. + +She did not forget Phil, because she was of the kind that never forgets. +Only, another man--a really desirable young man--presented himself +before Mrs. Laiter; and the chance of a marriage with Phil was as far +off as ever; and his letters were so unsatisfactory; and there was a +certain amount of domestic pressure brought to bear on the girl; and the +young man really was an eligible person as incomes go; and the end of +all things was that Agnes married him, and wrote a tempestuous whirlwind +of a letter to Phil in the wilds of Darjiling, and said she should never +know a happy moment all the rest of her life. Which was a true prophecy. + +Phil got that letter, and held himself ill-treated. This was two years +after he had come out; but by dint of thinking fixedly of Agnes Laiter, +and looking at her photograph, and patting himself on the back for being +one of the most constant lovers in history, and warming to the work as +he went on, he really fancied that he had been very hardly used. He sat +down and wrote one final letter--a really pathetic “world without end, +amen,” epistle; explaining how he would be true to Eternity, and that +all women were very much alike, and he would hide his broken heart, +etc., etc.; but if, at any future time, etc., etc., he could afford to +wait, etc., etc., unchanged affections, etc., etc., return to her old +love, etc., etc., for eight closely-written pages. From an artistic +point of view, it was very neat work, but an ordinary Philistine, who +knew the state of Phil's real feelings--not the ones he rose to as he +went on writing--would have called it the thoroughly mean and selfish +work of a thoroughly mean and selfish, weak man. But this verdict would +have been incorrect. Phil paid for the postage, and felt every word he +had written for at least two days and a half. + +It was the last flicker before the light went out. + +That letter made Agnes Laiter very unhappy, and she cried and put it +away in her desk, and became Mrs. Somebody Else for the good of her +family. Which is the first duty of every Christian maid. + +Phil went his ways, and thought no more of his letter, except as an +artist thinks of a neatly touched-in sketch. His ways were not bad, but +they were not altogether good until they brought him across Dunmaya, the +daughter of a Rajput ex-Subadar-Major of our Native Army. The girl had a +strain of Hill blood in her, and, like the Hill women, was not a purdah +nashin. Where Phil met her, or how he heard of her, does not matter. She +was a good girl and handsome, and, in her way, very clever and shrewd; +though, of course, a little hard. It is to be remembered that Phil was +living very comfortably, denying himself no small luxury, never putting +by an anna, very satisfied with himself and his good intentions, was +dropping all his English correspondents one by one, and beginning more +and more to look upon this land as his home. Some men fall this way; and +they are of no use afterwards. The climate where he was stationed was +good, and it really did not seem to him that there was anything to go +Home for. + +He did what many planters have done before him--that is to say, he +made up his mind to marry a Hill girl and settle down. He was seven and +twenty then, with a long life before him, but no spirit to go through +with it. So he married Dunmaya by the forms of the English Church, and +some fellow-planters said he was a fool, and some said he was a +wise man. Dunmaya was a thoroughly honest girl, and, in spite of her +reverence for an Englishman, had a reasonable estimate of her husband's +weaknesses. She managed him tenderly, and became, in less than a year, a +very passable imitation of an English lady in dress and carriage. [It +is curious to think that a Hill man, after a lifetime's education, is +a Hill man still; but a Hill woman can in six months master most of the +ways of her English sisters. There was a coolie woman once. But that is +another story.] Dunmaya dressed by preference in black and yellow, and +looked well. + +Meantime the letter lay in Agnes's desk, and now and again she would +think of poor resolute hard-working Phil among the cobras and tigers of +Darjiling, toiling in the vain hope that she might come back to him. Her +husband was worth ten Phils, except that he had rheumatism of the +heart. Three years after he was married--and after he had tried Nice +and Algeria for his complaint--he went to Bombay, where he died, and set +Agnes free. Being a devout woman, she looked on his death and the +place of it, as a direct interposition of Providence, and when she had +recovered from the shock, she took out and reread Phil's letter with the +“etc., etc.,” and the big dashes, and the little dashes, and kissed it +several times. No one knew her in Bombay; she had her husband's income, +which was a large one, and Phil was close at hand. It was wrong and +improper, of course, but she decided, as heroines do in novels, to find +her old lover, to offer him her hand and her gold, and with him spend +the rest of her life in some spot far from unsympathetic souls. She sat +for two months, alone in Watson's Hotel, elaborating this decision, and +the picture was a pretty one. Then she set out in search of Phil Garron, +Assistant on a tea plantation with a more than usually unpronounceable +name.......... + +She found him. She spent a month over it, for his plantation was not in +the Darjiling district at all, but nearer Kangra. Phil was very little +altered, and Dunmaya was very nice to her. + +Now the particular sin and shame of the whole business is that Phil, who +really is not worth thinking of twice, was and is loved by Dunmaya, +and more than loved by Agnes, the whole of whose life he seems to have +spoilt. + +Worst of all, Dunmaya is making a decent man of him; and he will be +ultimately saved from perdition through her training. + +Which is manifestly unfair. + + + + +FALSE DAWN. + + Tonight God knows what thing shall tide, + The Earth is racked and faint-- + Expectant, sleepless, open-eyed; + And we, who from the Earth were made, + Thrill with our Mother's pain. + --In Durance. + +No man will ever know the exact truth of this story; though women may +sometimes whisper it to one another after a dance, when they are putting +up their hair for the night and comparing lists of victims. A man, of +course, cannot assist at these functions. So the tale must be told from +the outside--in the dark--all wrong. + +Never praise a sister to a sister, in the hope of your compliments +reaching the proper ears, and so preparing the way for you later on. +Sisters are women first, and sisters afterwards; and you will find that +you do yourself harm. + +Saumarez knew this when he made up his mind to propose to the elder Miss +Copleigh. Saumarez was a strange man, with few merits, so far as men +could see, though he was popular with women, and carried enough +conceit to stock a Viceroy's Council and leave a little over for the +Commander-in-Chief's Staff. He was a Civilian. Very many women took an +interest in Saumarez, perhaps, because his manner to them was offensive. +If you hit a pony over the nose at the outset of your acquaintance, he +may not love you, but he will take a deep interest in your movements +ever afterwards. The elder Miss Copleigh was nice, plump, winning and +pretty. The younger was not so pretty, and, from men disregarding the +hint set forth above, her style was repellant and unattractive. Both +girls had, practically, the same figure, and there was a strong likeness +between them in look and voice; though no one could doubt for an instant +which was the nicer of the two. + +Saumarez made up his mind, as soon as they came into the station from +Behar, to marry the elder one. At least, we all made sure that he +would, which comes to the same thing. She was two and twenty, and he was +thirty-three, with pay and allowances of nearly fourteen hundred rupees +a month. So the match, as we arranged it, was in every way a good one. +Saumarez was his name, and summary was his nature, as a man once said. +Having drafted his Resolution, he formed a Select Committee of One to +sit upon it, and resolved to take his time. In our unpleasant slang, the +Copleigh girls “hunted in couples.” That is to say, you could do nothing +with one without the other. They were very loving sisters; but +their mutual affection was sometimes inconvenient. Saumarez held the +balance-hair true between them, and none but himself could have said to +which side his heart inclined; though every one guessed. He rode +with them a good deal and danced with them, but he never succeeded in +detaching them from each other for any length of time. + +Women said that the two girls kept together through deep mistrust, each +fearing that the other would steal a march on her. But that has nothing +to do with a man. Saumarez was silent for good or bad, and as +business--likely attentive as he could be, having due regard to his work +and his polo. Beyond doubt both girls were fond of him. + +As the hot weather drew nearer, and Saumarez made no sign, women said +that you could see their trouble in the eyes of the girls--that they +were looking strained, anxious, and irritable. Men are quite blind in +these matters unless they have more of the woman than the man in their +composition, in which case it does not matter what they say or think. +I maintain it was the hot April days that took the color out of the +Copleigh girls' cheeks. They should have been sent to the Hills +early. No one--man or woman--feels an angel when the hot weather is +approaching. The younger sister grew more cynical--not to say acid--in +her ways; and the winningness of the elder wore thin. There was more +effort in it. + +Now the Station wherein all these things happened was, though not +a little one, off the line of rail, and suffered through want of +attention. There were no gardens or bands or amusements worth speaking +of, and it was nearly a day's journey to come into Lahore for a dance. +People were grateful for small things to interest them. + +About the beginning of May, and just before the final exodus of +Hill-goers, when the weather was very hot and there were not more than +twenty people in the Station, Saumarez gave a moonlight riding-picnic at +an old tomb, six miles away, near the bed of the river. It was a “Noah's +Ark” picnic; and there was to be the usual arrangement of quarter-mile +intervals between each couple, on account of the dust. Six couples came +altogether, including chaperons. Moonlight picnics are useful just at +the very end of the season, before all the girls go away to the Hills. +They lead to understandings, and should be encouraged by chaperones; +especially those whose girls look sweetish in riding habits. I knew a +case once. But that is another story. That picnic was called the “Great +Pop Picnic,” because every one knew Saumarez would propose then to the +eldest Miss Copleigh; and, beside his affair, there was another which +might possibly come to happiness. + +The social atmosphere was heavily charged and wanted clearing. + +We met at the parade-ground at ten: the night was fearfully hot. + +The horses sweated even at walking-pace, but anything was better than +sitting still in our own dark houses. When we moved off under the full +moon we were four couples, one triplet, and Mr. Saumarez rode with the +Copleigh girls, and I loitered at the tail of the procession, wondering +with whom Saumarez would ride home. Every one was happy and contented; +but we all felt that things were going to happen. We rode slowly: and +it was nearly midnight before we reached the old tomb, facing the ruined +tank, in the decayed gardens where we were going to eat and drink. I +was late in coming up; and before I went into the garden, I saw that the +horizon to the north carried a faint, dun-colored feather. But no one +would have thanked me for spoiling so well-managed an entertainment as +this picnic--and a dust-storm, more or less, does no great harm. + +We gathered by the tank. Some one had brought out a banjo--which is a +most sentimental instrument--and three or four of us sang. + +You must not laugh at this. Our amusements in out-of-the-way Stations +are very few indeed. Then we talked in groups or together, lying under +the trees, with the sun-baked roses dropping their petals on our feet, +until supper was ready. It was a beautiful supper, as cold and as iced +as you could wish; and we stayed long over it. + +I had felt that the air was growing hotter and hotter; but nobody +seemed to notice it until the moon went out and a burning hot wind began +lashing the orange-trees with a sound like the noise of the sea. Before +we knew where we were, the dust-storm was on us, and everything was +roaring, whirling darkness. The supper-table was blown bodily into the +tank. We were afraid of staying anywhere near the old tomb for fear it +might be blown down. So we felt our way to the orange-trees where the +horses were picketed and waited for the storm to blow over. Then the +little light that was left vanished, and you could not see your hand +before your face. The air was heavy with dust and sand from the bed +of the river, that filled boots and pockets and drifted down necks and +coated eyebrows and moustaches. It was one of the worst dust-storms of +the year. + +We were all huddled together close to the trembling horses, with the +thunder clattering overhead, and the lightning spurting like water from +a sluice, all ways at once. There was no danger, of course, unless the +horses broke loose. I was standing with my head downward and my hands +over my mouth, hearing the trees thrashing each other. I could not see +who was next me till the flashes came. + +Then I found that I was packed near Saumarez and the eldest Miss +Copleigh, with my own horse just in front of me. I recognized the eldest +Miss Copleigh, because she had a pagri round her helmet, and the younger +had not. All the electricity in the air had gone into my body and I was +quivering and tingling from head to foot--exactly as a corn shoots and +tingles before rain. It was a grand storm. + +The wind seemed to be picking up the earth and pitching it to leeward in +great heaps; and the heat beat up from the ground like the heat of the +Day of Judgment. + +The storm lulled slightly after the first half-hour, and I heard a +despairing little voice close to my ear, saying to itself, quietly and +softly, as if some lost soul were flying about with the wind: “O my +God!” Then the younger Miss Copleigh stumbled into my arms, saying: +“Where is my horse? Get my horse. I want to go home. I WANT to go home. +Take me home.” + +I thought that the lightning and the black darkness had frightened her; +so I said there was no danger, but she must wait till the storm blew +over. She answered: “It is not THAT! It is not THAT! I want to go home! +O take me away from here!” + +I said that she could not go till the light came; but I felt her brush +past me and go away. It was too dark to see where. Then the whole sky +was split open with one tremendous flash, as if the end of the world +were coming, and all the women shrieked. + +Almost directly after this, I felt a man's hand on my shoulder and heard +Saumarez bellowing in my ear. Through the rattling of the trees and +howling of the wind, I did not catch his words at once, but at last +I heard him say: “I've proposed to the wrong one! What shall I do?” + Saumarez had no occasion to make this confidence to me. I was never a +friend of his, nor am I now; but I fancy neither of us were ourselves +just then. He was shaking as he stood with excitement, and I was feeling +queer all over with the electricity. + +I could not think of anything to say except:--“More fool you for +proposing in a dust-storm.” But I did not see how that would improve the +mistake. + +Then he shouted: “Where's Edith--Edith Copleigh?” Edith was the youngest +sister. I answered out of my astonishment:--“What do you want with HER?” + Would you believe it, for the next two minutes, he and I were shouting +at each other like maniacs--he vowing that it was the youngest sister he +had meant to propose to all along, and I telling him till my throat +was hoarse that he must have made a mistake! I can't account for +this except, again, by the fact that we were neither of us ourselves. +Everything seemed to me like a bad dream--from the stamping of the +horses in the darkness to Saumarez telling me the story of his loving +Edith Copleigh since the first. He was still clawing my shoulder and +begging me to tell him where Edith Copleigh was, when another lull came +and brought light with it, and we saw the dust-cloud forming on the +plain in front of us. So we knew the worst was over. The moon was low +down, and there was just the glimmer of the false dawn that comes about +an hour before the real one. But the light was very faint, and the dun +cloud roared like a bull. I wondered where Edith Copleigh had gone; and +as I was wondering I saw three things together: First Maud Copleigh's +face come smiling out of the darkness and move towards Saumarez, who was +standing by me. I heard the girl whisper, “George,” and slide her arm +through the arm that was not clawing my shoulder, and I saw that look on +her face which only comes once or twice in a lifetime--when a woman is +perfectly happy and the air is full of trumpets and gorgeous-colored +fire and the Earth turns into cloud because she loves and is loved. At +the same time, I saw Saumarez's face as he heard Maud Copleigh's voice, +and fifty yards away from the clump of orange-trees I saw a brown +holland habit getting upon a horse. + +It must have been my state of over-excitement that made me so quick +to meddle with what did not concern me. Saumarez was moving off to the +habit; but I pushed him back and said:--“Stop here and explain. I'll +fetch her back!” and I ran out to get at my own horse. I had a perfectly +unnecessary notion that everything must be done decently and in order, +and that Saumarez's first care was to wipe the happy look out of Maud +Copleigh's face. All the time I was linking up the curb-chain I wondered +how he would do it. + +I cantered after Edith Copleigh, thinking to bring her back slowly on +some pretence or another. But she galloped away as soon as she saw me, +and I was forced to ride after her in earnest. She called back over her +shoulder--“Go away! I'm going home. Oh, go away!” two or three times; +but my business was to catch her first, and argue later. The ride just +fitted in with the rest of the evil dream. The ground was very bad, and +now and again we rushed through the whirling, choking “dust-devils” in +the skirts of the flying storm. There was a burning hot wind blowing +that brought up a stench of stale brick-kilns with it; and through the +half light and through the dust-devils, across that desolate plain, +flickered the brown holland habit on the gray horse. She headed for +the Station at first. Then she wheeled round and set off for the river +through beds of burnt down jungle-grass, bad even to ride a pig over. In +cold blood I should never have dreamed of going over such a country +at night, but it seemed quite right and natural with the lightning +crackling overhead, and a reek like the smell of the Pit in my nostrils. +I rode and shouted, and she bent forward and lashed her horse, and the +aftermath of the dust-storm came up and caught us both, and drove us +downwind like pieces of paper. + +I don't know how far we rode; but the drumming of the horse-hoofs and +the roar of the wind and the race of the faint blood-red moon through +the yellow mist seemed to have gone on for years and years, and I was +literally drenched with sweat from my helmet to my gaiters when the gray +stumbled, recovered himself, and pulled up dead lame. My brute was used +up altogether. Edith Copleigh was in a sad state, plastered with dust, +her helmet off, and crying bitterly. “Why can't you let me alone?” she +said. “I only wanted to get away and go home. Oh, PLEASE let me go!” + +“You have got to come back with me, Miss Copleigh. Saumarez has +something to say to you.” + +It was a foolish way of putting it; but I hardly knew Miss Copleigh; +and, though I was playing Providence at the cost of my horse, I could +not tell her in as many words what Saumarez had told me. I thought he +could do that better himself. All her pretence about being tired and +wanting to go home broke down, and she rocked herself to and fro in the +saddle as she sobbed, and the hot wind blew her black hair to leeward. I +am not going to repeat what she said, because she was utterly unstrung. + +This, if you please, was the cynical Miss Copleigh. Here was I, almost +an utter stranger to her, trying to tell her that Saumarez loved her +and she was to come back to hear him say so! I believe I made myself +understood, for she gathered the gray together and made him hobble +somehow, and we set off for the tomb, while the storm went thundering +down to Umballa and a few big drops of warm rain fell. I found out that +she had been standing close to Saumarez when he proposed to her sister +and had wanted to go home and cry in peace, as an English girl should. +She dabbled her eyes with her pocket-handkerchief as we went along, and +babbled to me out of sheer lightness of heart and hysteria. That was +perfectly unnatural; and yet, it seemed all right at the time and in the +place. All the world was only the two Copleigh girls, Saumarez and I, +ringed in with the lightning and the dark; and the guidance of this +misguided world seemed to lie in my hands. + +When we returned to the tomb in the deep, dead stillness that followed +the storm, the dawn was just breaking and nobody had gone away. They +were waiting for our return. Saumarez most of all. + +His face was white and drawn. As Miss Copleigh and I limped up, he came +forward to meet us, and, when he helped her down from her saddle, he +kissed her before all the picnic. It was like a scene in a theatre, and +the likeness was heightened by all the dust-white, ghostly-looking men +and women under the orange-trees, clapping their hands, as if they +were watching a play--at Saumarez's choice. I never knew anything so +un-English in my life. + +Lastly, Saumarez said we must all go home or the Station would come +out to look for us, and WOULD I be good enough to ride home with Maud +Copleigh? Nothing would give me greater pleasure, I said. + +So, we formed up, six couples in all, and went back two by two; Saumarez +walking at the side of Edith Copleigh, who was riding his horse. + +The air was cleared; and little by little, as the sun rose, I felt we +were all dropping back again into ordinary men and women and that +the “Great Pop Picnic” was a thing altogether apart and out of the +world--never to happen again. It had gone with the dust-storm and the +tingle in the hot air. + +I felt tired and limp, and a good deal ashamed of myself as I went in +for a bath and some sleep. + +There is a woman's version of this story, but it will never be written. +... unless Maud Copleigh cares to try. + + + + +THE RESCUE OF PLUFFLES. + + Thus, for a season, they fought it fair-- + She and his cousin May-- + Tactful, talented, debonnaire, + Decorous foes were they; + But never can battle of man compare + With merciless feminine fray. + --Two and One. + +Mrs. Hauksbee was sometimes nice to her own sex. Here is a story to +prove this; and you can believe just as much as ever you please. + +Pluffles was a subaltern in the “Unmentionables.” He was callow, even +for a subaltern. He was callow all over--like a canary that had not +finished fledging itself. The worst of it was he had three times as much +money as was good for him; Pluffles' Papa being a rich man and Pluffles +being the only son. Pluffles' Mamma adored him. She was only a little +less callow than Pluffles and she believed everything he said. + +Pluffles' weakness was not believing what people said. He preferred what +he called “trusting to his own judgment.” He had as much judgment as he +had seat or hands; and this preference tumbled him into trouble once or +twice. But the biggest trouble Pluffles ever manufactured came about at +Simla--some years ago, when he was four-and-twenty. + +He began by trusting to his own judgment, as usual, and the result +was that, after a time, he was bound hand and foot to Mrs. Reiver's +'rickshaw wheels. + +There was nothing good about Mrs. Reiver, unless it was her dress. + +She was bad from her hair--which started life on a Brittany's girl's +head--to her boot-heels, which were two and three-eighth inches high. +She was not honestly mischievous like Mrs. Hauksbee; she was wicked in a +business-like way. + +There was never any scandal--she had not generous impulses enough for +that. She was the exception which proved the rule that Anglo-Indian +ladies are in every way as nice as their sisters at Home. + +She spent her life in proving that rule. + +Mrs. Hauksbee and she hated each other fervently. They heard far +too much to clash; but the things they said of each other were +startling--not to say original. Mrs. Hauksbee was honest--honest as her +own front teeth--and, but for her love of mischief, would have been +a woman's woman. There was no honesty about Mrs. Reiver; nothing but +selfishness. And at the beginning of the season, poor little Pluffles +fell a prey to her. She laid herself out to that end, and who was +Pluffles, to resist? He went on trusting to his judgment, and he got +judged. + +I have seen Hayes argue with a tough horse--I have seen a tonga-driver +coerce a stubborn pony--I have seen a riotous setter broken to gun by a +hard keeper--but the breaking-in of Pluffles of the “Unmentionables” was +beyond all these. He learned to fetch and carry like a dog, and to +wait like one, too, for a word from Mrs. Reiver. He learned to keep +appointments which Mrs. Reiver had no intention of keeping. He learned +to take thankfully dances which Mrs. Reiver had no intention of giving +him. He learned to shiver for an hour and a quarter on the windward side +of Elysium while Mrs. Reiver was making up her mind to come for a +ride. He learned to hunt for a 'rickshaw, in a light dress-suit under +a pelting rain, and to walk by the side of that 'rickshaw when he had +found it. He learned what it was to be spoken to like a coolie and +ordered about like a cook. He learned all this and many other things +besides. And he paid for his schooling. + +Perhaps, in some hazy way, he fancied that it was fine and impressive, +that it gave him a status among men, and was altogether the thing to do. +It was nobody's business to warn Pluffles that he was unwise. The pace +that season was too good to inquire; and meddling with another man's +folly is always thankless work. + +Pluffles' Colonel should have ordered him back to his regiment when he +heard how things were going. But Pluffles had got himself engaged to a +girl in England the last time he went home; and if there was one +thing more than another which the Colonel detested, it was a married +subaltern. He chuckled when he heard of the education of Pluffles, and +said it was “good training for the boy.” But it was not good training in +the least. It led him into spending money beyond his means, which were +good: above that, the education spoilt an average boy and made it a +tenth-rate man of an objectionable kind. He wandered into a bad set, and +his little bill at Hamilton's was a thing to wonder at. + +Then Mrs. Hauksbee rose to the occasion. She played her game alone, +knowing what people would say of her; and she played it for the sake of +a girl she had never seen. Pluffles' fiancee was to come out, under the +chaperonage of an aunt, in October, to be married to Pluffles. + +At the beginning of August, Mrs. Hauksbee discovered that it was time to +interfere. A man who rides much knows exactly what a horse is going to +do next before he does it. In the same way, a woman of Mrs. Hauksbee's +experience knows accurately how a boy will behave under certain +circumstances--notably when he is infatuated with one of Mrs. Reiver's +stamp. She said that, sooner or later, little Pluffles would break off +that engagement for nothing at all--simply to gratify Mrs. Reiver, who, +in return, would keep him at her feet and in her service just so long as +she found it worth her while. + +She said she knew the signs of these things. If she did not, no one else +could. + +Then she went forth to capture Pluffles under the guns of the enemy; +just as Mrs. Cusack-Bremmil carried away Bremmil under Mrs. Hauksbee's +eyes. + +This particular engagement lasted seven weeks--we called it the Seven +Weeks' War--and was fought out inch by inch on both sides. A detailed +account would fill a book, and would be incomplete then. + +Any one who knows about these things can fit in the details for himself. +It was a superb fight--there will never be another like it as long as +Jakko stands--and Pluffles was the prize of victory. + +People said shameful things about Mrs. Hauksbee. They did not know what +she was playing for. Mrs. Reiver fought, partly because Pluffles was +useful to her, but mainly because she hated Mrs. Hauksbee, and the +matter was a trial of strength between them. No one knows what Pluffles +thought. He had not many ideas at the best of times, and the few he +possessed made him conceited. Mrs. Hauksbee said:--“The boy must be +caught; and the only way of catching him is by treating him well.” + +So she treated him as a man of the world and of experience so long as +the issue was doubtful. Little by little, Pluffles fell away from his +old allegiance and came over to the enemy, by whom he was made much of. +He was never sent on out-post duty after 'rickshaws any more, nor was +he given dances which never came off, nor were the drains on his +purse continued. Mrs. Hauksbee held him on the snaffle; and after his +treatment at Mrs. Reiver's hands, he appreciated the change. + +Mrs. Reiver had broken him of talking about himself, and made him +talk about her own merits. Mrs. Hauksbee acted otherwise, and won +his confidence, till he mentioned his engagement to the girl at Home, +speaking of it in a high and mighty way as a “piece of boyish folly.” + This was when he was taking tea with her one afternoon, and discoursing +in what he considered a gay and fascinating style. + +Mrs. Hauksbee had seen an earlier generation of his stamp bud and +blossom, and decay into fat Captains and tubby Majors. + +At a moderate estimate there were about three and twenty sides to that +lady's character. Some men say more. She began to talk to Pluffles after +the manner of a mother, and as if there had been three hundred years, +instead of fifteen, between them. She spoke with a sort of throaty +quaver in her voice which had a soothing effect, though what she said +was anything but soothing. She pointed out the exceeding folly, not to +say meanness, of Pluffles' conduct, and the smallness of his views. Then +he stammered something about “trusting to his own judgment as a man of +the world;” and this paved the way for what she wanted to say next. It +would have withered up Pluffles had it come from any other woman; but +in the soft cooing style in which Mrs. Hauksbee put it, it only made +him feel limp and repentant--as if he had been in some superior kind of +church. Little by little, very softly and pleasantly, she began taking +the conceit out of Pluffles, as you take the ribs out of an umbrella +before re-covering it. She told him what she thought of him and his +judgment and his knowledge of the world; and how his performances had +made him ridiculous to other people; and how it was his intention to +make love to herself if she gave him the chance. Then she said +that marriage would be the making of him; and drew a pretty little +picture--all rose and opal--of the Mrs. Pluffles of the future going +through life relying on the “judgment” and “knowledge of the world” of +a husband who had nothing to reproach himself with. How she reconciled +these two statements she alone knew. But they did not strike Pluffles as +conflicting. + +Hers was a perfect little homily--much better than any clergyman could +have given--and it ended with touching allusions to Pluffles' Mamma and +Papa, and the wisdom of taking his bride Home. + +Then she sent Pluffles out for a walk, to think over what she had said. +Pluffles left, blowing his nose very hard and holding himself very +straight. Mrs. Hauksbee laughed. + +What Pluffles had intended to do in the matter of the engagement only +Mrs. Reiver knew, and she kept her own counsel to her death. She would +have liked it spoiled as a compliment, I fancy. + +Pluffles enjoyed many talks with Mrs. Hauksbee during the next few days. +They were all to the same end, and they helped Pluffles in the path of +Virtue. + +Mrs. Hauksbee wanted to keep him under her wing to the last. + +Therefore she discountenanced his going down to Bombay to get married. +“Goodness only knows what might happen by the way!” she said. “Pluffles +is cursed with the curse of Reuben, and India is no fit place for him!” + +In the end, the fiancee arrived with her aunt; and Pluffles, having +reduced his affairs to some sort of order--here again Mrs. Hauksbee +helped him--was married. + +Mrs. Hauksbee gave a sigh of relief when both the “I wills” had been +said, and went her way. + +Pluffles took her advice about going Home. He left the Service, and is +now raising speckled cattle inside green painted fences somewhere at +Home. I believe he does this very judiciously. He would have come to +extreme grief out here. + +For these reasons if any one says anything more than usually nasty about +Mrs. Hauksbee, tell him the story of the Rescue of Pluffles. + + + + +CUPID'S ARROWS. + + Pit where the buffalo cooled his hide, + By the hot sun emptied, and blistered and dried; + Log in the reh-grass, hidden and alone; + Bund where the earth-rat's mounds are strown; + Cave in the bank where the sly stream steals; + Aloe that stabs at the belly and heels, + Jump if you dare on a steed untried--Safer it is to go wide-- + go wide! + Hark, from in front where the best men ride:-- + “Pull to the off, boys! Wide! Go wide!” + --The Peora Hunt. + +Once upon a time there lived at Simla a very pretty girl, the daughter +of a poor but honest District and Sessions Judge. She was a good girl, +but could not help knowing her power and using it. + +Her Mamma was very anxious about her daughter's future, as all good +Mammas should be. + +When a man is a Commissioner and a bachelor and has the right of wearing +open-work jam-tart jewels in gold and enamel on his clothes, and of +going through a door before every one except a Member of Council, a +Lieutenant-Governor, or a Viceroy, he is worth marrying. At least, that +is what ladies say. There was a Commissioner in Simla, in those days, +who was, and wore, and did, all I have said. He was a plain man--an ugly +man--the ugliest man in Asia, with two exceptions. His was a face to +dream about and try to carve on a pipe-head afterwards. His name was +Saggott--Barr-Saggott--Anthony Barr-Saggott and six letters to follow. + +Departmentally, he was one of the best men the Government of India +owned. Socially, he was like a blandishing gorilla. + +When he turned his attentions to Miss Beighton, I believe that Mrs. + +Beighton wept with delight at the reward Providence had sent her in her +old age. + +Mr. Beighton held his tongue. He was an easy-going man. + +Now a Commissioner is very rich. His pay is beyond the dreams of +avarice--is so enormous that he can afford to save and scrape in a way +that would almost discredit a Member of Council. Most Commissioners +are mean; but Barr-Saggott was an exception. He entertained royally; he +horsed himself well; he gave dances; he was a power in the land; and he +behaved as such. + +Consider that everything I am writing of took place in an almost +pre-historic era in the history of British India. Some folk may remember +the years before lawn-tennis was born when we all played croquet. There +were seasons before that, if you will believe me, when even croquet +had not been invented, and archery--which was revived in England in +1844--was as great a pest as lawn-tennis is now. People talked learnedly +about “holding” and “loosing,” “steles,” “reflexed bows,” “56-pound +bows,” “backed” or “self-yew bows,” as we talk about “rallies,” + “volleys,” “smashes,” “returns,” and “16-ounce rackets.” + +Miss Beighton shot divinely over ladies' distance--60 yards, that +is--and was acknowledged the best lady archer in Simla. Men called her +“Diana of Tara-Devi.” + +Barr-Saggott paid her great attention; and, as I have said, the heart of +her mother was uplifted in consequence. Kitty Beighton took matters more +calmly. It was pleasant to be singled out by a Commissioner with letters +after his name, and to fill the hearts of other girls with bad feelings. +But there was no denying the fact that Barr-Saggott was phenomenally +ugly; and all his attempts to adorn himself only made him more +grotesque. He was not christened “The Langur”--which means gray ape--for +nothing. It was pleasant, Kitty thought, to have him at her feet, but +it was better to escape from him and ride with the graceless Cubbon--the +man in a Dragoon Regiment at Umballa--the boy with a handsome face, and +no prospects. Kitty liked Cubbon more than a little. He never pretended +for a moment the he was anything less than head over heels in love with +her; for he was an honest boy. So Kitty fled, now and again, from the +stately wooings of Barr-Saggott to the company of young Cubbon, and +was scolded by her Mamma in consequence. “But, Mother,” she said, “Mr. +Saggott is such--such a--is so FEARFULLY ugly, you know!” + +“My dear,” said Mrs. Beighton, piously, “we cannot be other than an +all-ruling Providence has made us. Besides, you will take precedence of +your own Mother, you know! Think of that and be reasonable.” + +Then Kitty put up her little chin and said irreverent things about +precedence, and Commissioners, and matrimony. Mr. Beighton rubbed the +top of his head; for he was an easy-going man. + +Late in the season, when he judged that the time was ripe, Barr-Saggott +developed a plan which did great credit to his administrative powers. +He arranged an archery tournament for ladies, with a most sumptuous +diamond-studded bracelet as prize. + +He drew up his terms skilfully, and every one saw that the bracelet was +a gift to Miss Beighton; the acceptance carrying with it the hand and +the heart of Commissioner Barr-Saggott. The terms were a St. Leonard's +Round--thirty-six shots at sixty yards--under the rules of the Simla +Toxophilite Society. + +All Simla was invited. There were beautifully arranged tea-tables under +the deodars at Annandale, where the Grand Stand is now; and, alone in +its glory, winking in the sun, sat the diamond bracelet in a blue velvet +case. Miss Beighton was anxious--almost too anxious to compete. On the +appointed afternoon, all Simla rode down to Annandale to witness the +Judgment of Paris turned upside down. + +Kitty rode with young Cubbon, and it was easy to see that the boy +was troubled in his mind. He must be held innocent of everything that +followed. Kitty was pale and nervous, and looked long at the bracelet. +Barr-Saggott was gorgeously dressed, even more nervous than Kitty, and +more hideous than ever. + +Mrs. Beighton smiled condescendingly, as befitted the mother of a +potential Commissioneress, and the shooting began; all the world +standing in a semicircle as the ladies came out one after the other. + +Nothing is so tedious as an archery competition. They shot, and they +shot, and they kept on shooting, till the sun left the valley, and +little breezes got up in the deodars, and people waited for Miss +Beighton to shoot and win. Cubbon was at one horn of the semicircle +round the shooters, and Barr-Saggott at the other. Miss Beighton was +last on the list. The scoring had been weak, and the bracelet, PLUS +Commissioner Barr-Saggott, was hers to a certainty. + +The Commissioner strung her bow with his own sacred hands. She stepped +forward, looked at the bracelet, and her first arrow went true to a +hair--full into the heart of the “gold”--counting nine points. + +Young Cubbon on the left turned white, and his Devil prompted +Barr-Saggott to smile. Now horses used to shy when Barr-Saggott smiled. + +Kitty saw that smile. She looked to her left-front, gave an almost +imperceptible nod to Cubbon, and went on shooting. + +I wish I could describe the scene that followed. It was out of the +ordinary and most improper. Miss Kitty fitted her arrows with immense +deliberation, so that every one might see what she was doing. She was +a perfect shot; and her 46-pound bow suited her to a nicety. She pinned +the wooden legs of the target with great care four successive times. She +pinned the wooden top of the target once, and all the ladies looked at +each other. Then she began some fancy shooting at the white, which, +if you hit it, counts exactly one point. She put five arrows into the +white. It was wonderful archery; but, seeing that her business was to +make “golds” and win the bracelet, Barr-Saggott turned a delicate green +like young water-grass. Next, she shot over the target twice, then wide +to the left twice--always with the same deliberation--while a chilly +hush fell over the company, and Mrs. Beighton took out her handkerchief. +Then Kitty shot at the ground in front of the target, and split several +arrows. Then she made a red--or seven points--just to show what she +could do if she liked, and finished up her amazing performance with some +more fancy shooting at the target-supports. Here is her score as it was +picked off:-- + + Gold. Red. Blue. Black. White. Total Hits. Total Score Miss Beighton + 1 1 0 0 5 7 21 + +Barr-Saggott looked as if the last few arrowheads had been driven into +his legs instead of the target's, and the deep stillness was broken by +a little snubby, mottled, half-grown girl saying in a shrill voice of +triumph: “Then I'VE won!” + +Mrs. Beighton did her best to bear up; but she wept in the presence of +the people. No training could help her through such a disappointment. +Kitty unstrung her bow with a vicious jerk, and went back to her place, +while Barr-Saggott was trying to pretend that he enjoyed snapping +the bracelet on the snubby girl's raw, red wrist. It was an awkward +scene--most awkward. Every one tried to depart in a body and leave Kitty +to the mercy of her Mamma. + +But Cubbon took her away instead, and--the rest isn't worth printing. + + + + +HIS CHANCE IN LIFE. + + Then a pile of heads be laid-- + Thirty thousand heaped on high-- + All to please the Kafir maid, + Where the Oxus ripples by. + + Grimly spake Atulla Khan:-- + “Love hath made this thing a Man.” + --Oatta's Story. + +If you go straight away from Levees and Government House Lists, past +Trades' Balls--far beyond everything and everybody you ever knew in your +respectable life--you cross, in time, the Border line where the last +drop of White blood ends and the full tide of Black sets in. It would be +easier to talk to a new-made Duchess on the spur of the moment than +to the Borderline folk without violating some of their conventions or +hurting their feelings. The Black and the White mix very quaintly in +their ways. Sometimes the White shows in spurts of fierce, childish +pride--which is Pride of Race run crooked--and sometimes the Black +in still fiercer abasement and humility, half heathenish customs and +strange, unaccountable impulses to crime. One of these days, this +people--understand they are far lower than the class whence Derozio, the +man who imitated Byron, sprung--will turn out a writer or a poet; and +then we shall know how they live and what they feel. In the meantime, +any stories about them cannot be absolutely correct in fact or +inference. + +Miss Vezzis came from across the Borderline to look after some children +who belonged to a lady until a regularly ordained nurse could come out. +The lady said Miss Vezzis was a bad, dirty nurse and inattentive. It +never struck her that Miss Vezzis had her own life to lead and her own +affairs to worry over, and that these affairs were the most important +things in the world to Miss Vezzis. + +Very few mistresses admit this sort of reasoning. Miss Vezzis was as +black as a boot, and to our standard of taste, hideously ugly. + +She wore cotton-print gowns and bulged shoes; and when she lost her +temper with the children, she abused them in the language of the +Borderline--which is part English, part Portuguese, and part Native. +She was not attractive; but she had her pride, and she preferred being +called “Miss Vezzis.” + +Every Sunday she dressed herself wonderfully and went to see her +Mamma, who lived, for the most part, on an old cane chair in a greasy +tussur-silk dressing-gown and a big rabbit-warren of a house full of +Vezzises, Pereiras, Ribieras, Lisboas and Gansalveses, and a floating +population of loafers; besides fragments of the day's bazar, garlic, +stale incense, clothes thrown on the floor, petticoats hung on strings +for screens, old bottles, pewter crucifixes, dried immortelles, pariah +puppies, plaster images of the Virgin, and hats without crowns. Miss +Vezzis drew twenty rupees a month for acting as nurse, and she +squabbled weekly with her Mamma as to the percentage to be given towards +housekeeping. + +When the quarrel was over, Michele D'Cruze used to shamble across the +low mud wall of the compound and make love to Miss Vezzis after the +fashion of the Borderline, which is hedged about with much ceremony. +Michele was a poor, sickly weed and very black; but he had his pride. +He would not be seen smoking a huqa for anything; and he looked down on +natives as only a man with seven-eighths native blood in his veins can. +The Vezzis Family had their pride too. They traced their descent from +a mythical plate-layer who had worked on the Sone Bridge when railways +were new in India, and they valued their English origin. Michele was +a Telegraph Signaller on Rs. 35 a month. The fact that he was in +Government employ made Mrs. Vezzis lenient to the shortcomings of his +ancestors. + +There was a compromising legend--Dom Anna the tailor brought it from +Poonani--that a black Jew of Cochin had once married into the D'Cruze +family; while it was an open secret that an uncle of Mrs. D'Cruze was at +that very time doing menial work, connected with cooking, for a Club in +Southern India! He sent Mrs D'Cruze seven rupees eight annas a month; +but she felt the disgrace to the family very keenly all the same. + +However, in the course of a few Sundays, Mrs. Vezzis brought herself +to overlook these blemishes and gave her consent to the marriage of her +daughter with Michele, on condition that Michele should have at least +fifty rupees a month to start married life upon. This wonderful prudence +must have been a lingering touch of the mythical plate-layer's Yorkshire +blood; for across the Borderline people take a pride in marrying when +they please--not when they can. + +Having regard to his departmental prospects, Miss Vezzis might as well +have asked Michele to go away and come back with the Moon in his pocket. +But Michele was deeply in love with Miss Vezzis, and that helped him to +endure. He accompanied Miss Vezzis to Mass one Sunday, and after Mass, +walking home through the hot stale dust with her hand in his, he swore +by several Saints, whose names would not interest you, never to forget +Miss Vezzis; and she swore by her Honor and the Saints--the oath runs +rather curiously; “In nomine Sanctissimae--” (whatever the name of the +she-Saint is) and so forth, ending with a kiss on the forehead, a kiss +on the left cheek, and a kiss on the mouth--never to forget Michele. + +Next week Michele was transferred, and Miss Vezzis dropped tears +upon the window-sash of the “Intermediate” compartment as he left the +Station. + +If you look at the telegraph-map of India you will see a long line +skirting the coast from Backergunge to Madras. Michele was ordered to +Tibasu, a little Sub-office one-third down this line, to send messages +on from Berhampur to Chicacola, and to think of Miss Vezzis and his +chances of getting fifty rupees a month out of office hours. He had the +noise of the Bay of Bengal and a Bengali Babu for company; nothing more. +He sent foolish letters, with crosses tucked inside the flaps of the +envelopes, to Miss Vezzis. + +When he had been at Tibasu for nearly three weeks his chance came. + +Never forget that unless the outward and visible signs of Our +Authority are always before a native he is as incapable as a child of +understanding what authority means, or where is the danger of disobeying +it. Tibasu was a forgotten little place with a few Orissa Mohamedans +in it. These, hearing nothing of the Collector-Sahib for some time, +and heartily despising the Hindu Sub-Judge, arranged to start a little +Mohurrum riot of their own. But the Hindus turned out and broke their +heads; when, finding lawlessness pleasant, Hindus and Mahomedans +together raised an aimless sort of Donnybrook just to see how far they +could go. They looted each other's shops, and paid off private grudges +in the regular way. It was a nasty little riot, but not worth putting in +the newspapers. + +Michele was working in his office when he heard the sound that a man +never forgets all his life--the “ah-yah” of an angry crowd. + +[When that sound drops about three tones, and changes to a thick, +droning ut, the man who hears it had better go away if he is alone.] The +Native Police Inspector ran in and told Michele that the town was in an +uproar and coming to wreck the Telegraph Office. + +The Babu put on his cap and quietly dropped out of the window; while +the Police Inspector, afraid, but obeying the old race-instinct +which recognizes a drop of White blood as far as it can be diluted, +said:--“What orders does the Sahib give?” + +The “Sahib” decided Michele. Though horribly frightened, he felt that, +for the hour, he, the man with the Cochin Jew and the menial uncle in +his pedigree, was the only representative of English authority in the +place. Then he thought of Miss Vezzis and the fifty rupees, and took the +situation on himself. There were seven native policemen in Tibasu, and +four crazy smooth-bore muskets among them. All the men were gray with +fear, but not beyond leading. Michele dropped the key of the telegraph +instrument, and went out, at the head of his army, to meet the mob. As +the shouting crew came round a corner of the road, he dropped and fired; +the men behind him loosing instinctively at the same time. + +The whole crowd--curs to the backbone--yelled and ran; leaving one man +dead, and another dying in the road. Michele was sweating with fear, but +he kept his weakness under, and went down into the town, past the house +where the Sub-Judge had barricaded himself. The streets were empty. +Tibasu was more frightened than Michele, for the mob had been taken at +the right time. + +Michele returned to the Telegraph-Office, and sent a message to +Chicacola asking for help. Before an answer came, he received a +deputation of the elders of Tibasu, telling him that the Sub-Judge said +his actions generally were “unconstitional,” and trying to bully him. +But the heart of Michele D'Cruze was big and white in his breast, +because of his love for Miss Vezzis, the nurse-girl, and because he had +tasted for the first time Responsibility and Success. Those two make +an intoxicating drink, and have ruined more men than ever has Whiskey. +Michele answered that the Sub-Judge might say what he pleased, but, +until the Assistant Collector came, the Telegraph Signaller was the +Government of India in Tibasu, and the elders of the town would be held +accountable for further rioting. Then they bowed their heads and said: +“Show mercy!” or words to that effect, and went back in great fear; each +accusing the other of having begun the rioting. + +Early in the dawn, after a night's patrol with his seven policemen, +Michele went down the road, musket in hand, to meet the Assistant +Collector, who had ridden in to quell Tibasu. But, in the presence of +this young Englishman, Michele felt himself slipping back more and more +into the native, and the tale of the Tibasu Riots ended, with the strain +on the teller, in an hysterical outburst of tears, bred by sorrow that +he had killed a man, shame that he could not feel as uplifted as he had +felt through the night, and childish anger that his tongue could not +do justice to his great deeds. It was the White drop in Michele's veins +dying out, though he did not know it. + +But the Englishman understood; and, after he had schooled those men +of Tibasu, and had conferred with the Sub-Judge till that excellent +official turned green, he found time to draught an official letter +describing the conduct of Michele. Which letter filtered through the +Proper Channels, and ended in the transfer of Michele up-country once +more, on the Imperial salary of sixty-six rupees a month. + +So he and Miss Vezzis were married with great state and ancientry; and +now there are several little D'Cruzes sprawling about the verandahs of +the Central Telegraph Office. + +But, if the whole revenue of the Department he serves were to be his +reward Michele could never, never repeat what he did at Tibasu for the +sake of Miss Vezzis the nurse-girl. + +Which proves that, when a man does good work out of all proportion to +his pay, in seven cases out of nine there is a woman at the back of the +virtue. + +The two exceptions must have suffered from sunstroke. + + + + +WATCHES OF THE NIGHT. + + What is in the Brahmin's books that is in the Brahmin's heart. + Neither you nor I knew there was so much evil in the world. + --Hindu Proverb. + +This began in a practical joke; but it has gone far enough now, and is +getting serious. + +Platte, the Subaltern, being poor, had a Waterbury watch and a plain +leather guard. + +The Colonel had a Waterbury watch also, and for guard, the lip-strap of +a curb-chain. Lip-straps make the best watch guards. + +They are strong and short. Between a lip-strap and an ordinary leather +guard there is no great difference; between one Waterbury watch +and another there is none at all. Every one in the station knew the +Colonel's lip-strap. He was not a horsey man, but he liked people to +believe he had been one once; and he wove fantastic stories of the +hunting-bridle to which this particular lip-strap had belonged. +Otherwise he was painfully religious. + +Platte and the Colonel were dressing at the Club--both late for their +engagements, and both in a hurry. That was Kismet. The two watches +were on a shelf below the looking-glass--guards hanging down. That was +carelessness. Platte changed first, snatched a watch, looked in the +glass, settled his tie, and ran. Forty seconds later, the Colonel did +exactly the same thing; each man taking the other's watch. + +You may have noticed that many religious people are deeply suspicious. +They seem--for purely religious purposes, of course--to know more about +iniquity than the Unregenerate. Perhaps they were specially bad before +they became converted! At any rate, in the imputation of things evil, +and in putting the worst construction on things innocent, a certain type +of good people may be trusted to surpass all others. The Colonel and +his Wife were of that type. But the Colonel's Wife was the worst. She +manufactured the Station scandal, and--TALKED TO HER AYAH! Nothing +more need be said. The Colonel's Wife broke up the Laplaces's home. The +Colonel's Wife stopped the Ferris-Haughtrey engagement. The Colonel's +Wife induced young Buxton to keep his wife down in the Plains through +the first year of the marriage. Whereby little Mrs. + +Buxton died, and the baby with her. These things will be remembered +against the Colonel's Wife so long as there is a regiment in the +country. + +But to come back to the Colonel and Platte. They went their several +ways from the dressing-room. The Colonel dined with two Chaplains, while +Platte went to a bachelor-party, and whist to follow. + +Mark how things happen! If Platte's sais had put the new saddle-pad on +the mare, the butts of the terrets would not have worked through the +worn leather, and the old pad into the mare's withers, when she was +coming home at two o'clock in the morning. She would not have reared, +bolted, fallen into a ditch, upset the cart, and sent Platte flying over +an aloe-hedge on to Mrs. Larkyn's well-kept lawn; and this tale would +never have been written. But the mare did all these things, and while +Platte was rolling over and over on the turf, like a shot rabbit, the +watch and guard flew from his waistcoat--as an Infantry Major's sword +hops out of the scabbard when they are firing a feu de joie--and rolled +and rolled in the moonlight, till it stopped under a window. + +Platte stuffed his handkerchief under the pad, put the cart straight, +and went home. + +Mark again how Kismet works! This would not happen once in a hundred +years. Towards the end of his dinner with the two Chaplains, the Colonel +let out his waistcoat and leaned over the table to look at some Mission +Reports. The bar of the watch-guard worked through the buttonhole, and +the watch--Platte's watch--slid quietly on to the carpet. Where the +bearer found it next morning and kept it. + +Then the Colonel went home to the wife of his bosom; but the driver of +the carriage was drunk and lost his way. So the Colonel returned at an +unseemly hour and his excuses were not accepted. If the Colonel's Wife +had been an ordinary “vessel of wrath appointed for destruction,” she +would have known that when a man stays away on purpose, his excuse +is always sound and original. The very baldness of the Colonel's +explanation proved its truth. + +See once more the workings of Kismet! The Colonel's watch which came +with Platte hurriedly on to Mrs. Larkyn's lawn, chose to stop just under +Mrs. Larkyn's window, where she saw it early in the morning, recognized +it, and picked it up. She had heard the crash of Platte's cart at two +o'clock that morning, and his voice calling the mare names. She knew +Platte and liked him. That day she showed him the watch and heard his +story. He put his head on one side, winked and said:--“How disgusting! +Shocking old man! with his religious training, too! I should send the +watch to the Colonel's Wife and ask for explanations.” + +Mrs. Larkyn thought for a minute of the Laplaces--whom she had known +when Laplace and his wife believed in each other--and answered:--“I will +send it. I think it will do her good. But remember, we must NEVER tell +her the truth.” + +Platte guessed that his own watch was in the Colonel's possession, and +thought that the return of the lip-strapped Waterbury with a soothing +note from Mrs. Larkyn, would merely create a small trouble for a few +minutes. Mrs. Larkyn knew better. She knew that any poison dropped would +find good holding-ground in the heart of the Colonel's Wife. + +The packet, and a note containing a few remarks on the Colonel's +calling-hours, were sent over to the Colonel's Wife, who wept in her own +room and took counsel with herself. + +If there was one woman under Heaven whom the Colonel's Wife hated with +holy fervor, it was Mrs. Larkyn. Mrs. Larkyn was a frivolous lady, +and called the Colonel's Wife “old cat.” The Colonel's Wife said that +somebody in Revelations was remarkably like Mrs. Larkyn. + +She mentioned other Scripture people as well. From the Old Testament. +[But the Colonel's Wife was the only person who cared or dared to say +anything against Mrs. Larkyn. Every one else accepted her as an amusing, +honest little body.] Wherefore, to believe that her husband had been +shedding watches under that “Thing's” window at ungodly hours, coupled +with the fact of his late arrival on the previous night, was..... + +At this point she rose up and sought her husband. He denied everything +except the ownership of the watch. She besought him, for his Soul's +sake, to speak the truth. He denied afresh, with two bad words. Then a +stony silence held the Colonel's Wife, while a man could draw his breath +five times. + +The speech that followed is no affair of mine or yours. It was made up +of wifely and womanly jealousy; knowledge of old age and sunken cheeks; +deep mistrust born of the text that says even little babies' hearts +are as bad as they make them; rancorous hatred of Mrs. Larkyn, and the +tenets of the creed of the Colonel's Wife's upbringing. + +Over and above all, was the damning lip-strapped Waterbury, ticking away +in the palm of her shaking, withered hand. At that hour, I think, the +Colonel's Wife realized a little of the restless suspicions she had +injected into old Laplace's mind, a little of poor Miss Haughtrey's +misery, and some of the canker that ate into Buxton's heart as he +watched his wife dying before his eyes. The Colonel stammered and tried +to explain. Then he remembered that his watch had disappeared; and the +mystery grew greater. The Colonel's Wife talked and prayed by turns +till she was tired, and went away to devise means for “chastening the +stubborn heart of her husband.” Which translated, means, in our slang, +“tail-twisting.” + +You see, being deeply impressed with the doctrine of Original Sin, she +could not believe in the face of appearances. She knew too much, and +jumped to the wildest conclusions. + +But it was good for her. It spoilt her life, as she had spoilt the life +of the Laplaces. She had lost her faith in the Colonel, and--here the +creed suspicion came in--he might, she argued, have erred many times, +before a merciful Providence, at the hands of so unworthy an instrument +as Mrs. Larkyn, had established his guilt. + +He was a bad, wicked, gray-haired profligate. This may sound too sudden +a revulsion for a long-wedded wife; but it is a venerable fact that, if +a man or woman makes a practice of, and takes a delight in, believing +and spreading evil of people indifferent to him or her, he or she will +end in believing evil of folk very near and dear. You may think, also, +that the mere incident of the watch was too small and trivial to raise +this misunderstanding. It is another aged fact that, in life as well as +racing, all the worst accidents happen at little ditches and cut-down +fences. In the same way, you sometimes see a woman who would have made a +Joan of Arc in another century and climate, threshing herself to pieces +over all the mean worry of housekeeping. But that is another story. + +Her belief only made the Colonel's Wife more wretched, because it +insisted so strongly on the villainy of men. Remembering what she had +done, it was pleasant to watch her unhappiness, and the penny-farthing +attempts she made to hide it from the Station. But the Station knew and +laughed heartlessly; for they had heard the story of the watch, with +much dramatic gesture, from Mrs. Larkyn's lips. + +Once or twice Platte said to Mrs. Larkyn, seeing that the Colonel had +not cleared himself:--“This thing has gone far enough. I move we tell +the Colonel's Wife how it happened.” Mrs. Larkyn shut her lips and shook +her head, and vowed that the Colonel's Wife must bear her punishment +as best she could. Now Mrs. Larkyn was a frivolous woman, in whom none +would have suspected deep hate. So Platte took no action, and came to +believe gradually, from the Colonel's silence, that the Colonel must +have “run off the line” somewhere that night, and, therefore, preferred +to stand sentence on the lesser count of rambling into other people's +compounds out of calling hours. Platte forgot about the watch business +after a while, and moved down-country with his regiment. Mrs. Larkyn +went home when her husband's tour of Indian service expired. She never +forgot. + +But Platte was quite right when he said that the joke had gone too far. +The mistrust and the tragedy of it--which we outsiders cannot see and +do not believe in--are killing the Colonel's Wife, and are making the +Colonel wretched. If either of them read this story, they can depend +upon its being a fairly true account of the case, and can “kiss and make +friends.” + +Shakespeare alludes to the pleasure of watching an Engineer being +shelled by his own Battery. Now this shows that poets should not write +about what they do not understand. Any one could have told him that +Sappers and Gunners are perfectly different branches of the Service. +But, if you correct the sentence, and substitute Gunner for Sapper, the +moral comes just the same. + + + + +THE OTHER MAN. + + When the earth was sick and the skies were gray, + And the woods were rotted with rain, + The Dead Man rode through the autumn day + To visit his love again. + --Old Ballad. + +Far back in the “seventies,” before they had built any Public Offices at +Simla, and the broad road round Jakko lived in a pigeon-hole in the P. +W. D. hovels, her parents made Miss Gaurey marry Colonel Schreiderling. +He could not have been MUCH more than thirty-five years her senior; and, +as he lived on two hundred rupees a month and had money of his own, +he was well off. He belonged to good people, and suffered in the cold +weather from lung complaints. In the hot weather he dangled on the brink +of heat-apoplexy; but it never quite killed him. + +Understand, I do not blame Schreiderling. He was a good husband +according to his lights, and his temper only failed him when he was +being nursed. Which was some seventeen days in each month. He was almost +generous to his wife about money matters, and that, for him, was a +concession. Still Mrs. Schreiderling was not happy. They married her +when she was this side of twenty and had given all her poor little heart +to another man. I have forgotten his name, but we will call him the +Other Man. He had no money and no prospects. + +He was not even good-looking; and I think he was in the Commissariat or +Transport. But, in spite of all these things, she loved him very +madly; and there was some sort of an engagement between the two when +Schreiderling appeared and told Mrs. Gaurey that he wished to marry her +daughter. Then the other engagement was broken off--washed away by +Mrs. Gaurey's tears, for that lady governed her house by weeping over +disobedience to her authority and the lack of reverence she received +in her old age. The daughter did not take after her mother. She never +cried. Not even at the wedding. + +The Other Man bore his loss quietly, and was transferred to as bad a +station as he could find. Perhaps the climate consoled him. He suffered +from intermittent fever, and that may have distracted him from his other +trouble. He was weak about the heart also. Both ways. One of the valves +was affected, and the fever made it worse. + +This showed itself later on. + +Then many months passed, and Mrs. Schreiderling took to being ill. + +She did not pine away like people in story books, but she seemed to pick +up every form of illness that went about a station, from simple fever +upwards. She was never more than ordinarily pretty at the best of times; +and the illness made her ugly. Schreiderling said so. He prided himself +on speaking his mind. + +When she ceased being pretty, he left her to her own devices, and went +back to the lairs of his bachelordom. She used to trot up and down Simla +Mall in a forlorn sort of way, with a gray Terai hat well on the back of +her head, and a shocking bad saddle under her. + +Schreiderling's generosity stopped at the horse. He said that any saddle +would do for a woman as nervous as Mrs. Schreiderling. She never was +asked to dance, because she did not dance well; and she was so dull +and uninteresting, that her box very seldom had any cards in it. +Schreiderling said that if he had known that she was going to be such +a scare-crow after her marriage, he would never have married her. He +always prided himself on speaking his mind, did Schreiderling! + +He left her at Simla one August, and went down to his regiment. + +Then she revived a little, but she never recovered her looks. I found +out at the Club that the Other Man is coming up sick--very sick--on an +off chance of recovery. The fever and the heart-valves had nearly +killed him. She knew that, too, and she knew--what I had no interest in +knowing--when he was coming up. I suppose he wrote to tell her. They had +not seen each other since a month before the wedding. And here comes the +unpleasant part of the story. + +A late call kept me down at the Dovedell Hotel till dusk one evening. +Mrs. Schreidlerling had been flitting up and down the Mall all the +afternoon in the rain. Coming up along the Cart-road, a tonga passed me, +and my pony, tired with standing so long, set off at a canter. Just by +the road down to the Tonga Office Mrs. Schreiderling, dripping from head +to foot, was waiting for the tonga. I turned up-hill, as the tonga was +no affair of mine; and just then she began to shriek. I went back at +once and saw, under the Tonga Office lamps, Mrs. Schreiderling kneeling +in the wet road by the back seat of the newly-arrived tonga, screaming +hideously. + +Then she fell face down in the dirt as I came up. + +Sitting in the back seat, very square and firm, with one hand on the +awning-stanchion and the wet pouring off his hat and moustache, was the +Other Man--dead. The sixty-mile up-hill jolt had been too much for his +valve, I suppose. The tonga-driver said:--“The Sahib died two stages out +of Solon. Therefore, I tied him with a rope, lest he should fall out +by the way, and so came to Simla. Will the Sahib give me bukshish? IT,” + pointing to the Other Man, “should have given one rupee.” + +The Other Man sat with a grin on his face, as if he enjoyed the joke of +his arrival; and Mrs. Schreiderling, in the mud, began to groan. There +was no one except us four in the office and it was raining heavily. The +first thing was to take Mrs. Schreiderling home, and the second was to +prevent her name from being mixed up with the affair. The tonga-driver +received five rupees to find a bazar 'rickshaw for Mrs. Schreiderling. +He was to tell the tonga Babu afterwards of the Other Man, and the Babu +was to make such arrangements as seemed best. + +Mrs. Schreiderling was carried into the shed out of the rain, and for +three-quarters of an hour we two waited for the 'rickshaw. The Other +Man was left exactly as he had arrived. Mrs. Schreiderling would do +everything but cry, which might have helped her. She tried to scream as +soon as her senses came back, and then she began praying for the Other +Man's soul. Had she not been as honest as the day, she would have prayed +for her own soul too. I waited to hear her do this, but she did not. +Then I tried to get some of the mud off her habit. Lastly, the 'rickshaw +came, and I got her away--partly by force. It was a terrible business +from beginning to end; but most of all when the 'rickshaw had to squeeze +between the wall and the tonga, and she saw by the lamp-light that thin, +yellow hand grasping the awning-stanchion. + +She was taken home just as every one was going to a dance at Viceregal +Lodge--“Peterhoff” it was then--and the doctor found that she had fallen +from her horse, that I had picked her up at the back of Jakko, and +really deserved great credit for the prompt manner in which I had +secured medical aid. She did not die--men of Schreiderling's stamp marry +women who don't die easily. They live and grow ugly. + +She never told of her one meeting, since her marriage, with the Other +Man; and, when the chill and cough following the exposure of that +evening, allowed her abroad, she never by word or sign alluded to having +met me by the Tonga Office. Perhaps she never knew. + +She used to trot up and down the Mall, on that shocking bad saddle, +looking as if she expected to meet some one round the corner every +minute. Two years afterward, she went Home, and died--at Bournemouth, I +think. + +Schreiderling, when he grew maudlin at Mess, used to talk about “my +poor dear wife.” He always set great store on speaking his mind, did +Schreiderling! + + + + +CONSEQUENCES. + + Rosicrucian subtleties + In the Orient had rise; + Ye may find their teachers still + Under Jacatala's Hill. + + Seek ye Bombast Paracelsus, + Read what Flood the Seeker tells us + Of the Dominant that runs + Through the cycles of the Suns-- + Read my story last and see + Luna at her apogee. + +There are yearly appointments, and two-yearly appointments, and +five-yearly appointments at Simla, and there are, or used to be, +permanent appointments, whereon you stayed up for the term of your +natural life and secured red cheeks and a nice income. Of course, you +could descend in the cold weather; for Simla is rather dull then. + +Tarrion came from goodness knows where--all away and away in some +forsaken part of Central India, where they call Pachmari a “Sanitarium,” + and drive behind trotting bullocks, I believe. He belonged to a +regiment; but what he really wanted to do was to escape from his +regiment and live in Simla forever and ever. He had no preference for +anything in particular, beyond a good horse and a nice partner. He +thought he could do everything well; which is a beautiful belief when +you hold it with all your heart. He was clever in many ways, and good to +look at, and always made people round him comfortable--even in Central +India. + +So he went up to Simla, and, because he was clever and amusing, he +gravitated naturally to Mrs. Hauksbee, who could forgive everything +but stupidity. Once he did her great service by changing the date on an +invitation-card for a big dance which Mrs. Hauksbee wished to attend, +but couldn't because she had quarrelled with the A.-D.-C., who took +care, being a mean man, to invite her to a small dance on the 6th +instead of the big Ball of the 26th. It was a very clever piece of +forgery; and when Mrs. Hauksbee showed the A.-D.-C. her invitation-card, +and chaffed him mildly for not better managing his vendettas, he really +thought he had made a mistake; and--which was wise--realized that it +was no use to fight with Mrs. Hauksbee. She was grateful to Tarrion and +asked what she could do for him. He said simply: “I'm a Freelance up +here on leave, and on the lookout for what I can loot. I haven't a +square inch of interest in all Simla. My name isn't known to any man +with an appointment in his gift, and I want an appointment--a good, +sound, pukka one. I believe you can do anything you turn yourself to do. +Will you help me?” Mrs. Hauksbee thought for a minute, and passed +the last of her riding-whip through her lips, as was her custom when +thinking. + +Then her eyes sparkled, and she said:--“I will;” and she shook hands +on it. Tarrion, having perfect confidence in this great woman, took no +further thought of the business at all. Except to wonder what sort of an +appointment he would win. + +Mrs. Hauksbee began calculating the prices of all the Heads of +Departments and Members of Council she knew, and the more she thought +the more she laughed, because her heart was in the game and it amused +her. Then she took a Civil List and ran over a few of the appointments. +There are some beautiful appointments in the Civil List. Eventually, she +decided that, though Tarrion was too good for the Political Department, +she had better begin by trying to get him in there. What were her own +plans to this end, does not matter in the least, for Luck or Fate played +into her hands, and she had nothing to do but to watch the course of +events and take the credit of them. + +All Viceroys, when they first come out, pass through the “Diplomatic +Secrecy” craze. It wears off in time; but they all catch it in the +beginning, because they are new to the country. + +The particular Viceroy who was suffering from the complaint just +then--this was a long time ago, before Lord Dufferin ever came from +Canada, or Lord Ripon from the bosom of the English Church--had it very +badly; and the result was that men who were new to keeping official +secrets went about looking unhappy; and the Viceroy plumed himself on +the way in which he had instilled notions of reticence into his Staff. + +Now, the Supreme Government have a careless custom of committing +what they do to printed papers. These papers deal with all sorts of +things--from the payment of Rs. 200 to a “secret service” native, up to +rebukes administered to Vakils and Motamids of Native States, and rather +brusque letters to Native Princes, telling them to put their houses +in order, to refrain from kidnapping women, or filling offenders with +pounded red pepper, and eccentricities of that kind. Of course, these +things could never be made public, because Native Princes never err +officially, and their States are, officially, as well administered as +Our territories. Also, the private allowances to various queer people +are not exactly matters to put into newspapers, though they give quaint +reading sometimes. + +When the Supreme Government is at Simla, these papers are prepared +there, and go round to the people who ought to see them in office-boxes +or by post. The principle of secrecy was to that Viceroy quite as +important as the practice, and he held that a benevolent despotism like +Ours should never allow even little things, such as appointments of +subordinate clerks, to leak out till the proper time. He was always +remarkable for his principles. + +There was a very important batch of papers in preparation at that time. +It had to travel from one end of Simla to the other by hand. + +It was not put into an official envelope, but a large, square, pale-pink +one; the matter being in MS. on soft crinkly paper. It was addressed to +“The Head Clerk, etc., etc.” Now, between “The Head Clerk, etc., etc.,” + and “Mrs. Hauksbee” and a flourish, is no very great difference if the +address be written in a very bad hand, as this was. The chaprassi who +took the envelope was not more of an idiot than most chaprassis. He +merely forgot where this most unofficial cover was to be delivered, and +so asked the first Englishman he met, who happened to be a man riding +down to Annandale in a great hurry. The Englishman hardly looked, said: +“Hauksbee Sahib ki Mem,” and went on. So did the chaprassi, because that +letter was the last in stock and he wanted to get his work over. There +was no book to sign; he thrust the letter into Mrs. Hauksbee's bearer's +hands and went off to smoke with a friend. + +Mrs. Hauksbee was expecting some cut-out pattern things in flimsy paper +from a friend. As soon as she got the big square packet, therefore, she +said, “Oh, the DEAR creature!” and tore it open with a paper-knife, and +all the MS. enclosures tumbled out on the floor. + +Mrs. Hauksbee began reading. I have said the batch was rather +important. That is quite enough for you to know. It referred to some +correspondence, two measures, a peremptory order to a native chief and +two dozen other things. Mrs. Hauksbee gasped as she read, for the first +glimpse of the naked machinery of the Great Indian Government, stripped +of its casings, and lacquer, and paint, and guard-rails, impresses even +the most stupid man. And Mrs. Hauksbee was a clever woman. She was +a little afraid at first, and felt as if she had laid hold of a +lightning-flash by the tail, and did not quite know what to do with it. +There were remarks and initials at the side of the papers; and some +of the remarks were rather more severe than the papers. The initials +belonged to men who are all dead or gone now; but they were great in +their day. + +Mrs. Hauksbee read on and thought calmly as she read. Then the value of +her trove struck her, and she cast about for the best method of using +it. Then Tarrion dropped in, and they read through all the papers +together, and Tarrion, not knowing how she had come by them, vowed that +Mrs. Hauksbee was the greatest woman on earth. + +Which I believe was true, or nearly so. + +“The honest course is always the best,” said Tarrion after an hour and a +half of study and conversation. “All things considered, the Intelligence +Branch is about my form. Either that or the Foreign Office. I go to lay +siege to the High Gods in their Temples.” + +He did not seek a little man, or a little big man, or a weak Head of a +strong Department, but he called on the biggest and strongest man that +the Government owned, and explained that he wanted an appointment at +Simla on a good salary. The compound insolence of this amused the Strong +Man, and, as he had nothing to do for the moment, he listened to the +proposals of the audacious Tarrion. + +“You have, I presume, some special qualifications, besides the gift of +self-assertion, for the claims you put forwards?” said the Strong Man. +“That, Sir,” said Tarrion, “is for you to judge.” Then he began, for +he had a good memory, quoting a few of the more important notes in the +papers--slowly and one by one as a man drops chlorodyne into a glass. +When he had reached the peremptory order--and it WAS a peremptory +order--the Strong Man was troubled. + +Tarrion wound up:--“And I fancy that special knowledge of this kind is +at least as valuable for, let us say, a berth in the Foreign Office, as +the fact of being the nephew of a distinguished officer's wife.” That +hit the Strong Man hard, for the last appointment to the Foreign Office +had been by black favor, and he knew it. “I'll see what I can do for +you,” said the Strong Man. “Many thanks,” said Tarrion. Then he left, +and the Strong Man departed to see how the appointment was to be +blocked.......... + +Followed a pause of eleven days; with thunders and lightnings and much +telegraphing. The appointment was not a very important one, carrying +only between Rs. 500 and Rs. 700 a month; but, as the Viceroy said, it +was the principle of diplomatic secrecy that had to be maintained, +and it was more than likely that a boy so well supplied with special +information would be worth translating. So they translated him. They +must have suspected him, though he protested that his information was +due to singular talents of his own. Now, much of this story, including +the after-history of the missing envelope, you must fill in for +yourself, because there are reasons why it cannot be written. If you do +not know about things Up Above, you won't understand how to fill it in, +and you will say it is impossible. + +What the Viceroy said when Tarrion was introduced to him was:--“So, this +is the boy who 'rusked' the Government of India, is it? Recollect, Sir, +that is not done TWICE.” So he must have known something. + +What Tarrion said when he saw his appointment gazetted was:--“If Mrs. +Hauksbee were twenty years younger, and I her husband, I should be +Viceroy of India in twenty years.” + +What Mrs. Hauksbee said, when Tarrion thanked her, almost with tears +in his eyes, was first:--“I told you so!” and next, to herself:--“What +fools men are!” + + + + +THE CONVERSION OF AURELIAN McGOGGIN. + + Ride with an idle whip, ride with an unused heel. + But, once in a way, there will come a day + When the colt must be taught to feel + The lash that falls, and the curb that galls, + And the sting of the rowelled steel. + --Life's Handicap. + +This is not a tale exactly. It is a Tract; and I am immensely proud of +it. Making a Tract is a Feat. + +Every man is entitled to his own religious opinions; but no man--least +of all a junior--has a right to thrust these down other men's throats. +The Government sends out weird Civilians now and again; but McGoggin +was the queerest exported for a long time. He was clever--brilliantly +clever--but his cleverness worked the wrong way. Instead of keeping to +the study of the vernaculars, he had read some books written by a +man called Comte, I think, and a man called Spencer, and a Professor +Clifford. [You will find these books in the Library.] They deal with +people's insides from the point of view of men who have no stomachs. +There was no order against his reading them; but his Mamma should have +smacked him. + +They fermented in his head, and he came out to India with a rarefied +religion over and above his work. It was not much of a creed. It only +proved that men had no souls, and there was no God and no hereafter, and +that you must worry along somehow for the good of Humanity. + +One of its minor tenets seemed to be that the one thing more sinful than +giving an order was obeying it. At least, that was what McGoggin said; +but I suspect he had misread his primers. + +I do not say a word against this creed. It was made up in Town, where +there is nothing but machinery and asphalt and building--all shut in +by the fog. Naturally, a man grows to think that there is no one higher +than himself, and that the Metropolitan Board of Works made everything. +But in this country, where you really see humanity--raw, brown, naked +humanity--with nothing between it and the blazing sky, and only the +used-up, over-handled earth underfoot, the notion somehow dies away, +and most folk come back to simpler theories. Life, in India, is not long +enough to waste in proving that there is no one in particular at the +head of affairs. + +For this reason. The Deputy is above the Assistant, the Commissioner +above the Deputy, the Lieutenant-Governor above the Commissioner, and +the Viceroy above all four, under the orders of the Secretary of State, +who is responsible to the Empress. If the Empress be not responsible to +her Maker--if there is no Maker for her to be responsible to--the +entire system of Our administration must be wrong. Which is manifestly +impossible. At Home men are to be excused. They are stalled up a good +deal and get intellectually “beany.” When you take a gross, “beany” + horse to exercise, he slavers and slobbers over the bit till you can't +see the horns. + +But the bit is there just the same. Men do not get “beany” in India. The +climate and the work are against playing bricks with words. + +If McGoggin had kept his creed, with the capital letters and the endings +in “isms,” to himself, no one would have cared; but his grandfathers on +both sides had been Wesleyan preachers, and the preaching strain came +out in his mind. He wanted every one at the Club to see that they had no +souls too, and to help him to eliminate his Creator. As a good many men +told him, HE undoubtedly had no soul, because he was so young, but it +did not follow that his seniors were equally undeveloped; and, whether +there was another world or not, a man still wanted to read his papers in +this. “But that is not the point--that is not the point!” Aurelian used +to say. Then men threw sofa-cushions at him and told him to go to +any particular place he might believe in. They christened him the +“Blastoderm”--he said he came from a family of that name somewhere, in +the pre-historic ages--and, by insult and laughter, strove to choke him +dumb, for he was an unmitigated nuisance at the Club; besides being an +offence to the older men. His Deputy Commissioner, who was working on +the Frontier when Aurelian was rolling on a bed-quilt, told him that, +for a clever boy, Aurelian was a very big idiot. And, you know, if +he had gone on with his work, he would have been caught up to the +Secretariat in a few years. He was just the type that goes there--all +head, no physique and a hundred theories. Not a soul was interested in +McGoggin's soul. He might have had two, or none, or somebody's else's. +His business was to obey orders and keep abreast of his files instead of +devastating the Club with “isms.” + +He worked brilliantly; but he could not accept any order without +trying to better it. That was the fault of his creed. It made men too +responsible and left too much to their honor. You can sometimes ride an +old horse in a halter; but never a colt. + +McGoggin took more trouble over his cases than any of the men of his +year. He may have fancied that thirty-page judgments on fifty-rupee +cases--both sides perjured to the gullet--advanced the cause of +Humanity. At any rate, he worked too much, and worried and fretted over +the rebukes he received, and lectured away on his ridiculous creed out +of office, till the Doctor had to warn him that he was overdoing it. No +man can toil eighteen annas in the rupee in June without suffering. But +McGoggin was still intellectually “beany” and proud of himself and his +powers, and he would take no hint. He worked nine hours a day steadily. + +“Very well,” said the doctor, “you'll break down because you are +over-engined for your beam.” McGoggin was a little chap. + +One day, the collapse came--as dramatically as if it had been meant to +embellish a Tract. + +It was just before the Rains. We were sitting in the verandah in the +dead, hot, close air, gasping and praying that the black-blue clouds +would let down and bring the cool. Very, very far away, there was a +faint whisper, which was the roar of the Rains breaking over the river. +One of the men heard it, got out of his chair, listened, and said, +naturally enough:--“Thank God!” + +Then the Blastoderm turned in his place and said:--“Why? I assure you +it's only the result of perfectly natural causes--atmospheric phenomena +of the simplest kind. Why you should, therefore, return thanks to a +Being who never did exist--who is only a figment--” + +“Blastoderm,” grunted the man in the next chair, “dry up, and throw +me over the Pioneer. We know all about your figments.” The Blastoderm +reached out to the table, took up one paper, and jumped as if something +had stung him. Then he handed the paper over. + +“As I was saying,” he went on slowly and with an effort--“due to +perfectly natural causes--perfectly natural causes. I mean--” + +“Hi! Blastoderm, you've given me the Calcutta Mercantile Advertiser.” + +The dust got up in little whorls, while the treetops rocked and the +kites whistled. But no one was looking at the coming of the Rains. + +We were all staring at the Blastoderm, who had risen from his chair and +was fighting with his speech. Then he said, still more slowly:-- + +“Perfectly conceivable--dictionary--red +oak--amenable--cause--retaining--shuttlecock--alone.” + +“Blastoderm's drunk,” said one man. But the Blastoderm was not drunk. He +looked at us in a dazed sort of way, and began motioning with his hands +in the half light as the clouds closed overhead. + +Then--with a scream:-- + +“What is it?--Can't--reserve--attainable--market--obscure--” + +But his speech seemed to freeze in him, and--just as the lightning shot +two tongues that cut the whole sky into three pieces and the rain fell +in quivering sheets--the Blastoderm was struck dumb. He stood pawing and +champing like a hard-held horse, and his eyes were full of terror. + +The Doctor came over in three minutes, and heard the story. “It's +aphasia,” he said. “Take him to his room. I KNEW the smash would come.” + We carried the Blastoderm across, in the pouring rain, to his quarters, +and the Doctor gave him bromide of potassium to make him sleep. + +Then the Doctor came back to us and told us that aphasia was like all +the arrears of “Punjab Head” falling in a lump; and that only once +before--in the case of a sepoy--had he met with so complete a case. +I myself have seen mild aphasia in an overworked man, but this sudden +dumbness was uncanny--though, as the Blastoderm himself might have said, +due to “perfectly natural causes.” + +“He'll have to take leave after this,” said the Doctor. “He won't be +fit for work for another three months. No; it isn't insanity or anything +like it. It's only complete loss of control over the speech and memory. +I fancy it will keep the Blastoderm quiet, though.” + +Two days later, the Blastoderm found his tongue again. The first +question he asked was: “What was it?” The Doctor enlightened him. + +“But I can't understand it!” said the Blastoderm; “I'm quite sane; but I +can't be sure of my mind, it seems--my OWN memory--can I?” + +“Go up into the Hills for three months, and don't think about it,” said +the Doctor. + +“But I can't understand it,” repeated the Blastoderm. “It was my OWN +mind and memory.” + +“I can't help it,” said the Doctor; “there are a good many things you +can't understand; and, by the time you have put in my length of service, +you'll know exactly how much a man dare call his own in this world.” + +The stroke cowed the Blastoderm. He could not understand it. He went +into the Hills in fear and trembling, wondering whether he would be +permitted to reach the end of any sentence he began. + +This gave him a wholesome feeling of mistrust. The legitimate +explanation, that he had been overworking himself, failed to satisfy +him. Something had wiped his lips of speech, as a mother wipes the milky +lips of her child, and he was afraid--horribly afraid. + +So the Club had rest when he returned; and if ever you come across +Aurelian McGoggin laying down the law on things Human--he doesn't seem +to know as much as he used to about things Divine--put your forefinger +on your lip for a moment, and see what happens. + +Don't blame me if he throws a glass at your head! + + + + +A GERM DESTROYER. + + Pleasant it is for the Little Tin Gods, + When great Jove nods; + But Little Tin Gods make their little mistakes + In missing the hour when great Jove wakes. + +As a general rule, it is inexpedient to meddle with questions of State +in a land where men are highly paid to work them out for you. + +This tale is a justifiable exception. + +Once in every five years, as you know, we indent for a new Viceroy; and +each Viceroy imports, with the rest of his baggage, a Private Secretary, +who may or may not be the real Viceroy, just as Fate ordains. Fate looks +after the Indian Empire because it is so big and so helpless. + +There was a Viceroy once, who brought out with him a turbulent Private +Secretary--a hard man with a soft manner and a morbid passion for +work. This Secretary was called Wonder--John Fennil Wonder. The Viceroy +possessed no name--nothing but a string of counties and two-thirds +of the alphabet after them. He said, in confidence, that he was the +electro-plated figurehead of a golden administration, and he watched +in a dreamy, amused way Wonder's attempts to draw matters which were +entirely outside his province into his own hands. “When we are all +cherubims together,” said His Excellency once, “my dear, good friend +Wonder will head the conspiracy for plucking out Gabriel's tail-feathers +or stealing Peter's keys. THEN I shall report him.” + +But, though the Viceroy did nothing to check Wonder's officiousness, +other people said unpleasant things. Maybe the Members of Council began +it; but, finally, all Simla agreed that there was “too much Wonder, +and too little Viceroy,” in that regime. Wonder was always quoting “His +Excellency.” It was “His Excellency this,” “His Excellency that,” “In +the opinion of His Excellency,” and so on. The Viceroy smiled; but he +did not heed. + +He said that, so long as his old men squabbled with his “dear, good +Wonder,” they might be induced to leave the “Immemorial East” in peace. + +“No wise man has a policy,” said the Viceroy. “A Policy is the blackmail +levied on the Fool by the Unforeseen. I am not the former, and I do not +believe in the latter.” + +I do not quite see what this means, unless it refers to an Insurance +Policy. Perhaps it was the Viceroy's way of saying:--“Lie low.” + +That season, came up to Simla one of these crazy people with only a +single idea. These are the men who make things move; but they are not +nice to talk to. This man's name was Mellish, and he had lived for +fifteen years on land of his own, in Lower Bengal, studying cholera. He +held that cholera was a germ that propagated itself as it flew through a +muggy atmosphere; and stuck in the branches of trees like a wool-flake. +The germ could be rendered sterile, he said, by “Mellish's Own +Invincible Fumigatory”--a heavy violet-black powder--“the result of +fifteen years' scientific investigation, Sir!” + +Inventors seem very much alike as a caste. They talk loudly, especially +about “conspiracies of monopolists;” they beat upon the table with +their fists; and they secrete fragments of their inventions about their +persons. + +Mellish said that there was a Medical “Ring” at Simla, headed by the +Surgeon-General, who was in league, apparently, with all the Hospital +Assistants in the Empire. I forget exactly how he proved it, but it had +something to do with “skulking up to the Hills;” and what Mellish +wanted was the independent evidence of the Viceroy--“Steward of our +Most Gracious Majesty the Queen, Sir.” So Mellish went up to Simla, with +eighty-four pounds of Fumigatory in his trunk, to speak to the Viceroy +and to show him the merits of the invention. + +But it is easier to see a Viceroy than to talk to him, unless you chance +to be as important as Mellishe of Madras. He was a six-thousand-rupee +man, so great that his daughters never “married.” They “contracted +alliances.” He himself was not paid. He “received emoluments,” and his +journeys about the country were “tours of observation.” His business was +to stir up the people in Madras with a long pole--as you stir up stench +in a pond--and the people had to come up out of their comfortable old +ways and gasp:--“This is Enlightenment and progress. Isn't it fine!” + Then they gave Mellishe statues and jasmine garlands, in the hope of +getting rid of him. + +Mellishe came up to Simla “to confer with the Viceroy.” That was one of +his perquisites. The Viceroy knew nothing of Mellishe except that he was +“one of those middle-class deities who seem necessary to the spiritual +comfort of this Paradise of the Middle-classes,” and that, in all +probability, he had “suggested, designed, founded, and endowed all the +public institutions in Madras.” Which proves that His Excellency, though +dreamy, had experience of the ways of six-thousand-rupee men. + +Mellishe's name was E. Mellishe and Mellish's was E. S. Mellish, and +they were both staying at the same hotel, and the Fate that looks after +the Indian Empire ordained that Wonder should blunder and drop the final +“e;” that the Chaprassi should help him, and that the note which ran: +“Dear Mr. Mellish.--Can you set aside your other engagements and lunch +with us at two tomorrow? His Excellency has an hour at your disposal +then,” should be given to Mellish with the Fumigatory. He nearly wept +with pride and delight, and at the appointed hour cantered off to +Peterhoff, a big paper-bag full of the Fumigatory in his coat-tail +pockets. He had his chance, and he meant to make the most of +it. Mellishe of Madras had been so portentously solemn about his +“conference,” that Wonder had arranged for a private tiffin--no +A.-D.-C.'s, no Wonder, no one but the Viceroy, who said plaintively +that he feared being left alone with unmuzzled autocrats like the great +Mellishe of Madras. + +But his guest did not bore the Viceroy. On the contrary, he amused him. +Mellish was nervously anxious to go straight to his Fumigatory, and +talked at random until tiffin was over and His Excellency asked him +to smoke. The Viceroy was pleased with Mellish because he did not talk +“shop.” + +As soon as the cheroots were lit, Mellish spoke like a man; beginning +with his cholera-theory, reviewing his fifteen years' “scientific +labors,” the machinations of the “Simla Ring,” and the excellence of +his Fumigatory, while the Viceroy watched him between half-shut eyes +and thought: “Evidently, this is the wrong tiger; but it is an original +animal.” Mellish's hair was standing on end with excitement, and he +stammered. He began groping in his coat-tails and, before the Viceroy +knew what was about to happen, he had tipped a bagful of his powder into +the big silver ash-tray. + +“J-j-judge for yourself, Sir,” said Mellish. “Y' Excellency shall judge +for yourself! Absolutely infallible, on my honor.” + +He plunged the lighted end of his cigar into the powder, which began to +smoke like a volcano, and send up fat, greasy wreaths of copper-colored +smoke. In five seconds the room was filled with a most pungent and +sickening stench--a reek that took fierce hold of the trap of your +windpipe and shut it. The powder then hissed and fizzed, and sent out +blue and green sparks, and the smoke rose till you could neither see, +nor breathe, nor gasp. Mellish, however, was used to it. + +“Nitrate of strontia,” he shouted; “baryta, bone-meal, etcetera! +Thousand cubic feet smoke per cubic inch. Not a germ could live--not a +germ, Y' Excellency!” + +But His Excellency had fled, and was coughing at the foot of the stairs, +while all Peterhoff hummed like a hive. Red Lancers came in, and the +Head Chaprassi, who speaks English, came in, and mace-bearers came in, +and ladies ran downstairs screaming “fire;” for the smoke was drifting +through the house and oozing out of the windows, and bellying along the +verandahs, and wreathing and writhing across the gardens. No one could +enter the room where Mellish was lecturing on his Fumigatory, till that +unspeakable powder had burned itself out. + +Then an Aide-de-Camp, who desired the V. C., rushed through the rolling +clouds and hauled Mellish into the hall. The Viceroy was prostrate with +laughter, and could only waggle his hands feebly at Mellish, who was +shaking a fresh bagful of powder at him. + +“Glorious! Glorious!” sobbed his Excellency. “Not a germ, as you justly +observe, could exist! I can swear it. A magnificent success!” + +Then he laughed till the tears came, and Wonder, who had caught the real +Mellishe snorting on the Mall, entered and was deeply shocked at the +scene. But the Viceroy was delighted, because he saw that Wonder would +presently depart. Mellish with the Fumigatory was also pleased, for he +felt that he had smashed the Simla Medical “Ring.”......... + +Few men could tell a story like His Excellency when he took the trouble, +and the account of “my dear, good Wonder's friend with the powder” + went the round of Simla, and flippant folk made Wonder unhappy by their +remarks. + +But His Excellency told the tale once too often--for Wonder. As he meant +to do. It was at a Seepee Picnic. Wonder was sitting just behind the +Viceroy. + +“And I really thought for a moment,” wound up His Excellency, “that my +dear, good Wonder had hired an assassin to clear his way to the throne!” + +Every one laughed; but there was a delicate subtinkle in the Viceroy's +tone which Wonder understood. He found that his health was giving way; +and the Viceroy allowed him to go, and presented him with a flaming +“character” for use at Home among big people. + +“My fault entirely,” said His Excellency, in after seasons, with +a twinkling in his eye. “My inconsistency must always have been +distasteful to such a masterly man.” + + + + +KIDNAPPED. + + There is a tide in the affairs of men, + Which, taken any way you please, is bad, + And strands them in forsaken guts and creeks + No decent soul would think of visiting. + + You cannot stop the tide; but now and then, + You may arrest some rash adventurer + Who--h'm--will hardly thank you for your pains. + --Vibart's Moralities. + +We are a high-caste and enlightened race, and infant-marriage is very +shocking and the consequences are sometimes peculiar; but, nevertheless, +the Hindu notion--which is the Continental notion--which is the +aboriginal notion--of arranging marriages irrespective of the personal +inclinations of the married, is sound. Think for a minute, and you will +see that it must be so; unless, of course, you believe in “affinities.” + In which case you had better not read this tale. How can a man who has +never married; who cannot be trusted to pick up at sight a moderately +sound horse; whose head is hot and upset with visions of domestic +felicity, go about the choosing of a wife? He cannot see straight or +think straight if he tries; and the same disadvantages exist in the +case of a girl's fancies. But when mature, married and discreet people +arrange a match between a boy and a girl, they do it sensibly, with a +view to the future, and the young couple live happily ever afterwards. +As everybody knows. + +Properly speaking, Government should establish a Matrimonial Department, +efficiently officered, with a Jury of Matrons, a Judge of the Chief +Court, a Senior Chaplain, and an Awful Warning, in the shape of a +love-match that has gone wrong, chained to the trees in the courtyard. +All marriages should be made through the Department, which might be +subordinate to the Educational Department, under the same penalty as +that attaching to the transfer of land without a stamped document. But +Government won't take suggestions. It pretends that it is too busy. +However, I will put my notion on record, and explain the example that +illustrates the theory. + +Once upon a time there was a good young man--a first-class officer in +his own Department--a man with a career before him and, possibly, a K. +C. G. E. at the end of it. All his superiors spoke well of him, because +he knew how to hold his tongue and his pen at the proper times. There +are today only eleven men in India who possess this secret; and they +have all, with one exception, attained great honor and enormous incomes. + +This good young man was quiet and self-contained--too old for his years +by far. Which always carries its own punishment. Had a Subaltern, or a +Tea-Planter's Assistant, or anybody who enjoys life and has no care for +tomorrow, done what he tried to do not a soul would have cared. But when +Peythroppe--the estimable, virtuous, economical, quiet, hard-working, +young Peythroppe--fell, there was a flutter through five Departments. + +The manner of his fall was in this way. He met a Miss +Castries--d'Castries it was originally, but the family dropped the +d' for administrative reasons--and he fell in love with her even more +energetically than he worked. Understand clearly that there was not a +breath of a word to be said against Miss Castries--not a shadow of a +breath. She was good and very lovely--possessed what innocent people at +home call a “Spanish” complexion, with thick blue-black hair growing low +down on her forehead, into a “widow's peak,” and big violet eyes +under eyebrows as black and as straight as the borders of a Gazette +Extraordinary when a big man dies. But--but--but--. Well, she was a VERY +sweet girl and very pious, but for many reasons she was “impossible.” + Quite so. All good Mammas know what “impossible” means. It was obviously +absurd that Peythroppe should marry her. The little opal-tinted onyx +at the base of her finger-nails said this as plainly as print. +Further, marriage with Miss Castries meant marriage with several other +Castries--Honorary Lieutenant Castries, her Papa, Mrs. Eulalie Castries, +her Mamma, and all the ramifications of the Castries family, on incomes +ranging from Rs. 175 to Rs. 470 a month, and THEIR wives and connections +again. + +It would have been cheaper for Peythroppe to have assaulted a +Commissioner with a dog-whip, or to have burned the records of a Deputy +Commissioner's Office, than to have contracted an alliance with the +Castries. It would have weighted his after-career less--even under a +Government which never forgets and NEVER forgives. + +Everybody saw this but Peythroppe. He was going to marry Miss Castries, +he was--being of age and drawing a good income--and woe betide the house +that would not afterwards receive Mrs. Virginie Saulez Peythroppe with +the deference due to her husband's rank. + +That was Peythroppe's ultimatum, and any remonstrance drove him frantic. + +These sudden madnesses most afflict the sanest men. There was a case +once--but I will tell you of that later on. You cannot account for the +mania, except under a theory directly contradicting the one about the +Place wherein marriages are made. Peythroppe was burningly anxious to +put a millstone round his neck at the outset of his career and argument +had not the least effect on him. He was going to marry Miss Castries, +and the business was his own business. + +He would thank you to keep your advice to yourself. With a man in this +condition, mere words only fix him in his purpose. Of course he cannot +see that marriage out here does not concern the individual but the +Government he serves. + +Do you remember Mrs. Hauksbee--the most wonderful woman in India? She +saved Pluffles from Mrs. Reiver, won Tarrion his appointment in the +Foreign Office, and was defeated in open field by Mrs. Cusack-Bremmil. +She heard of the lamentable condition of Peythroppe, and her brain +struck out the plan that saved him. She had the wisdom of the Serpent, +the logical coherence of the Man, the fearlessness of the Child, and +the triple intuition of the Woman. Never--no, never--as long as a tonga +buckets down the Solon dip, or the couples go a-riding at the back of +Summer Hill, will there be such a genius as Mrs. Hauksbee. She attended +the consultation of Three Men on Peythroppe's case; and she stood up +with the lash of her riding-whip between her lips and spake....... +... + +Three weeks later, Peythroppe dined with the Three Men, and the Gazette +of India came in. Peythroppe found to his surprise that he had been +gazetted a month's leave. Don't ask me how this was managed. I believe +firmly that if Mrs. Hauksbee gave the order, the whole Great Indian +Administration would stand on its head. + +The Three Men had also a month's leave each. Peythroppe put the Gazette +down and said bad words. Then there came from the compound the soft +“pad-pad” of camels--“thieves' camels,” the bikaneer breed that don't +bubble and howl when they sit down and get up. + +After that I don't know what happened. This much is certain. + +Peythroppe disappeared--vanished like smoke--and the long foot-rest +chair in the house of the Three Men was broken to splinters. Also a +bedstead departed from one of the bedrooms. + +Mrs. Hauksbee said that Mr. Peythroppe was shooting in Rajputana with +the Three Men; so we were compelled to believe her. + +At the end of the month, Peythroppe was gazetted twenty days' extension +of leave; but there was wrath and lamentation in the house of Castries. +The marriage-day had been fixed, but the bridegroom never came; and the +D'Silvas, Pereiras, and Ducketts lifted their voices and mocked Honorary +Lieutenant Castries as one who had been basely imposed upon. Mrs. +Hauksbee went to the wedding, and was much astonished when Peythroppe +did not appear. After seven weeks, Peythroppe and the Three Men returned +from Rajputana. Peythroppe was in hard, tough condition, rather white, +and more self-contained than ever. + +One of the Three Men had a cut on his nose, cause by the kick of a gun. +Twelve-bores kick rather curiously. + +Then came Honorary Lieutenant Castries, seeking for the blood of his +perfidious son-in-law to be. He said things--vulgar and “impossible” + things which showed the raw rough “ranker” below the “Honorary,” and I +fancy Peythroppe's eyes were opened. Anyhow, he held his peace till the +end; when he spoke briefly. Honorary Lieutenant Castries asked for a +“peg” before he went away to die or bring a suit for breach of promise. + +Miss Castries was a very good girl. She said that she would have no +breach of promise suits. She said that, if she was not a lady, she +was refined enough to know that ladies kept their broken hearts to +themselves; and, as she ruled her parents, nothing happened. Later on, +she married a most respectable and gentlemanly person. He travelled for +an enterprising firm in Calcutta, and was all that a good husband should +be. + +So Peythroppe came to his right mind again, and did much good work, and +was honored by all who knew him. One of these days he will marry; but he +will marry a sweet pink-and-white maiden, on the Government House List, +with a little money and some influential connections, as every wise man +should. And he will never, all his life, tell her what happened during +the seven weeks of his shooting-tour in Rajputana. + +But just think how much trouble and expense--for camel hire is not +cheap, and those Bikaneer brutes had to be fed like humans--might have +been saved by a properly conducted Matrimonial Department, under the +control of the Director General of Education, but corresponding direct +with the Viceroy. + + + + +THE ARREST OF LIEUTENANT GOLIGHTLY. + + “'I've forgotten the countersign,' sez 'e. + + 'Oh! You 'ave, 'ave you?' sez I. + + 'But I'm the Colonel,' sez 'e. + + 'Oh! You are, are you?' sez I. 'Colonel nor no Colonel, you + waits 'ere till I'm relieved, an' the Sarjint reports on + your ugly old mug. Coop!' sez I. + + ......... + + An' s'help me soul, 'twas the Colonel after all! But I was + a recruity then.” + + The Unedited Autobiography of Private Ortheris. + +IF there was one thing on which Golightly prided himself more than +another, it was looking like “an Officer and a gentleman.” He said it +was for the honor of the Service that he attired himself so elaborately; +but those who knew him best said that it was just personal vanity. There +was no harm about Golightly--not an ounce. + +He recognized a horse when he saw one, and could do more than fill a +cantle. He played a very fair game at billiards, and was a sound man at +the whist-table. Everyone liked him; and nobody ever dreamed of seeing +him handcuffed on a station platform as a deserter. But this sad thing +happened. + +He was going down from Dalhousie, at the end of his leave--riding down. +He had cut his leave as fine as he dared, and wanted to come down in a +hurry. + +It was fairly warm at Dalhousie, and knowing what to expect below, he +descended in a new khaki suit--tight fitting--of a delicate olive-green; +a peacock-blue tie, white collar, and a snowy white solah helmet. He +prided himself on looking neat even when he was riding post. He did +look neat, and he was so deeply concerned about his appearance before he +started that he quite forgot to take anything but some small change with +him. He left all his notes at the hotel. His servants had gone down the +road before him, to be ready in waiting at Pathankote with a change of +gear. That was what he called travelling in “light marching-order.” He +was proud of his faculty of organization--what we call bundobust. + +Twenty-two miles out of Dalhousie it began to rain--not a mere +hill-shower, but a good, tepid monsoonish downpour. Golightly bustled +on, wishing that he had brought an umbrella. The dust on the roads +turned into mud, and the pony mired a good deal. So did Golightly's +khaki gaiters. But he kept on steadily and tried to think how pleasant +the coolth was. + +His next pony was rather a brute at starting, and Golightly's hands +being slippery with the rain, contrived to get rid of Golightly at a +corner. He chased the animal, caught it, and went ahead briskly. + +The spill had not improved his clothes or his temper, and he had lost +one spur. He kept the other one employed. By the time that stage was +ended, the pony had had as much exercise as he wanted, and, in spite of +the rain, Golightly was sweating freely. At the end of another miserable +half-hour, Golightly found the world disappear before his eyes in clammy +pulp. The rain had turned the pith of his huge and snowy solah-topee +into an evil-smelling dough, and it had closed on his head like a +half-opened mushroom. Also the green lining was beginning to run. + +Golightly did not say anything worth recording here. He tore off and +squeezed up as much of the brim as was in his eyes and ploughed on. The +back of the helmet was flapping on his neck and the sides stuck to +his ears, but the leather band and green lining kept things roughly +together, so that the hat did not actually melt away where it flapped. + +Presently, the pulp and the green stuff made a sort of slimy mildew +which ran over Golightly in several directions--down his back and +bosom for choice. The khaki color ran too--it was really shockingly bad +dye--and sections of Golightly were brown, and patches were violet, +and contours were ochre, and streaks were ruddy red, and blotches were +nearly white, according to the nature and peculiarities of the dye. +When he took out his handkerchief to wipe his face and the green of the +hat-lining and the purple stuff that had soaked through on to his neck +from the tie became thoroughly mixed, the effect was amazing. + +Near Dhar the rain stopped and the evening sun came out and dried him up +slightly. It fixed the colors, too. Three miles from Pathankote the last +pony fell dead lame, and Golightly was forced to walk. He pushed on +into Pathankote to find his servants. He did not know then that his +khitmatgar had stopped by the roadside to get drunk, and would come on +the next day saying that he had sprained his ankle. When he got into +Pathankote, he couldn't find his servants, his boots were stiff and ropy +with mud, and there were large quantities of dirt about his body. The +blue tie had run as much as the khaki. So he took it off with the collar +and threw it away. Then he said something about servants generally and +tried to get a peg. He paid eight annas for the drink, and this revealed +to him that he had only six annas more in his pocket--or in the world as +he stood at that hour. + +He went to the Station-Master to negotiate for a first-class ticket to +Khasa, where he was stationed. The booking-clerk said something to +the Station-Master, the Station-Master said something to the Telegraph +Clerk, and the three looked at him with curiosity. They asked him to +wait for half-an-hour, while they telegraphed to Umritsar for +authority. So he waited, and four constables came and grouped themselves +picturesquely round him. Just as he was preparing to ask them to go +away, the Station-Master said that he would give the Sahib a ticket +to Umritsar, if the Sahib would kindly come inside the booking-office. +Golightly stepped inside, and the next thing he knew was that a +constable was attached to each of his legs and arms, while the +Station-Master was trying to cram a mailbag over his head. + +There was a very fair scuffle all round the booking-office, and +Golightly received a nasty cut over his eye through falling against +a table. But the constables were too much for him, and they and the +Station-Master handcuffed him securely. As soon as the mail-bag was +slipped, he began expressing his opinions, and the head-constable +said:--“Without doubt this is the soldier-Englishman we required. Listen +to the abuse!” Then Golightly asked the Station-Master what the this +and the that the proceedings meant. The Station-Master told him he was +“Private John Binkle of the----Regiment, 5 ft. 9 in., fair hair, gray +eyes, and a dissipated appearance, no marks on the body,” who had +deserted a fortnight ago. Golightly began explaining at great length; +and the more he explained the less the Station-Master believed him. He +said that no Lieutenant could look such a ruffian as did Golightly, and +that his instructions were to send his capture under proper escort to +Umritsar. Golightly was feeling very damp and uncomfortable, and the +language he used was not fit for publication, even in an expurgated +form. The four constables saw him safe to Umritsar in an “intermediate” + compartment, and he spent the four-hour journey in abusing them as +fluently as his knowledge of the vernaculars allowed. + +At Umritsar he was bundled out on the platform into the arms of a +Corporal and two men of the----Regiment. Golightly drew himself up +and tried to carry off matters jauntily. He did not feel too jaunty in +handcuffs, with four constables behind him, and the blood from the +cut on his forehead stiffening on his left cheek. The Corporal was not +jocular either. Golightly got as far as--“This is a very absurd mistake, +my men,” when the Corporal told him to “stow his lip” and come along. +Golightly did not want to come along. He desired to stop and explain. +He explained very well indeed, until the Corporal cut in with:--“YOU +a orficer! It's the like o' YOU as brings disgrace on the likes of US. +Bloom-in' fine orficer you are! I know your regiment. The Rogue's +March is the quickstep where you come from. You're a black shame to the +Service.” + +Golightly kept his temper, and began explaining all over again from the +beginning. Then he was marched out of the rain into the refreshment-room +and told not to make a qualified fool of himself. + +The men were going to run him up to Fort Govindghar. And “running up” is +a performance almost as undignified as the Frog March. + +Golightly was nearly hysterical with rage and the chill and the mistake +and the handcuffs and the headache that the cut on his forehead had +given him. He really laid himself out to express what was in his mind. +When he had quite finished and his throat was feeling dry, one of the +men said:--“I've 'eard a few beggars in the click blind, stiff and crack +on a bit; but I've never 'eard any one to touch this 'ere 'orficer.'” + They were not angry with him. They rather admired him. They had some +beer at the refreshment-room, and offered Golightly some too, because +he had “swore won'erful.” They asked him to tell them all about the +adventures of Private John Binkle while he was loose on the countryside; +and that made Golightly wilder than ever. If he had kept his wits about +him he would have kept quiet until an officer came; but he attempted to +run. + +Now the butt of a Martini in the small of your back hurts a great deal, +and rotten, rain-soaked khaki tears easily when two men are jerking at +your collar. + +Golightly rose from the floor feeling very sick and giddy, with his +shirt ripped open all down his breast and nearly all down his back. + +He yielded to his luck, and at that point the down-train from Lahore +came in carrying one of Golightly's Majors. + +This is the Major's evidence in full:-- + +“There was the sound of a scuffle in the second-class refreshment-room, +so I went in and saw the most villainous loafer that I ever set eyes on. +His boots and breeches were plastered with mud and beer-stains. He wore +a muddy-white dunghill sort of thing on his head, and it hung down in +slips on his shoulders, which were a good deal scratched. He was half in +and half out of a shirt as nearly in two pieces as it could be, and he +was begging the guard to look at the name on the tail of it. As he had +rucked the shirt all over his head, I couldn't at first see who he was, +but I fancied that he was a man in the first stage of D. T. from the way +he swore while he wrestled with his rags. When he turned round, and I +had made allowance for a lump as big as a pork-pie over one eye, and +some green war-paint on the face, and some violet stripes round the +neck, I saw that it was Golightly. He was very glad to see me,” said the +Major, “and he hoped I would not tell the Mess about it. I didn't, but +you can if you like, now that Golightly has gone Home.” + +Golightly spent the greater part of that summer in trying to get the +Corporal and the two soldiers tried by Court-Martial for arresting an +“officer and a gentleman.” They were, of course, very sorry for their +error. But the tale leaked into the regimental canteen, and thence ran +about the Province. + + + + +THE HOUSE OF SUDDHOO + + A stone's throw out on either hand + From that well-ordered road we tread, + And all the world is wild and strange; + Churel and ghoul and Djinn and sprite + Shall bear us company tonight, + For we have reached the Oldest Land + Wherein the Powers of Darkness range. + --From the Dusk to the Dawn. + +The house of Suddhoo, near the Taksali Gate, is two-storied, with four +carved windows of old brown wood, and a flat roof. You may recognize +it by five red hand-prints arranged like the Five of Diamonds on the +whitewash between the upper windows. Bhagwan Dass, the bunnia, and a +man who says he gets his living by seal-cutting, live in the lower story +with a troop of wives, servants, friends, and retainers. The two upper +rooms used to be occupied by Janoo and Azizun and a little black-and-tan +terrier that was stolen from an Englishman's house and given to Janoo by +a soldier. Today, only Janoo lives in the upper rooms. Suddhoo sleeps on +the roof generally, except when he sleeps in the street. He used to go +to Peshawar in the cold weather to visit his son, who sells curiosities +near the Edwardes' Gate, and then he slept under a real mud roof. + +Suddhoo is a great friend of mine, because his cousin had a son who +secured, thanks to my recommendation, the post of head-messenger to +a big firm in the Station. Suddhoo says that God will make me a +Lieutenant-Governor one of these days. I daresay his prophecy will come +true. He is very, very old, with white hair and no teeth worth showing, +and he has outlived his wits--outlived nearly everything except his +fondness for his son at Peshawar. Janoo and Azizun are Kashmiris, +Ladies of the City, and theirs was an ancient and more or less honorable +profession; but Azizun has since married a medical student from the +North-West and has settled down to a most respectable life somewhere +near Bareilly. Bhagwan Dass is an extortionate and an adulterator. He +is very rich. The man who is supposed to get his living by seal-cutting +pretends to be very poor. + +This lets you know as much as is necessary of the four principal tenants +in the house of Suddhoo. Then there is Me, of course; but I am only the +chorus that comes in at the end to explain things. So I do not count. + +Suddhoo was not clever. The man who pretended to cut seals was the +cleverest of them all--Bhagwan Dass only knew how to lie--except Janoo. +She was also beautiful, but that was her own affair. + +Suddhoo's son at Peshawar was attacked by pleurisy, and old Suddhoo +was troubled. The seal-cutter man heard of Suddhoo's anxiety and made +capital out of it. He was abreast of the times. He got a friend in +Peshawar to telegraph daily accounts of the son's health. + +And here the story begins. + +Suddhoo's cousin's son told me, one evening, that Suddhoo wanted to see +me; that he was too old and feeble to come personally, and that I should +be conferring an everlasting honor on the House of Suddhoo if I went to +him. I went; but I think, seeing how well-off Suddhoo was then, that he +might have sent something better than an ekka, which jolted fearfully, +to haul out a future Lieutenant-Governor to the City on a muggy April +evening. The ekka did not run quickly. + +It was full dark when we pulled up opposite the door of Ranjit Singh's +Tomb near the main gate of the Fort. Here was Suddhoo and he said that, +by reason of my condescension, it was absolutely certain that I should +become a Lieutenant-Governor while my hair was yet black. Then we talked +about the weather and the state of my health, and the wheat crops, for +fifteen minutes, in the Huzuri Bagh, under the stars. + +Suddhoo came to the point at last. He said that Janoo had told him that +there was an order of the Sirkar against magic, because it was feared +that magic might one day kill the Empress of India. I didn't know +anything about the state of the law; but I fancied that something +interesting was going to happen. I said that so far from magic being +discouraged by the Government it was highly commended. + +The greatest officials of the State practiced it themselves. (If +the Financial Statement isn't magic, I don't know what is.) Then, to +encourage him further, I said that, if there was any jadoo afoot, I had +not the least objection to giving it my countenance and sanction, and to +seeing that it was clean jadoo--white magic, as distinguished from +the unclean jadoo which kills folk. It took a long time before Suddhoo +admitted that this was just what he had asked me to come for. Then he +told me, in jerks and quavers, that the man who said he cut seals was +a sorcerer of the cleanest kind; that every day he gave Suddhoo news of +the sick son in Peshawar more quickly than the lightning could fly, and +that this news was always corroborated by the letters. Further, that he +had told Suddhoo how a great danger was threatening his son, which could +be removed by clean jadoo; and, of course, heavy payment. I began to see +how the land lay, and told Suddhoo that I also understood a little jadoo +in the Western line, and would go to his house to see that everything +was done decently and in order. We set off together; and on the way +Suddhoo told me he had paid the seal-cutter between one hundred and +two hundred rupees already; and the jadoo of that night would cost two +hundred more. Which was cheap, he said, considering the greatness of his +son's danger; but I do not think he meant it. + +The lights were all cloaked in the front of the house when we arrived. I +could hear awful noises from behind the seal-cutter's shop-front, as if +some one were groaning his soul out. Suddhoo shook all over, and while +we groped our way upstairs told me that the jadoo had begun. Janoo and +Azizun met us at the stair-head, and told us that the jadoo-work was +coming off in their rooms, because there was more space there. Janoo is +a lady of a freethinking turn of mind. She whispered that the jadoo was +an invention to get money out of Suddhoo, and that the seal-cutter would +go to a hot place when he died. Suddhoo was nearly crying with fear +and old age. He kept walking up and down the room in the half light, +repeating his son's name over and over again, and asking Azizun if +the seal-cutter ought not to make a reduction in the case of his own +landlord. + +Janoo pulled me over to the shadow in the recess of the carved +bow-windows. The boards were up, and the rooms were only lit by one tiny +lamp. There was no chance of my being seen if I stayed still. + +Presently, the groans below ceased, and we heard steps on the staircase. +That was the seal-cutter. He stopped outside the door as the terrier +barked and Azizun fumbled at the chain, and he told Suddhoo to blow out +the lamp. This left the place in jet darkness, except for the red glow +from the two huqas that belonged to Janoo and Azizun. The seal-cutter +came in, and I heard Suddhoo throw himself down on the floor and groan. +Azizun caught her breath, and Janoo backed to one of the beds with a +shudder. There was a clink of something metallic, and then shot up a +pale blue-green flame near the ground. The light was just enough to show +Azizun, pressed against one corner of the room with the terrier between +her knees; Janoo, with her hands clasped, leaning forward as she sat on +the bed; Suddhoo, face down, quivering, and the seal-cutter. + +I hope I may never see another man like that seal-cutter. He was +stripped to the waist, with a wreath of white jasmine as thick as my +wrist round his forehead, a salmon-colored loin-cloth round his middle, +and a steel bangle on each ankle. This was not awe-inspiring. It was +the face of the man that turned me cold. It was blue-gray in the first +place. In the second, the eyes were rolled back till you could only +see the whites of them; and, in the third, the face was the face of +a demon--a ghoul--anything you please except of the sleek, oily old +ruffian who sat in the day-time over his turning-lathe downstairs. He +was lying on his stomach, with his arms turned and crossed behind him, +as if he had been thrown down pinioned. His head and neck were the only +parts of him off the floor. They were nearly at right angles to the +body, like the head of a cobra at spring. It was ghastly. In the centre +of the room, on the bare earth floor, stood a big, deep, brass basin, +with a pale blue-green light floating in the centre like a night-light. +Round that basin the man on the floor wriggled himself three times. How +he did it I do not know. I could see the muscles ripple along his spine +and fall smooth again; but I could not see any other motion. + +The head seemed the only thing alive about him, except that slow +curl and uncurl of the laboring back-muscles. Janoo from the bed was +breathing seventy to the minute; Azizun held her hands before her eyes; +and old Suddhoo, fingering at the dirt that had got into his white +beard, was crying to himself. The horror of it was that the creeping, +crawly thing made no sound--only crawled! And, remember, this lasted for +ten minutes, while the terrier whined, and Azizun shuddered, and Janoo +gasped, and Suddhoo cried. + +I felt the hair lift at the back of my head, and my heart thump like a +thermantidote paddle. Luckily, the seal-cutter betrayed himself by his +most impressive trick and made me calm again. After he had finished that +unspeakable triple crawl, he stretched his head away from the floor as +high as he could, and sent out a jet of fire from his nostrils. Now, I +knew how fire-spouting is done--I can do it myself--so I felt at ease. +The business was a fraud. If he had only kept to that crawl without +trying to raise the effect, goodness knows what I might not have +thought. Both the girls shrieked at the jet of fire and the head +dropped, chin down, on the floor with a thud; the whole body lying then +like a corpse with its arms trussed. + +There was a pause of five full minutes after this, and the blue-green +flame died down. Janoo stooped to settle one of her anklets, while +Azizun turned her face to the wall and took the terrier in her arms. +Suddhoo put out an arm mechanically to Janoo's huqa, and she slid it +across the floor with her foot. Directly above the body and on the wall, +were a couple of flaming portraits, in stamped paper frames, of the +Queen and the Prince of Wales. They looked down on the performance, and, +to my thinking, seemed to heighten the grotesqueness of it all. + +Just when the silence was getting unendurable, the body turned over and +rolled away from the basin to the side of the room, where it lay stomach +up. There was a faint “plop” from the basin--exactly like the noise +a fish makes when it takes a fly--and the green light in the centre +revived. + +I looked at the basin, and saw, bobbing in the water, the dried, +shrivelled, black head of a native baby--open eyes, open mouth and +shaved scalp. It was worse, being so very sudden, than the crawling +exhibition. We had no time to say anything before it began to speak. + +Read Poe's account of the voice that came from the mesmerized dying man, +and you will realize less than one-half of the horror of that head's +voice. + +There was an interval of a second or two between each word, and a sort +of “ring, ring, ring,” in the note of the voice, like the timbre of a +bell. It pealed slowly, as if talking to itself, for several minutes +before I got rid of my cold sweat. Then the blessed solution struck me. +I looked at the body lying near the doorway, and saw, just where the +hollow of the throat joins on the shoulders, a muscle that had nothing +to do with any man's regular breathing, twitching away steadily. The +whole thing was a careful reproduction of the Egyptian teraphin that +one read about sometimes and the voice was as clever and as appalling a +piece of ventriloquism as one could wish to hear. All this time the head +was “lip-lip-lapping” against the side of the basin, and speaking. It +told Suddhoo, on his face again whining, of his son's illness and of +the state of the illness up to the evening of that very night. I always +shall respect the seal-cutter for keeping so faithfully to the time +of the Peshawar telegrams. It went on to say that skilled doctors were +night and day watching over the man's life; and that he would eventually +recover if the fee to the potent sorcerer, whose servant was the head in +the basin, were doubled. + +Here the mistake from the artistic point of view came in. To ask for +twice your stipulated fee in a voice that Lazarus might have used +when he rose from the dead, is absurd. Janoo, who is really a woman of +masculine intellect, saw this as quickly as I did. I heard her say “Asli +nahin! Fareib!” scornfully under her breath; and just as she said so, +the light in the basin died out, the head stopped talking, and we heard +the room door creak on its hinges. Then Janoo struck a match, lit the +lamp, and we saw that head, basin, and seal-cutter were gone. Suddhoo +was wringing his hands and explaining to any one who cared to listen, +that, if his chances of eternal salvation depended on it, he could not +raise another two hundred rupees. Azizun was nearly in hysterics in the +corner; while Janoo sat down composedly on one of the beds to discuss +the probabilities of the whole thing being a bunao, or “make-up.” + +I explained as much as I knew of the seal-cutter's way of jadoo; but +her argument was much more simple:--“The magic that is always demanding +gifts is no true magic,” said she. “My mother told me that the +only potent love-spells are those which are told you for love. This +seal-cutter man is a liar and a devil. I dare not tell, do anything, or +get anything done, because I am in debt to Bhagwan Dass the bunnia for +two gold rings and a heavy anklet. I must get my food from his shop. The +seal-cutter is the friend of Bhagwan Dass, and he would poison my food. +A fool's jadoo has been going on for ten days, and has cost Suddhoo +many rupees each night. The seal-cutter used black hens and lemons and +mantras before. He never showed us anything like this till tonight. +Azizun is a fool, and will be a purdah nashin soon. Suddhoo has lost +his strength and his wits. See now! I had hoped to get from Suddhoo many +rupees while he lived, and many more after his death; and behold, he +is spending everything on that offspring of a devil and a she-ass, the +seal-cutter!” + +Here I said:--“But what induced Suddhoo to drag me into the business? +Of course I can speak to the seal-cutter, and he shall refund. The whole +thing is child's talk--shame--and senseless.” + +“Suddhoo IS an old child,” said Janoo. “He has lived on the roofs these +seventy years and is as senseless as a milch-goat. He brought you here +to assure himself that he was not breaking any law of the Sirkar, whose +salt he ate many years ago. He worships the dust off the feet of the +seal-cutter, and that cow-devourer has forbidden him to go and see his +son. What does Suddhoo know of your laws or the lightning-post? I have +to watch his money going day by day to that lying beast below.” + +Janoo stamped her foot on the floor and nearly cried with vexation; +while Suddhoo was whimpering under a blanket in the corner, and Azizun +was trying to guide the pipe-stem to his foolish old mouth....... +... + +Now the case stands thus. Unthinkingly, I have laid myself open to the +charge of aiding and abetting the seal-cutter in obtaining money under +false pretences, which is forbidden by Section 420 of the Indian Penal +Code. I am helpless in the matter for these reasons, I cannot inform +the Police. What witnesses would support my statements? Janoo refuses +flatly, Azizun is a veiled woman somewhere near Bareilly--lost in this +big India of ours. I cannot again take the law into my own hands, and +speak to the seal-cutter; for certain am I that, not only would Suddhoo +disbelieve me, but this step would end in the poisoning of Janoo, who is +bound hand and foot by her debt to the bunnia. Suddhoo is an old dotard; +and whenever we meet mumbles my idiotic joke that the Sirkar rather +patronizes the Black Art than otherwise. His son is well now; but +Suddhoo is completely under the influence of the seal-cutter, by whose +advice he regulates the affairs of his life. Janoo watches daily the +money that she hoped to wheedle out of Suddhoo taken by the seal-cutter, +and becomes daily more furious and sullen. + +She will never tell, because she dare not; but, unless something +happens to prevent her, I am afraid that the seal-cutter will die of +cholera--the white arsenic kind--about the middle of May. And thus I +shall have to be privy to a murder in the House of Suddhoo. + + + + +HIS WEDDED WIFE. + + Cry “Murder!” in the market-place, and each + Will turn upon his neighbor anxious eyes + That ask:--“Art thou the man?” + We hunted Cain, + Some centuries ago, across the world, + That bred the fear our own misdeeds maintain + Today. + --Vibart's Moralities. + +Shakespeare says something about worms, or it may be giants or beetles, +turning if you tread on them too severely. The safest plan is never to +tread on a worm--not even on the last new subaltern from Home, with his +buttons hardly out of their tissue paper, and the red of sappy English +beef in his cheeks. This is the story of the worm that turned. For +the sake of brevity, we will call Henry Augustus Ramsay Faizanne, “The +Worm,” although he really was an exceedingly pretty boy, without a hair +on his face, and with a waist like a girl's when he came out to the +Second “Shikarris” and was made unhappy in several ways. The “Shikarris” + are a high-caste regiment, and you must be able to do things well--play +a banjo or ride more than a little, or sing, or act--to get on with +them. + +The Worm did nothing except fall off his pony, and knock chips out of +gate-posts with his trap. Even that became monotonous after a time. He +objected to whist, cut the cloth at billiards, sang out of tune, kept +very much to himself, and wrote to his Mamma and sisters at Home. Four +of these five things were vices which the “Shikarris” objected to and +set themselves to eradicate. Every one knows how subalterns are, by +brother subalterns, softened and not permitted to be ferocious. It is +good and wholesome, and does no one any harm, unless tempers are lost; +and then there is trouble. There was a man once--but that is another +story. + +The “Shikarris” shikarred The Worm very much, and he bore everything +without winking. He was so good and so anxious to learn, and flushed +so pink, that his education was cut short, and he was left to his own +devices by every one except the Senior Subaltern, who continued to make +life a burden to The Worm. The Senior Subaltern meant no harm; but his +chaff was coarse, and he didn't quite understand where to stop. He had +been waiting too long for his company; and that always sours a man. Also +he was in love, which made him worse. + +One day, after he had borrowed The Worm's trap for a lady who never +existed, had used it himself all the afternoon, had sent a note to The +Worm purporting to come from the lady, and was telling the Mess all +about it, The Worm rose in his place and said, in his quiet, ladylike +voice: “That was a very pretty sell; but I'll lay you a month's pay to +a month's pay when you get your step, that I work a sell on you that +you'll remember for the rest of your days, and the Regiment after you +when you're dead or broke.” The Worm wasn't angry in the least, and the +rest of the Mess shouted. Then the Senior Subaltern looked at The Worm +from the boots upwards, and down again, and said, “Done, Baby.” The Worm +took the rest of the Mess to witness that the bet had been taken, and +retired into a book with a sweet smile. + +Two months passed, and the Senior Subaltern still educated The Worm, +who began to move about a little more as the hot weather came on. I have +said that the Senior Subaltern was in love. The curious thing is that +a girl was in love with the Senior Subaltern. Though the Colonel said +awful things, and the Majors snorted, and married Captains looked +unutterable wisdom, and the juniors scoffed, those two were engaged. + +The Senior Subaltern was so pleased with getting his Company and his +acceptance at the same time that he forgot to bother The Worm. The girl +was a pretty girl, and had money of her own. She does not come into this +story at all. + +One night, at the beginning of the hot weather, all the Mess, except The +Worm, who had gone to his own room to write Home letters, were sitting +on the platform outside the Mess House. The Band had finished playing, +but no one wanted to go in. And the Captains' wives were there also. The +folly of a man in love is unlimited. + +The Senior Subaltern had been holding forth on the merits of the girl +he was engaged to, and the ladies were purring approval, while the men +yawned, when there was a rustle of skirts in the dark, and a tired, +faint voice lifted itself: + +“Where's my husband?” + +I do not wish in the least to reflect on the morality of the +“Shikarris;” but it is on record that four men jumped up as if they had +been shot. Three of them were married men. Perhaps they were afraid that +their wives had come from Home unbeknownst. The fourth said that he had +acted on the impulse of the moment. He explained this afterwards. + +Then the voice cried:--“Oh, Lionel!” Lionel was the Senior Subaltern's +name. A woman came into the little circle of light by the candles on +the peg-tables, stretching out her hands to the dark where the Senior +Subaltern was, and sobbing. We rose to our feet, feeling that things +were going to happen and ready to believe the worst. In this bad, small +world of ours, one knows so little of the life of the next man--which, +after all, is entirely his own concern--that one is not surprised when +a crash comes. Anything might turn up any day for any one. Perhaps the +Senior Subaltern had been trapped in his youth. Men are crippled that +way occasionally. We didn't know; we wanted to hear; and the Captains' +wives were as anxious as we. If he HAD been trapped, he was to be +excused; for the woman from nowhere, in the dusty shoes, and gray +travelling dress, was very lovely, with black hair and great eyes full +of tears. She was tall, with a fine figure, and her voice had a running +sob in it pitiful to hear. As soon as the Senior Subaltern stood up, she +threw her arms round his neck, and called him “my darling,” and said she +could not bear waiting alone in England, and his letters were so short +and cold, and she was his to the end of the world, and would he forgive +her. This did not sound quite like a lady's way of speaking. It was too +demonstrative. + +Things seemed black indeed, and the Captains' wives peered under their +eyebrows at the Senior Subaltern, and the Colonel's face set like the +Day of Judgment framed in gray bristles, and no one spoke for a while. + +Next the Colonel said, very shortly:--“Well, Sir?” and the woman sobbed +afresh. The Senior Subaltern was half choked with the arms round his +neck, but he gasped out:--“It's a d----d lie! I never had a wife in my +life!” “Don't swear,” said the Colonel. “Come into the Mess. We must +sift this clear somehow,” and he sighed to himself, for he believed in +his “Shikarris,” did the Colonel. + +We trooped into the ante-room, under the full lights, and there we +saw how beautiful the woman was. She stood up in the middle of us all, +sometimes choking with crying, then hard and proud, and then holding +out her arms to the Senior Subaltern. It was like the fourth act of a +tragedy. She told us how the Senior Subaltern had married her when he +was Home on leave eighteen months before; and she seemed to know all +that we knew, and more too, of his people and his past life. He was +white and ashy gray, trying now and again to break into the torrent +of her words; and we, noting how lovely she was and what a criminal he +looked, esteemed him a beast of the worst kind. We felt sorry for him, +though. + +I shall never forget the indictment of the Senior Subaltern by his wife. +Nor will he. It was so sudden, rushing out of the dark, unannounced, +into our dull lives. The Captains' wives stood back; but their eyes were +alight, and you could see that they had already convicted and sentenced +the Senior Subaltern. The Colonel seemed five years older. One Major was +shading his eyes with his hand and watching the woman from underneath +it. Another was chewing his moustache and smiling quietly as if he +were witnessing a play. Full in the open space in the centre, by the +whist-tables, the Senior Subaltern's terrier was hunting for fleas. I +remember all this as clearly as though a photograph were in my hand. +I remember the look of horror on the Senior Subaltern's face. It was +rather like seeing a man hanged; but much more interesting. Finally, the +woman wound up by saying that the Senior Subaltern carried a double F. +M. in tattoo on his left shoulder. We all knew that, and to our innocent +minds it seemed to clinch the matter. But one of the Bachelor Majors +said very politely:--“I presume that your marriage certificate would be +more to the purpose?” + +That roused the woman. She stood up and sneered at the Senior Subaltern +for a cur, and abused the Major and the Colonel and all the rest. +Then she wept, and then she pulled a paper from her breast, saying +imperially:--“Take that! And let my husband--my lawfully wedded +husband--read it aloud--if he dare!” + +There was a hush, and the men looked into each other's eyes as the +Senior Subaltern came forward in a dazed and dizzy way, and took the +paper. We were wondering as we stared, whether there was anything +against any one of us that might turn up later on. The Senior +Subaltern's throat was dry; but, as he ran his eye over the paper, he +broke out into a hoarse cackle of relief, and said to the woman:--“You +young blackguard!” + +But the woman had fled through a door, and on the paper was +written:--“This is to certify that I, The Worm, have paid in full my +debts to the Senior Subaltern, and, further, that the Senior Subaltern +is my debtor, by agreement on the 23d of February, as by the Mess +attested, to the extent of one month's Captain's pay, in the lawful +currency of the India Empire.” + +Then a deputation set off for The Worm's quarters and found him, betwixt +and between, unlacing his stays, with the hat, wig, serge dress, etc., +on the bed. He came over as he was, and the “Shikarris” shouted till the +Gunners' Mess sent over to know if they might have a share of the fun. I +think we were all, except the Colonel and the Senior Subaltern, a little +disappointed that the scandal had come to nothing. But that is human +nature. There could be no two words about The Worm's acting. It leaned +as near to a nasty tragedy as anything this side of a joke can. When +most of the Subalterns sat upon him with sofa-cushions to find out +why he had not said that acting was his strong point, he answered very +quietly:--“I don't think you ever asked me. I used to act at Home with +my sisters.” But no acting with girls could account for The Worm's +display that night. Personally, I think it was in bad taste. + +Besides being dangerous. There is no sort of use in playing with fire, +even for fun. + +The “Shikarris” made him President of the Regimental Dramatic Club; and, +when the Senior Subaltern paid up his debt, which he did at once, The +Worm sank the money in scenery and dresses. He was a good Worm; and +the “Shikarris” are proud of him. The only drawback is that he has been +christened “Mrs. Senior Subaltern;” and as there are now two Mrs. Senior +Subalterns in the Station, this is sometimes confusing to strangers. + +Later on, I will tell you of a case something like, this, but with all +the jest left out and nothing in it but real trouble. + + + + +THE BROKEN LINK HANDICAPPED. + + While the snaffle holds, or the “long-neck” stings, + While the big beam tilts, or the last bell rings, + While horses are horses to train and to race, + Then women and wine take a second place + For me--for me-- + While a short “ten-three” + Has a field to squander or fence to face! + ----Song of the G. R. + +There are more ways of running a horse to suit your book than pulling +his head off in the straight. Some men forget this. + +Understand clearly that all racing is rotten--as everything connected +with losing money must be. Out here, in addition to its inherent +rottenness, it has the merit of being two-thirds sham; looking pretty +on paper only. Every one knows every one else far too well for business +purposes. How on earth can you rack and harry and post a man for his +losings, when you are fond of his wife, and live in the same Station +with him? He says, “on the Monday following,” “I can't settle just yet.” + “You say, 'All right, old man,'” and think your self lucky if you pull +off nine hundred out of a two-thousand rupee debt. Any way you look at +it, Indian racing is immoral, and expensively immoral. Which is much +worse. If a man wants your money, he ought to ask for it, or send round +a subscription-list, instead of juggling about the country, with an +Australian larrikin; a “brumby,” with as much breed as the boy; a brace +of chumars in gold-laced caps; three or four ekka-ponies with hogged +manes, and a switch-tailed demirep of a mare called Arab because she +has a kink in her flag. Racing leads to the shroff quicker than anything +else. But if you have no conscience and no sentiments, and good hands, +and some knowledge of pace, and ten years' experience of horses, and +several thousand rupees a month, I believe that you can occasionally +contrive to pay your shoeing-bills. + +Did you ever know Shackles--b. w. g., 15.13.8--coarse, loose, mule-like +ears--barrel as long as a gate-post--tough as a telegraph-wire--and the +queerest brute that ever looked through a bridle? He was of no brand, +being one of an ear-nicked mob taken into the Bucephalus at 4l.-10s. a +head to make up freight, and sold raw and out of condition at Calcutta +for Rs. 275. People who lost money on him called him a “brumby;” but if +ever any horse had Harpoon's shoulders and The Gin's temper, Shackles +was that horse. Two miles was his own particular distance. He trained +himself, ran himself, and rode himself; and, if his jockey insulted +him by giving him hints, he shut up at once and bucked the boy off. He +objected to dictation. Two or three of his owners did not understand +this, and lost money in consequence. At last he was bought by a man who +discovered that, if a race was to be won, Shackles, and Shackles only, +would win it in his own way, so long as his jockey sat still. + +This man had a riding-boy called Brunt--a lad from Perth, West +Australia--and he taught Brunt, with a trainer's whip, the hardest thing +a jock can learn--to sit still, to sit still, and to keep on sitting +still. When Brunt fairly grasped this truth, Shackles devastated the +country. No weight could stop him at his own distance; and The fame of +Shackles spread from Ajmir in the South, to Chedputter in the North. +There was no horse like Shackles, so long as he was allowed to do his +work in his own way. But he was beaten in the end; and the story of his +fall is enough to make angels weep. + +At the lower end of the Chedputter racecourse, just before the turn into +the straight, the track passes close to a couple of old brick-mounds +enclosing a funnel-shaped hollow. The big end of the funnel is not six +feet from the railings on the off-side. The astounding peculiarity of +the course is that, if you stand at one particular place, about half a +mile away, inside the course, and speak at an ordinary pitch, your voice +just hits the funnel of the brick-mounds and makes a curious whining +echo there. A man discovered this one morning by accident while out +training with a friend. He marked the place to stand and speak from +with a couple of bricks, and he kept his knowledge to himself. EVERY +peculiarity of a course is worth remembering in a country where rats +play the mischief with the elephant-litter, and Stewards build jumps to +suit their own stables. + +This man ran a very fairish country-bred, a long, racking high mare +with the temper of a fiend, and the paces of an airy wandering seraph--a +drifty, glidy stretch. The mare was, as a delicate tribute to Mrs. +Reiver, called “The Lady Regula Baddun”--or for short, Regula Baddun. + +Shackles' jockey, Brunt, was a quiet, well-behaved boy, but his nerves +had been shaken. He began his career by riding jump-races in Melbourne, +where a few Stewards want lynching, and was one of the jockeys who +came through the awful butchery--perhaps you will recollect it--of the +Maribyrnong Plate. The walls were colonial ramparts--logs of jarrak +spiked into masonry--with wings as strong as Church buttresses. Once +in his stride, a horse had to jump or fall. He couldn't run out. In the +Maribyrnong Plate, twelve horses were jammed at the second wall. Red +Hat, leading, fell this side, and threw out The Glen, and the ruck +came up behind and the space between wing and wing was one struggling, +screaming, kicking shambles. Four jockeys were taken out dead; three +were very badly hurt, and Brunt was among the three. He told the story +of the Maribyrnong Plate sometimes; and when he described how Whalley +on Red Hat, said, as the mare fell under him:--“God ha' mercy, I'm done +for!” and how, next instant, Sithee There and White Otter had crushed +the life out of poor Whalley, and the dust hid a small hell of men and +horses, no one marvelled that Brunt had dropped jump-races and Australia +together. Regula Baddun's owner knew that story by heart. Brunt never +varied it in the telling. He had no education. + +Shackles came to the Chedputter Autumn races one year, and his owner +walked about insulting the sportsmen of Chedputter generally, till +they went to the Honorary Secretary in a body and said:--“Appoint +Handicappers, and arrange a race which shall break Shackles and humble +the pride of his owner.” The Districts rose against Shackles and sent +up of their best; Ousel, who was supposed to be able to do his mile in +1-53; Petard, the stud-bred, trained by a cavalry regiment who knew how +to train; Gringalet, the ewe-lamb of the 75th; Bobolink, the pride of +Peshawar; and many others. + +They called that race The Broken-Link Handicap, because it was to smash +Shackles; and the Handicappers piled on the weights, and the Fund gave +eight hundred rupees, and the distance was “round the course for all +horses.” Shackles' owner said:--“You can arrange the race with regard +to Shackles only. So long as you don't bury him under weight-cloths, +I don't mind.” Regula Baddun's owner said:--“I throw in my mare to fret +Ousel. Six furlongs is Regula's distance, and she will then lie down +and die. So also will Ousel, for his jockey doesn't understand a waiting +race.” Now, this was a lie, for Regula had been in work for two months +at Dehra, and her chances were good, always supposing that Shackles +broke a blood-vessel--OR BRUNT MOVED ON HIM. + +The plunging in the lotteries was fine. They filled eight thousand rupee +lotteries on the Broken Link Handicap, and the account in the Pioneer +said that “favoritism was divided.” In plain English, the various +contingents were wild on their respective horses; for the Handicappers +had done their work well. The Honorary Secretary shouted himself hoarse +through the din; and the smoke of the cheroots was like the smoke, and +the rattling of the dice-boxes like the rattle of small-arm fire. + +Ten horses started--very level--and Regula Baddun's owner cantered out +on his back to a place inside the circle of the course, where two bricks +had been thrown. He faced towards the brick-mounds at the lower end of +the course and waited. + +he story of the running is in the Pioneer. At the end of the first mile, +Shackles crept out of the ruck, well on the outside, ready to get round +the turn, lay hold of the bit and spin up the straight before the +others knew he had got away. Brunt was sitting still, perfectly happy, +listening to the “drum, drum, drum” of the hoofs behind, and knowing +that, in about twenty strides, Shackles would draw one deep breath and +go up the last half-mile like the “Flying Dutchman.” As Shackles went +short to take the turn and came abreast of the brick-mound, Brunt heard, +above the noise of the wind in his ears, a whining, wailing voice on the +offside, saying:--“God ha' mercy, I'm done for!” In one stride, Brunt +saw the whole seething smash of the Maribyrnong Plate before him, +started in his saddle and gave a yell of terror. The start brought the +heels into Shackles' side, and the scream hurt Shackles' feelings. He +couldn't stop dead; but he put out his feet and slid along for fifty +yards, and then, very gravely and judicially, bucked off Brunt--a +shaking, terror-stricken lump, while Regula Baddun made a neck-and-neck +race with Bobolink up the straight, and won by a short head--Petard +a bad third. Shackles' owner, in the Stand, tried to think that his +field-glasses had gone wrong. Regula Baddun's owner, waiting by the two +bricks, gave one deep sigh of relief, and cantered back to the stand. He +had won, in lotteries and bets, about fifteen thousand. + +It was a broken-link Handicap with a vengeance. It broke nearly all the +men concerned, and nearly broke the heart of Shackles' owner. + +He went down to interview Brunt. The boy lay, livid and gasping with +fright, where he had tumbled off. The sin of losing the race never +seemed to strike him. All he knew was that Whalley had “called” him, +that the “call” was a warning; and, were he cut in two for it, he would +never get up again. His nerve had gone altogether, and he only asked +his master to give him a good thrashing, and let him go. He was fit for +nothing, he said. He got his dismissal, and crept up to the paddock, +white as chalk, with blue lips, his knees giving way under him. People +said nasty things in the paddock; but Brunt never heeded. He changed +into tweeds, took his stick and went down the road, still shaking with +fright, and muttering over and over again:--“God ha' mercy, I'm done +for!” To the best of my knowledge and belief he spoke the truth. + +So now you know how the Broken-Link Handicap was run and won. Of course +you don't believe it. You would credit anything about Russia's designs +on India, or the recommendations of the Currency Commission; but a +little bit of sober fact is more than you can stand! + + + + +BEYOND THE PALE. + + “Love heeds not caste nor sleep a broken bed. I went in search of + love and lost myself.” Hindu Proverb. + +A man should, whatever happens, keep to his own caste, race and breed. +Let the White go to the White and the Black to the Black. + +Then, whatever trouble falls is in the ordinary course of +things--neither sudden, alien, nor unexpected. + +This is the story of a man who wilfully stepped beyond the safe limits +of decent every-day society, and paid for it heavily. + +He knew too much in the first instance; and he saw too much in the +second. He took too deep an interest in native life; but he will never +do so again. + +Deep away in the heart of the City, behind Jitha Megji's bustee, lies +Amir Nath's Gully, which ends in a dead-wall pierced by one grated +window. At the head of the Gully is a big cow-byre, and the walls on +either side of the Gully are without windows. Neither Suchet Singh nor +Gaur Chand approved of their women-folk looking into the world. If +Durga Charan had been of their opinion, he would have been a happier man +today, and little Bisesa would have been able to knead her own bread. +Her room looked out through the grated window into the narrow dark Gully +where the sun never came and where the buffaloes wallowed in the blue +slime. She was a widow, about fifteen years old, and she prayed the +Gods, day and night, to send her a lover; for she did not approve of +living alone. + +One day the man--Trejago his name was--came into Amir Nath's Gully on an +aimless wandering; and, after he had passed the buffaloes, stumbled over +a big heap of cattle food. + +Then he saw that the Gully ended in a trap, and heard a little laugh +from behind the grated window. It was a pretty little laugh, and +Trejago, knowing that, for all practical purposes, the old Arabian +Nights are good guides, went forward to the window, and whispered that +verse of “The Love Song of Har Dyal” which begins: + + Can a man stand upright in the face of the naked Sun; + or a Lover in the Presence of his Beloved? + If my feet fail me, O Heart of my Heart, am I to blame, + being blinded by the glimpse of your beauty? + +There came the faint tchinks of a woman's bracelets from behind the +grating, and a little voice went on with the song at the fifth verse: + + Alas! alas! Can the Moon tell the Lotus of her love when the + Gate of Heaven is shut and the clouds gather for the rains? + They have taken my Beloved, and driven her with the pack-horses + to the North. + There are iron chains on the feet that were set on my heart. + Call to the bowman to make ready-- + +The voice stopped suddenly, and Trejago walked out of Amir Nath's Gully, +wondering who in the world could have capped “The Love Song of Har Dyal” + so neatly. + +Next morning, as he was driving to the office, an old woman threw a +packet into his dog-cart. In the packet was the half of a broken +glass bangle, one flower of the blood red dhak, a pinch of bhusa or +cattle-food, and eleven cardamoms. That packet was a letter--not a +clumsy compromising letter, but an innocent, unintelligible lover's +epistle. + +Trejago knew far too much about these things, as I have said. No +Englishman should be able to translate object-letters. But Trejago +spread all the trifles on the lid of his office-box and began to puzzle +them out. + +A broken glass-bangle stands for a Hindu widow all India over; because, +when her husband dies a woman's bracelets are broken on her wrists. +Trejago saw the meaning of the little bit of the glass. + +The flower of the dhak means diversely “desire,” “come,” “write,” or +“danger,” according to the other things with it. One cardamom means +“jealousy;” but when any article is duplicated in an object-letter, +it loses its symbolic meaning and stands merely for one of a number +indicating time, or, if incense, curds, or saffron be sent also, +place. The message ran then:--“A widow dhak flower and bhusa--at eleven +o'clock.” The pinch of bhusa enlightened Trejago. He saw--this kind of +letter leaves much to instinctive knowledge--that the bhusa referred +to the big heap of cattle-food over which he had fallen in Amir Nath's +Gully, and that the message must come from the person behind the +grating; she being a widow. So the message ran then:--“A widow, in +the Gully in which is the heap of bhusa, desires you to come at eleven +o'clock.” + +Trejago threw all the rubbish into the fireplace and laughed. He knew +that men in the East do not make love under windows at eleven in the +forenoon, nor do women fix appointments a week in advance. + +So he went, that very night at eleven, into Amir Nath's Gully, clad in a +boorka, which cloaks a man as well as a woman. Directly the gongs in +the City made the hour, the little voice behind the grating took up “The +Love Song of Har Dyal” at the verse where the Panthan girl calls upon +Har Dyal to return. The song is really pretty in the Vernacular. In +English you miss the wail of it. It runs something like this:-- + + Alone upon the housetops, to the North + I turn and watch the lightning in the sky,-- + The glamour of thy footsteps in the North, + Come back to me, Beloved, or I die! + + Below my feet the still bazar is laid + Far, far below the weary camels lie,-- + The camels and the captives of thy raid, + Come back to me, Beloved, or I die! + + My father's wife is old and harsh with years, + And drudge of all my father's house am I.-- + My bread is sorrow and my drink is tears, + Come back to me, Beloved, or I die! + +As the song stopped, Trejago stepped up under the grating and +whispered:--“I am here.” + +Bisesa was good to look upon. + +That night was the beginning of many strange things, and of a double +life so wild that Trejago today sometimes wonders if it were not all a +dream. Bisesa or her old handmaiden who had thrown the object-letter had +detached the heavy grating from the brick-work of the wall; so that the +window slid inside, leaving only a square of raw masonry, into which an +active man might climb. + +In the day-time, Trejago drove through his routine of office-work, or +put on his calling-clothes and called on the ladies of the Station; +wondering how long they would know him if they knew of poor little +Bisesa. At night, when all the City was still, came the walk under the +evil-smelling boorka, the patrol through Jitha Megji's bustee, the quick +turn into Amir Nath's Gully between the sleeping cattle and the dead +walls, and then, last of all, Bisesa, and the deep, even breathing of +the old woman who slept outside the door of the bare little room that +Durga Charan allotted to his sister's daughter. Who or what Durga Charan +was, Trejago never inquired; and why in the world he was not discovered +and knifed never occurred to him till his madness was over, and Bisesa... +But this comes later. + +Bisesa was an endless delight to Trejago. She was as ignorant as a bird; +and her distorted versions of the rumors from the outside world that had +reached her in her room, amused Trejago almost as much as her lisping +attempts to pronounce his name--“Christopher.” The first syllable was +always more than she could manage, and she made funny little gestures +with her rose-leaf hands, as one throwing the name away, and then, +kneeling before Trejago, asked him, exactly as an Englishwoman would do, +if he were sure he loved her. Trejago swore that he loved her more than +any one else in the world. Which was true. + +After a month of this folly, the exigencies of his other life compelled +Trejago to be especially attentive to a lady of his acquaintance. You +may take it for a fact that anything of this kind is not only noticed +and discussed by a man's own race, but by some hundred and fifty natives +as well. Trejago had to walk with this lady and talk to her at the +Band-stand, and once or twice to drive with her; never for an instant +dreaming that this would affect his dearer out-of-the-way life. But the +news flew, in the usual mysterious fashion, from mouth to mouth, till +Bisesa's duenna heard of it and told Bisesa. The child was so troubled +that she did the household work evilly, and was beaten by Durga Charan's +wife in consequence. + +A week later, Bisesa taxed Trejago with the flirtation. She understood +no gradations and spoke openly. Trejago laughed and Bisesa stamped her +little feet--little feet, light as marigold flowers, that could lie in +the palm of a man's one hand. + +Much that is written about “Oriental passion and impulsiveness” is +exaggerated and compiled at second-hand, but a little of it is true; and +when an Englishman finds that little, it is quite as startling as any +passion in his own proper life. Bisesa raged and stormed, and finally +threatened to kill herself if Trejago did not at once drop the alien +Memsahib who had come between them. Trejago tried to explain, and +to show her that she did not understand these things from a Western +standpoint. Bisesa drew herself up, and said simply: + +“I do not. I know only this--it is not good that I should have made you +dearer than my own heart to me, Sahib. You are an Englishman. +I am only a black girl”--she was fairer than bar-gold in the Mint--and +the widow of a black man. + +Then she sobbed and said: “But on my soul and my Mother's soul, I love +you. There shall no harm come to you, whatever happens to me.” + +Trejago argued with the child, and tried to soothe her, but she seemed +quite unreasonably disturbed. Nothing would satisfy her save that all +relations between them should end. He was to go away at once. And he +went. As he dropped out at the window, she kissed his forehead twice, +and he walked away wondering. + +A week, and then three weeks, passed without a sign from Bisesa. + +Trejago, thinking that the rupture had lasted quite long enough, went +down to Amir Nath's Gully for the fifth time in the three weeks, hoping +that his rap at the sill of the shifting grating would be answered. He +was not disappointed. + +There was a young moon, and one stream of light fell down into Amir +Nath's Gully, and struck the grating, which was drawn away as he +knocked. From the black dark, Bisesa held out her arms into the +moonlight. Both hands had been cut off at the wrists, and the stumps +were nearly healed. + +Then, as Bisesa bowed her head between her arms and sobbed, some one in +the room grunted like a wild beast, and something sharp--knife, sword or +spear--thrust at Trejago in his boorka. The stroke missed his body, but +cut into one of the muscles of the groin, and he limped slightly from +the wound for the rest of his days. + +The grating went into its place. There was no sign whatever from inside +the house--nothing but the moonlight strip on the high wall, and the +blackness of Amir Nath's Gully behind. + +The next thing Trejago remembers, after raging and shouting like a +madman between those pitiless walls, is that he found himself near the +river as the dawn was breaking, threw away his boorka and went home +bareheaded. + +What the tragedy was--whether Bisesa had, in a fit of causeless despair, +told everything, or the intrigue had been discovered and she tortured +to tell, whether Durga Charan knew his name, and what became of +Bisesa--Trejago does not know to this day. Something horrible had +happened, and the thought of what it must have been comes upon Trejago +in the night now and again, and keeps him company till the morning. +One special feature of the case is that he does not know where lies the +front of Durga Charan's house. It may open on to a courtyard common to +two or more houses, or it may lie behind any one of the gates of Jitha +Megji's bustee. Trejago cannot tell. + +He cannot get Bisesa--poor little Bisesa--back again. He has lost her in +the City, where each man's house is as guarded and as unknowable as the +grave; and the grating that opens into Amir Nath's Gully has been walled +up. + +But Trejago pays his calls regularly, and is reckoned a very decent sort +of man. + +There is nothing peculiar about him, except a slight stiffness, caused +by a riding-strain, in the right leg. + + + + +IN ERROR. + + They burnt a corpse upon the sand-- + The light shone out afar; + It guided home the plunging boats + That beat from Zanzibar. + + Spirit of Fire, where'er Thy altars rise. + Thou art Light of Guidance to our eyes! + ----Salsette Boat-Song. + +There is hope for a man who gets publicly and riotously drunk more +often that he ought to do; but there is no hope for the man who drinks +secretly and alone in his own house--the man who is never seen to drink. + +This is a rule; so there must be an exception to prove it. + +Moriarty's case was that exception. + +He was a Civil Engineer, and the Government, very kindly, put him quite +by himself in an out-district, with nobody but natives to talk to and a +great deal of work to do. He did his work well in the four years he +was utterly alone; but he picked up the vice of secret and solitary +drinking, and came up out of the wilderness more old and worn and +haggard than the dead-alive life had any right to make him. + +You know the saying that a man who has been alone in the jungle for +more than a year is never quite sane all his life after. People credited +Moriarty's queerness of manner and moody ways to the solitude, and said +it showed how Government spoilt the futures of its best men. +Moriarty had built himself the plinth of a very god reputation in the +bridge-dam-girder line. But he knew, every night of the week, that +he was taking steps to undermine that reputation with L. L. L. and +“Christopher” and little nips of liqueurs, and filth of that kind. He +had a sound constitution and a great brain, or else he would have broken +down and died like a sick camel in the district, as better men have done +before him. + +Government ordered him to Simla after he had come out of the desert; +and he went up meaning to try for a post then vacant. That season, Mrs. +Reiver--perhaps you will remember her--was in the height of her power, +and many men lay under her yoke. Everything bad that could be said has +already been said about Mrs. Reiver, in another tale. + +Moriarty was heavily-built and handsome, very quiet and nervously +anxious to please his neighbors when he wasn't sunk in a brown study. +He started a good deal at sudden noises or if spoken to without warning; +and, when you watched him drinking his glass of water at dinner, +you could see the hand shake a little. But all this was put down to +nervousness, and the quiet, steady, “sip-sip-sip, fill and sip-sip-sip, +again,” that went on in his own room when he was by himself, was never +known. Which was miraculous, seeing how everything in a man's private +life is public property out here. + +Moriarty was drawn, not into Mrs. Reiver's set, because they were not +his sort, but into the power of Mrs. Reiver, and he fell down in front +of her and made a goddess of her. This was due to his coming fresh out +of the jungle to a big town. He could not scale things properly or see +who was what. + +Because Mrs. Reiver was cold and hard, he said she was stately and +dignified. Because she had no brains, and could not talk cleverly, he +said she was reserved and shy. Mrs. Reiver shy! Because she was unworthy +of honor or reverence from any one, he reverenced her from a distance +and dowered her with all the virtues in the Bible and most of those in +Shakespeare. + +This big, dark, abstracted man who was so nervous when a pony cantered +behind him, used to moon in the train of Mrs. Reiver, blushing with +pleasure when she threw a word or two his way. His admiration was +strictly platonic: even other women saw and admitted this. He did not +move out in Simla, so he heard nothing against his idol: which was +satisfactory. Mrs. Reiver took no special notice of him, beyond seeing +that he was added to her list of admirers, and going for a walk with him +now and then, just to show that he was her property, claimable as such. +Moriarty must have done most of the talking, for Mrs. Reiver couldn't +talk much to a man of his stamp; and the little she said could not have +been profitable. What Moriarty believed in, as he had good reason to, +was Mrs. Reiver's influence over him, and, in that belief, set himself +seriously to try to do away with the vice that only he himself knew of. + +His experiences while he was fighting with it must have been peculiar, +but he never described them. Sometimes he would hold off from everything +except water for a week. Then, on a rainy night, when no one had asked +him out to dinner, and there was a big fire in his room, and everything +comfortable, he would sit down and make a big night of it by adding +little nip to little nip, planning big schemes of reformation meanwhile, +until he threw himself on his bed hopelessly drunk. He suffered next +morning. + +One night, the big crash came. He was troubled in his own mind over his +attempts to make himself “worthy of the friendship” of Mrs. Reiver. The +past ten days had been very bad ones, and the end of it all was that he +received the arrears of two and three-quarter years of sipping in one +attack of delirium tremens of the subdued kind; beginning with suicidal +depression, going on to fits and starts and hysteria, and ending with +downright raving. As he sat in a chair in front of the fire, or walked +up and down the room picking a handkerchief to pieces, you heard what +poor Moriarty really thought of Mrs. Reiver, for he raved about her +and his own fall for the most part; though he ravelled some P. W. D. +accounts into the same skein of thought. He talked, and talked, and +talked in a low dry whisper to himself, and there was no stopping him. +He seemed to know that there was something wrong, and twice tried to +pull himself together and confer rationally with the Doctor; but his +mind ran out of control at once, and he fell back to a whisper and the +story of his troubles. It is terrible to hear a big man babbling like a +child of all that a man usually locks up, and puts away in the deep of +his heart. Moriarty read out his very soul for the benefit of any one +who was in the room between ten-thirty that night and two-forty-five +next morning. + +From what he said, one gathered how immense an influence Mrs. Reiver +held over him, and how thoroughly he felt for his own lapse. His +whisperings cannot, of course, be put down here; but they were very +instructive as showing the errors of his estimates.......... + +When the trouble was over, and his few acquaintances were pitying him +for the bad attack of jungle-fever that had so pulled him down, Moriarty +swore a big oath to himself and went abroad again with Mrs. Reiver till +the end of the season, adoring her in a quiet and deferential way as an +angel from heaven. Later on he took to riding--not hacking, but honest +riding--which was good proof that he was improving, and you could slam +doors behind him without his jumping to his feet with a gasp. That, +again, was hopeful. + +How he kept his oath, and what it cost him in the beginning, nobody +knows. He certainly managed to compass the hardest thing that a man who +has drank heavily can do. He took his peg and wine at dinner, but he +never drank alone, and never let what he drank have the least hold on +him. + +Once he told a bosom-friend the story of his great trouble, and how the +“influence of a pure honest woman, and an angel as well” had saved him. +When the man--startled at anything good being laid to Mrs. Reiver's +door--laughed, it cost him Moriarty's friendship. + +Moriarty, who is married now to a woman ten thousand times better than +Mrs. Reiver--a woman who believes that there is no man on earth as +good and clever as her husband--will go down to his grave vowing and +protesting that Mrs. Reiver saved him from ruin in both worlds. + +That she knew anything of Moriarty's weakness nobody believed for +a moment. That she would have cut him dead, thrown him over, and +acquainted all her friends with her discovery, if she had known of it, +nobody who knew her doubted for an instant. + +oriarty thought her something she never was, and in that belief saved +himself. Which was just as good as though she had been everything that +he had imagined. + +But the question is, what claim will Mrs. Reiver have to the credit of +Moriarty's salvation, when her day of reckoning comes? + + + + +A BANK FRAUD. + + He drank strong waters and his speech was coarse; + He purchased raiment and forebore to pay; + He struck a trusting junior with a horse, + And won Gymkhanas in a doubtful way. + + Then, 'twixt a vice and folly, turned aside + To do good deeds and straight to cloak them, lied. + --THE MESS ROOM. + +If Reggie Burke were in India now, he would resent this tale being told; +but as he is in Hong-Kong and won't see it, the telling is safe. He was +the man who worked the big fraud on the Sind and Sialkote Bank. He was +manager of an up-country Branch, and a sound practical man with a large +experience of native loan and insurance work. He could combine the +frivolities of ordinary life with his work, and yet do well. Reggie +Burke rode anything that would let him get up, danced as neatly as he +rode, and was wanted for every sort of amusement in the Station. + +As he said himself, and as many men found out rather to their surprise, +there were two Burkes, both very much at your service. + +“Reggie Burke,” between four and ten, ready for anything from a +hot-weather gymkhana to a riding-picnic; and, between ten and four, “Mr. +Reginald Burke, Manager of the Sind and Sialkote Branch Bank.” You might +play polo with him one afternoon and hear him express his opinions when +a man crossed; and you might call on him next morning to raise a +two-thousand rupee loan on a five hundred pound insurance-policy, eighty +pounds paid in premiums. He would recognize you, but you would have some +trouble in recognizing him. + +The Directors of the Bank--it had its headquarters in Calcutta and its +General Manager's word carried weight with the Government--picked their +men well. They had tested Reggie up to a fairly severe breaking-strain. +They trusted him just as much as Directors ever trust Managers. You must +see for yourself whether their trust was misplaced. + +Reggie's Branch was in a big Station, and worked with the usual +staff--one Manager, one Accountant, both English, a Cashier, and a horde +of native clerks; besides the Police patrol at nights outside. + +The bulk of its work, for it was in a thriving district, was hoondi and +accommodation of all kinds. A fool has no grip of this sort of business; +and a clever man who does not go about among his clients, and know more +than a little of their affairs, is worse than a fool. + +Reggie was young-looking, clean-shaved, with a twinkle in his eye, and +a head that nothing short of a gallon of the Gunners' Madeira could make +any impression on. + +One day, at a big dinner, he announced casually that the Directors had +shifted on to him a Natural Curiosity, from England, in the Accountant +line. He was perfectly correct. Mr. Silas Riley, Accountant, was a MOST +curious animal--a long, gawky, rawboned Yorkshireman, full of the savage +self-conceit that blossoms only in the best county in England. Arrogance +was a mild word for the mental attitude of Mr. S. Riley. He had worked +himself up, after seven years, to a Cashier's position in a Huddersfield +Bank; and all his experience lay among the factories of the North. +Perhaps he would have done better on the Bombay side, where they are +happy with one-half per cent. profits, and money is cheap. He was +useless for Upper India and a wheat Province, where a man wants a large +head and a touch of imagination if he is to turn out a satisfactory +balance-sheet. + +He was wonderfully narrow-minded in business, and, being new to the +country, had no notion that Indian banking is totally distinct from +Home work. Like most clever self-made men, he had much simplicity in his +nature; and, somehow or other, had construed the ordinarily polite terms +of his letter of engagement into a belief that the Directors had chosen +him on account of his special and brilliant talents, and that they set +great store by him. This notion grew and crystallized; thus adding to +his natural North-country conceit. + +Further, he was delicate, suffered from some trouble in his chest, and +was short in his temper. + +You will admit that Reggie had reason to call his new Accountant a +Natural Curiosity. The two men failed to hit it off at all. Riley +considered Reggie a wild, feather-headed idiot, given to Heaven only +knew what dissipation in low places called “Messes,” and totally unfit +for the serious and solemn vocation of banking. He could never get +over Reggie's look of youth and “you-be-damned” air; and he couldn't +understand Reggie's friends--clean-built, careless men in the Army--who +rode over to big Sunday breakfasts at the Bank, and told sultry stories +till Riley got up and left the room. Riley was always showing Reggie +how the business ought to be conducted, and Reggie had more than once to +remind him that seven years' limited experience between Huddersfield and +Beverly did not qualify a man to steer a big up-country business. Then +Riley sulked and referred to himself as a pillar of the Bank and a +cherished friend of the Directors, and Reggie tore his hair. If a man's +English subordinates fail him in this country, he comes to a hard time +indeed, for native help has strict limitations. In the winter Riley went +sick for weeks at a time with his lung complaint, and this threw more +work on Reggie. But he preferred it to the everlasting friction when +Riley was well. + +One of the Travelling Inspectors of the Bank discovered these collapses +and reported them to the Directors. Now Riley had been foisted on the +Bank by an M. P., who wanted the support of Riley's father, who, again, +was anxious to get his son out to a warmer climate because of those +lungs. The M. P. had an interest in the Bank; but one of the Directors +wanted to advance a nominee of his own; and, after Riley's father had +died, he made the rest of the Board see that an Accountant who was sick +for half the year, had better give place to a healthy man. If Riley had +known the real story of his appointment, he might have behaved better; +but knowing nothing, his stretches of sickness alternated with restless, +persistent, meddling irritation of Reggie, and all the hundred ways in +which conceit in a subordinate situation can find play. Reggie used to +call him striking and hair-curling names behind his back as a relief to +his own feelings; but he never abused him to his face, because he said: +“Riley is such a frail beast that half of his loathsome conceit is due +to pains in the chest.” + +Late one April, Riley went very sick indeed. The doctor punched him +and thumped him, and told him he would be better before long. Then the +doctor went to Reggie and said:--“Do you know how sick your Accountant +is?” “No!” said Reggie--“The worse the better, confound him! He's a +clacking nuisance when he's well. I'll let you take away the Bank Safe +if you can drug him silent for this hot-weather.” + +But the doctor did not laugh--“Man, I'm not joking,” he said. “I'll give +him another three months in his bed and a week or so more to die in. +On my honor and reputation that's all the grace he has in this world. +Consumption has hold of him to the marrow.” + +Reggie's face changed at once into the face of “Mr. Reginald Burke,” and +he answered:--“What can I do?” + +“Nothing,” said the doctor. “For all practical purposes the man is dead +already. Keep him quiet and cheerful and tell him he's going to recover. +That's all. I'll look after him to the end, of course.” + +The doctor went away, and Reggie sat down to open the evening mail. + +His first letter was one from the Directors, intimating for his +information that Mr. Riley was to resign, under a month's notice, by the +terms of his agreement, telling Reggie that their letter to Riley would +follow and advising Reggie of the coming of a new Accountant, a man whom +Reggie knew and liked. + +Reggie lit a cheroot, and, before he had finished smoking, he had +sketched the outline of a fraud. He put away--“burked”--the Directors +letter, and went in to talk to Riley, who was as ungracious as usual, +and fretting himself over the way the bank would run during his illness. +He never thought of the extra work on Reggie's shoulders, but solely of +the damage to his own prospects of advancement. Then Reggie assured him +that everything would be well, and that he, Reggie, would confer with +Riley daily on the management of the Bank. Riley was a little soothed, +but he hinted in as many words that he did not think much of Reggie's +business capacity. + +Reggie was humble. And he had letters in his desk from the Directors +that a Gilbarte or a Hardie might have been proud of! + +The days passed in the big darkened house, and the Directors' letter of +dismissal to Riley came and was put away by Reggie, who, every evening, +brought the books to Riley's room, and showed him what had been going +forward, while Riley snarled. Reggie did his best to make statements +pleasing to Riley, but the Accountant was sure that the Bank was going +to rack and ruin without him. In June, as the lying in bed told on his +spirit, he asked whether his absence had been noted by the Directors, +and Reggie said that they had written most sympathetic letters, hoping +that he would be able to resume his valuable services before long. He +showed Riley the letters: and Riley said that the Directors ought to +have written to him direct. + +A few days later, Reggie opened Riley's mail in the half-light of the +room, and gave him the sheet--not the envelope--of a letter to Riley +from the Directors. Riley said he would thank Reggie not to interfere +with his private papers, specially as Reggie knew he was too weak to +open his own letters. Reggie apologized. + +Then Riley's mood changed, and he lectured Reggie on his evil ways: +his horses and his bad friends. “Of course, lying here on my back, Mr. +Burke, I can't keep you straight; but when I'm well, I DO hope you'll +pay some heed to my words.” Reggie, who had dropped polo, and dinners, +and tennis, and all to attend to Riley, said that he was penitent and +settled Riley's head on the pillow and heard him fret and contradict in +hard, dry, hacking whispers, without a sign of impatience. This at the +end of a heavy day's office work, doing double duty, in the latter half +of June. + +When the new Accountant came, Reggie told him the facts of the case, and +announced to Riley that he had a guest staying with him. Riley said that +he might have had more consideration than to entertain his “doubtful +friends” at such a time. Reggie made Carron, the new Accountant, sleep +at the Club in consequence. Carron's arrival took some of the heavy work +off his shoulders, and he had time to attend to Riley's exactions--to +explain, soothe, invent, and settle and resettle the poor wretch in +bed, and to forge complimentary letters from Calcutta. At the end of the +first month, Riley wished to send some money home to his mother. Reggie +sent the draft. At the end of the second month, Riley's salary came in +just the same. Reggie paid it out of his own pocket; and, with it, wrote +Riley a beautiful letter from the Directors. + +Riley was very ill indeed, but the flame of his life burnt unsteadily. +Now and then he would be cheerful and confident about the future, +sketching plans for going Home and seeing his mother. + +Reggie listened patiently when the office work was over, and encouraged +him. + +At other times Riley insisted on Reggie's reading the Bible and grim +“Methody” tracts to him. Out of these tracts he pointed morals directed +at his Manager. But he always found time to worry Reggie about the +working of the Bank, and to show him where the weak points lay. + +This in-door, sick-room life and constant strains wore Reggie down a +good deal, and shook his nerves, and lowered his billiard-play by forty +points. But the business of the Bank, and the business of the sick-room, +had to go on, though the glass was 116 degrees in the shade. + +At the end of the third month, Riley was sinking fast, and had begun +to realize that he was very sick. But the conceit that made him worry +Reggie, kept him from believing the worst. “He wants some sort of mental +stimulant if he is to drag on,” said the doctor. + +“Keep him interested in life if you care about his living.” So Riley, +contrary to all the laws of business and the finance, received a +25-per-cent, rise of salary from the Directors. The “mental stimulant” + succeeded beautifully. Riley was happy and cheerful, and, as is often +the case in consumption, healthiest in mind when the body was weakest. +He lingered for a full month, snarling and fretting about the Bank, +talking of the future, hearing the Bible read, lecturing Reggie on sin, +and wondering when he would be able to move abroad. + +But at the end of September, one mercilessly hot evening, he rose up in +his bed with a little gasp, and said quickly to Reggie:--“Mr. Burke, I +am going to die. I know it in myself. My chest is all hollow inside, and +there's nothing to breathe with. To the best of my knowledge I have done +nowt”--he was returning to the talk of his boyhood--“to lie heavy on my +conscience. God be thanked, I have been preserved from the grosser forms +of sin; and I counsel YOU, Mr. Burke....” + +Here his voice died down, and Reggie stooped over him. + +“Send my salary for September to my mother.... done great things with +the Bank if I had been spared.... mistaken policy.... no fault +of mine.” + +Then he turned his face to the wall and died. + +Reggie drew the sheet over Its face, and went out into the verandah, +with his last “mental stimulant”--a letter of condolence and sympathy +from the Directors--unused in his pocket. + +“If I'd been only ten minutes earlier,” thought Reggie, “I might have +heartened him up to pull through another day.” + + + + +TODS' AMENDMENT. + + The World hath set its heavy yoke + Upon the old white-bearded folk + Who strive to please the King. + + God's mercy is upon the young, + God's wisdom in the baby tongue + That fears not anything. + --The Parable of Chajju Bhagat. + +Now Tods' Mamma was a singularly charming woman, and every one in Simla +knew Tods. Most men had saved him from death on occasions. + +He was beyond his ayah's control altogether, and perilled his life daily +to find out what would happen if you pulled a Mountain Battery mule's +tail. He was an utterly fearless young Pagan, about six years old, and +the only baby who ever broke the holy calm of the supreme Legislative +Council. + +It happened this way: Tods' pet kid got loose, and fled up the hill, off +the Boileaugunge Road, Tods after it, until it burst into the Viceregal +Lodge lawn, then attached to “Peterhoff.” The Council were sitting at +the time, and the windows were open because it was warm. The Red Lancer +in the porch told Tods to go away; but Tods knew the Red Lancer and most +of the Members of Council personally. + +Moreover, he had firm hold of the kid's collar, and was being dragged +all across the flower-beds. “Give my salaam to the long Councillor +Sahib, and ask him to help me take Moti back!” gasped Tods. The Council +heard the noise through the open windows; and, after an interval, was +seen the shocking spectacle of a Legal Member and a Lieutenant-Governor +helping, under the direct patronage of a Commander-in-Chief and a +Viceroy, one small and very dirty boy in a sailor's suit and a tangle +of brown hair, to coerce a lively and rebellious kid. They headed it off +down the path to the Mall, and Tods went home in triumph and told his +Mamma that ALL the Councillor Sahibs had been helping him to catch Moti. +Whereat his Mamma smacked Tods for interfering with the administration +of the Empire; but Tods met the Legal Member the next day, and told him +in confidence that if the Legal Member ever wanted to catch a goat, he, +Tods, would give him all the help in his power. “Thank you, Tods,” said +the Legal Member. + +Tods was the idol of some eighty jhampanis, and half as many saises. + +He saluted them all as “O Brother.” It never entered his head that +any living human being could disobey his orders; and he was the +buffer between the servants and his Mamma's wrath. The working of that +household turned on Tods, who was adored by every one from the dhoby +to the dog-boy. Even Futteh Khan, the villainous loafer khit from +Mussoorie, shirked risking Tods' displeasure for fear his co-mates +should look down on him. + +So Tods had honor in the land from Boileaugunge to Chota Simla, and +ruled justly according to his lights. Of course, he spoke Urdu, but he +had also mastered many queer side-speeches like the chotee bolee of the +women, and held grave converse with shopkeepers and Hill-coolies alike. +He was precocious for his age, and his mixing with natives had taught +him some of the more bitter truths of life; the meanness and the +sordidness of it. He used, over his bread and milk, to deliver solemn +and serious aphorisms, translated from the vernacular into the English, +that made his Mamma jump and vow that Tods MUST go home next hot +weather. + +Just when Tods was in the bloom of his power, the Supreme Legislature +were hacking out a Bill, for the Sub-Montane Tracts, a revision of the +then Act, smaller than the Punjab Land Bill, but affecting a few +hundred thousand people none the less. The Legal Member had built, +and bolstered, and embroidered, and amended that Bill, till it looked +beautiful on paper. Then the Council began to settle what they called +the “minor details.” As if any Englishman legislating for natives knows +enough to know which are the minor and which are the major points, from +the native point of view, of any measure! That Bill was a triumph of +“safe-guarding the interests of the tenant.” One clause provided that +land should not be leased on longer terms than five years at a stretch; +because, if the landlord had a tenant bound down for, say, twenty years, +he would squeeze the very life out of him. The notion was to keep up +a stream of independent cultivators in the Sub-Montane Tracts; and +ethnologically and politically the notion was correct. The only drawback +was that it was altogether wrong. A native's life in India implies the +life of his son. Wherefore, you cannot legislate for one generation at +a time. You must consider the next from the native point of view. +Curiously enough, the native now and then, and in Northern India more +particularly, hates being over-protected against himself. There was +a Naga village once, where they lived on dead AND buried Commissariat +mules.... But that is another story. + +For many reasons, to be explained later, the people concerned objected +to the Bill. The Native Member in Council knew as much about Punjabis as +he knew about Charing Cross. He had said in Calcutta that “the Bill was +entirely in accord with the desires of that large and important class, +the cultivators;” and so on, and so on. The Legal Member's knowledge +of natives was limited to English-speaking Durbaris, and his own red +chaprassis, the Sub-Montane Tracts concerned no one in particular, +the Deputy Commissioners were a good deal too driven to make +representations, and the measure was one which dealt with small +landholders only. Nevertheless, the Legal Member prayed that it might be +correct, for he was a nervously conscientious man. He did not know that +no man can tell what natives think unless he mixes with them with the +varnish off. And not always then. But he did the best he knew. And the +measure came up to the Supreme Council for the final touches, while Tods +patrolled the Burra Simla Bazar in his morning rides, and played with +the monkey belonging to Ditta Mull, the bunnia, and listened, as a child +listens to all the stray talk about this new freak of the Lat Sahib's. + +One day there was a dinner-party, at the house of Tods' Mamma, and the +Legal Member came. Tods was in bed, but he kept awake till he heard the +bursts of laughter from the men over the coffee. Then he paddled out in +his little red flannel dressing-gown and his night-suit, and took refuge +by the side of his father, knowing that he would not be sent back. “See +the miseries of having a family!” said Tods' father, giving Tods three +prunes, some water in a glass that had been used for claret, and telling +him to sit still. Tods sucked the prunes slowly, knowing that he would +have to go when they were finished, and sipped the pink water like a man +of the world, as he listened to the conversation. Presently, the Legal +Member, talking “shop,” to the Head of a Department, mentioned his Bill +by its full name--“The Sub-Montane Tracts Ryotwari Revised Enactment.” + Tods caught the one native word, and lifting up his small voice +said:--“Oh, I know ALL about that! Has it been murramutted yet, +Councillor Sahib?” + +“How much?” said the Legal Member. + +“Murramutted--mended.--Put theek, you know--made nice to please Ditta +Mull!” + +The Legal Member left his place and moved up next to Tods. + +“What do you know about Ryotwari, little man?” he said. + +“I'm not a little man, I'm Tods, and I know ALL about it. Ditta Mull, +and Choga Lall, and Amir Nath, and--oh, lakhs of my friends tell me +about it in the bazars when I talk to them.” + +“Oh, they do--do they? What do they say, Tods?” + +Tods tucked his feet under his red flannel dressing-gown and said:--“I +must fink.” + +The Legal Member waited patiently. Then Tods, with infinite compassion: + +“You don't speak my talk, do you, Councillor Sahib?” + +“No; I am sorry to say I do not,” said the Legal' Member. + +“Very well,” said Tods. “I must fink in English.” + +He spent a minute putting his ideas in order, and began very slowly, +translating in his mind from the vernacular to English, as many +Anglo-Indian children do. You must remember that the Legal Member +helped him on by questions when he halted, for Tods was not equal to the +sustained flight of oratory that follows. + +“Ditta Mull says:--'This thing is the talk of a child, and was made up +by fools.' But I don't think you are a fool, Councillor Sahib,” said +Tods, hastily. “You caught my goat. This is what Ditta Mull says:--'I am +not a fool, and why should the Sirkar say I am a child? I can see if +the land is good and if the landlord is good. If I am a fool, the sin is +upon my own head. For five years I take my ground for which I have saved +money, and a wife I take too, and a little son is born.' Ditta Mull has +one daughter now, but he SAYS he will have a son, soon. And he says: 'At +the end of five years, by this new bundobust, I must go. If I do not go, +I must get fresh seals and takkus-stamps on the papers, perhaps in the +middle of the harvest, and to go to the law-courts once is wisdom, but +to go twice is Jehannum.' That is QUITE true,” explained Tods, gravely. +“All my friends say so. And Ditta Mull says:--'Always fresh takkus and +paying money to vakils and chaprassis and law-courts every five years or +else the landlord makes me go. Why do I want to go? Am I fool? If I am a +fool and do not know, after forty years, good land when I see it, let +me die! But if the new bundobust says for FIFTEEN years, then it is +good and wise. My little son is a man, and I am burnt, and he takes the +ground or another ground, paying only once for the takkus-stamps on the +papers, and his little son is born, and at the end of fifteen years is +a man too. But what profit is there in five years and fresh papers? +Nothing but dikh, trouble, dikh. We are not young men who take these +lands, but old ones--not jais, but tradesmen with a little money--and +for fifteen years we shall have peace. Nor are we children that the +Sirkar should treat us so.” + +Here Tods stopped short, for the whole table were listening. The Legal +Member said to Tods: “Is that all?” + +“All I can remember,” said Tods. “But you should see Ditta Mull's big +monkey. It's just like a Councillor Sahib.” + +“Tods! Go to bed,” said his father. + +Tods gathered up his dressing-gown tail and departed. + +The Legal Member brought his hand down on the table with a crash--“By +Jove!” said the Legal Member, “I believe the boy is right. The short +tenure IS the weak point.” + +He left early, thinking over what Tods had said. Now, it was obviously +impossible for the Legal Member to play with a bunnia's monkey, by way +of getting understanding; but he did better. He made inquiries, +always bearing in mind the fact that the real native--not the hybrid, +University-trained mule--is as timid as a colt, and, little by little, +he coaxed some of the men whom the measure concerned most intimately to +give in their views, which squared very closely with Tods' evidence. + +So the Bill was amended in that clause; and the Legal Member was filled +with an uneasy suspicion that Native Members represent very little +except the Orders they carry on their bosoms. But he put the thought +from him as illiberal. He was a most Liberal Man. + +After a time the news spread through the bazars that Tods had got the +Bill recast in the tenure clause, and if Tods' Mamma had not interfered, +Tods would have made himself sick on the baskets of fruit and pistachio +nuts and Cabuli grapes and almonds that crowded the verandah. Till he +went Home, Tods ranked some few degrees before the Viceroy in popular +estimation. But for the little life of him Tods could not understand +why. + +In the Legal Member's private-paper-box still lies the rough draft of +the Sub-Montane Tracts Ryotwari Revised Enactment; and, opposite the +twenty-second clause, pencilled in blue chalk, and signed by the Legal +Member, are the words “Tods' Amendment.” + + + + +IN THE PRIDE OF HIS YOUTH. + + “Stopped in the straight when the race was his own! + Look at him cutting it--cur to the bone!” + “Ask ere the youngster be rated and chidden, + What did he carry and how was he ridden? + Maybe they used him too much at the start; + Maybe Fate's weight-cloths are breaking his heart.” + --Life's Handicap. + +When I was telling you of the joke that The Worm played off on the +Senior Subaltern, I promised a somewhat similar tale, but with all the +jest left out. This is that tale: + +Dicky Hatt was kidnapped in his early, early youth--neither by +landlady's daughter, housemaid, barmaid, nor cook, but by a girl so +nearly of his own caste that only a woman could have said she was just +the least little bit in the world below it. This happened a month +before he came out to India, and five days after his one-and-twentieth +birthday. The girl was nineteen--six years older than Dicky in the +things of this world, that is to say--and, for the time, twice as +foolish as he. + +Excepting, always, falling off a horse there is nothing more fatally +easy than marriage before the Registrar. The ceremony costs less than +fifty shillings, and is remarkably like walking into a pawn-shop. After +the declarations of residence have been put in, four minutes will +cover the rest of the proceedings--fees, attestation, and all. Then the +Registrar slides the blotting-pad over the names, and says grimly, with +his pen between his teeth:--“Now you're man and wife;” and the couple +walk out into the street, feeling as if something were horribly illegal +somewhere. + +But that ceremony holds and can drag a man to his undoing just +as thoroughly as the “long as ye both shall live” curse from the +altar-rails, with the bridesmaids giggling behind, and “The Voice that +breathed o'er Eden” lifting the roof off. In this manner was Dicky Hatt +kidnapped, and he considered it vastly fine, for he had received an +appointment in India which carried a magnificent salary from the Home +point of view. The marriage was to be kept secret for a year. Then Mrs. +Dicky Hatt was to come out and the rest of life was to be a glorious +golden mist. That was how they sketched it under the Addison Road +Station lamps; and, after one short month, came Gravesend and Dicky +steaming out to his new life, and the girl crying in a thirty-shillings +a week bed-and-living room, in a back street off Montpelier Square near +the Knightsbridge Barracks. + +But the country that Dicky came to was a hard land, where “men” of +twenty-one were reckoned very small boys indeed, and life was expensive. +The salary that loomed so large six thousand miles away did not go far. +Particularly when Dicky divided it by two, and remitted more than the +fair half, at 1-6, to Montpelier Square. One hundred and thirty-five +rupees out of three hundred and thirty is not much to live on; but +it was absurd to suppose that Mrs. Hatt could exist forever on the 20 +pounds held back by Dicky, from his outfit allowance. Dicky saw this, +and remitted at once; always remembering that Rs. 700 were to be paid, +twelve months later, for a first-class passage out for a lady. When you +add to these trifling details the natural instincts of a boy beginning a +new life in a new country and longing to go about and enjoy himself, and +the necessity for grappling with strange work--which, properly speaking, +should take up a boy's undivided attention--you will see that Dicky +started handicapped. He saw it himself for a breath or two; but he did +not guess the full beauty of his future. + +As the hot weather began, the shackles settled on him and ate into his +flesh. First would come letters--big, crossed, seven sheet letters--from +his wife, telling him how she longed to see him, and what a Heaven upon +earth would be their property when they met. + +Then some boy of the chummery wherein Dicky lodged would pound on the +door of his bare little room, and tell him to come out and look at a +pony--the very thing to suit him. Dicky could not afford ponies. He had +to explain this. Dicky could not afford living in the chummery, modest +as it was. He had to explain this before he moved to a single room next +the office where he worked all day. He kept house on a green oil-cloth +table-cover, one chair, one charpoy, one photograph, one tooth-glass, +very strong and thick, a seven-rupee eight-anna filter, and messing by +contract at thirty-seven rupees a month. Which last item was extortion. +He had no punkah, for a punkah costs fifteen rupees a month; but he +slept on the roof of the office with all his wife's letters under his +pillow. Now and again he was asked out to dinner where he got both a +punkah and an iced drink. But this was seldom, for people objected +to recognizing a boy who had evidently the instincts of a Scotch +tallow-chandler, and who lived in such a nasty fashion. Dicky could not +subscribe to any amusement, so he found no amusement except the pleasure +of turning over his Bank-book and reading what it said about “loans +on approved security.” That cost nothing. He remitted through a Bombay +Bank, by the way, and the Station knew nothing of his private affairs. + +Every month he sent Home all he could possibly spare for his wife--and +for another reason which was expected to explain itself shortly and +would require more money. + +About this time, Dicky was overtaken with the nervous, haunting fear +that besets married men when they are out of sorts. He had no pension to +look to. What if he should die suddenly, and leave his wife unprovided +for? The thought used to lay hold of him in the still, hot nights on the +roof, till the shaking of his heart made him think that he was going to +die then and there of heart-disease. + +Now this is a frame of mind which no boy has a right to know. It is +a strong man's trouble; but, coming when it did, it nearly drove poor +punkah-less, perspiring Dicky Hatt mad. He could tell no one about it. + +A certain amount of “screw” is as necessary for a man as for a +billiard-ball. It makes them both do wonderful things. Dicky needed +money badly, and he worked for it like a horse. But, naturally, the men +who owned him knew that a boy can live very comfortably on a certain +income--pay in India is a matter of age, not merit, you see, and if +their particular boy wished to work like two boys, Business forbid that +they should stop him! But Business forbid that they should give him an +increase of pay at his present ridiculously immature age! So Dicky won +certain rises of salary--ample for a boy--not enough for a wife and +child--certainly too little for the seven-hundred-rupee passage that he +and Mrs. Hatt had discussed so lightly once upon a time. And with this +he was forced to be content. + +Somehow, all his money seemed to fade away in Home drafts and the +crushing Exchange, and the tone of the Home letters changed and grew +querulous. “Why wouldn't Dicky have his wife and the baby out? Surely he +had a salary--a fine salary--and it was too bad of him to enjoy himself +in India. But would he--could he--make the next draft a little more +elastic?” Here followed a list of baby's kit, as long as a Parsee's +bill. Then Dicky, whose heart yearned to his wife and the little son +he had never seen--which, again, is a feeling no boy is entitled +to--enlarged the draft and wrote queer half-boy, half-man letters, +saying that life was not so enjoyable after all and would the little +wife wait yet a little longer? But the little wife, however much she +approved of money, objected to waiting, and there was a strange, hard +sort of ring in her letters that Dicky didn't understand. How could he, +poor boy? + +Later on still--just as Dicky had been told--apropos of another +youngster who had “made a fool of himself,” as the saying is--that +matrimony would not only ruin his further chances of advancement, but +would lose him his present appointment--came the news that the baby, his +own little, little son, had died, and, behind this, forty lines of +an angry woman's scrawl, saying that death might have been averted if +certain things, all costing money, had been done, or if the mother and +the baby had been with Dicky. The letter struck at Dicky's naked heart; +but, not being officially entitled to a baby, he could show no sign of +trouble. + +How Dicky won through the next four months, and what hope he kept +alight to force him into his work, no one dare say. He pounded on, the +seven-hundred-rupee passage as far away as ever, and his style of living +unchanged, except when he launched into a new filter. + +There was the strain of his office-work, and the strain of his +remittances, and the knowledge of his boy's death, which touched the boy +more, perhaps, than it would have touched a man; and, beyond all, the +enduring strain of his daily life. Gray-headed seniors, who approved +of his thrift and his fashion of denying himself everything pleasant, +reminded him of the old saw that says: + + “If a youth would be distinguished in his art, art, art, + He must keep the girls away from his heart, heart, heart.” + +And Dicky, who fancied he had been through every trouble that a man is +permitted to know, had to laugh and agree; with the last line of his +balanced Bank-book jingling in his head day and night. + +But he had one more sorrow to digest before the end. There arrived a +letter from the little wife--the natural sequence of the others if +Dicky had only known it--and the burden of that letter was “gone with +a handsomer man than you.” It was a rather curious production, without +stops, something like this:--“She was not going to wait forever and the +baby was dead and Dicky was only a boy and he would never set eyes on +her again and why hadn't he waved his handkerchief to her when he left +Gravesend and God was her judge she was a wicked woman but Dicky was +worse enjoying himself in India and this other man loved the ground she +trod on and would Dicky ever forgive her for she would never forgive +Dicky; and there was no address to write to.” + +Instead of thanking his lucky stars that he was free, Dicky discovered +exactly how an injured husband feels--again, not at all the knowledge +to which a boy is entitled--for his mind went back to his wife as he +remembered her in the thirty-shilling “suite” in Montpelier Square, when +the dawn of his last morning in England was breaking, and she was crying +in the bed. Whereat he rolled about on his bed and bit his fingers. He +never stopped to think whether, if he had met Mrs. Hatt after those +two years, he would have discovered that he and she had grown quite +different and new persons. This, theoretically, he ought to have done. +He spent the night after the English Mail came in rather severe pain. + +Next morning, Dicky Hatt felt disinclined to work. He argued that he had +missed the pleasure of youth. He was tired, and he had tasted all the +sorrow in life before three-and-twenty. His Honor was gone--that was the +man; and now he, too, would go to the Devil--that was the boy in him. So +he put his head down on the green oil-cloth table-cover, and wept before +resigning his post, and all it offered. + +But the reward of his services came. He was given three days to +reconsider himself, and the Head of the establishment, after some +telegraphings, said that it was a most unusual step, but, in view of the +ability that Mr. Hatt had displayed at such and such a time, at such and +such junctures, he was in a position to offer him an infinitely superior +post--first on probation, and later, in the natural course of things, +on confirmation. “And how much does the post carry?” said Dicky. “Six +hundred and fifty rupees,” said the Head slowly, expecting to see the +young man sink with gratitude and joy. + +And it came then! The seven hundred rupee passage, and enough to have +saved the wife, and the little son, and to have allowed of assured and +open marriage, came then. Dicky burst into a roar of laughter--laughter +he could not check--nasty, jangling merriment that seemed as if it +would go on forever. When he had recovered himself he said, quite +seriously:--“I'm tired of work. I'm an old man now. It's about time I +retired. And I will.” + +“The boy's mad!” said the Head. + +I think he was right; but Dicky Hatt never reappeared to settle the +question. + + + + +PIG. + + Go, stalk the red deer o'er the heather + Ride, follow the fox if you can! + But, for pleasure and profit together, + Allow me the hunting of Man,-- + The chase of the Human, the search for the Soul + To its ruin,--the hunting of Man. + --The Old Shikarri. + +I believe the difference began in the matter of a horse, with a twist in +his temper, whom Pinecoffin sold to Nafferton and by whom Nafferton was +nearly slain. There may have been other causes of offence; the horse was +the official stalking-horse. Nafferton was very angry; but Pinecoffin +laughed and said that he had never guaranteed the beast's manners. +Nafferton laughed, too, though he vowed that he would write off his fall +against Pinecoffin if he waited five years. Now, a Dalesman from beyond +Skipton will forgive an injury when the Strid lets a man live; but a +South Devon man is as soft as a Dartmoor bog. You can see from their +names that Nafferton had the race-advantage of Pinecoffin. He was a +peculiar man, and his notions of humor were cruel. He taught me a new +and fascinating form of shikar. He hounded Pinecoffin from Mithankot +to Jagadri, and from Gurgaon to Abbottabad up and across the Punjab, +a large province and in places remarkably dry. He said that he had no +intention of allowing Assistant Commissioners to “sell him pups,” in the +shape of ramping, screaming countrybreds, without making their lives a +burden to them. + +Most Assistant Commissioners develop a bent for some special work after +their first hot weather in the country. The boys with digestions hope to +write their names large on the Frontier and struggle for dreary places +like Bannu and Kohat. The bilious ones climb into the Secretariat. Which +is very bad for the liver. + +Others are bitten with a mania for District work, Ghuznivide coins or +Persian poetry; while some, who come of farmers' stock, find that the +smell of the Earth after the Rains gets into their blood, and calls them +to “develop the resources of the Province.” These men are enthusiasts. +Pinecoffin belonged to their class. He knew a great many facts bearing +on the cost of bullocks and temporary wells, and opium-scrapers, and +what happens if you burn too much rubbish on a field, in the hope of +enriching used-up soil. All the Pinecoffins come of a landholding +breed, and so the land only took back her own again. Unfortunately--most +unfortunately for Pinecoffin--he was a Civilian, as well as a +farmer. Nafferton watched him, and thought about the horse. Nafferton +said:--“See me chase that boy till he drops!” I said:--“You can't get +your knife into an Assistant Commissioner.” Nafferton told me that I did +not understand the administration of the Province. + +Our Government is rather peculiar. It gushes on the agricultural and +general information side, and will supply a moderately respectable man +with all sorts of “economic statistics,” if he speaks to it prettily. +For instance, you are interested in gold-washing in the sands of the +Sutlej. You pull the string, and find that it wakes up half a dozen +Departments, and finally communicates, say, with a friend of yours +in the Telegraph, who once wrote some notes on the customs of the +gold-washers when he was on construction-work in their part of the +Empire. He may or may not be pleased at being ordered to write out +everything he knows for your benefit. This depends on his temperament. +The bigger man you are, the more information and the greater trouble can +you raise. + +Nafferton was not a big man; but he had the reputation of being very +“earnest.” An “earnest” man can do much with a Government. There was +an earnest man who once nearly wrecked... but all India knows THAT +story. I am not sure what real “earnestness” is. A very fair imitation +can be manufactured by neglecting to dress decently, by mooning about in +a dreamy, misty sort of way, by taking office-work home after staying +in office till seven, and by receiving crowds of native gentlemen on +Sundays. That is one sort of “earnestness.” + +Nafferton cast about for a peg whereon to hang his earnestness, and for +a string that would communicate with Pinecoffin. He found both. + +They were Pig. Nafferton became an earnest inquirer after Pig. He +informed the Government that he had a scheme whereby a very large +percentage of the British Army in India could be fed, at a very large +saving, on Pig. Then he hinted that Pinecoffin might supply him with the +“varied information necessary to the proper inception of the scheme.” + So the Government wrote on the back of the letter:--“Instruct Mr. +Pinecoffin to furnish Mr. Nafferton with any information in his power.” + Government is very prone to writing things on the backs of letters +which, later, lead to trouble and confusion. + +Nafferton had not the faintest interest in Pig, but he knew that +Pinecoffin would flounce into the trap. Pinecoffin was delighted at +being consulted about Pig. The Indian Pig is not exactly an important +factor in agricultural life; but Nafferton explained to Pinecoffin that +there was room for improvement, and corresponded direct with that young +man. + +You may think that there is not much to be evolved from Pig. It all +depends how you set to work. Pinecoffin being a Civilian and wishing +to do things thoroughly, began with an essay on the Primitive Pig, the +Mythology of the Pig, and the Dravidian Pig. + +Nafferton filed that information--twenty-seven foolscap sheets--and +wanted to know about the distribution of the Pig in the Punjab, and +how it stood the Plains in the hot weather. From this point onwards, +remember that I am giving you only the barest outlines of the +affair--the guy-ropes, as it were, of the web that Nafferton spun round +Pinecoffin. + +Pinecoffin made a colored Pig-population map, and collected observations +on the comparative longevity of the Pig (a) in the sub-montane tracts of +the Himalayas, and (b) in the Rechna Doab. + +Nafferton filed that, and asked what sort of people looked after Pig. +This started an ethnological excursus on swineherds, and drew from +Pinecoffin long tables showing the proportion per thousand of the caste +in the Derajat. Nafferton filed that bundle, and explained that the +figures which he wanted referred to the Cis-Sutlej states, where he +understood that Pigs were very fine and large, and where he proposed +to start a Piggery. By this time, Government had quite forgotten their +instructions to Mr. Pinecoffin. + +They were like the gentlemen, in Keats' poem, who turned well-oiled +wheels to skin other people. But Pinecoffin was just entering into the +spirit of the Pig-hunt, as Nafferton well knew he would do. He had a +fair amount of work of his own to clear away; but he sat up of nights +reducing Pig to five places of decimals for the honor of his Service. He +was not going to appear ignorant of so easy a subject as Pig. + +Then Government sent him on special duty to Kohat, to “inquire into” + the big-seven-foot, iron-shod spades of that District. People had been +killing each other with those peaceful tools; and Government wished +to know “whether a modified form of agricultural implement could +not, tentatively and as a temporary measure, be introduced among the +agricultural population without needlessly or unduly exasperating the +existing religious sentiments of the peasantry.” + +Between those spades and Nafferton's Pig, Pinecoffin was rather heavily +burdened. + + Nafferton now began to take up “(a) The food-supply of the indigenous Pig, +with a view to the improvement of its capacities as a flesh-former. +(b) The acclimatization of the exotic Pig, maintaining its distinctive +peculiarities.” Pinecoffin replied exhaustively that the exotic Pig +would become merged in the indigenous type; and quoted horse-breeding +statistics to prove this. + +The side-issue was debated, at great length on Pinecoffin's side, till +Nafferton owned that he had been in the wrong, and moved the previous +question. When Pinecoffin had quite written himself out about +flesh-formers, and fibrins, and glucose and the nitrogenous constituents +of maize and lucerne, Nafferton raised the question of expense. By this +time Pinecoffin, who had been transferred from Kohat, had developed a +Pig theory of his own, which he stated in thirty-three folio pages--all +carefully filed by Nafferton. Who asked for more. + +These things took ten months, and Pinecoffin's interest in the potential +Piggery seemed to die down after he had stated his own views. But +Nafferton bombarded him with letters on “the Imperial aspect of +the scheme, as tending to officialize the sale of pork, and thereby +calculated to give offence to the Mahomedan population of Upper India.” + He guessed that Pinecoffin would want some broad, free-hand work after +his niggling, stippling, decimal details. + +Pinecoffin handled the latest development of the case in masterly +style, and proved that no “popular ebullition of excitement was to +be apprehended.” Nafferton said that there was nothing like Civilian +insight in matters of this kind, and lured him up a bye-path--“the +possible profits to accrue to the Government from the sale of +hog-bristles.” There is an extensive literature of hog-bristles, and the +shoe, brush, and colorman's trades recognize more varieties of bristles +than you would think possible. After Pinecoffin had wondered a little +at Nafferton's rage for information, he sent back a monograph, fifty-one +pages, on “Products of the Pig.” This led him, under Nafferton's tender +handling, straight to the Cawnpore factories, the trade in hog-skin +for saddles--and thence to the tanners. Pinecoffin wrote that +pomegranate-seed was the best cure for hog-skin, and suggested--for the +past fourteen months had wearied him--that Nafferton should “raise his +pigs before he tanned them.” + +Nafferton went back to the second section of his fifth question. + +How could the exotic Pig be brought to give as much pork as it did in +the West and yet “assume the essentially hirsute characteristics of its +oriental congener?” Pinecoffin felt dazed, for he had forgotten what +he had written sixteen month's before, and fancied that he was about +to reopen the entire question. He was too far involved in the hideous +tangle to retreat, and, in a weak moment, he wrote:--“Consult my first +letter.” Which related to the Dravidian Pig. As a matter of fact, +Pinecoffin had still to reach the acclimatization stage; having gone off +on a side-issue on the merging of types. + +THEN Nafferton really unmasked his batteries! He complained to the +Government, in stately language, of “the paucity of help accorded to me +in my earnest attempts to start a potentially remunerative industry, and +the flippancy with which my requests for information are treated by a +gentleman whose pseudo-scholarly attainments should at lest have taught +him the primary differences between the Dravidian and the Berkshire +variety of the genus Sus. If I am to understand that the letter to which +he refers me contains his serious views on the acclimatization of a +valuable, though possibly uncleanly, animal, I am reluctantly compelled +to believe,” etc., etc. + +There was a new man at the head of the Department of Castigation. + +The wretched Pinecoffin was told that the Service was made for the +Country, and not the Country for the Service, and that he had better +begin to supply information about Pigs. + +Pinecoffin answered insanely that he had written everything that could +be written about Pig, and that some furlough was due to him. + +Nafferton got a copy of that letter, and sent it, with the essay on the +Dravidian Pig, to a down-country paper, which printed both in full. The +essay was rather highflown; but if the Editor had seen the stacks of +paper, in Pinecoffin's handwriting, on Nafferton's table, he would not +have been so sarcastic about the “nebulous discursiveness and blatant +self-sufficiency of the modern Competition-wallah, and his utter +inability to grasp the practical issues of a practical question.” Many +friends cut out these remarks and sent them to Pinecoffin. + +I have already stated that Pinecoffin came of a soft stock. This last +stroke frightened and shook him. He could not understand it; but he felt +he had been, somehow, shamelessly betrayed by Nafferton. + +He realized that he had wrapped himself up in the Pigskin without need, +and that he could not well set himself right with his Government. All +his acquaintances asked after his “nebulous discursiveness” or his +“blatant self-sufficiency,” and this made him miserable. + +He took a train and went to Nafferton, whom he had not seen since +the Pig business began. He also took the cutting from the paper, and +blustered feebly and called Nafferton names, and then died down to a +watery, weak protest of the “I-say-it's-too-bad-you-know” order. + +Nafferton was very sympathetic. + +“I'm afraid I've given you a good deal of trouble, haven't I?” said he. + +“Trouble!” whimpered Pinecoffin; “I don't mind the trouble so much, +though that was bad enough; but what I resent is this showing up in +print. It will stick to me like a burr all through my service. And I DID +do my best for your interminable swine. It's too bad of you, on my soul +it is!” + +“I don't know,” said Nafferton; “have you ever been stuck with a horse? +It isn't the money I mind, though that is bad enough; but what I resent +is the chaff that follows, especially from the boy who stuck me. But I +think we'll cry quite now.” + +Pinecoffin found nothing to say save bad words; and Nafferton smiled +ever so sweetly, and asked him to dinner. + + + + +THE ROUT OF THE WHITE HUSSARS. + + It was not in the open fight + We threw away the sword, + But in the lonely watching + In the darkness by the ford. + + The waters lapped, the night-wind blew, + Full-armed the Fear was born and grew, + And we were flying ere we knew + From panic in the night. + --Beoni Bar. + +Some people hold that an English Cavalry regiment cannot run. This is +a mistake. I have seen four hundred and thirty-seven sabres flying over +the face of the country in abject terror--have seen the best Regiment +that ever drew bridle, wiped off the Army List for the space of two +hours. If you repeat this tale to the White Hussars they will, in all +probability, treat you severely. They are not proud of the incident. + +You may know the White Hussars by their “side,” which is greater than +that of all the Cavalry Regiments on the roster. If this is not a +sufficient mark, you may know them by their old brandy. It has been +sixty years in the Mess and is worth going far to taste. + +Ask for the “McGaire” old brandy, and see that you get it. If the Mess +Sergeant thinks that you are uneducated, and that the genuine article +will be lost on you, he will treat you accordingly. He is a good man. +But, when you are at Mess, you must never talk to your hosts about +forced marches or long-distance rides. The Mess are very sensitive; and, +if they think that you are laughing at them, will tell you so. + +As the White Hussars say, it was all the Colonel's fault. He was a new +man, and he ought never to have taken the Command. He said that the +Regiment was not smart enough. This to the White Hussars, who knew they +could walk round any Horse and through any Guns, and over any Foot on +the face of the earth! That insult was the first cause of offence. + +Then the Colonel cast the Drum-Horse--the Drum-Horse of the White +Hussars! Perhaps you do not see what an unspeakable crime he had +committed. I will try to make it clear. The soul of the Regiment lives +in the Drum-Horse, who carries the silver kettle-drums. He is nearly +always a big piebald Waler. That is a point of honor; and a Regiment +will spend anything you please on a piebald. He is beyond the ordinary +laws of casting. His work is very light, and he only manoeuvres at a +foot-pace. Wherefore, so long as he can step out and look handsome, +his well-being is assured. He knows more about the Regiment than the +Adjutant, and could not make a mistake if he tried. + +The Drum-Horse of the White Hussars was only eighteen years old, and +perfectly equal to his duties. He had at least six years' more work in +him, and carried himself with all the pomp and dignity of a Drum-Major +of the Guards. The Regiment had paid Rs. 1,200 for him. + +But the Colonel said that he must go, and he was cast in due form and +replaced by a washy, bay beast as ugly as a mule, with a ewe-neck, +rat-tail, and cow-hocks. The Drummer detested that animal, and the best +of the Band-horses put back their ears and showed the whites of their +eyes at the very sight of him. They knew him for an upstart and no +gentleman. I fancy that the Colonel's ideas of smartness extended to +the Band, and that he wanted to make it take part in the regular parade +movements. A Cavalry Band is a sacred thing. It only turns out for +Commanding Officers' parades, and the Band Master is one degree more +important than the Colonel. He is a High Priest and the “Keel Row” is +his holy song. The “Keel Row” is the Cavalry Trot; and the man who has +never heard that tune rising, high and shrill, above the rattle of the +Regiment going past the saluting-base, has something yet to hear and +understand. + +When the Colonel cast the Drum-horse of the White Hussars, there was +nearly a mutiny. + +The officers were angry, the Regiment were furious, and the Bandsman +swore--like troopers. The Drum-Horse was going to be put up to +auction--public auction--to be bought, perhaps, by a Parsee and put into +a cart! It was worse than exposing the inner life of the Regiment to the +whole world, or selling the Mess Plate to a Jew--a black Jew. + +The Colonel was a mean man and a bully. He knew what the Regiment +thought about his action; and, when the troopers offered to buy the +Drum-Horse, he said that their offer was mutinous and forbidden by the +Regulations. + +But one of the Subalterns--Hogan-Yale, an Irishman--bought the +Drum-Horse for Rs. 160 at the sale; and the Colonel was wroth. Yale +professed repentance--he was unnaturally submissive--and said that, +as he had only made the purchase to save the horse from possible +ill-treatment and starvation, he would now shoot him and end the +business. This appeared to soothe the Colonel, for he wanted the +Drum-Horse disposed of. He felt that he had made a mistake, and could +not of course acknowledge it. Meantime, the presence of the Drum-Horse +was an annoyance to him. + +Yale took to himself a glass of the old brandy, three cheroots, and his +friend, Martyn; and they all left the Mess together. Yale and Martyn +conferred for two hours in Yale's quarters; but only the bull-terrier +who keeps watch over Yale's boot-trees knows what they said. A horse, +hooded and sheeted to his ears, left Yale's stables and was taken, very +unwillingly, into the Civil Lines. Yale's groom went with him. Two men +broke into the Regimental Theatre and took several paint-pots and some +large scenery brushes. Then night fell over the Cantonments, and there +was a noise as of a horse kicking his loose-box to pieces in Yale's +stables. Yale had a big, old, white Waler trap-horse. + +The next day was a Thursday, and the men, hearing that Yale was going +to shoot the Drum-Horse in the evening, determined to give the beast a +regular regimental funeral--a finer one than they would have given the +Colonel had he died just then. They got a bullock-cart and some sacking, +and mounds and mounds of roses, and the body, under sacking, was carried +out to the place where the anthrax cases were cremated; two-thirds of +the Regiment followed. There was no Band, but they all sang “The Place +where the old Horse died” as something respectful and appropriate to the +occasion. When the corpse was dumped into the grave and the men began +throwing down armfuls of roses to cover it, the Farrier-Sergeant ripped +out an oath and said aloud:--“Why, it ain't the Drum-Horse any more than +it's me!” The Troop-Sergeant-Majors asked him whether he had left +his head in the Canteen. The Farrier-Sergeant said that he knew the +Drum-Horse's feet as well as he knew his own; but he was silenced +when he saw the regimental number burnt in on the poor stiff, upturned +near-fore. + +Thus was the Drum-Horse of the White Hussars buried; the +Farrier-Sergeant grumbling. The sacking that covered the corpse was +smeared in places with black paint; and the Farrier-Sergeant drew +attention to this fact. But the Troop-Sergeant-Major of E Troop kicked +him severely on the shin, and told him that he was undoubtedly drunk. + +On the Monday following the burial, the Colonel sought revenge on the +White Hussars. Unfortunately, being at that time temporarily in Command +of the Station, he ordered a Brigade field-day. He said that he wished +to make the regiment “sweat for their damned insolence,” and he carried +out his notion thoroughly. That Monday was one of the hardest days in +the memory of the White Hussars. + +They were thrown against a skeleton-enemy, and pushed forward, and +withdrawn, and dismounted, and “scientifically handled” in every +possible fashion over dusty country, till they sweated profusely. + +Their only amusement came late in the day, when they fell upon the +battery of Horse Artillery and chased it for two mile's. This was a +personal question, and most of the troopers had money on the event; the +Gunners saying openly that they had the legs of the White Hussars. They +were wrong. A march-past concluded the campaign, and when the Regiment +got back to their Lines, the men were coated with dirt from spur to +chin-strap. + +The White Hussars have one great and peculiar privilege. They won it at +Fontenoy, I think. + +Many Regiments possess special rights, such as wearing collars with +undress uniform, or a bow of ribbon between the shoulders, or red and +white roses in their helmets on certain days of the year. Some +rights are connected with regimental saints, and some with regimental +successes. All are valued highly; but none so highly as the right of +the White Hussars to have the Band playing when their horses are being +watered in the Lines. Only one tune is played, and that tune never +varies. I don't know its real name, but the White Hussars call +it:--“Take me to London again.” It sounds very pretty. The Regiment +would sooner be struck off the roster than forego their distinction. + +After the “dismiss” was sounded, the officers rode off home to prepare +for stables; and the men filed into the lines, riding easy. + +That is to say, they opened their tight buttons, shifted their helmets, +and began to joke or to swear as the humor took them; the more careful +slipping off and easing girths and curbs. A good trooper values his +mount exactly as much as he values himself, and believes, or should +believe, that the two together are irresistible where women or men, +girls or guns, are concerned. + +Then the Orderly-Officer gave the order:--“Water horses,” and the +Regiment loafed off to the squadron-troughs, which were in rear of +the stables and between these and the barracks. There were four huge +troughs, one for each squadron, arranged en echelon, so that the whole +Regiment could water in ten minutes if it liked. But it lingered for +seventeen, as a rule, while the Band played. + +The band struck up as the squadrons filed off the troughs and the men +slipped their feet out of the stirrups and chaffed each other. + +The sun was just setting in a big, hot bed of red cloud, and the road to +the Civil Lines seemed to run straight into the sun's eye. + +There was a little dot on the road. It grew and grew till it showed as +a horse, with a sort of gridiron thing on his back. The red cloud glared +through the bars of the gridiron. Some of the troopers shaded their eyes +with their hands and said:--“What the mischief as that there 'orse got +on 'im!” + +In another minute they heard a neigh that every soul--horse and man--in +the Regiment knew, and saw, heading straight towards the Band, the dead +Drum-Horse of the White Hussars! + +On his withers banged and bumped the kettle-drums draped in crape, and +on his back, very stiff and soldierly, sat a bare-headed skeleton. + +The band stopped playing, and, for a moment, there was a hush. + +Then some one in E troop--men said it was the +Troop-Sergeant-Major--swung his horse round and yelled. No one can +account exactly for what happened afterwards; but it seems that, at +least, one man in each troop set an example of panic, and the rest +followed like sheep. The horses that had barely put their muzzles into +the trough's reared and capered; but, as soon as the Band broke, which +it did when the ghost of the Drum-Horse was about a furlong distant, all +hooves followed suit, and the clatter of the stampede--quite different +from the orderly throb and roar of a movement on parade, or the rough +horse-play of watering in camp--made them only more terrified. They felt +that the men on their backs were afraid of something. When horses once +know THAT, all is over except the butchery. + +Troop after troop turned from the troughs and ran--anywhere, and +everywhere--like spilt quicksilver. It was a most extraordinary +spectacle, for men and horses were in all stages of easiness, and the +carbine-buckets flopping against their sides urged the horses on. Men +were shouting and cursing, and trying to pull clear of the Band which +was being chased by the Drum-Horse whose rider had fallen forward and +seemed to be spurring for a wager. + +The Colonel had gone over to the Mess for a drink. Most of the officers +were with him, and the Subaltern of the Day was preparing to go down +to the lines, and receive the watering reports from the Troop-Sergeant +Majors. When “Take me to London again” stopped, after twenty bars, every +one in the Mess said:--“What on earth has happened?” A minute later, +they heard unmilitary noises, and saw, far across the plain, the White +Hussars scattered, and broken, and flying. + +The Colonel was speechless with rage, for he thought that the Regiment +had risen against him or was unanimously drunk. The Band, a disorganized +mob, tore past, and at its heels labored the Drum-Horse--the dead and +buried Drum-Horse--with the jolting, clattering skeleton. Hogan-Yale +whispered softly to Martyn:--“No wire will stand that treatment,” and +the Band, which had doubled like a hare, came back again. But the rest +of the Regiment was gone, was rioting all over the Province, for the +dusk had shut in and each man was howling to his neighbor that the +Drum-Horse was on his flank. + +Troop-Horses are far too tenderly treated as a rule. They can, on +emergencies, do a great deal, even with seventeen stone on their backs. +As the troopers found out. + +How long this panic lasted I cannot say. I believe that when the moon +rose the men saw they had nothing to fear, and, by twos and threes +and half-troops, crept back into Cantonments very much ashamed of +themselves. Meantime, the Drum-Horse, disgusted at his treatment by +old friends, pulled up, wheeled round, and trotted up to the Mess +verandah-steps for bread. No one liked to run; but no one cared to go +forward till the Colonel made a movement and laid hold of the skeleton's +foot. The Band had halted some distance away, and now came back slowly. +The Colonel called it, individually and collectively, every evil name +that occurred to him at the time; for he had set his hand on the +bosom of the Drum-Horse and found flesh and blood. Then he beat the +kettle-drums with his clenched fist, and discovered that they were but +made of silvered paper and bamboo. Next, still swearing, he tried to +drag the skeleton out of the saddle, but found that it had been wired +into the cantle. The sight of the Colonel, with his arms round the +skeleton's pelvis and his knee in the old Drum-Horse's stomach, was +striking. Not to say amusing. He worried the thing off in a minute or +two, and threw it down on the ground, saying to the Band:--“Here, you +curs, that's what you're afraid of.” The skeleton did not look pretty in +the twilight. The Band-Sergeant seemed to recognize it, for he began to +chuckle and choke. “Shall I take it away, sir?” said the Band-Sergeant. +“Yes,” said the Colonel, “take it to Hell, and ride there yourselves!” + +The Band-Sergeant saluted, hoisted the skeleton across his saddle-bow, +and led off to the stables. Then the Colonel began to make inquiries +for the rest of the Regiment, and the language he used was wonderful. He +would disband the Regiment--he would court-martial every soul in it--he +would not command such a set of rabble, and so on, and so on. As the +men dropped in, his language grew wilder, until at last it exceeded the +utmost limits of free speech allowed even to a Colonel of Horse. + +Martyn took Hogan-Yale aside and suggested compulsory retirement from +the service as a necessity when all was discovered. Martyn was the +weaker man of the two, Hogan-Yale put up his eyebrows and remarked, +firstly, that he was the son of a Lord, and secondly, that he was +as innocent as the babe unborn of the theatrical resurrection of the +Drum-Horse. + +“My instructions,” said Yale, with a singularly sweet smile, “were that +the Drum-Horse should be sent back as impressively as possible. +I ask you, AM I responsible if a mule-headed friend sends him back +in such a manner as to disturb the peace of mind of a regiment of Her +Majesty's Cavalry?” + +Martyn said:--“you are a great man and will in time become a General; +but I'd give my chance of a troop to be safe out of this affair.” + +Providence saved Martyn and Hogan-Yale. The Second-in-Command led the +Colonel away to the little curtained alcove wherein the subalterns of +the white Hussars were accustomed to play poker of nights; and there, +after many oaths on the Colonel's part, they talked together in low +tones. I fancy that the Second-in-Command must have represented the +scare as the work of some trooper whom it would be hopeless to detect; +and I know that he dwelt upon the sin and the shame of making a public +laughingstock of the scare. + +“They will call us,” said the Second-in-Command, who had really a fine +imagination, “they will call us the 'Fly-by-Nights'; they will call us +the 'Ghost Hunters'; they will nickname us from one end of the Army list +to the other. All the explanations in the world won't make outsiders +understand that the officers were away when the panic began. For the +honor of the Regiment and for your own sake keep this thing quiet.” + +The Colonel was so exhausted with anger that soothing him down was not +so difficult as might be imagined. He was made to see, gently and by +degrees, that it was obviously impossible to court-martial the whole +Regiment, and equally impossible to proceed against any subaltern who, +in his belief, had any concern in the hoax. + +“But the beast's alive! He's never been shot at all!” shouted the +Colonel. “It's flat, flagrant disobedience! I've known a man broke for +less, d----d sight less. They're mocking me, I tell you, Mutman! They're +mocking me!” + +Once more, the Second-in-Command set himself to sooth the Colonel, +and wrestled with him for half-an-hour. At the end of that time, the +Regimental Sergeant-Major reported himself. The situation was rather +novel tell to him; but he was not a man to be put out by circumstances. +He saluted and said: “Regiment all come back, Sir.” Then, to propitiate +the Colonel:--“An' none of the horses any the worse, Sir.” + +The Colonel only snorted and answered:--“You'd better tuck the men into +their cots, then, and see that they don't wake up and cry in the night.” + The Sergeant withdrew. + +His little stroke of humor pleased the Colonel, and, further, he +felt slightly ashamed of the language he had been using. The +Second-in-Command worried him again, and the two sat talking far into +the night. + +Next day but one, there was a Commanding Officer's parade, and the +Colonel harangued the White Hussars vigorously. The pith of his speech +was that, since the Drum-Horse in his old age had proved himself capable +of cutting up the Whole Regiment, he should return to his post of pride +at the head of the band, BUT the Regiment were a set of ruffians with +bad consciences. + +The White Hussars shouted, and threw everything movable about them into +the air, and when the parade was over, they cheered the Colonel till +they couldn't speak. No cheers were put up for Lieutenant Hogan-Yale, +who smiled very sweetly in the background. + +Said the Second-in-Command to the Colonel, unofficially:--“These little +things ensure popularity, and do not the least affect discipline.” + +“But I went back on my word,” said the Colonel. + +“Never mind,” said the Second-in-Command. “The White Hussars will follow +you anywhere from today. Regiments are just like women. They will do +anything for trinketry.” + +A week later, Hogan-Yale received an extraordinary letter from some one +who signed himself “Secretary Charity and Zeal, 3709, E. C.,” and asked +for “the return of our skeleton which we have reason to believe is in +your possession.” + +“Who the deuce is this lunatic who trades in bones?” said Hogan-Yale. + +“Beg your pardon, Sir,” said the Band-Sergeant, “but the skeleton is +with me, an' I'll return it if you'll pay the carriage into the Civil +Lines. There's a coffin with it, Sir.” + +Hogan-Yale smiled and handed two rupees to the Band-Sergeant, +saying:--“Write the date on the skull, will you?” + +If you doubt this story, and know where to go, you can see the date on +the skeleton. But don't mention the matter to the White Hussars. + +I happen to know something about it, because I prepared the Drum-Horse +for his resurrection. He did not take kindly to the skeleton at all. + + + + +THE BRONCKHORST DIVORCE-CASE. + + In the daytime, when she moved about me, + In the night, when she was sleeping at my side,-- + I was wearied, I was wearied of her presence. + + Day by day and night by night I grew to hate her-- + Would to God that she or I had died! + --Confessions. + +There was a man called Bronckhorst--a three-cornered, middle-aged man +in the Army--gray as a badger, and, some people said, with a touch of +country-blood in him. That, however, cannot be proved. + +Mrs. Bronckhorst was not exactly young, though fifteen years younger +than her husband. She was a large, pale, quiet woman, with heavy +eyelids, over weak eyes, and hair that turned red or yellow as the +lights fell on it. + +Bronckhorst was not nice in any way. He had no respect for the pretty +public and private lies that make life a little less nasty than it is. +His manner towards his wife was coarse. There are many things--including +actual assault with the clenched fist--that a wife will endure; but +seldom a wife can bear--as Mrs. Bronckhorst bore--with a long course of +brutal, hard chaff, making light of her weaknesses, her headaches, her +small fits of gaiety, her dresses, her queer little attempts to make +herself attractive to her husband when she knows that she is not +what she has been, and--worst of all--the love that she spends on her +children. That particular sort of heavy-handed jest was specially dear +to Bronckhorst. I suppose that he had first slipped into it, meaning +no harm, in the honeymoon, when folk find their ordinary stock of +endearments run short, and so go to the other extreme to express their +feelings. A similar impulse makes a man say:--“Hutt, you old beast!” + when a favorite horse nuzzles his coat-front. Unluckily, when the +reaction of marriage sets in, the form of speech remains, and, the +tenderness having died out, hurts the wife more than she cares to say. +But Mrs. Bronckhorst was devoted to her “Teddy,” as she called him. + +Perhaps that was why he objected to her. Perhaps--this is only a theory +to account for his infamous behavior later on--he gave way to the queer +savage feeling that sometimes takes by the throat a husband twenty +years' married, when he sees, across the table, the same face of +his wedded wife, and knows that, as he has sat facing it, so must he +continue to sit until day of its death or his own. + +Most men and all women know the spasm. It only lasts for three breaths +as a rule, must be a “throw-back” to times when men and women were +rather worse than they are now, and is too unpleasant to be discussed. + +Dinner at the Bronckhorst's was an infliction few men cared to undergo. +Bronckhorst took a pleasure in saying things that made his wife wince. +When their little boy came in at dessert, Bronckhorst used to give him +half a glass of wine, and naturally enough, the poor little mite got +first riotous, next miserable, and was removed screaming. Bronckhorst +asked if that was the way Teddy usually behaved, and whether Mrs. +Bronckhorst could not spare some of her time to teach the “little beggar +decency.” Mrs. Bronckhorst, who loved the boy more than her own life, +tried not to cry--her spirit seemed to have been broken by her marriage. +Lastly, Bronckhorst used to say:--“There! That'll do, that'll do. +For God's sake try to behave like a rational woman. Go into the +drawing-room.” Mrs. Bronckhorst would go, trying to carry it all +off with a smile; and the guest of the evening would feel angry and +uncomfortable. + +After three years of this cheerful life--for Mrs. Bronckhorst had no +woman-friends to talk to--the Station was startled by the news that +Bronckhorst had instituted proceedings ON THE CRIMINAL COUNT, against +a man called Biel, who certainly had been rather attentive to Mrs. +Bronckhorst whenever she had appeared in public. The utter want of +reserve with which Bronckhorst treated his own dishonor helped us to +know that the evidence against Biel would be entirely circumstantial and +native. There were no letters; but Bronckhorst said openly that he would +rack Heaven and Earth until he saw Biel superintending the manufacture +of carpets in the Central Jail. Mrs. Bronckhorst kept entirely to her +house, and let charitable folks say what they pleased. Opinions were +divided. Some two-thirds of the Station jumped at once to the conclusion +that Biel was guilty; but a dozen men who knew and liked him held by +him. Biel was furious and surprised. He denied the whole thing, and +vowed that he would thrash Bronckhorst within an inch of his life. +No jury, we knew, could convict a man on the criminal count on native +evidence in a land where you can buy a murder-charge, including the +corpse, all complete for fifty-four rupees; but Biel did not care to +scrape through by the benefit of a doubt. He wanted the whole thing +cleared: but as he said one night:--“He can prove anything with +servants' evidence, and I've only my bare word.” This was about a month +before the case came on; and beyond agreeing with Biel, we could do +little. All that we could be sure of was that the native evidence would +be bad enough to blast Biel's character for the rest of his service; for +when a native begins perjury he perjures himself thoroughly. He does not +boggle over details. + +Some genius at the end of the table whereat the affair was being talked +over, said:--“Look here! I don't believe lawyers are any good. Get a man +to wire to Strickland, and beg him to come down and pull us through.” + +Strickland was about a hundred and eighty miles up the line. He had +not long been married to Miss Youghal, but he scented in the telegram a +chance of return to the old detective work that his soul lusted after, +and next night he came in and heard our story. He finished his pipe and +said oracularly:--“We must get at the evidence. Oorya bearer, Mussalman +khit and methraniayah, I suppose, are the pillars of the charge. I am on +in this piece; but I'm afraid I'm getting rusty in my talk.” + +He rose and went into Biel's bedroom where his trunk had been put, and +shut the door. An hour later, we heard him say:--“I hadn't the heart +to part with my old makeups when I married. Will this do?” There was a +lothely faquir salaaming in the doorway. + +“Now lend me fifty rupees,” said Strickland, “and give me your Words of +Honor that you won't tell my Wife.” + +He got all that he asked for, and left the house while the table drank +his health. What he did only he himself knows. A faquir hung about +Bronckhorst's compound for twelve days. Then a mehter appeared, and when +Biel heard of HIM, he said that Strickland was an angel full-fledged. +Whether the mehter made love to Janki, Mrs. Bronckhorst's ayah, is a +question which concerns Strickland exclusively. + +He came back at the end of three weeks, and said quietly:--“You spoke +the truth, Biel. The whole business is put up from beginning to end. +Jove! It almost astonishes ME! That Bronckhorst-beast isn't fit to +live.” + +There was uproar and shouting, and Biel said:--“How are you going to +prove it? You can't say that you've been trespassing on Bronckhorst's +compound in disguise!” + +“No,” said Strickland. “Tell your lawyer-fool, whoever he is, to get up +something strong about 'inherent improbabilities' and 'discrepancies of +evidence.' He won't have to speak, but it will make him happy. I'M going +to run this business.” + +Biel held his tongue, and the other men waited to see what would happen. +They trusted Strickland as men trust quiet men. When the case came off +the Court was crowded. Strickland hung about in the verandah of the +Court, till he met the Mohammedan khitmatgar. Then he murmured a +faquir's blessing in his ear, and asked him how his second wife did. The +man spun round, and, as he looked into the eyes of “Estreeken Sahib,” + his jaw dropped. You must remember that before Strickland was married, +he was, as I have told you already, a power among natives. Strickland +whispered a rather coarse vernacular proverb to the effect that he was +abreast of all that was going on, and went into the Court armed with a +gut trainer's-whip. + +The Mohammedan was the first witness and Strickland beamed upon him from +the back of the Court. The man moistened his lips with his tongue and, +in his abject fear of “Estreeken Sahib” the faquir, went back on every +detail of his evidence--said he was a poor man and God was his witness +that he had forgotten every thing that Bronckhorst Sahib had told him +to say. Between his terror of Strickland, the Judge, and Bronckhorst he +collapsed, weeping. + +Then began the panic among the witnesses. Janki, the ayah, leering +chastely behind her veil, turned gray, and the bearer left the Court. He +said that his Mamma was dying and that it was not wholesome for any man +to lie unthriftily in the presence of “Estreeken Sahib.” + +Biel said politely to Bronckhorst:--“Your witnesses don't seem to work. +Haven't you any forged letters to produce?” But Bronckhorst was swaying +to and fro in his chair, and there was a dead pause after Biel had been +called to order. + +Bronckhorst's Counsel saw the look on his client's face, and without +more ado, pitched his papers on the little green baize table, and +mumbled something about having been misinformed. The whole Court +applauded wildly, like soldiers at a theatre, and the Judge began to say +what he thought.......... + +Biel came out of the place, and Strickland dropped a gut trainer's-whip +in the verandah. Ten minutes later, Biel was cutting Bronckhorst into +ribbons behind the old Court cells, quietly and without scandal. What +was left of Bronckhorst was sent home in a carriage; and his wife wept +over it and nursed it into a man again. + +Later on, after Biel had managed to hush up the counter-charge against +Bronckhorst of fabricating false evidence, Mrs. Bronckhorst, with her +faint watery smile, said that there had been a mistake, but it wasn't +her Teddy's fault altogether. She would wait till her Teddy came back to +her. Perhaps he had grown tired of her, or she had tried his patience, +and perhaps we wouldn't cut her any more, and perhaps the mothers would +let their children play with “little Teddy” again. He was so lonely. +Then the Station invited Mrs. Bronckhorst everywhere, until Bronckhorst +was fit to appear in public, when he went Home and took his wife with +him. According to the latest advices, her Teddy did “come back to her,” + and they are moderately happy. Though, of course, he can never forgive +her the thrashing that she was the indirect means of getting for him.. +........ + +What Biel wants to know is:--“Why didn't I press home the charge against +the Bronckhorst-brute, and have him run in?” + +What Mrs. Strickland wants to know is:--“How DID my husband bring such +a lovely, lovely Waler from your Station? I know ALL his money-affairs; +and I'm CERTAIN he didn't BUY it.” + +“What I want to know is:--How do women like Mrs. Bronckhorst come to +marry men like Bronckhorst?” + +And my conundrum is the most unanswerable of the three. + + + + +VENUS ANNODOMINI. + + And the years went on as the years must do; + But our great Diana was always new-- + Fresh, and blooming, and blonde, and fair, + With azure eyes and with aureate hair; + And all the folk, as they came or went, + Offered her praise to her heart's content. + --Diana of Ephesus. + +She had nothing to do with Number Eighteen in the Braccio Nuovo of +the Vatican, between Visconti's Ceres and the God of the Nile. She was +purely an Indian deity--an Anglo-Indian deity, that is to say--and +we called her THE Venus Annodomini, to distinguish her from other +Annodominis of the same everlasting order. There was a legend among the +Hills that she had once been young; but no living man was prepared to +come forward and say boldly that the legend was true. + +Men rode up to Simla, and stayed, and went away and made their name and +did their life's work, and returned again to find the Venus Annodomini +exactly as they had left her. She was as immutable as the Hills. But +not quite so green. All that a girl of eighteen could do in the way of +riding, walking, dancing, picnicking and over-exertion generally, +the Venus Annodomini did, and showed no sign of fatigue or trace of +weariness. Besides perpetual youth, she had discovered, men said, the +secret of perpetual health; and her fame spread about the land. From a +mere woman, she grew to be an Institution, insomuch that no young +man could be said to be properly formed, who had not, at some time or +another, worshipped at the shrine of the Venus Annodomini. There was no +one like her, though there were many imitations. Six years in her +eyes were no more than six months to ordinary women; and ten made less +visible impression on her than does a week's fever on an ordinary woman. +Every one adored her, and in return she was pleasant and courteous to +nearly every one. Youth had been a habit of hers for so long, that +she could not part with it--never realized, in fact, the necessity of +parting with it--and took for her more chosen associates young people. + +Among the worshippers of the Venus Annodomini was young Gayerson. + +“Very Young” Gayerson, he was called to distinguish him from his father +“Young” Gayerson, a Bengal Civilian, who affected the customs--as he had +the heart--of youth. “Very Young” Gayerson was not content to worship +placidly and for form's sake, as the other young men did, or to accept +a ride or a dance, or a talk from the Venus Annodomini in a properly +humble and thankful spirit. He was exacting, and, therefore, the Venus +Annodomini repressed him. He worried himself nearly sick in a futile +sort of way over her; and his devotion and earnestness made him appear +either shy or boisterous or rude, as his mood might vary, by the side of +the older men who, with him, bowed before the Venus Annodomini. She was +sorry for him. He reminded her of a lad who, three-and-twenty years ago, +had professed a boundless devotion for her, and for whom in return she +had felt something more than a week's weakness. But that lad had fallen +away and married another woman less than a year after he had worshipped +her; and the Venus Annodomini had almost--not quite--forgotten his name. +“Very Young” Gayerson had the same big blue eyes and the same way of +pouting his underlip when he was excited or troubled. But the Venus +Annodomini checked him sternly none the less. Too much zeal was a thing +that she did not approve of; preferring instead, a tempered and sober +tenderness. + +“Very Young” Gayerson was miserable, and took no trouble to conceal his +wretchedness. He was in the Army--a Line regiment I think, but am not +certain--and, since his face was a looking-glass and his forehead an +open book, by reason of his innocence, his brothers in arms made his +life a burden to him and embittered his naturally sweet disposition. No +one except “Very Young” Gayerson, and he never told his views, knew how +old “Very Young” Gayerson believed the Venus Annodomini to be. Perhaps +he thought her five and twenty, or perhaps she told him that she was +this age. “Very Young” Gayerson would have forded the Gugger in flood to +carry her lightest word, and had implicit faith in her. Every one liked +him, and every one was sorry when they saw him so bound a slave of the +Venus Annodomini. Every one, too, admitted that it was not her fault; +for the Venus Annodomini differed from Mrs. Hauksbee and Mrs. Reiver in +this particular--she never moved a finger to attract any one; but, like +Ninon de l'Enclos, all men were attracted to her. One could admire and +respect Mrs. Hauksbee, despise and avoid Mrs. Reiver, but one was forced +to adore the Venus Annodomini. + +“Very Young” Gayerson's papa held a Division or a Collectorate +or something administrative in a particularly unpleasant part of +Bengal--full of Babus who edited newspapers proving that “Young” + Gayerson was a “Nero” and a “Scylla” and a “Charybdis”; and, in addition +to the Babus, there was a good deal of dysentery and cholera abroad +for nine months of the year. “Young” Gayerson--he was about five and +forty--rather liked Babus, they amused him, but he objects to dysentery, +and when he could get away, went to Darjiling for the most part. This +particular season he fancied that he would come up to Simla, and see his +boy. The boy was not altogether pleased. He told the Venus Annodomini +that his father was coming up, and she flushed a little and said that +she should be delighted to make his acquaintance. Then she looked long +and thoughtfully at “Very Young” Gayerson; because she was very, very +sorry for him, and he was a very, very big idiot. + +“My daughter is coming out in a fortnight, Mr. Gayerson,” she said. + +“Your WHAT?” said he. + +“Daughter,” said the Venus Annodomini. “She's been out for a year at +Home already, and I want her to see a little of India. She is nineteen +and a very sensible, nice girl I believe.” + +“Very Young” Gayerson, who was a short twenty-two years old, nearly fell +out of his chair with astonishment; for he had persisted in believing, +against all belief, in the youth of the Venus Annodomini. + + She, with her back to the curtained window, watched the effect of her +sentences and smiled. + +“Very Young” Gayerson's papa came up twelve days later, and had not been +in Simla four and twenty hours, before two men, old acquaintances of +his, had told him how “Very Young” Gayerson had been conducting himself. + +“Young” Gayerson laughed a good deal, and inquired who the Venus +Annodomini might be. Which proves that he had been living in Bengal +where nobody knows anything except the rate of Exchange. Then he said +“boys will be boys,” and spoke to his son about the matter. + +“Very Young” Gayerson said that he felt wretched and unhappy; and +“Young” Gayerson said that he repented of having helped to bring a fool +into the world. He suggested that his son had better cut his leave short +and go down to his duties. This led to an unfilial answer, and relations +were strained, until “Young” Gayerson demanded that they should call on +the Venus Annodomini. “Very Young” Gayerson went with his papa, feeling, +somehow, uncomfortable and small. + +The Venus Annodomini received them graciously and “Young” Gayerson +said:--“By Jove! It's Kitty!” “Very Young” Gayerson would have listened +for an explanation, if his time had not been taken up with trying to +talk to a large, handsome, quiet, well-dressed girl--introduced to him +by the Venus Annodomini as her daughter. She was far older in manners, +style and repose than “Very Young” Gayerson; and, as he realized this +thing, he felt sick. + +Presently, he heard the Venus Annodomini saying:--“Do you know that your +son is one of my most devoted admirers?” + +“I don't wonder,” said “Young” Gayerson. Here he raised his voice:--“He +follows his father's footsteps. Didn't I worship the ground you trod on, +ever so long ago, Kitty--and you haven't changed since then. How strange +it all seems!” + +“Very Young” Gayerson said nothing. His conversation with the daughter +of the Venus Annodomini was, through the rest of the call, fragmentary +and disjointed.......... + +“At five, tomorrow then,” said the Venus Annodomini. “And mind you are +punctual.” + +“At five punctual,” said “Young” Gayerson. “You can lend your old father +a horse I dare say, youngster, can't you? I'm going for a ride tomorrow +afternoon.” + +“Certainly,” said “Very Young” Gayerson. “I am going down tomorrow +morning. My ponies are at your service, Sir.” + +The Venus Annodomini looked at him across the half-light of the room, +and her big gray eyes filled with moisture. She rose and shook hands +with him. + +“Goodbye, Tom,” whispered the Venus Annodomini. + + + + +THE BISARA OF POOREE. + + Little Blind Fish, thou art marvellous wise, + Little Blind Fish, who put out thy eyes? + Open thine ears while I whisper my wish-- + Bring me a lover, thou little Blind Fish. + --The Charm of the Bisara. + +Some natives say that it came from the other side of Kulu, where +the eleven-inch Temple Sapphire is. Others that it was made at the +Devil-Shrine of Ao-Chung in Thibet, was stolen by a Kafir, from him by +a Gurkha, from him again by a Lahouli, from him by a khitmatgar, and by +this latter sold to an Englishman, so all its virtue was lost: because, +to work properly, the Bisara of Pooree must be stolen--with bloodshed if +possible, but, at any rate, stolen. + +These stories of the coming into India are all false. It was made at +Pooree ages since--the manner of its making would fill a small book--was +stolen by one of the Temple dancing-girls there, for her own purposes, +and then passed on from hand to hand, steadily northward, till it +reached Hanla: always bearing the same name--the Bisara of Pooree. In +shape it is a tiny, square box of silver, studded outside with eight +small balas-rubies. Inside the box, which opens with a spring, is +a little eyeless fish, carved from some sort of dark, shiny nut and +wrapped in a shred of faded gold-cloth. That is the Bisara of Pooree, +and it were better for a man to take a king cobra in his hand than to +touch the Bisara of Pooree. + +All kinds of magic are out of date and done away with except in India +where nothing changes in spite of the shiny, toy-scum stuff that people +call “civilization.” Any man who knows about the Bisara of Pooree will +tell you what its powers are--always supposing that it has been honestly +stolen. It is the only regularly working, trustworthy love-charm in the +country, with one exception. + +[The other charm is in the hands of a trooper of the Nizam's Horse, at a +place called Tuprani, due north of Hyderabad.] This can be depended upon +for a fact. Some one else may explain it. + +If the Bisara be not stolen, but given or bought or found, it turns +against its owner in three years, and leads to ruin or death. This is +another fact which you may explain when you have time. + +Meanwhile, you can laugh at it. At present, the Bisara is safe on an +ekka-pony's neck, inside the blue bead-necklace that keeps off the +Evil-eye. If the ekka-driver ever finds it, and wears it, or gives it to +his wife, I am sorry for him. + +A very dirty hill-cooly woman, with goitre, owned it at Theog in 1884. +It came into Simla from the north before Churton's khitmatgar bought it, +and sold it, for three times its silver-value, to Churton, who collected +curiosities. The servant knew no more what he had bought than +the master; but a man looking over Churton's collection of +curiosities--Churton was an Assistant Commissioner by the way--saw and +held his tongue. He was an Englishman; but knew how to believe. Which +shows that he was different from most Englishmen. He knew that it was +dangerous to have any share in the little box when working or dormant; +for unsought Love is a terrible gift. + +Pack--“Grubby” Pack, as we used to call him--was, in every way, a nasty +little man who must have crawled into the Army by mistake. He was three +inches taller than his sword, but not half so strong. And the sword was +a fifty-shilling, tailor-made one. Nobody liked him, and, I suppose, it +was his wizenedness and worthlessness that made him fall so hopelessly +in love with Miss Hollis, who was good and sweet, and five foot seven in +her tennis shoes. He was not content with falling in love quietly, +but brought all the strength of his miserable little nature into the +business. If he had not been so objectionable, one might have pitied +him. He vapored, and fretted, and fumed, and trotted up and down, and +tried to make himself pleasing in Miss Hollis's big, quiet, gray eyes, +and failed. It was one of the cases that you sometimes meet, even in +this country where we marry by Code, of a really blind attachment all on +one side, without the faintest possibility of return. Miss Hollis +looked on Pack as some sort of vermin running about the road. He had +no prospects beyond Captain's pay, and no wits to help that out by one +anna. In a large-sized man, love like his would have been touching. + +In a good man it would have been grand. He being what he was, it was +only a nuisance. + +You will believe this much. What you will not believe, is what follows: +Churton, and The Man who Knew that the Bisara was, were lunching at the +Simla Club together. Churton was complaining of life in general. His +best mare had rolled out of stable down the hill and had broken her +back; his decisions were being reversed by the upper Courts, more +than an Assistant Commissioner of eight years' standing has a right to +expect; he knew liver and fever, and, for weeks past, had felt out of +sorts. Altogether, he was disgusted and disheartened. + +Simla Club dining-room is built, as all the world knows, in two +sections, with an arch-arrangement dividing them. Come in, turn to your +own left, take the table under the window, and you cannot see any one +who has come in, turning to the right, and taken a table on the right +side of the arch. Curiously enough, every word that you say can be +heard, not only by the other diner, but by the servants beyond the +screen through which they bring dinner. This is worth knowing: an +echoing-room is a trap to be forewarned against. + +Half in fun, and half hoping to be believed, The Man who Knew told +Churton the story of the Bisara of Pooree at rather greater length than +I have told it to you in this place; winding up with the suggestion that +Churton might as well throw the little box down the hill and see whether +all his troubles would go with it. In ordinary ears, English ears, the +tale was only an interesting bit of folk-lore. Churton laughed, +said that he felt better for his tiffin, and went out. Pack had been +tiffining by himself to the right of the arch, and had heard everything. +He was nearly mad with his absurd infatuation for Miss Hollis that all +Simla had been laughing about. + +It is a curious thing that, when a man hates or loves beyond reason, he +is ready to go beyond reason to gratify his feelings. Which he would not +do for money or power merely. Depend upon it, Solomon would never have +built altars to Ashtaroth and all those ladies with queer names, if +there had not been trouble of some kind in his zenana, and nowhere else. +But this is beside the story. The facts of the case are these: Pack +called on Churton next day when Churton was out, left his card, and +STOLE the Bisara of Pooree from its place under the clock on the +mantelpiece! Stole it like the thief he was by nature. Three days later, +all Simla was electrified by the news that Miss Hollis had accepted +Pack--the shrivelled rat, Pack! Do you desire clearer evidence than +this? The Bisara of Pooree had been stolen, and it worked as it had +always done when won by foul means. + +There are three or four times in a man's life when he is justified in +meddling with other people's affairs to play Providence. + +The Man who Knew felt that he WAS justified; but believing and acting on +a belief are quite different things. The insolent satisfaction of Pack +as he ambled by the side of Miss Hollis, and Churton's striking release +from liver, as soon as the Bisara of Pooree had gone, decided the Man. +He explained to Churton and Churton laughed, because he was not brought +up to believe that men on the Government House List steal--at least +little things. But the miraculous acceptance by Miss Hollis of that +tailor, Pack, decided him to take steps on suspicion. He vowed that he +only wanted to find out where his ruby-studded silver box had vanished +to. You cannot accuse a man on the Government House List of stealing. +And if you rifle his room you are a thief yourself. Churton, prompted +by The Man who Knew, decided on burglary. If he found nothing in Pack's +room.... but it is not nice to think of what would have happened in +that case. + +Pack went to a dance at Benmore--Benmore WAS Benmore in those days, and +not an office--and danced fifteen waltzes out of twenty-two with Miss +Hollis. Churton and The Man took all the keys that they could lay hands +on, and went to Pack's room in the hotel, certain that his servants +would be away. Pack was a cheap soul. He had not purchased a decent +cash-box to keep his papers in, but one of those native imitations that +you buy for ten rupees. It opened to any sort of key, and there at the +bottom, under Pack's Insurance Policy, lay the Bisara of Pooree! + +Churton called Pack names, put the Bisara of Pooree in his pocket, and +went to the dance with The Man. At least, he came in time for supper, +and saw the beginning of the end in Miss Hollis's eyes. She was +hysterical after supper, and was taken away by her Mamma. + +At the dance, with the abominable Bisara in his pocket, Churton twisted +his foot on one of the steps leading down to the old Rink, and had to be +sent home in a rickshaw, grumbling. He did not believe in the Bisara of +Pooree any the more for this manifestation, but he sought out Pack and +called him some ugly names; and “thief” was the mildest of them. Pack +took the names with the nervous smile of a little man who wants both +soul and body to resent an insult, and went his way. There was no public +scandal. + +A week later, Pack got his definite dismissal from Miss Hollis. + +There had been a mistake in the placing of her affections, she said. + +So he went away to Madras, where he can do no great harm even if he +lives to be a Colonel. + +Churton insisted upon The Man who Knew taking the Bisara of Pooree as a +gift. The Man took it, went down to the Cart Road at once, found an ekka +pony with a blue head-necklace, fastened the Bisara of Pooree inside the +necklace with a piece of shoe-string and thanked Heaven that he was +rid of a danger. Remember, in case you ever find it, that you must not +destroy the Bisara of Pooree. I have not time to explain why just now, +but the power lies in the little wooden fish. Mister Gubernatis or Max +Muller could tell you more about it than I. + +You will say that all this story is made up. Very well. If ever you come +across a little silver, ruby-studded box, seven-eighths of an inch long +by three-quarters wide, with a dark-brown wooden fish, wrapped in gold +cloth, inside it, keep it. Keep it for three years, and then you will +discover for yourself whether my story is true or false. + +Better still, steal it as Pack did, and you will be sorry that you had +not killed yourself in the beginning. + + + + +THE GATE OF A HUNDRED SORROWS. + + “If I can attain Heaven for a pice, why should you be envious?” + --Opium Smoker's Proverb. + +This is no work of mine. My friend, Gabral Misquitta, the half-caste, +spoke it all, between moonset and morning, six weeks before he died; and +I took it down from his mouth as he answered my questions so:-- + +It lies between the Copper-smith's Gully and the pipe-stem sellers' +quarter, within a hundred yards, too, as the crow flies, of the Mosque +of Wazir Khan. I don't mind telling any one this much, but I defy him +to find the Gate, however well he may think he knows the City. You might +even go through the very gully it stands in a hundred times, and be none +the wiser. We used to call the gully, “the Gully of the Black Smoke,” + but its native name is altogether different of course. A loaded donkey +couldn't pass between the walls; and, at one point, just before you +reach the Gate, a bulged house-front makes people go along all sideways. + +It isn't really a gate though. It's a house. Old Fung-Tching had it +first five years ago. He was a boot-maker in Calcutta. They say that +he murdered his wife there when he was drunk. That was why he dropped +bazar-rum and took to the Black Smoke instead. Later on, he came up +north and opened the Gate as a house where you could get your smoke in +peace and quiet. Mind you, it was a pukka, respectable opium-house, and +not one of those stifling, sweltering chandoo-khanas, that you can find +all over the City. No; the old man knew his business thoroughly, and he +was most clean for a Chinaman. He was a one-eyed little chap, not much +more than five feet high, and both his middle fingers were gone. All the +same, he was the handiest man at rolling black pills I have ever seen. +Never seemed to be touched by the Smoke, either; and what he took day +and night, night and day, was a caution. I've been at it five years, and +I can do my fair share of the Smoke with any one; but I was a child to +Fung-Tching that way. All the same, the old man was keen on his money, +very keen; and that's what I can't understand. I heard he saved a good +deal before he died, but his nephew has got all that now; and the old +man's gone back to China to be buried. + +He kept the big upper room, where his best customers gathered, as neat +as a new pin. In one corner used to stand Fung-Tching's Joss--almost +as ugly as Fung-Tching--and there were always sticks burning under his +nose; but you never smelt 'em when the pipes were going thick. Opposite +the Joss was Fung-Tching's coffin. He had spent a good deal of his +savings on that, and whenever a new man came to the Gate he was always +introduced to it. It was lacquered black, with red and gold writings +on it, and I've heard that Fung-Tching brought it out all the way from +China. I don't know whether that's true or not, but I know that, if I +came first in the evening, I used to spread my mat just at the foot of +it. It was a quiet corner you see, and a sort of breeze from the gully +came in at the window now and then. Besides the mats, there was no other +furniture in the room--only the coffin, and the old Joss all green and +blue and purple with age and polish. + +Fung-Tching never told us why he called the place “The Gate of a Hundred +Sorrows.” (He was the only Chinaman I know who used bad-sounding fancy +names. Most of them are flowery. As you'll see in Calcutta.) We used +to find that out for ourselves. Nothing grows on you so much, if you're +white, as the Black Smoke. A yellow man is made different. Opium doesn't +tell on him scarcely at all; but white and black suffer a good deal. Of +course, there are some people that the Smoke doesn't touch any more than +tobacco would at first. They just doze a bit, as one would fall asleep +naturally, and next morning they are almost fit for work. Now, I was +one of that sort when I began, but I've been at it for five years pretty +steadily, and its different now. There was an old aunt of mine, down +Agra way, and she left me a little at her death. About sixty rupees a +month secured. Sixty isn't much. I can recollect a time, seems hundreds +and hundreds of years ago, that I was getting my three hundred a month, +and pickings, when I was working on a big timber contract in Calcutta. + +I didn't stick to that work for long. The Black Smoke does not allow of +much other business; and even though I am very little affected by it, as +men go, I couldn't do a day's work now to save my life. After all, sixty +rupees is what I want. When old Fung-Tching was alive he used to draw +the money for me, give me about half of it to live on (I eat very +little), and the rest he kept himself. I was free of the Gate at any +time of the day and night, and could smoke and sleep there when I liked, +so I didn't care. I know the old man made a good thing out of it; but +that's no matter. Nothing matters, much to me; and, besides, the money +always came fresh and fresh each month. + +There was ten of us met at the Gate when the place was first opened. Me, +and two Baboos from a Government Office somewhere in Anarkulli, but they +got the sack and couldn't pay (no man who has to work in the daylight +can do the Black Smoke for any length of time straight on); a Chinaman +that was Fung-Tching's nephew; a bazar-woman that had got a lot of +money somehow; an English loafer--Mac-Somebody I think, but I have +forgotten--that smoked heaps, but never seemed to pay anything (they +said he had saved Fung-Tching's life at some trial in Calcutta when +he was a barrister): another Eurasian, like myself, from Madras; a +half-caste woman, and a couple of men who said they had come from the +North. I think they must have been Persians or Afghans or something. +There are not more than five of us living now, but we come regular. I +don't know what happened to the Baboos; but the bazar-woman she died +after six months of the Gate, and I think Fung-Tching took her bangles +and nose-ring for himself. But I'm not certain. The Englishman, he drank +as well as smoked, and he dropped off. One of the Persians got killed in +a row at night by the big well near the mosque a long time ago, and the +Police shut up the well, because they said it was full of foul air. + +They found him dead at the bottom of it. So, you see, there is only me, +the Chinaman, the half-caste woman that we call the Memsahib (she used +to live with Fung-Tching), the other Eurasian, and one of the Persians. +The Memsahib looks very old now. I think she was a young woman when the +Gate was opened; but we are all old for the matter of that. Hundreds +and hundreds of years old. It is very hard to keep count of time in the +Gate, and besides, time doesn't matter to me. I draw my sixty rupees +fresh and fresh every month. + +A very, very long while ago, when I used to be getting three hundred +and fifty rupees a month, and pickings, on a big timber-contract at +Calcutta, I had a wife of sorts. But she's dead now. People said that I +killed her by taking to the Black Smoke. Perhaps I did, but it's so long +since it doesn't matter. Sometimes when I first came to the Gate, I used +to feel sorry for it; but that's all over and done with long ago, and +I draw my sixty rupees fresh and fresh every month, and am quite happy. +Not DRUNK happy, you know, but always quiet and soothed and contented. + +How did I take to it? It began at Calcutta. I used to try it in my own +house, just to see what it was like. I never went very far, but I think +my wife must have died then. Anyhow, I found myself here, and got to +know Fung-Tching. I don't remember rightly how that came about; but he +told me of the Gate and I used to go there, and, somehow, I have never +got away from it since. Mind you, though, the Gate was a respectable +place in Fung-Tching's time where you could be comfortable, and not at +all like the chandoo-khanas where the niggers go. No; it was clean and +quiet, and not crowded. Of course, there were others beside us ten +and the man; but we always had a mat apiece with a wadded woollen +head-piece, all covered with black and red dragons and things; just like +a coffin in the corner. + +At the end of one's third pipe the dragons used to move about and fight. +I've watched 'em, many and many a night through. I used to regulate +my Smoke that way, and now it takes a dozen pipes to make 'em stir. +Besides, they are all torn and dirty, like the mats, and old Fung-Tching +is dead. He died a couple of years ago, and gave me the pipe I always +use now--a silver one, with queer beasts crawling up and down the +receiver-bottle below the cup. Before that, I think, I used a big bamboo +stem with a copper cup, a very small one, and a green jade mouthpiece. +It was a little thicker than a walking-stick stem, and smoked sweet, +very sweet. The bamboo seemed to suck up the smoke. Silver doesn't, and +I've got to clean it out now and then, that's a great deal of trouble, +but I smoke it for the old man's sake. He must have made a good thing +out of me, but he always gave me clean mats and pillows, and the best +stuff you could get anywhere. + +When he died, his nephew Tsin-ling took up the Gate, and he called it +the “Temple of the Three Possessions;” but we old ones speak of it +as the “Hundred Sorrows,” all the same. The nephew does things very +shabbily, and I think the Memsahib must help him. She lives with him; +same as she used to do with the old man. The two let in all sorts of low +people, niggers and all, and the Black Smoke isn't as good as it used +to be. I've found burnt bran in my pipe over and over again. The old man +would have died if that had happened in his time. Besides, the room +is never cleaned, and all the mats are torn and cut at the edges. The +coffin has gone--gone to China again--with the old man and two ounces of +smoke inside it, in case he should want 'em on the way. + +The Joss doesn't get so many sticks burnt under his nose as he used to; +that's a sign of ill-luck, as sure as Death. He's all brown, too, and +no one ever attends to him. That's the Memsahib's work, I know; because, +when Tsin-ling tried to burn gilt paper before him, she said it was a +waste of money, and, if he kept a stick burning very slowly, the Joss +wouldn't know the difference. So now we've got the sticks mixed with +a lot of glue, and they take half-an-hour longer to burn, and smell +stinky. Let alone the smell of the room by itself. No business can get +on if they try that sort of thing. + +The Joss doesn't like it. I can see that. Late at night, sometimes, he +turns all sorts of queer colors--blue and green and red--just as he used +to do when old Fung-Tching was alive; and he rolls his eyes and stamps +his feet like a devil. + +I don't know why I don't leave the place and smoke quietly in a little +room of my own in the bazar. Most like, Tsin-ling would kill me if +I went away--he draws my sixty rupees now--and besides, it's so much +trouble, and I've grown to be very fond of the Gate. It's not much to +look at. Not what it was in the old man's time, but I couldn't leave it. +I've seen so many come in and out. And I've seen so many die here on the +mats that I should be afraid of dying in the open now. I've seen some +things that people would call strange enough; but nothing is strange +when you're on the Black Smoke, except the Black Smoke. And if it was, +it wouldn't matter. + +Fung-Tching used to be very particular about his people, and never got +in any one who'd give trouble by dying messy and such. But the nephew +isn't half so careful. He tells everywhere that he keeps a “first-chop” + house. Never tries to get men in quietly, and make them comfortable like +Fung-Tching did. That's why the Gate is getting a little bit more known +than it used to be. Among the niggers of course. The nephew daren't get +a white, or, for matter of that, a mixed skin into the place. He has +to keep us three of course--me and the Memsahib and the other Eurasian. +We're fixtures. + +But he wouldn't give us credit for a pipeful--not for anything. + +One of these days, I hope, I shall die in the Gate. The Persian and +the Madras man are terrible shaky now. They've got a boy to light their +pipes for them. I always do that myself. Most like, I shall see them +carried out before me. I don't think I shall ever outlive the Memsahib +or Tsin-ling. Women last longer than men at the Black-Smoke, and +Tsin-ling has a deal of the old man's blood in him, though he DOES smoke +cheap stuff. The bazar-woman knew when she was going two days before her +time; and SHE died on a clean mat with a nicely wadded pillow, and the +old man hung up her pipe just above the Joss. He was always fond of her, +I fancy. But he took her bangles just the same. + +I should like to die like the bazar-woman--on a clean, cool mat with a +pipe of good stuff between my lips. When I feel I'm going, I shall ask +Tsin-ling for them, and he can draw my sixty rupees a month, fresh and +fresh, as long as he pleases, and watch the black and red dragons have +their last big fight together; and then.... + +Well, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters much to me--only I wished +Tsin-ling wouldn't put bran into the Black Smoke. + + + + +THE STORY OF MUHAMMAD DIN. + + “Who is the happy man? He that sees in his own house at home little + children crowned with dust, leaping and falling and crying.” + --Munichandra, translated by Professor Peterson. + +The polo-ball was an old one, scarred, chipped, and dinted. It stood +on the mantelpiece among the pipe-stems which Imam Din, khitmatgar, was +cleaning for me. + +“Does the Heaven-born want this ball?” said Imam Din, deferentially. + +The Heaven-born set no particular store by it; but of what use was a +polo-ball to a khitmatgar? + +“By Your Honor's favor, I have a little son. He has seen this ball, and +desires it to play with. I do not want it for myself.” + +No one would for an instant accuse portly old Imam Din of wanting +to play with polo-balls. He carried out the battered thing into the +verandah; and there followed a hurricane of joyful squeaks, a patter of +small feet, and the thud-thud-thud of the ball rolling along the ground. +Evidently the little son had been waiting outside the door to secure his +treasure. But how had he managed to see that polo-ball? + +Next day, coming back from office half an hour earlier than usual, I was +aware of a small figure in the dining-room--a tiny, plump figure in a +ridiculously inadequate shirt which came, perhaps, half-way down the +tubby stomach. It wandered round the room, thumb in mouth, crooning +to itself as it took stock of the pictures. Undoubtedly this was the +“little son.” + +He had no business in my room, of course; but was so deeply absorbed in +his discoveries that he never noticed me in the doorway. I stepped into +the room and startled him nearly into a fit. He sat down on the ground +with a gasp. His eyes opened, and his mouth followed suit. I knew what +was coming, and fled, followed by a long, dry howl which reached the +servants' quarters far more quickly than any command of mine had ever +done. In ten seconds Imam Din was in the dining-room. Then despairing +sobs arose, and I returned to find Imam Din admonishing the small sinner +who was using most of his shirt as a handkerchief. + +“This boy,” said Imam Din, judicially, “is a budmash, a big budmash. +He will, without doubt, go to the jail-khana for his behavior.” Renewed +yells from the penitent, and an elaborate apology to myself from Imam +Din. + +“Tell the baby,” said I, “that the Sahib is not angry, and take him +away.” Imam Din conveyed my forgiveness to the offender, who had +now gathered all his shirt round his neck, string-wise, and the yell +subsided into a sob. The two set off for the door. “His name,” said Imam +Din, as though the name were part of the crime, “is Muhammad Din, and he +is a budmash.” Freed from present danger, Muhammad Din turned round, +in his father's arms, and said gravely:--“It is true that my name is +Muhammad Din, Tahib, but I am not a budmash. I am a MAN!” + +From that day dated my acquaintance with Muhammad Din. Never again did +he come into my dining-room, but on the neutral ground of the compound, +we greeted each other with much state, though our conversation was +confined to “Talaam, Tahib” from his side and “Salaam Muhammad Din” from +mine. Daily on my return from office, the little white shirt, and the +fat little body used to rise from the shade of the creeper-covered +trellis where they had been hid; and daily I checked my horse here, that +my salutation might not be slurred over or given unseemly. + +Muhammad Din never had any companions. He used to trot about the +compound, in and out of the castor-oil bushes, on mysterious errands +of his own. One day I stumbled upon some of his handiwork far down +the ground. He had half buried the polo-ball in dust, and stuck six +shrivelled old marigold flowers in a circle round it. Outside that +circle again, was a rude square, traced out in bits of red brick +alternating with fragments of broken china; the whole bounded by a +little bank of dust. The bhistie from the well-curb put in a plea for +the small architect, saying that it was only the play of a baby and did +not much disfigure my garden. + +Heaven knows that I had no intention of touching the child's work then +or later; but, that evening, a stroll through the garden brought me +unawares full on it; so that I trampled, before I knew, marigold-heads, +dust-bank, and fragments of broken soap-dish into confusion past all +hope of mending. Next morning I came upon Muhammad Din crying softly to +himself over the ruin I had wrought. + +Some one had cruelly told him that the Sahib was very angry with him for +spoiling the garden, and had scattered his rubbish using bad language +the while. Muhammad Din labored for an hour at effacing every trace +of the dust-bank and pottery fragments, and it was with a tearful +apologetic face that he said, “Talaam Tahib,” when I came home from the +office. A hasty inquiry resulted in Imam Din informing Muhammad Din that +by my singular favor he was permitted to disport himself as he pleased. +Whereat the child took heart and fell to tracing the ground-plan of an +edifice which was to eclipse the marigold-polo-ball creation. + +For some months, the chubby little eccentricity revolved in his humble +orbit among the castor-oil bushes and in the dust; always fashioning +magnificent palaces from stale flowers thrown away by the bearer, smooth +water-worn pebbles, bits of broken glass, and feathers pulled, I fancy, +from my fowls--always alone and always crooning to himself. + +A gayly-spotted sea-shell was dropped one day close to the last of his +little buildings; and I looked that Muhammad Din should build something +more than ordinarily splendid on the strength of it. Nor was I +disappointed. He meditated for the better part of an hour, and his +crooning rose to a jubilant song. Then he began tracing in dust. It +would certainly be a wondrous palace, this one, for it was two +yards long and a yard broad in ground-plan. But the palace was never +completed. + +Next day there was no Muhammad Din at the head of the carriage-drive, +and no “Talaam Tahib” to welcome my return. I had grown accustomed to +the greeting, and its omission troubled me. Next day, Imam Din told me +that the child was suffering slightly from fever and needed quinine. He +got the medicine, and an English Doctor. + +“They have no stamina, these brats,” said the Doctor, as he left Imam +Din's quarters. + +A week later, though I would have given much to have avoided it, I met +on the road to the Mussulman burying-ground Imam Din, accompanied by one +other friend, carrying in his arms, wrapped in a white cloth, all that +was left of little Muhammad Din. + + + + +ON THE STRENGTH OF A LIKENESS. + + If your mirror be broken, look into still water; but have a care + that you do not fall in. + --Hindu Proverb. + +Next to a requited attachment, one of the most convenient things that a +young man can carry about with him at the beginning of his career, is +an unrequited attachment. It makes him feel important and business-like, +and blase, and cynical; and whenever he has a touch of liver, or suffers +from want of exercise, he can mourn over his lost love, and be very +happy in a tender, twilight fashion. + +Hannasyde's affair of the heart had been a Godsend to him. It was four +years old, and the girl had long since given up thinking of it. + +She had married and had many cares of her own. In the beginning, she +had told Hannasyde that, “while she could never be anything more than +a sister to him, she would always take the deepest interest in his +welfare.” This startlingly new and original remark gave Hannasyde +something to think over for two years; and his own vanity filled in +the other twenty-four months. Hannasyde was quite different from Phil +Garron, but, none the less, had several points in common with that far +too lucky man. + +He kept his unrequited attachment by him as men keep a well-smoked +pipe--for comfort's sake, and because it had grown dear in the using. It +brought him happily through the Simla season. Hannasyde was not lovely. +There was a crudity in his manners, and a roughness in the way in which +he helped a lady on to her horse, that did not attract the other sex +to him. Even if he had cast about for their favor, which he did not. He +kept his wounded heart all to himself for a while. + +Then trouble came to him. All who go to Simla, know the slope from the +Telegraph to the Public Works Office. Hannasyde was loafing up the hill, +one September morning between calling hours, when a 'rickshaw came down +in a hurry, and in the 'rickshaw sat the living, breathing image of the +girl who had made him so happily unhappy. + +Hannasyde leaned against the railing and gasped. He wanted to run +downhill after the 'rickshaw, but that was impossible; so he went +forward with most of his blood in his temples. It was impossible, for +many reasons, that the woman in the 'rickshaw could be the girl he had +known. She was, he discovered later, the wife of a man from Dindigul, or +Coimbatore, or some out-of-the-way place, and she had come up to Simla +early in the season for the good of her health. + +She was going back to Dindigul, or wherever it was, at the end of the +season; and in all likelihood would never return to Simla again, her +proper Hill-station being Ootacamund. That night, Hannasyde, raw and +savage from the raking up of all old feelings, took counsel with himself +for one measured hour. What he decided upon was this; and you must +decide for yourself how much genuine affection for the old love, and how +much a very natural inclination to go abroad and enjoy himself, affected +the decision. Mrs. Landys-Haggert would never in all human likelihood +cross his path again. So whatever he did didn't much matter. She was +marvellously like the girl who “took a deep interest” and the rest of +the formula. All things considered, it would be pleasant to make the +acquaintance of Mrs. Landys-Haggert, and for a little time--only a very +little time--to make believe that he was with Alice Chisane again. Every +one is more or less mad on one point. Hannasyde's particular monomania +was his old love, Alice Chisane. + +He made it his business to get introduced to Mrs. Haggert, and the +introduction prospered. He also made it his business to see as much as +he could of that lady. When a man is in earnest as to interviews, the +facilities which Simla offers are startling. There are garden-parties, +and tennis-parties, and picnics, and luncheons at Annandale, and +rifle-matches, and dinners and balls; besides rides and walks, which are +matters of private arrangement. + +Hannasyde had started with the intention of seeing a likeness, and +he ended by doing much more. He wanted to be deceived, he meant to be +deceived, and he deceived himself very thoroughly. Not only were the +face and figure, the face and figure of Alice Chisane, but the voice and +lower tones were exactly the same, and so were the turns of speech; and +the little mannerisms, that every woman has, of gait and gesticulation, +were absolutely and identically the same. The turn of the head was the +same; the tired look in the eyes at the end of a long walk was the same; +the sloop and wrench over the saddle to hold in a pulling horse was the +same; and once, most marvellous of all, Mrs. Landys-Haggert singing to +herself in the next room, while Hannasyde was waiting to take her for a +ride, hummed, note for note, with a throaty quiver of the voice in the +second line:--“Poor Wandering One!” exactly as Alice Chisane had hummed +it for Hannasyde in the dusk of an English drawing-room. In the actual +woman herself--in the soul of her--there was not the least likeness; she +and Alice Chisane being cast in different moulds. But all that +Hannasyde wanted to know and see and think about, was this maddening and +perplexing likeness of face and voice and manner. He was bent on making +a fool of himself that way; and he was in no sort disappointed. + +Open and obvious devotion from any sort of man is always pleasant to +any sort of woman; but Mrs. Landys-Haggert, being a woman of the world, +could make nothing of Hannasyde's admiration. + +He would take any amount of trouble--he was a selfish man habitually--to +meet and forestall, if possible, her wishes. + +Anything she told him to do was law; and he was, there could be no +doubting it, fond of her company so long as she talked to him, and kept +on talking about trivialities. But when she launched into expression of +her personal views and her wrongs, those small social differences +that make the spice of Simla life, Hannasyde was neither pleased nor +interested. He didn't want to know anything about Mrs. Landys-Haggert, +or her experiences in the past--she had travelled nearly all over the +world, and could talk cleverly--he wanted the likeness of Alice Chisane +before his eyes and her voice in his ears. + +Anything outside that, reminding him of another personality jarred, and +he showed that it did. + +Under the new Post Office, one evening, Mrs. Landys-Haggert turned on +him, and spoke her mind shortly and without warning. “Mr. Hannasyde,” + said she, “will you be good enough to explain why you have appointed +yourself my special cavalier servente? I don't understand it. But I +am perfectly certain, somehow or other, that you don't care the least +little bit in the world for ME.” This seems to support, by the way, the +theory that no man can act or tell lies to a woman without being found +out. Hannasyde was taken off his guard. His defence never was a strong +one, because he was always thinking of himself, and he blurted out, +before he knew what he was saying, this inexpedient answer:--“No more I +do.” + +The queerness of the situation and the reply, made Mrs. Haggert laugh. +Then it all came out; and at the end of Hannasyde's lucid explanation, +Mrs. Haggert said, with the least little touch of scorn in her +voice:--“So I'm to act as the lay-figure for you to hang the rags of +your tattered affections on, am I?” + +Hannasyde didn't see what answer was required, and he devoted himself +generally and vaguely to the praise of Alice Chisane, which was +unsatisfactory. Now it is to be thoroughly made clear that Mrs. Haggert +had not the shadow of a ghost of an interest in Hannasyde. + +Only--only no woman likes being made love through instead of +to--specially on behalf of a musty divinity of four years' standing. + +Hannasyde did not see that he had made any very particular exhibition +of himself. He was glad to find a sympathetic soul in the arid wastes of +Simla. + +When the season ended, Hannasyde went down to his own place and Mrs. +Haggert to hers. “It was like making love to a ghost,” said Hannasyde +to himself, “and it doesn't matter; and now I'll get to my work.” But +he found himself thinking steadily of the Haggert-Chisane ghost; and he +could not be certain whether it was Haggert or Chisane that made up the +greater part of the pretty phantom.......... + +He got understanding a month later. + +A peculiar point of this peculiar country is the way in which a +heartless Government transfers men from one end of the Empire to the +other. You can never be sure of getting rid of a friend or an enemy till +he or she dies. There was a case once--but that's another story. + +Haggert's Department ordered him up from Dindigul to the Frontier at +two days' notice, and he went through, losing money at every step, from +Dindigul to his station. He dropped Mrs. Haggert at Lucknow, to stay +with some friends there, to take part in a big ball at the Chutter +Munzil, and to come on when he had made the new home a little +comfortable. Lucknow was Hannasyde's station, and Mrs. Haggert stayed +a week there. Hannasyde went to meet her. And the train came in, +he discovered which he had been thinking of for the past month. The +unwisdom of his conduct also struck him. The Lucknow week, with two +dances, and an unlimited quantity of rides together, clinched matters; +and Hannasyde found himself pacing this circle of thought:--He +adored Alice Chisane--at least he HAD adored her. AND he admired +Mrs. Landys-Haggert because she was like Alice Chisane. BUT Mrs. +Landys-Haggert was not in the least like Alice Chisane, being a thousand +times more adorable. NOW Alice Chisane was “the bride of another,” and +so was Mrs. Landys-Haggert, and a good and honest wife too. THEREFORE, +he, Hannasyde, was.... here he called himself several hard names, +and wished that he had been wise in the beginning. + +Whether Mrs. Landys-Haggert saw what was going on in his mind, she alone +knows. He seemed to take an unqualified interest in everything connected +with herself, as distinguished from the Alice-Chisane likeness, and he +said one or two things which, if Alice Chisane had been still betrothed +to him, could scarcely have been excused, even on the grounds of the +likeness. But Mrs. Haggert turned the remarks aside, and spent a long +time in making Hannasyde see what a comfort and a pleasure she had been +to him because of her strange resemblance to his old love. Hannasyde +groaned in his saddle and said, “Yes, indeed,” and busied himself with +preparations for her departure to the Frontier, feeling very small and +miserable. + +The last day of her stay at Lucknow came, and Hannasyde saw her off +at the Railway Station. She was very grateful for his kindness and the +trouble he had taken, and smiled pleasantly and sympathetically as one +who knew the Alice-Chisane reason of that kindness. And Hannasyde abused +the coolies with the luggage, and hustled the people on the platform, +and prayed that the roof might fall in and slay him. + +As the train went out slowly, Mrs. Landys-Haggert leaned out of the +window to say goodbye:--“On second thoughts au revoir, Mr. Hannasyde. I +go Home in the Spring, and perhaps I may meet you in Town.” + +Hannasyde shook hands, and said very earnestly and adoringly:--“I hope +to Heaven I shall never see your face again!” + +And Mrs. Haggert understood. + + + + +WRESSLEY OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE. + + I closed and drew for my love's sake, + That now is false to me, + And I slew the Riever of Tarrant Moss, + And set Dumeny free. + + And ever they give me praise and gold, + And ever I moan my loss, + For I struck the blow for my false love's sake, + And not for the men at the Moss. + --Tarrant Moss. + +One of the many curses of our life out here is the want of atmosphere in +the painter's sense. There are no half-tints worth noticing. Men stand +out all crude and raw, with nothing to tone them down, and nothing to +scale them against. They do their work, and grow to think that there is +nothing but their work, and nothing like their work, and that they are +the real pivots on which the administration turns. Here is an instance +of this feeling. A half-caste clerk was ruling forms in a Pay Office. He +said to me:--“Do you know what would happen if I added or took away one +single line on this sheet?” Then, with the air of a conspirator:--“It +would disorganize the whole of the Treasury payments throughout the +whole of the Presidency Circle! Think of that?” + +If men had not this delusion as to the ultra-importance of their own +particular employments, I suppose that they would sit down and kill +themselves. But their weakness is wearisome, particularly when the +listener knows that he himself commits exactly the same sin. + +Even the Secretariat believes that it does good when it asks an +over-driven Executive Officer to take census of wheat-weevils through a +district of five thousand square miles. + +There was a man once in the Foreign Office--a man who had grown +middle-aged in the department, and was commonly said, by irreverent +juniors, to be able to repeat Aitchison's “Treaties and Sunnuds” + backwards, in his sleep. What he did with his stored knowledge only the +Secretary knew; and he, naturally, would not publish the news abroad. +This man's name was Wressley, and it was the Shibboleth, in those days, +to say:--“Wressley knows more about the Central Indian States than any +living man.” If you did not say this, you were considered one of mean +understanding. + +Now-a-days, the man who says that he knows the ravel of the inter-tribal +complications across the Border is of more use; but in Wressley's time, +much attention was paid to the Central Indian States. They were called +“foci” and “factors,” and all manner of imposing names. + +And here the curse of Anglo-Indian life fell heavily. When Wressley +lifted up his voice, and spoke about such-and-such a succession to +such-and-such a throne, the Foreign Office were silent, and Heads +of Departments repeated the last two or three words of Wressley's +sentences, and tacked “yes, yes,” on them, and knew that they were +“assisting the Empire to grapple with seriouspolitical contingencies.” + In most big undertakings, one or two men do the work while the rest sit +near and talk till the ripe decorations begin to fall. + +Wressley was the working-member of the Foreign Office firm, and, to keep +him up to his duties when he showed signs of flagging, he was made much +of by his superiors and told what a fine fellow he was. + +He did not require coaxing, because he was of tough build, but what +he received confirmed him in the belief that there was no one quite +so absolutely and imperatively necessary to the stability of India as +Wressley of the Foreign Office. There might be other good men, but the +known, honored and trusted man among men was Wressley of the Foreign +Office. We had a Viceroy in those days who knew exactly when to “gentle” + a fractious big man and to hearten up a collar-galled little one, and so +keep all his team level. He conveyed to Wressley the impression which I +have just set down; and even tough men are apt to be disorganized by a +Viceroy's praise. There was a case once--but that is another story. + +All India knew Wressley's name and office--it was in Thacker and Spink's +Directory--but who he was personally, or what he did, or what his +special merits were, not fifty men knew or cared. His work filled all +his time, and he found no leisure to cultivate acquaintances beyond +those of dead Rajput chiefs with Ahir blots in their 'scutcheons. +Wressley would have made a very good Clerk in the Herald's College had +he not been a Bengal Civilian. + +Upon a day, between office and office, great trouble came to +Wressley--overwhelmed him, knocked him down, and left him gasping +as though he had been a little school-boy. Without reason, against +prudence, and at a moment's notice, he fell in love with a frivolous, +golden-haired girl who used to tear about Simla Mall on a high, rough +waler, with a blue velvet jockey-cap crammed over her eyes. Her name was +Venner--Tillie Venner--and she was delightful. + +She took Wressley's heart at a hand-gallop, and Wressley found that it +was not good for man to live alone; even with half the Foreign Office +Records in his presses. + +Then Simla laughed, for Wressley in love was slightly ridiculous. + +He did his best to interest the girl in himself--that is to say, +his work--and she, after the manner of women, did her best to appear +interested in what, behind his back, she called “Mr. Wressley's Wajahs”; +for she lisped very prettily. She did not understand one little thing +about them, but she acted as if she did. Men have married on that sort +of error before now. + +Providence, however, had care of Wressley. He was immensely struck with +Miss Venner's intelligence. He would have been more impressed had +he heard her private and confidential accounts of his calls. He held +peculiar notions as to the wooing of girls. He said that the best work +of a man's career should be laid reverently at their feet. + +Ruskin writes something like this somewhere, I think; but in ordinary +life a few kisses are better and save time. + +About a month after he had lost his heart to Miss Venner, and had been +doing his work vilely in consequence, the first idea of his “Native Rule +in Central India” struck Wressley and filled him with joy. It was, as he +sketched it, a great thing--the work of his life--a really comprehensive +survey of a most fascinating subject--to be written with all the special +and laboriously acquired knowledge of Wressley of the Foreign Office--a +gift fit for an Empress. + +He told Miss Venner that he was going to take leave, and hoped, on his +return, to bring her a present worthy of her acceptance. Would she wait? +Certainly she would. Wressley drew seventeen hundred rupees a month. She +would wait a year for that. Her mamma would help her to wait. + +So Wressley took one year's leave and all the available documents, about +a truck-load, that he could lay hands on, and went down to Central India +with his notion hot in his head. He began his book in the land he was +writing of. Too much official correspondence had made him a frigid +workman, and he must have guessed that he needed the white light of +local color on his palette. This is a dangerous paint for amateurs to +play with. + +Heavens, how that man worked! He caught his Rajahs, analyzed his Rajahs, +and traced them up into the mists of Time and beyond, with their +queens and their concubines. He dated and cross-dated, pedigreed and +triple-pedigreed, compared, noted, connoted, wove, strung, sorted, +selected, inferred, calendared and counter-calendared for ten hours a +day. And, because this sudden and new light of Love was upon him, he +turned those dry bones of history and dirty records of misdeeds into +things to weep or to laugh over as he pleased. His heart and soul were +at the end of his pen, and they got into the ink. He was dowered with +sympathy, insight, humor and style for two hundred and thirty days and +nights; and his book was a Book. He had his vast special knowledge with +him, so to speak; but the spirit, the woven-in human Touch, the poetry +and the power of the output, were beyond all special knowledge. But I +doubt whether he knew the gift that was in him then, and thus he may +have lost some happiness. He was toiling for Tillie Venner, not for +himself. + +Men often do their best work blind, for some one else's sake. + +Also, though this has nothing to do with the story, in India where every +one knows every one else, you can watch men being driven, by the women +who govern them, out of the rank-and-file and sent to take up points +alone. A good man once started, goes forward; but an average man, so +soon as the woman loses interest in his success as a tribute to her +power, comes back to the battalion and is no more heard of. + +Wressley bore the first copy of his book to Simla and, blushing and +stammering, presented it to Miss Venner. She read a little of it. + +I give her review verbatim:--“Oh, your book? It's all about those +how-wid Wajahs. I didn't understand it.”......... + +Wressley of the Foreign Office was broken, smashed,--I am not +exaggerating--by this one frivolous little girl. All that he could say +feebly was:--“But, but it's my magnum opus! The work of my life.” Miss +Venner did not know what magnum opus meant; but she knew that Captain +Kerrington had won three races at the last Gymkhana. Wressley didn't +press her to wait for him any longer. He had sense enough for that. + +Then came the reaction after the year's strain, and Wressley went back +to the Foreign Office and his “Wajahs,” a compiling, gazetteering, +report-writing hack, who would have been dear at three hundred rupees +a month. He abided by Miss Venner's review. Which proves that the +inspiration in the book was purely temporary and unconnected with +himself. Nevertheless, he had no right to sink, in a hill-tarn, five +packing-cases, brought up at enormous expense from Bombay, of the best +book of Indian history ever written. + +When he sold off before retiring, some years later, I was turning over +his shelves, and came across the only existing copy of “Native Rule in +Central India”--the copy that Miss Venner could not understand. I read +it, sitting on his mule-trucks, as long as the light lasted, and offered +him his own price for it. He looked over my shoulder for a few pages and +said to himself drearily:--“Now, how in the world did I come to write +such damned good stuff as that?” Then to me:--“Take it and keep +it. Write one of your penny-farthing yarns about its birth. +Perhaps--perhaps--the whole business may have been ordained to that +end.” + +Which, knowing what Wressley of the Foreign Office was once, struck me +as about the bitterest thing that I had ever heard a man say of his own +work. + + + + +BY WORD OF MOUTH. + + Not though you die tonight, O Sweet, and wail, + A spectre at my door, + Shall mortal Fear make Love immortal fail-- + I shall but love you more, + Who from Death's house returning, give me still + One moment's comfort in my matchless ill. + --Shadow Houses. + +This tale may be explained by those who know how souls are made, and +where the bounds of the Possible are put down. I have lived long enough +in this country to know that it is best to know nothing, and can only +write the story as it happened. + +Dumoise was our Civil Surgeon at Meridki, and we called him “Dormouse,” + because he was a round little, sleepy little man. He was a good +Doctor and never quarrelled with any one, not even with our Deputy +Commissioner, who had the manners of a bargee and the tact of a horse. +He married a girl as round and as sleepy-looking as himself. She was +a Miss Hillardyce, daughter of “Squash” Hillardyce of the Berars, who +married his Chief's daughter by mistake. But that is another story. + +A honeymoon in India is seldom more than a week long; but there is +nothing to hinder a couple from extending it over two or three years. +This is a delightful country for married folk who are wrapped up in one +another. They can live absolutely alone and without interruption--just +as the Dormice did. These two little people retired from the world after +their marriage, and were very happy. They were forced, of course, +to give occasional dinners, but they made no friends hereby, and the +Station went its own way and forgot them; only saying, occasionally, +that Dormouse was the best of good fellows, though dull. A Civil Surgeon +who never quarrels is a rarity, appreciated as such. + +Few people can afford to play Robinson Crusoe anywhere--least of all +in India, where we are few in the land, and very much dependent on each +other's kind offices. Dumoise was wrong in shutting himself from the +world for a year, and he discovered his mistake when an epidemic of +typhoid broke out in the Station in the heart of the cold weather, and +his wife went down. He was a shy little man, and five days were wasted +before he realized that Mrs. Dumoise was burning with something worse +than simple fever, and three days more passed before he ventured to call +on Mrs. Shute, the Engineer's wife, and timidly speak about his trouble. +Nearly every household in India knows that Doctors are very helpless +in typhoid. The battle must be fought out between Death and the Nurses, +minute by minute and degree by degree. Mrs. Shute almost boxed Dumoise's +ears for what she called his “criminal delay,” and went off at once to +look after the poor girl. We had seven cases of typhoid in the Station +that winter and, as the average of death is about one in every five +cases, we felt certain that we should have to lose somebody. But all did +their best. The women sat up nursing the women, and the men turned +to and tended the bachelors who were down, and we wrestled with those +typhoid cases for fifty-six days, and brought them through the Valley of +the Shadow in triumph. But, just when we thought all was over, and were +going to give a dance to celebrate the victory, little Mrs. Dumoise +got a relapse and died in a week and the Station went to the funeral. +Dumoise broke down utterly at the brink of the grave, and had to be +taken away. + +After the death, Dumoise crept into his own house and refused to be +comforted. He did his duties perfectly, but we all felt that he should +go on leave, and the other men of his own Service told him so. Dumoise +was very thankful for the suggestion--he was thankful for anything in +those days--and went to Chini on a walking-tour. + +Chini is some twenty marches from Simla, in the heart of the Hills, and +the scenery is good if you are in trouble. You pass through big, +still deodar-forests, and under big, still cliffs, and over big, still +grass-downs swelling like a woman's breasts; and the wind across the +grass, and the rain among the deodars says:--“Hush--hush--hush.” So +little Dumoise was packed off to Chini, to wear down his grief with a +full-plate camera, and a rifle. He took also a useless bearer, because +the man had been his wife's favorite servant. He was idle and a thief, +but Dumoise trusted everything to him. + +On his way back from Chini, Dumoise turned aside to Bagi, through the +Forest Reserve which is on the spur of Mount Huttoo. Some men who have +travelled more than a little say that the march from Kotegarh to Bagi is +one of the finest in creation. It runs through dark wet forest, and ends +suddenly in bleak, nipped hill-side and black rocks. Bagi dak-bungalow +is open to all the winds and is bitterly cold. Few people go to Bagi. +Perhaps that was the reason why Dumoise went there. He halted at seven +in the evening, and his bearer went down the hill-side to the village +to engage coolies for the next day's march. The sun had set, and the +night-winds were beginning to croon among the rocks. Dumoise leaned on +the railing of the verandah, waiting for his bearer to return. The man +came back almost immediately after he had disappeared, and at such a +rate that Dumoise fancied he must have crossed a bear. He was running as +hard as he could up the face of the hill. + +But there was no bear to account for his terror. He raced to the +verandah and fell down, the blood spurting from his nose and his face +iron-gray. Then he gurgled:--“I have seen the Memsahib! I have seen the +Memsahib!” + +“Where?” said Dumoise. + +“Down there, walking on the road to the village. She was in a blue +dress, and she lifted the veil of her bonnet and said:--'Ram Dass, give +my salaams to the Sahib, and tell him that I shall meet him next month +at Nuddea.' Then I ran away, because I was afraid.” + +What Dumoise said or did I do not know. Ram Dass declares that he said +nothing, but walked up and down the verandah all the cold night, waiting +for the Memsahib to come up the hill and stretching out his arms into +the dark like a madman. But no Memsahib came, and, next day, he went on +to Simla cross-questioning the bearer every hour. + +Ram Dass could only say that he had met Mrs. Dumoise and that she had +lifted up her veil and given him the message which he had faithfully +repeated to Dumoise. To this statement Ram Dass adhered. + +He did not know where Nuddea was, had no friends at Nuddea, and would +most certainly never go to Nuddea; even though his pay were doubled. + +Nuddea is in Bengal, and has nothing whatever to do with a doctor +serving in the Punjab. It must be more than twelve hundred miles from +Meridki. + +Dumoise went through Simla without halting, and returned to Meridki +there to take over charge from the man who had been officiating for him +during his tour. There were some Dispensary accounts to be explained, +and some recent orders of the Surgeon-General to be noted, and, +altogether, the taking-over was a full day's work. In the evening, +Dumoise told his locum tenens, who was an old friend of his bachelor +days, what had happened at Bagi; and the man said that Ram Dass might as +well have chosen Tuticorin while he was about it. + +At that moment a telegraph-peon came in with a telegram from Simla, +ordering Dumoise not to take over charge at Meridki, but to go at once +to Nuddea on special duty. There was a nasty outbreak of cholera at +Nuddea, and the Bengal Government, being shorthanded, as usual, had +borrowed a Surgeon from the Punjab. + +Dumoise threw the telegram across the table and said:--“Well?” + +The other Doctor said nothing. It was all that he could say. + +Then he remembered that Dumoise had passed through Simla on his way +from Bagi; and thus might, possibly, have heard the first news of the +impending transfer. + +He tried to put the question, and the implied suspicion into words, but +Dumoise stopped him with:--“If I had desired THAT, I should never have +come back from Chini. I was shooting there. I wish to live, for I have +things to do.... but I shall not be sorry.” + +The other man bowed his head, and helped, in the twilight, to pack up +Dumoise's just opened trunks. Ram Dass entered with the lamps. + +“Where is the Sahib going?” he asked. + +“To Nuddea,” said Dumoise, softly. + +Ram Dass clawed Dumoise's knees and boots and begged him not to go. + +Ram Dass wept and howled till he was turned out of the room. Then he +wrapped up all his belongings and came back to ask for a character. +He was not going to Nuddea to see his Sahib die, and, perhaps to die +himself. + +So Dumoise gave the man his wages and went down to Nuddea alone; the +other Doctor bidding him goodbye as one under sentence of death. + +Eleven days later, he had joined his Memsahib; and the Bengal Government +had to borrow a fresh Doctor to cope with that epidemic at Nuddea. The +first importation lay dead in Chooadanga Dak-Bungalow. + + + + +TO BE HELD FOR REFERENCE. + + By the hoof of the Wild Goat up-tossed + From the Cliff where She lay in the Sun, + Fell the Stone To the Tarn where the daylight is lost; + So She fell from the light of the Sun, + And alone. + + Now the fall was ordained from the first, + With the Goat and the Cliff and the Tarn, + But the Stone Knows only Her life is accursed, + As She sinks in the depths of the Tarn, + And alone. + + Oh, Thou who has builded the world, + Oh, Thou who hast lighted the Sun! + Oh, Thou who hast darkened the Tarn! + Judge Thou The Sin of the Stone that was hurled + By the Goat from the light of the Sun, + As She sinks in the mire of the Tarn, + Even now--even now--even now! + --From the Unpublished Papers of McIntosh Jellaludin. + + “Say, is it dawn, is it dusk in thy Bower, + Thou whom I long for, who longest for me? + Oh be it night--be it--” + +Here he fell over a little camel-colt that was sleeping in the Serai +where the horse-traders and the best of the blackguards from Central +Asia live; and, because he was very drunk indeed and the night was dark, +he could not rise again till I helped him. That was the beginning of my +acquaintance with McIntosh Jellaludin. When a loafer, and drunk, sings +The Song of the Bower, he must be worth cultivating. He got off the +camel's back and said, rather thickly:--“I--I--I'm a bit screwed, but a +dip in Loggerhead will put me right again; and I say, have you spoken to +Symonds about the mare's knees?” + +Now Loggerhead was six thousand weary miles away from us, close to +Mesopotamia, where you mustn't fish and poaching is impossible, and +Charley Symonds' stable a half mile further across the paddocks. It was +strange to hear all the old names, on a May night, among the horses +and camels of the Sultan Caravanserai. Then the man seemed to remember +himself and sober down at the same time. He leaned against the camel and +pointed to a corner of the Serai where a lamp was burning:-- + +“I live there,” said he, “and I should be extremely obliged if you would +be good enough to help my mutinous feet thither; for I am more than +usually drunk--most--most phenomenally tight. But not in respect to my +head. 'My brain cries out against'--how does it go? But my head rides on +the--rolls on the dung-hill I should have said, and controls the qualm.” + +I helped him through the gangs of tethered horses and he collapsed on +the edge of the verandah in front of the line of native quarters. + +“Thanks--a thousand thanks! O Moon and little, little Stars! To think +that a man should so shamelessly.... Infamous liquor, too. Ovid in +exile drank no worse. Better. It was frozen. Alas! I had no ice. Good +night. I would introduce you to my wife were I sober--or she civilized.” + +A native woman came out of the darkness of the room, and began calling +the man names; so I went away. He was the most interesting loafer that +I had the pleasure of knowing for a long time; and later on, he became +a friend of mine. He was a tall, well-built, fair man fearfully shaken +with drink, and he looked nearer fifty than the thirty-five which, he +said, was his real age. When a man begins to sink in India, and is not +sent Home by his friends as soon as may be, he falls very low from a +respectable point of view. By the time that he changes his creed, as did +McIntosh, he is past redemption. + +In most big cities, natives will tell you of two or three Sahibs, +generally low-caste, who have turned Hindu or Mussulman, and who live +more or less as such. But it is not often that you can get to know +them. As McIntosh himself used to say:--“If I change my religion for my +stomach's sake, I do not seek to become a martyr to missionaries, nor am +I anxious for notoriety.” + +At the outset of acquaintance McIntosh warned me. “Remember this. I am +not an object for charity. I require neither your money, your food, +nor your cast-off raiment. I am that rare animal, a self-supporting +drunkard. If you choose, I will smoke with you, for the tobacco of the +bazars does not, I admit, suit my palate; and I will borrow any books +which you may not specially value. It is more than likely that I shall +sell them for bottles of excessively filthy country-liquors. In return, +you shall share such hospitality as my house affords. Here is a charpoy +on which two can sit, and it is possible that there may, from time to +time, be food in that platter. Drink, unfortunately, you will find on +the premises at any hour: and thus I make you welcome to all my poor +establishments.” + +I was admitted to the McIntosh household--I and my good tobacco. + +But nothing else. Unluckily, one cannot visit a loafer in the Serai by +day. Friends buying horses would not understand it. + +Consequently, I was obliged to see McIntosh after dark. He laughed +at this, and said simply:--“You are perfectly right. When I enjoyed +a position in society, rather higher than yours, I should have done +exactly the same thing, Good Heavens! I was once”--he spoke as though +he had fallen from the Command of a Regiment--“an Oxford Man!” This +accounted for the reference to Charley Symonds' stable. + +“You,” said McIntosh, slowly, “have not had that advantage; but, to +outward appearance, you do not seem possessed of a craving for strong +drinks. On the whole, I fancy that you are the luckier of the two. Yet +I am not certain. You are--forgive my saying so even while I am smoking +your excellent tobacco--painfully ignorant of many things.” + +We were sitting together on the edge of his bedstead, for he owned +no chairs, watching the horses being watered for the night, while the +native woman was preparing dinner. I did not like being patronized by a +loafer, but I was his guest for the time being, though he owned only one +very torn alpaca-coat and a pair of trousers made out of gunny-bags. +He took the pipe out of his mouth, and went on judicially:--“All things +considered, I doubt whether you are the luckier. I do not refer to +your extremely limited classical attainments, or your excruciating +quantities, but to your gross ignorance of matters more immediately +under your notice. That for instance.”--He pointed to a woman cleaning +a samovar near the well in the centre of the Serai. She was flicking the +water out of the spout in regular cadenced jerks. + +“There are ways and ways of cleaning samovars. If you knew why she +was doing her work in that particular fashion, you would know what the +Spanish Monk meant when he said-- + + 'I the Trinity illustrate, + Drinking watered orange-pulp-- + In three sips the Aryan frustrate, + While he drains his at one gulp.--' + +and many other things which now are hidden from your eyes. However, Mrs. +McIntosh has prepared dinner. Let us come and eat after the fashion of +the people of the country--of whom, by the way, you know nothing.” + +The native woman dipped her hand in the dish with us. This was wrong. +The wife should always wait until the husband has eaten. + +McIntosh Jellaludin apologized, saying:-- + +“It is an English prejudice which I have not been able to overcome; and +she loves me. Why, I have never been able to understand. I fore-gathered +with her at Jullundur, three years ago, and she has remained with me +ever since. I believe her to be moral, and know her to be skilled in +cookery.” + +He patted the woman's head as he spoke, and she cooed softly. She was +not pretty to look at. + +McIntosh never told me what position he had held before his fall. + +He was, when sober, a scholar and a gentleman. When drunk, he was rather +more of the first than the second. He used to get drunk about once a +week for two days. On those occasions the native woman tended him +while he raved in all tongues except his own. One day, indeed, he began +reciting Atalanta in Calydon, and went through it to the end, beating +time to the swing of the verse with a bedstead-leg. But he did most of +his ravings in Greek or German. The man's mind was a perfect rag-bag +of useless things. Once, when he was beginning to get sober, he told +me that I was the only rational being in the Inferno into which he had +descended--a Virgil in the Shades, he said--and that, in return for +my tobacco, he would, before he died, give me the materials of a new +Inferno that should make me greater than Dante. Then he fell asleep on a +horse-blanket and woke up quite calm. + +“Man,” said he, “when you have reached the uttermost depths of +degradation, little incidents which would vex a higher life, are to you +of no consequence. Last night, my soul was among the gods; but I make no +doubt that my bestial body was writhing down here in the garbage.” + +“You were abominably drunk if that's what you mean,” I said. + +“I WAS drunk--filthy drunk. I who am the son of a man with whom you have +no concern--I who was once Fellow of a College whose buttery-hatch you +have not seen. I was loathsomely drunk. But consider how lightly I am +touched. It is nothing to me. Less than nothing; for I do not even feel +the headache which should be my portion. Now, in a higher life, how +ghastly would have been my punishment, how bitter my repentance! Believe +me, my friend with the neglected education, the highest is as the +lowest--always supposing each degree extreme.” + +He turned round on the blanket, put his head between his fists and +continued:-- + +“On the Soul which I have lost and on the Conscience which I have +killed, I tell you that I CANNOT feel! I am as the gods, knowing good +and evil, but untouched by either. Is this enviable or is it not?” + +When a man has lost the warning of “next morning's head,” he must be in +a bad state, I answered, looking at McIntosh on the blanket, with his +hair over his eyes and his lips blue-white, that I did not think the +insensibility good enough. + +“For pity's sake, don't say that! I tell you, it IS good and most +enviable. Think of my consolations!” + +“Have you so many, then, McIntosh?” + +“Certainly; your attempts at sarcasm which is essentially the weapon +of a cultured man, are crude. First, my attainments, my classical and +literary knowledge, blurred, perhaps, by immoderate drinking--which +reminds me that before my soul went to the Gods last night, I sold the +Pickering Horace you so kindly lent me. Ditta Mull the Clothesman has +it. It fetched ten annas, and may be redeemed for a rupee--but still +infinitely superior to yours. Secondly, the abiding affection of Mrs. +McIntosh, best of wives. Thirdly, a monument, more enduring than brass, +which I have built up in the seven years of my degradation.” + +He stopped here, and crawled across the room for a drink of water. + +He was very shaky and sick. + +He referred several times to his “treasure”--some great possession that +he owned--but I held this to be the raving of drink. He was as poor and +as proud as he could be. His manner was not pleasant, but he knew enough +about the natives, among whom seven years of his life had been spent, +to make his acquaintance worth having. He used actually to laugh at +Strickland as an ignorant man--“ignorant West and East”--he said. His +boast was, first, that he was an Oxford Man of rare and shining parts, +which may or may not have been true--I did not know enough to check his +statements--and, secondly, that he “had his hand on the pulse of native +life”--which was a fact. As an Oxford man, he struck me as a prig: he +was always throwing his education about. As a Mahommedan faquir--as +McIntosh Jellaludin--he was all that I wanted for my own ends. He smoked +several pounds of my tobacco, and taught me several ounces of things +worth knowing; but he would never accept any gifts, not even when the +cold weather came, and gripped the poor thin chest under the poor thin +alpaca-coat. He grew very angry, and said that I had insulted him, and +that he was not going into hospital. He had lived like a beast and he +would die rationally, like a man. + +As a matter of fact, he died of pneumonia; and on the night of his death +sent over a grubby note asking me to come and help him to die. + +The native woman was weeping by the side of the bed. McIntosh, wrapped +in a cotton cloth, was too weak to resent a fur coat being thrown over +him. He was very active as far as his mind was concerned, and his eyes +were blazing. When he had abused the Doctor who came with me so foully +that the indignant old fellow left, he cursed me for a few minutes and +calmed down. + +Then he told his wife to fetch out “The Book” from a hole in the wall. +She brought out a big bundle, wrapped in the tail of a petticoat, of old +sheets of miscellaneous note-paper, all numbered and covered with fine +cramped writing. McIntosh ploughed his hand through the rubbish and +stirred it up lovingly. + +“This,” he said, “is my work--the Book of McIntosh Jellaludin, showing +what he saw and how he lived, and what befell him and others; being also +an account of the life and sins and death of Mother Maturin. What Mirza +Murad Ali Beg's book is to all other books on native life, will my work +be to Mirza Murad Ali Beg's!” + +This, as will be conceded by any one who knows Mirza Ali Beg's book, was +a sweeping statement. The papers did not look specially valuable; but +McIntosh handled them as if they were currency-notes. + +Then he said slowly:--“In despite the many weaknesses of your education, +you have been good to me. I will speak of your tobacco when I reach the +Gods. I owe you much thanks for many kindnesses. + +“But I abominate indebtedness. For this reason I bequeath to you now the +monument more enduring than brass--my one book--rude and imperfect in +parts, but oh, how rare in others! I wonder if you will understand it. +It is a gift more honorable than... Bah! where is my brain rambling +to? You will mutilate it horribly. You will knock out the gems you call +'Latin quotations,' you Philistine, and you will butcher the style to +carve into your own jerky jargon; but you cannot destroy the whole of +it. I bequeath it to you. + +“Ethel... My brain again!.. Mrs. McIntosh, bear witness that I give +the sahib all these papers. They would be of no use to you, Heart of my +heart; and I lay it upon you,” he turned to me here, “that you do not +let my book die in its present form. It is yours unconditionally--the +story of McIntosh Jellaludin, which is NOT the story of McIntosh +Jellaludin, but of a greater man than he, and of a far greater woman. +Listen now! I am neither mad nor drunk! That book will make you famous.” + +I said, “thank you,” as the native woman put the bundle into my arms. + +“My only baby!” said McIntosh with a smile. He was sinking fast, but +he continued to talk as long as breath remained. I waited for the +end: knowing that, in six cases out of ten the dying man calls for his +mother. He turned on his side and said:-- + +“Say how it came into your possession. No one will believe you, but my +name, at least, will live. You will treat it brutally, I know you will. +Some of it must go; the public are fools and prudish fools. I was their +servant once. But do your mangling gently--very gently. It is a great +work, and I have paid for it in seven years' damnation.” + +His voice stopped for ten or twelve breaths, and then he began mumbling +a prayer of some kind in Greek. The native woman cried very bitterly. +Lastly, he rose in bed and said, as loudly as slowly:--“Not guilty, my +Lord!” + +Then he fell back, and the stupor held him till he died. The native +woman ran into the Serai among the horses and screamed and beat her +breasts; for she had loved him. + +Perhaps his last sentence in life told what McIntosh had once gone +through; but, saving the big bundle of old sheets in the cloth, there +was nothing in his room to say who or what he had been. + +The papers were in a hopeless muddle. + +Strickland helped me to sort them, and he said that the writer was +either an extreme liar or a most wonderful person. He thought the +former. One of these days, you may be able to judge for yourself. + +The bundle needed much expurgation and was full of Greek nonsense, at +the head of the chapters, which has all been cut out. + +If the things are ever published some one may perhaps remember this +story, now printed as a safeguard to prove that McIntosh Jellaludin and +not I myself wrote the Book of Mother Maturin. + +I don't want the Giant's Robe to come true in my case. + + + + + +VOLUME VI THE LIGHT THAT FAILED + + + + +THE LIGHT THAT FAILED + + + +CHAPTER I + + So we settled it all when the storm was done + As comf'y as comf'y could be; + And I was to wait in the barn, my dears, + Because I was only three; + And Teddy would run to the rainbow's foot, + Because he was five and a man; + And that's how it all began, my dears, + And that's how it all began. + --Big Barn Stories. + +“WHAT do you think she'd do if she caught us? We oughtn't to have it, +you know,” said Maisie. + +“Beat me, and lock you up in your bedroom,” Dick answered, without +hesitation. “Have you got the cartridges?” + +“Yes; they're in my pocket, but they are joggling horribly. Do pin-fire +cartridges go off of their own accord?” + +“Don't know. Take the revolver, if you are afraid, and let me carry +them.” + +“I'm not afraid.” Maisie strode forward swiftly, a hand in her pocket +and her chin in the air. Dick followed with a small pin-fire revolver. + +The children had discovered that their lives would be unendurable +without pistol-practice. After much forethought and self-denial, Dick +had saved seven shillings and sixpence, the price of a badly constructed +Belgian revolver. Maisie could only contribute half a crown to the +syndicate for the purchase of a hundred cartridges. “You can save better +than I can, Dick,” she explained; “I like nice things to eat, and it +doesn't matter to you. Besides, boys ought to do these things.” + +Dick grumbled a little at the arrangement, but went out and made the +purchase, which the children were then on their way to test. Revolvers +did not lie in the scheme of their daily life as decreed for them by the +guardian who was incorrectly supposed to stand in the place of a mother +to these two orphans. Dick had been under her care for six years, during +which time she had made her profit of the allowances supposed to be +expended on his clothes, and, partly through thoughtlessness, partly +through a natural desire to pain,--she was a widow of some years anxious +to marry again,--had made his days burdensome on his young shoulders. + +Where he had looked for love, she gave him first aversion and then hate. + +Where he growing older had sought a little sympathy, she gave him +ridicule. The many hours that she could spare from the ordering of her +small house she devoted to what she called the home-training of Dick +Heldar. Her religion, manufactured in the main by her own intelligence +and a keen study of the Scriptures, was an aid to her in this matter. At +such times as she herself was not personally displeased with Dick, she +left him to understand that he had a heavy account to settle with his +Creator; wherefore Dick learned to loathe his God as intensely as he +loathed Mrs. Jennett; and this is not a wholesome frame of mind for the +young. Since she chose to regard him as a hopeless liar, when dread of +pain drove him to his first untruth he naturally developed into a liar, +but an economical and self-contained one, never throwing away the least +unnecessary fib, and never hesitating at the blackest, were it only +plausible, that might make his life a little easier. The treatment +taught him at least the power of living alone,--a power that was of +service to him when he went to a public school and the boys laughed at +his clothes, which were poor in quality and much mended. In the holidays +he returned to the teachings of Mrs. Jennett, and, that the chain of +discipline might not be weakened by association with the world, was +generally beaten, on one account or another, before he had been twelve +hours under her roof. + +The autumn of one year brought him a companion in bondage, a +long-haired, gray-eyed little atom, as self-contained as himself, who +moved about the house silently and for the first few weeks spoke only +to the goat that was her chiefest friend on earth and lived in the +back-garden. Mrs. Jennett objected to the goat on the grounds that +he was un-Christian,--which he certainly was. “Then,” said the +atom, choosing her words very deliberately, “I shall write to my +lawyer-peoples and tell them that you are a very bad woman. Amomma +is mine, mine, mine!” Mrs. Jennett made a movement to the hall, where +certain umbrellas and canes stood in a rack. The atom understood as +clearly as Dick what this meant. “I have been beaten before,” she said, +still in the same passionless voice; “I have been beaten worse than you +can ever beat me. If you beat me I shall write to my lawyer-peoples +and tell them that you do not give me enough to eat. I am not afraid of +you.” Mrs. Jennett did not go into the hall, and the atom, after a pause +to assure herself that all danger of war was past, went out, to weep +bitterly on Amomma's neck. + +Dick learned to know her as Maisie, and at first mistrusted her +profoundly, for he feared that she might interfere with the small +liberty of action left to him. She did not, however; and she volunteered +no friendliness until Dick had taken the first steps. Long before the +holidays were over, the stress of punishment shared in common drove the +children together, if it were only to play into each other's hands as +they prepared lies for Mrs. Jennett's use. When Dick returned to school, +Maisie whispered, “Now I shall be all alone to take care of myself; +but,” and she nodded her head bravely, “I can do it. You promised to +send Amomma a grass collar. Send it soon.” A week later she asked for +that collar by return of post, and was not pleased when she learned that +it took time to make. When at last Dick forwarded the gift, she forgot +to thank him for it. + +Many holidays had come and gone since that day, and Dick had grown into +a lanky hobbledehoy more than ever conscious of his bad clothes. Not +for a moment had Mrs. Jennett relaxed her tender care of him, but the +average canings of a public school--Dick fell under punishment about +three times a month--filled him with contempt for her powers. “She +doesn't hurt,” he explained to Maisie, who urged him to rebellion, “and +she is kinder to you after she has whacked me.” Dick shambled through +the days unkempt in body and savage in soul, as the smaller boys of the +school learned to know, for when the spirit moved him he would hit them, +cunningly and with science. The same spirit made him more than once try +to tease Maisie, but the girl refused to be made unhappy. “We are both +miserable as it is,” said she. “What is the use of trying to make things +worse? Let's find things to do, and forget things.” + +The pistol was the outcome of that search. It could only be used on the +muddiest foreshore of the beach, far away from the bathing-machines and +pierheads, below the grassy slopes of Fort Keeling. The tide ran out +nearly two miles on that coast, and the many-coloured mud-banks, touched +by the sun, sent up a lamentable smell of dead weed. It was late in the +afternoon when Dick and Maisie arrived on their ground, Amomma trotting +patiently behind them. + +“Mf!” said Maisie, sniffing the air. “I wonder what makes the sea so +smelly? I don'tlike it!” + +“You never like anything that isn't made just for you,” said Dick +bluntly. “Give me the cartridges, and I'll try first shot. How far does +one of these little revolvers carry?” + +“Oh, half a mile,” said Maisie, promptly. “At least it makes an awful +noise. Be careful with the cartridges; I don't like those jagged +stick-up things on the rim. Dick, do be careful.” + +“All right. I know how to load. I'll fire at the breakwater out there.” + +He fired, and Amomma ran away bleating. The bullet threw up a spurt of +mud to the right of the wood-wreathed piles. + +“Throws high and to the right. You try, Maisie. Mind, it's loaded all +round.” + +Maisie took the pistol and stepped delicately to the verge of the mud, +her hand firmly closed on the butt, her mouth and left eye screwed up. + +Dick sat down on a tuft of bank and laughed. Amomma returned very +cautiously. He was accustomed to strange experiences in his afternoon +walks, and, finding the cartridge-box unguarded, made investigations +with his nose. Maisie fired, but could not see where the bullet went. + +“I think it hit the post,” she said, shading her eyes and looking out +across the sailless sea. + +“I know it has gone out to the Marazion Bell-buoy,” said Dick, with a +chuckle. “Fire low and to the left; then perhaps you'll get it. Oh, look +at Amomma!--he's eating the cartridges!” + +Maisie turned, the revolver in her hand, just in time to see Amomma +scampering away from the pebbles Dick threw after him. Nothing is sacred +to a billy-goat. Being well fed and the adored of his mistress, Amomma +had naturally swallowed two loaded pin-fire cartridges. Maisie hurried +up to assure herself that Dick had not miscounted the tale. + +“Yes, he's eaten two.” + +“Horrid little beast! Then they'll joggle about inside him and blow up, +and serve him right.... Oh, Dick! have I killed you?” + +Revolvers are tricky things for young hands to deal with. Maisie could +not explain how it had happened, but a veil of reeking smoke separated +her from Dick, and she was quite certain that the pistol had gone off in +his face. Then she heard him sputter, and dropped on her knees beside +him, crying, “Dick, you aren't hurt, are you? I didn't mean it.” + +“Of course you didn't,” said Dick, coming out of the smoke and wiping his +cheek. “But you nearly blinded me. That powder stuff stings awfully.” + A neat little splash of gray led on a stone showed where the bullet had +gone. Maisie began to whimper. + +“Don't,” said Dick, jumping to his feet and shaking himself. “I'm not a +bit hurt.” + +“No, but I might have killed you,” protested Maisie, the corners of her +mouth drooping. “What should I have done then?” + +“Gone home and told Mrs. Jennett.” Dick grinned at the thought; then, +softening, “Please don't worry about it. Besides, we are wasting time. +We've got to get back to tea. I'll take the revolver for a bit.” + +Maisie would have wept on the least encouragement, but Dick's +indifference, albeit his hand was shaking as he picked up the pistol, +restrained her. She lay panting on the beach while Dick methodically +bombarded the breakwater. “Got it at last!” he exclaimed, as a lock of +weed flew from the wood. + +“Let me try,” said Maisie, imperiously. “I'm all right now.” + +They fired in turns till the rickety little revolver nearly shook itself +to pieces, and Amomma the outcast--because he might blow up at any +moment--browsed in the background and wondered why stones were thrown +at him. Then they found a balk of timber floating in a pool which +was commanded by the seaward slope of Fort Keeling, and they sat down +together before this new target. + +“Next holidays,” said Dick, as the now thoroughly fouled revolver kicked +wildly in his hand, “we'll get another pistol,--central fire,--that will +carry farther.” + +“There won't be any next holidays for me,” said Maisie. “I'm going away.” + +“Where to?” + +“I don't know. My lawyers have written to Mrs. Jennett, and I've got to +be educated somewhere,--in France, perhaps,--I don'tknow where; but I +shall be glad to go away.” + +“I shan't like it a bit. I suppose I shall be left. Look here, Maisie, +is it really true you're going? Then these holidays will be the last I +shall see anything of you; and I go back to school next week. I wish----” + +The young blood turned his cheeks scarlet. Maisie was picking +grass-tufts and throwing them down the slope at a yellow sea-poppy +nodding all by itself to the illimitable levels of the mud-flats and the +milk-white sea beyond. + +“I wish,” she said, after a pause, “that I could see you again sometime. +You wish that, too?” + +“Yes, but it would have been better if--if--you had--shot straight over +there--down by the breakwater.” + +Maisie looked with large eyes for a moment. And this was the boy +who only ten days before had decorated Amomma's horns with cut-paper +ham-frills and turned him out, a bearded derision, among the public +ways! Then she dropped her eyes: this was not the boy. + +“Don't be stupid,” she said reprovingly, and with swift instinct +attacked the side-issue. “How selfish you are! Just think what I should +have felt if that horrid thing had killed you! I'm quite miserable +enough already.” + +“Why? Because you're going away from Mrs. Jennett?” + +“No.” + +“From me, then?” + +No answer for a long time. Dick dared not look at her. He felt, though +he did not know, all that the past four years had been to him, and this +the more acutely since he had no knowledge to put his feelings in words. + +“I don't know,” she said. “I suppose it is.” + +“Maisie, you must know. I'm not supposing.” + +“Let's go home,” said Maisie, weakly. + +But Dick was not minded to retreat. + +“I can't say things,” he pleaded, “and I'm awfully sorry for teasing you +about Amomma the other day. It's all different now, Maisie, can't you +see? And you might have told me that you were going, instead of leaving +me to find out.” + +“You didn't. I did tell. Oh, Dick, what's the use of worrying?” + +“There isn't any; but we've been together years and years, and I didn't +know how much I cared.” + +“I don't believe you ever did care.” + +“No, I didn't; but I do,--I care awfully now, Maisie,” he gulped,--“Maisie, +darling, say you care too, please.” + +“I do, indeed I do; but it won't be any use.” + +“Why?” + +“Because I am going away.” + +“Yes, but if you promise before you go. Only say--will you?” A second +“darling” came to his lips more easily than the first. There were +few endearments in Dick's home or school life; he had to find them by +instinct. Dick caught the little hand blackened with the escaped gas of +the revolver. + +“I promise,” she said solemnly; “but if I care there is no need for +promising.” + +“And do you care?” For the first time in the past few minutes their eyes +met and spoke for them who had no skill in speech.... + +“Oh, Dick, don't! Please don't! It was all right when we said +good-morning; but now it's all different!” Amomma looked on from afar. + +He had seen his property quarrel frequently, but he had never seen +kisses exchanged before. The yellow sea-poppy was wiser, and nodded its +head approvingly. Considered as a kiss, that was a failure, but since it +was the first, other than those demanded by duty, in all the world that +either had ever given or taken, it opened to them new worlds, and every +one of them glorious, so that they were lifted above the consideration +of any worlds at all, especially those in which tea is necessary, and +sat still, holding each other's hands and saying not a word. + +“You can't forget now,” said Dick, at last. There was that on his cheek +that stung more than gunpowder. + +“I shouldn't have forgotten anyhow,” said Maisie, and they looked at +each other and saw that each was changed from the companion of an hour +ago to a wonder and a mystery they could not understand. The sun began +to set, and a night-wind thrashed along the bents of the foreshore. + +“We shall be awfully late for tea,” said Maisie. “Let's go home.” + +“Let's use the rest of the cartridges first,” said Dick; and he helped +Maisie down the slope of the fort to the sea,--a descent that she was +quite capable of covering at full speed. Equally gravely Maisie took the +grimy hand. Dick bent forward clumsily; Maisie drew the hand away, and +Dick blushed. + +“It's very pretty,” he said. + +“Pooh!” said Maisie, with a little laugh of gratified vanity. She stood +close to Dick as he loaded the revolver for the last time and fired +over the sea with a vague notion at the back of his head that he was +protecting Maisie from all the evils in the world. A puddle far across +the mud caught the last rays of the sun and turned into a wrathful red +disc. The light held Dick's attention for a moment, and as he raised his +revolver there fell upon him a renewed sense of the miraculous, in +that he was standing by Maisie who had promised to care for him for an +indefinite length of time till such date as----A gust of the growing +wind drove the girl's long black hair across his face as she stood with +her hand on his shoulder calling Amomma “a little beast,” and for a +moment he was in the dark,--a darkness that stung. The bullet went +singing out to the empty sea. + +“Spoilt my aim,” said he, shaking his head. “There aren't any more +cartridges; we shall have to run home.” But they did not run. They +walked very slowly, arm in arm. And it was a matter of indifference to +them whether the neglected Amomma with two pin-fire cartridges in his +inside blew up or trotted beside them; for they had come into a golden +heritage and were disposing of it with all the wisdom of all their +years. + +“And I shall be----” quoth Dick, valiantly. Then he checked himself: “I +don't know what I shall be. I don't seem to be able to pass any exams, +but I can make awful caricatures of the masters. Ho! Ho!” + +“Be an artist, then,” said Maisie. “You're always laughing at my trying +to draw; and it will do you good.” + +“I'll never laugh at anything you do,” he answered. “I'll be an artist, +and I'll do things.” + +“Artists always want money, don'tthey?” + +“I've got a hundred and twenty pounds a year of my own. My guardians +tell me I'm to have it when I come of age. That will be enough to begin +with.” + +“Ah, I'm rich,” said Maisie. “I've got three hundred a year all my own +when I'm twenty-one. That's why Mrs. Jennett is kinder to me than she is +to you. I wish, though, that I had somebody that belonged to me,--just a +father or a mother.” + +“You belong to me,” said Dick, “for ever and ever.” + +“Yes, we belong--for ever. It's very nice.” She squeezed his arm. The +kindly darkness hid them both, and, emboldened because he could only +just see the profile of Maisie's cheek with the long lashes veiling the +gray eyes, Dick at the front door delivered himself of the words he had +been boggling over for the last two hours. + +“And I--love you, Maisie,” he said, in a whisper that seemed to him to +ring across the world,--the world that he would tomorrow or the next day +set out to conquer. + +There was a scene, not, for the sake of discipline, to be reported, +when Mrs. Jennett would have fallen upon him, first for disgraceful +unpunctuality, and secondly for nearly killing himself with a forbidden +weapon. + +“I was playing with it, and it went off by itself,” said Dick, when the +powder-pocked cheek could no longer be hidden, “but if you think you're +going to lick me you're wrong. You are never going to touch me again. +Sit down and give me my tea. You can't cheat us out of that, anyhow.” + +Mrs. Jennett gasped and became livid. Maisie said nothing, but +encouraged Dick with her eyes, and he behaved abominably all that +evening. Mrs. Jennett prophesied an immediate judgment of Providence and +a descent into Tophet later, but Dick walked in Paradise and would not +hear. Only when he was going to bed Mrs. Jennett recovered and asserted +herself. He had bidden Maisie good night with down-dropped eyes and from +a distance. + +“If you aren't a gentleman you might try to behave like one,” said Mrs. +Jennett, spitefully. “You've been quarrelling with Maisie again.” + +This meant that the usual good-night kiss had been omitted. Maisie, +white to the lips, thrust her cheek forward with a fine air of +indifference, and was duly pecked by Dick, who tramped out of the room +red as fire. That night he dreamed a wild dream. He had won all the +world and brought it to Maisie in a cartridge-box, but she turned it +over with her foot, and, instead of saying “Thank you,” cried--“Where is +the grass collar you promised for Amomma? Oh, how selfish you are!” + + + +CHAPTER II + + Then we brought the lances down, then the bugles blew, + When we went to Kandahar, ridin' two an” two, + Ridin', ridin', ridin', two an” two, + Ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra, + All the way to Kandahar, ridin' two an” two. + --Barrack-Room Ballad. + +“I'M NOT angry with the British public, but I wish we had a few thousand +of them scattered among these rooks. They wouldn't be in such a hurry +to get at their morning papers then. Can't you imagine the regulation +householder--Lover of Justice, Constant Reader, Paterfamilias, and all +that lot--frizzling on hot gravel?” + +“With a blue veil over his head, and his clothes in strips. Has any man +here a needle? I've got a piece of sugar-sack.” + +“I'll lend you a packing-needle for six square inches of it then. Both +my knees are worn through.” + +“Why not six square acres, while you're about it? But lend me the +needle, and I'll see what I can do with the selvage. I don't think +there's enough to protect my royal body from the cold blast as it is. +What are you doing with that everlasting sketch-book of yours, Dick?” + +“Study of our Special Correspondent repairing his wardrobe,” said +Dick, gravely, as the other man kicked off a pair of sorely worn +riding-breeches and began to fit a square of coarse canvas over the most +obvious open space. He grunted disconsolately as the vastness of the +void developed itself. + +“Sugar-bags, indeed! Hi! you pilot man there! lend me all the sails for +that whale-boat.” + +A fez-crowned head bobbed up in the stern-sheets, divided itself into +exact halves with one flashing grin, and bobbed down again. The man of +the tattered breeches, clad only in a Norfolk jacket and a gray flannel +shirt, went on with his clumsy sewing, while Dick chuckled over the +sketch. + +Some twenty whale-boats were nuzzling a sand-bank which was dotted +with English soldiery of half a dozen corps, bathing or washing their +clothes. A heap of boat-rollers, commissariat-boxes, sugar-bags, +and flour--and small-arm-ammunition-cases showed where one of the +whale-boats had been compelled to unload hastily; and a regimental +carpenter was swearing aloud as he tried, on a wholly insufficient +allowance of white lead, to plaster up the sun-parched gaping seams of +the boat herself. + +“First the bloomin' rudder snaps,” said he to the world in general; +“then the mast goes; an' then, s' help me, when she can't do nothin' +else, she opens 'erself out like a cock-eyed Chinese lotus.” + +“Exactly the case with my breeches, whoever you are,” said the tailor, +without looking up. “Dick, I wonder when I shall see a decent shop +again.” + +There was no answer, save the incessant angry murmur of the Nile as it +raced round a basalt-walled bend and foamed across a rock-ridge half +a mile upstream. It was as though the brown weight of the river would +drive the white men back to their own country. The indescribable scent +of Nile mud in the air told that the stream was falling and the next +few miles would be no light thing for the whale-boats to overpass. The +desert ran down almost to the banks, where, among gray, red, and black +hillocks, a camel-corps was encamped. No man dared even for a day lose +touch of the slow-moving boats; there had been no fighting for weeks +past, and throughout all that time the Nile had never spared them. Rapid +had followed rapid, rock rock, and island-group island-group, till the +rank and file had long since lost all count of direction and very +nearly of time. They were moving somewhere, they did not know why, to do +something, they did not know what. Before them lay the Nile, and at the +other end of it was one Gordon, fighting for the dear life, in a town +called Khartoum. There were columns of British troops in the desert, +or in one of the many deserts; there were yet more columns waiting to +embark on the river; there were fresh drafts waiting at Assioot and +Assuan; there were lies and rumours running over the face of the +hopeless land from Suakin to the Sixth Cataract, and men supposed +generally that there must be some one in authority to direct the general +scheme of the many movements. The duty of that particular river-column +was to keep the whale-boats afloat in the water, to avoid trampling +on the villagers' crops when the gangs “tracked” the boats with lines +thrown from midstream, to get as much sleep and food as was possible, +and, above all, to press on without delay in the teeth of the churning +Nile. + +With the soldiers sweated and toiled the correspondents of the +newspapers, and they were almost as ignorant as their companions. But +it was above all things necessary that England at breakfast should be +amused and thrilled and interested, whether Gordon lived or died, or +half the British army went to pieces in the sands. The Soudan campaign +was a picturesque one, and lent itself to vivid word-painting. Now and +again a “Special” managed to get slain,--which was not altogether +a disadvantage to the paper that employed him,--and more often the +hand-to-hand nature of the fighting allowed of miraculous escapes which +were worth telegraphing home at eighteenpence the word. There were many +correspondents with many corps and columns,--from the veterans who had +followed on the heels of the cavalry that occupied Cairo in '82, what +time Arabi Pasha called himself king, who had seen the first miserable +work round Suakin when the sentries were cut up nightly and the scrub +swarmed with spears, to youngsters jerked into the business at the +end of a telegraph-wire to take the places of their betters killed or +invalided. + +Among the seniors--those who knew every shift and change in the +perplexing postal arrangements, the value of the seediest, weediest +Egyptian garron offered for sale in Cairo or Alexandria, who could talk +a telegraph-clerk into amiability and soothe the ruffled vanity of +a newly appointed staff-officer when press regulations became +burdensome--was the man in the flannel shirt, the black-browed +Torpenhow. He represented the Central Southern Syndicate in the +campaign, as he had represented it in the Egyptian war, and elsewhere. +The syndicate did not concern itself greatly with criticisms of +attack and the like. It supplied the masses, and all it demanded was +picturesqueness and abundance of detail; for there is more joy in +England over a soldier who insubordinately steps out of square to rescue +a comrade than over twenty generals slaving even to baldness at the +gross details of transport and commissariat. + +He had met at Suakin a young man, sitting on the edge of a recently +abandoned redoubt about the size of a hat-box, sketching a clump of +shell-torn bodies on the gravel plain. + +“What are you for?” said Torpenhow. The greeting of the correspondent is +that of the commercial traveller on the road. + +“My own hand,” said the young man, without looking up. “Have you any +tobacco?” + +Torpenhow waited till the sketch was finished, and when he had looked at +it said, “What's your business here?” + +“Nothing; there was a row, so I came. I'm supposed to be doing something +down at the painting-slips among the boats, or else I'm in charge of the +condenser on one of the water-ships. I've forgotten which.” + +“You've cheek enough to build a redoubt with,” said Torpenhow, and took +stock of the new acquaintance. “Do you always draw like that?” + +The young man produced more sketches. “Row on a Chinese pig-boat,” said +he, sententiously, showing them one after another.--“Chief mate dirked +by a comprador.--Junk ashore off Hakodate.--Somali muleteer being +flogged.--Star-shell bursting over camp at Berbera.--Slave-dhow being +chased round Tajurrah Bah.--Soldier lying dead in the moonlight outside +Suakin.--throat cut by Fuzzies.” + +“H'm!” said Torpenhow, “can'tsay I care for Verestchagin-and-water +myself, but there's no accounting for tastes. Doing anything now, are +you?” + +“No. I'm amusing myself here.” + +Torpenhow looked at the sketches again, and nodded. “Yes, you're right +to take your first chance when you can get it.” + +He rode away swiftly through the Gate of the Two War-Ships, rattled +across the causeway into the town, and wired to his syndicate, “Got man +here, picture-work. Good and cheap. Shall I arrange? Will do letterpress +with sketches.” + +The man on the redoubt sat swinging his legs and murmuring, “I knew the +chance would come, sooner or later. By Gad, they'll have to sweat for it +if I come through this business alive!” + +In the evening Torpenhow was able to announce to his friend that +the Central Southern Agency was willing to take him on trial, paying +expenses for three months. “And, by the way, what's your name?” said +Torpenhow. + +“Heldar. Do they give me a free hand?” + +“They've taken you on chance. You must justify the choice. You'd better +stick to me. I'm going up-country with a column, and I'll do what I can +for you. Give me some of your sketches taken here, and I'll send +'em along.” To himself he said, “That's the best bargain the Central +Southern has ever made; and they got me cheaply enough.” + +So it came to pass that, after some purchase of horse-flesh and +arrangements financial and political, Dick was made free of the New +and Honourable Fraternity of war correspondents, who all possess the +inalienable right of doing as much work as they can and getting as much +for it as Providence and their owners shall please. To these things are +added in time, if the brother be worthy, the power of glib speech that +neither man nor woman can resist when a meal or a bed is in question, +the eye of a horse-cope, the skill of a cook, the constitution of a +bullock, the digestion of an ostrich, and an infinite adaptability to +all circumstances. But many die before they attain to this degree, and +the past-masters in the craft appear for the most part in dress-clothes +when they are in England, and thus their glory is hidden from the +multitude. + +Dick followed Torpenhow wherever the latter's fancy chose to lead him, +and between the two they managed to accomplish some work that almost +satisfied themselves. It was not an easy life in any way, and under its +influence the two were drawn very closely together, for they ate from +the same dish, they shared the same water-bottle, and, most binding tie +of all, their mails went off together. It was Dick who managed to make +gloriously drunk a telegraph-clerk in a palm hut far beyond the Second +Cataract, and, while the man lay in bliss on the floor, possessed +himself of some laboriously acquired exclusive information, forwarded +by a confiding correspondent of an opposition syndicate, made a careful +duplicate of the matter, and brought the result to Torpenhow, who said +that all was fair in love or war correspondence, and built an excellent +descriptive article from his rival's riotous waste of words. It was +Torpenhow who--but the tale of their adventures, together and apart, +from Philae to the waste wilderness of Herawi and Muella, would fill +many books. They had been penned into a square side by side, in deadly +fear of being shot by over-excited soldiers; they had fought with +baggage-camels in the chill dawn; they had jogged along in silence +under blinding sun on indefatigable little Egyptian horses; and they had +floundered on the shallows of the Nile when the whale-boat in which +they had found a berth chose to hit a hidden rock and rip out half her +bottom-planks. + +Now they were sitting on the sand-bank, and the whale-boats were +bringing up the remainder of the column. + +“Yes,” said Torpenhow, as he put the last rude stitches into his +over-long-neglected gear, “it has been a beautiful business.” + +“The patch or the campaign?” said Dick. “Don't think much of either, +myself.” + +“You want the Euryalus brought up above the Third Cataract, don't you? +and eighty-one-ton guns at Jakdul? Now, I'm quite satisfied with my +breeches.” He turned round gravely to exhibit himself, after the manner +of a clown. + +“It's very pretty. Specially the lettering on the sack. G.B.T. +Government Bullock Train. That's a sack from India.” + +“It's my initials,--Gilbert Belling Torpenhow. I stole the cloth on +purpose. What the mischief are the camel-corps doing yonder?” Torpenhow +shaded his eyes and looked across the scrub-strewn gravel. + +A bugle blew furiously, and the men on the bank hurried to their arms +and accoutrements. + +“'Pisan soldiery surprised while bathing,'” remarked Dick, calmly. + +“D'you remember the picture? It's by Michael Angelo; all beginners copy +it. That scrub's alive with enemy.” + +The camel-corps on the bank yelled to the infantry to come to them, and +a hoarse shouting down the river showed that the remainder of the +column had wind of the trouble and was hastening to take share in it. +As swiftly as a reach of still water is crisped by the wind, the +rock-strewn ridges and scrub-topped hills were troubled and alive with +armed men. + +Mercifully, it occurred to these to stand far off for a time, to shout +and gesticulate joyously. One man even delivered himself of a long +story. The camel-corps did not fire. They were only too glad of a little +breathing-space, until some sort of square could be formed. The men on +the sand-bank ran to their side; and the whale-boats, as they toiled up +within shouting distance, were thrust into the nearest bank and emptied +of all save the sick and a few men to guard them. The Arab orator ceased +his outcries, and his friends howled. + +“They look like the Mahdi's men,” said Torpenhow, elbowing himself +into the crush of the square; “but what thousands of 'em there are! The +tribes hereabout aren't against us, I know.” + +“Then the Mahdi's taken another town,” said Dick, “and set all these +yelping devils free to show us up. Lend us your glass.” + +“Our scouts should have told us of this. We've been trapped,” said a +subaltern. “Aren't the camel guns ever going to begin? Hurry up, you +men!” + +There was no need of any order. The men flung themselves panting against +the sides of the square, for they had good reason to know that whoso +was left outside when the fighting began would very probably die in +an extremely unpleasant fashion. The little hundred-and-fifty-pound +camel-guns posted at one corner of the square opened the ball as the +square moved forward by its right to get possession of a knoll of rising +ground. All had fought in this manner many times before, and there +was no novelty in the entertainment; always the same hot and stifling +formation, the smell of dust and leather, the same boltlike rush of +the enemy, the same pressure on the weakest side, the few minutes of +hand-to-hand scuffle, and then the silence of the desert, broken only +by the yells of those whom their handful of cavalry attempted to purse. +They had become careless. The camel-guns spoke at intervals, and the +square slouched forward amid the protesting of the camels. Then came the +attack of three thousand men who had not learned from books that it is +impossible for troops in close order to attack against breech-loading +fire. + +A few dropping shots heralded their approach, and a few horsemen led, +but the bulk of the force was naked humanity, mad with rage, and armed +with the spear and the sword. The instinct of the desert, where there +is always much war, told them that the right flank of the square was the +weakest, for they swung clear of the front. The camel-guns shelled them +as they passed and opened for an instant lanes through their midst, most +like those quick-closing vistas in a Kentish hop-garden seen when the +train races by at full speed; and the infantry fire, held till the +opportune moment, dropped them in close-packing hundreds. No civilised +troops in the world could have endured the hell through which they came, +the living leaping high to avoid the dying who clutched at their heels, +the wounded cursing and staggering forward, till they fell--a torrent +black as the sliding water above a mill-dam--full on the right flank of +the square. + +Then the line of the dusty troops and the faint blue desert sky overhead +went out in rolling smoke, and the little stones on the heated ground +and the tinder-dry clumps of scrub became matters of surpassing +interest, for men measured their agonised retreat and recovery by these +things, counting mechanically and hewing their way back to chosen pebble +and branch. There was no semblance of any concerted fighting. For aught +the men knew, the enemy might be attempting all four sides of the square +at once. Their business was to destroy what lay in front of them, to +bayonet in the back those who passed over them, and, dying, to drag +down the slayer till he could be knocked on the head by some avenging +gun-butt. + +Dick waited with Torpenhow and a young doctor till the stress grew +unendurable. It was hopeless to attend to the wounded till the attack +was repulsed, so the three moved forward gingerly towards the weakest +side of the square. There was a rush from without, the short hough-hough +of the stabbing spears, and a man on a horse, followed by thirty or +forty others, dashed through, yelling and hacking. The right flank of +the square sucked in after them, and the other sides sent help. The +wounded, who knew that they had but a few hours more to live, caught at +the enemy's feet and brought them down, or, staggering into a discarded +rifle, fired blindly into the scuffle that raged in the centre of the +square. + +Dick was conscious that somebody had cut him violently across his +helmet, that he had fired his revolver into a black, foam-flecked face +which forthwith ceased to bear any resemblance to a face, and that +Torpenhow had gone down under an Arab whom he had tried to “collar low,” + and was turning over and over with his captive, feeling for the man's +eyes. The doctor jabbed at a venture with a bayonet, and a helmetless +soldier fired over Dick's shoulder: the flying grains of powder stung +his cheek. It was to Torpenhow that Dick turned by instinct. The +representative of the Central Southern Syndicate had shaken himself +clear of his enemy, and rose, wiping his thumb on his trousers. The +Arab, both hands to his forehead, screamed aloud, then snatched up his +spear and rushed at Torpenhow, who was panting under shelter of Dick's +revolver. Dick fired twice, and the man dropped limply. His upturned +face lacked one eye. The musketry-fire redoubled, but cheers mingled +with it. The rush had failed and the enemy were flying. If the heart of +the square were shambles, the ground beyond was a butcher's shop. Dick +thrust his way forward between the maddened men. The remnant of the +enemy were retiring, as the few--the very few--English cavalry rode down +the laggards. + +Beyond the lines of the dead, a broad blood-stained Arab spear cast +aside in the retreat lay across a stump of scrub, and beyond this again +the illimitable dark levels of the desert. The sun caught the steel +and turned it into a red disc. Some one behind him was saying, “Ah, +get away, you brute!” Dick raised his revolver and pointed towards the +desert. His eye was held by the red splash in the distance, and the +clamour about him seemed to die down to a very far-away whisper, like +the whisper of a level sea. There was the revolver and the red light. +... and the voice of some one scaring something away, exactly as had +fallen somewhere before,--a darkness that stung. He fired at random, and +the bullet went out across the desert as he muttered, “Spoilt my aim. +There aren't any more cartridges. We shall have to run home.” He put his +hand to his head and brought it away covered with blood. + +“Old man, you're cut rather badly,” said Torpenhow. “I owe you something +for this business. Thanks. Stand up! I say, you can't be ill here.” + +Throughout the night, when the troops were encamped by the whale-boats, +a black figure danced in the strong moonlight on the sand-bar and +shouted that Khartoum the accursed one was dead,--was dead,--was +dead,--that two steamers were rock-staked on the Nile outside the city, +and that of all their crews there remained not one; and Khartoum was +dead,--was dead,--was dead! But Torpenhow took no heed. He was watching +Dick, who called aloud to the restless Nile for Maisie,--and again +Maisie! “Behold a phenomenon,” said Torpenhow, rearranging the blanket. +“Here is a man, presumably human, who mentions the name of one woman +only. And I've seen a good deal of delirium, too.--Dick, here's some +fizzy drink.” + +“Thank you, Maisie,” said Dick. + + + +CHAPTER III + + So he thinks he shall take to the sea again + For one more cruise with his buccaneers, + To singe the beard of the King of Spain, + And capture another Dean of Jaen + And sell him in Algiers. + --Dutch Picture. Longfellow + +THE SOUDAN campaign and Dick's broken head had been some months ended +and mended, and the Central Southern Syndicate had paid Dick a certain +sum on account for work done, which work they were careful to assure him +was not altogether up to their standard. Dick heaved the letter into +the Nile at Cairo, cashed the draft in the same town, and bade a warm +farewell to Torpenhow at the station. + +“I am going to lie up for a while and rest,” said Torpenhow. “I don't +know where I shall live in London, but if God brings us to meet, we +shall meet. Are you staying here on the off-chance of another row? There +will be none till the Southern Soudan is reoccupied by our troops. Mark +that. Goodbye; bless you; come back when your money's spent; and give me +your address.” + +Dick loitered in Cairo, Alexandria, Ismailia, and Port Said,--especially +Port Said. There is iniquity in many parts of the world, and vice in +all, but the concentrated essence of all the iniquities and all the +vices in all the continents finds itself at Port Said. And through the +heart of that sand-bordered hell, where the mirage flickers day long +above the Bitter Lake, move, if you will only wait, most of the men and +women you have known in this life. Dick established himself in quarters +more riotous than respectable. He spent his evenings on the quay, and +boarded many ships, and saw very many friends,--gracious Englishwomen +with whom he had talked not too wisely in the veranda of Shepherd's +Hotel, hurrying war correspondents, skippers of the contract troop-ships +employed in the campaign, army officers by the score, and others of less +reputable trades. + +He had choice of all the races of the East and West for studies, and +the advantage of seeing his subjects under the influence of strong +excitement, at the gaming-tables, saloons, dancing-hells, and elsewhere. +For recreation there was the straight vista of the Canal, the blazing +sands, the procession of shipping, and the white hospitals where the +English soldiers lay. He strove to set down in black and white and +colour all that Providence sent him, and when that supply was ended +sought about for fresh material. It was a fascinating employment, but +it ran away with his money, and he had drawn in advance the hundred and +twenty pounds to which he was entitled yearly. “Now I shall have to work +and starve!” thought he, and was addressing himself to this new fate +when a mysterious telegram arrived from Torpenhow in England, which +said, “Come back, quick; you have caught on. Come.” + +A large smile overspread his face. “So soon! that's a good hearing,” + said he to himself. “There will be an orgy tonight. I'll stand or fall +by my luck. Faith, it's time it came!” He deposited half of his funds +in the hands of his well-known friends Monsieur and Madame Binat, and +ordered himself a Zanzibar dance of the finest. Monsieur Binat was +shaking with drink, but Madame smiles sympathetically--“Monsieur needs +a chair, of course, and of course Monsieur will sketch; Monsieur amuses +himself strangely.” + +Binat raised a blue-white face from a cot in the inner room. “I +understand,” he quavered. “We all know Monsieur. Monsieur is an artist, +as I have been.” Dick nodded. “In the end,” said Binat, with gravity, +“Monsieur will descend alive into hell, as I have descended.” And he +laughed. + +“You must come to the dance, too,” said Dick; “I shall want you.” + +“For my face? I knew it would be so. For my face? My God! and for my +degradation so tremendous! I will not. Take him away. He is a devil. +Or at least do thou, Celeste, demand of him more.” The excellent Binat +began to kick and scream. + +“All things are for sale in Port Said,” said Madame. “If my husband +comes it will be so much more. Eh, how you call 'alf a sovereign.” + +The money was paid, and the mad dance was held at night in a walled courtyard +at the back of Madame Binat's house. The lady herself, in faded mauve +silk always about to slide from her yellow shoulders, played the piano, +and to the tin-pot music of a Western waltz the naked Zanzibari girls +danced furiously by the light of kerosene lamps. Binat sat upon a chair +and stared with eyes that saw nothing, till the whirl of the dance and +the clang of the rattling piano stole into the drink that took the place +of blood in his veins, and his face glistened. Dick took him by the chin +brutally and turned that face to the light. Madame Binat looked over her +shoulder and smiled with many teeth. Dick leaned against the wall and +sketched for an hour, till the kerosene lamps began to smell, and the +girls threw themselves panting on the hard-beaten ground. Then he shut +his book with a snap and moved away, Binat plucking feebly at his elbow. +“Show me,” he whimpered. “I too was once an artist, even I!” Dick showed +him the rough sketch. “Am I that?” he screamed. “Will you take that away +with you and show all the world that it is I,--Binat?” He moaned and +wept. + +“Monsieur has paid for all,” said Madame. “To the pleasure of seeing +Monsieur again.” + +The courtyard gate shut, and Dick hurried up the sandy street to the +nearest gambling-hell, where he was well known. “If the luck holds, it's +an omen; if I lose, I must stay here.” He placed his money picturesquely +about the board, hardly daring to look at what he did. The luck held. + +Three turns of the wheel left him richer by twenty pounds, and he went +down to the shipping to make friends with the captain of a decayed +cargo-steamer, who landed him in London with fewer pounds in his pocket +than he cared to think about. + +A thin gray fog hung over the city, and the streets were very cold; for +summer was in England. + +“It's a cheerful wilderness, and it hasn't the knack of altering much,” + Dick thought, as he tramped from the Docks westward. “Now, what must I +do?” + +The packed houses gave no answer. Dick looked down the long lightless +streets and at the appalling rush of traffic. “Oh, you rabbit-hutches!” + said he, addressing a row of highly respectable semi-detached +residences. “Do you know what you've got to do later on? You have to +supply me with men-servants and maid-servants,”--here he smacked his +lips,--“and the peculiar treasure of kings. Meantime I'll clothes and +boots, and presently I will return and trample on you.” He stepped +forward energetically; he saw that one of his shoes was burst at the +side. As he stooped to make investigations, a man jostled him into the +gutter. “All right,” he said. “That's another nick in the score. I'll +jostle you later on.” + +Good clothes and boots are not cheap, and Dick left his last shop with +the certainty that he would be respectably arrayed for a time, but with +only fifty shillings in his pocket. He returned to streets by the Docks, +and lodged himself in one room, where the sheets on the bed were almost +audibly marked in case of theft, and where nobody seemed to go to bed at +all. When his clothes arrived he sought the Central Southern Syndicate +for Torpenhow's address, and got it, with the intimation that there was +still some money waiting for him. + +“How much?” said Dick, as one who habitually dealt in millions. + +“Between thirty and forty pounds. If it would be any convenience to +you, of course we could let you have it at once; but we usually settle +accounts monthly.” + +“If I show that I want anything now, I'm lost,” he said to himself. “All +I need I'll take later on.” Then, aloud, “It's hardly worth while; and +I'm going to the country for a month, too. Wait till I come back, and +I'll see about it.” + +“But we trust, Mr. Heldar, that you do not intend to sever your +connection with us?” + + Dick's business in life was the study of faces, and he watched the speaker +keenly. “That man means something,” he said. “I'll do no business till +I've seen Torpenhow. There's a big deal coming.” So he departed, making +no promises, to his one little room by the Docks. And that day was +the seventh of the month, and that month, he reckoned with awful +distinctness, had thirty-one days in it! It is not easy for a man of +catholic tastes and healthy appetites to exist for twenty-four days on +fifty shillings. Nor is it cheering to begin the experiment alone in +all the loneliness of London. Dick paid seven shillings a week for his +lodging, which left him rather less than a shilling a day for food and +drink. Naturally, his first purchase was of the materials of his craft; +he had been without them too long. Half a day's investigations and +comparison brought him to the conclusion that sausages and mashed +potatoes, twopence a plate, were the best food. Now, sausages once or +twice a week for breakfast are not unpleasant. As lunch, even, with +mashed potatoes, they become monotonous. At dinner they are impertinent. +At the end of three days Dick loathed sausages, and, going, forth, +pawned his watch to revel on sheep's head, which is not as cheap as it +looks, owing to the bones and the gravy. Then he returned to sausages +and mashed potatoes. Then he confined himself entirely to mashed +potatoes for a day, and was unhappy because of pain in his inside. Then +he pawned his waistcoat and his tie, and thought regretfully of money +thrown away in times past. There are few things more edifying unto +Art than the actual belly-pinch of hunger, and Dick in his few walks +abroad,--he did not care for exercise; it raised desires that could not +be satisfied--found himself dividing mankind into two classes,--those +who looked as if they might give him something to eat, and those who +looked otherwise. “I never knew what I had to learn about the human +face before,” he thought; and, as a reward for his humility, Providence +caused a cab-driver at a sausage-shop where Dick fed that night to leave +half eaten a great chunk of bread. Dick took it,--would have fought all +the world for its possession,--and it cheered him. + +The month dragged through at last, and, nearly prancing with impatience, +he went to draw his money. Then he hastened to Torpenhow's address +and smelt the smell of cooking meats all along the corridors of the +chambers. Torpenhow was on the top floor, and Dick burst into his room, +to be received with a hug which nearly cracked his ribs, as Torpenhow +dragged him to the light and spoke of twenty different things in the +same breath. + +“But you're looking tucked up,” he concluded. + +“Got anything to eat?” said Dick, his eye roaming round the room. + +“I shall be having breakfast in a minute. What do you say to sausages?” + +“No, anything but sausages! Torp, I've been starving on that accursed +horse-flesh for thirty days and thirty nights.” + +“Now, what lunacy has been your latest?” + +Dick spoke of the last few weeks with unbridled speech. Then he opened +his coat; there was no waistcoat below. “I ran it fine, awfully fine, +but I've just scraped through.” + +“You haven't much sense, but you've got a backbone, anyhow. Eat, and +talk afterwards.” Dick fell upon eggs and bacon and gorged till he could +gorge no more. Torpenhow handed him a filled pipe, and he smoked as men +smoke who for three weeks have been deprived of good tobacco. + +“Ouf!” said he. “That's heavenly! Well?” + +“Why in the world didn't you come to me?” + +“Couldn't; I owe you too much already, old man. Besides I had a sort of +superstition that this temporary starvation--that's what it was, and it +hurt--would bring me luck later. It's over and done with now, and none +of the syndicate know how hard up I was. Fire away. What's the exact +state of affairs as regards myself?” + +“You had my wire? You've caught on here. People like your work +immensely. I don't know why, but they do. They say you have a fresh +touch and a new way of drawing things. And, because they're chiefly +home-bred English, they say you have insight. You're wanted by half a +dozen papers; you're wanted to illustrate books.” + +Dick grunted scornfully. + +“You're wanted to work up your smaller sketches and sell them to the +dealers. They seem to think the money sunk in you is a good investment. +Good Lord! who can account for the fathomless folly of the public?” + +“They're a remarkably sensible people.” + +“They are subject to fits, if that's what you mean; and you happen to be +the object of the latest fit among those who are interested in what +they call Art. Just now you're a fashion, a phenomenon, or whatever you +please. I appeared to be the only person who knew anything about you +here, and I have been showing the most useful men a few of the sketches +you gave me from time to time. Those coming after your work on the +Central Southern Syndicate appear to have done your business. You're in +luck.” + +“Huh! call it luck! Do call it luck, when a man has been kicking about +the world like a dog, waiting for it to come! I'll luck 'em later on. I +want a place to work first.” + +“Come here,” said Torpenhow, crossing the landing. “This place is a big +box room really, but it will do for you. There's your skylight, or +your north light, or whatever window you call it, and plenty of room to +thrash about in, and a bedroom beyond. What more do you need?” + +“Good enough,” said Dick, looking round the large room that took up a +third of a top story in the rickety chambers overlooking the Thames. A +pale yellow sun shone through the skylight and showed the much dirt of +the place. Three steps led from the door to the landing, and three +more to Torpenhow's room. The well of the staircase disappeared into +darkness, pricked by tiny gas-jets, and there were sounds of men talking +and doors slamming seven flights below, in the warm gloom. + +“Do they give you a free hand here?” said Dick, cautiously. He was +Ishmael enough to know the value of liberty. + +“Anything you like; latch-keys and license unlimited. We are permanent +tenants for the most part here. 'Tisn't a place I would recommend for a +Young Men's Christian Association, but it will serve. I took these rooms +for you when I wired.” + + “You're a great deal too kind, old man.” + +“You didn't suppose you were going away from me, did you?” Torpenhow put +his hand on Dick's shoulder, and the two walked up and down the room, +henceforward to be called the studio, in sweet and silent communion. +They heard rapping at Torpenhow's door. “That's some ruffian come up +for a drink,” said Torpenhow; and he raised his voice cheerily. There +entered no one more ruffianly than a portly middle-aged gentleman in +a satin-faced frockcoat. His lips were parted and pale, and there were +deep pouches under the eyes. + +“Weak heart,” said Dick to himself, and, as he shook hands, “very weak +heart. His pulse is shaking his fingers.” + +The man introduced himself as the head of the Central Southern Syndicate +and “one of the most ardent admirers of your work, Mr. Heldar. I assure +you, in the name of the syndicate, that we are immensely indebted to +you; and I trust, Mr. Heldar, you won't forget that we were largely +instrumental in bringing you before the public.” He panted because of +the seven flights of stairs. + +Dick glanced at Torpenhow, whose left eyelid lay for a moment dead on +his cheek. + +“I shan't forget,” said Dick, every instinct of defence roused in him. + +“You've paid me so well that I couldn't, you know. By the way, when I am +settled in this place I should like to send and get my sketches. There +must be nearly a hundred and fifty of them with you.” + +“That is er--is what I came to speak about. I fear we can't allow it +exactly, Mr. Heldar. In the absence of any specified agreement, the +sketches are our property, of course.” + +“Do you mean to say that you are going to keep them?” + +“Yes; and we hope to have your help, on your own terms, Mr. Heldar, to +assist us in arranging a little exhibition, which, backed by our name +and the influence we naturally command among the press, should be of +material service to you. Sketches such as yours----” + +“Belong to me. You engaged me by wire, you paid me the lowest rates you +dared. You can't mean to keep them! Good God alive, man, they're all +I've got in the world!” + +Torpenhow watched Dick's face and whistled. + +Dick walked up and down, thinking. He saw the whole of his little stock +in trade, the first weapon of his equipment, annexed at the outset of +his campaign by an elderly gentleman whose name Dick had not caught +aright, who said that he represented a syndicate, which was a thing for +which Dick had not the least reverence. The injustice of the proceedings +did not much move him; he had seen the strong hand prevail too often in +other places to be squeamish over the moral aspects of right and wrong. + +But he ardently desired the blood of the gentleman in the frockcoat, +and when he spoke again, it was with a strained sweetness that Torpenhow +knew well for the beginning of strife. + +“Forgive me, sir, but you have no--no younger man who can arrange this +business with me?” + +“I speak for the syndicate. I see no reason for a third party to----” + +“You will in a minute. Be good enough to give back my sketches.” + +The man stared blankly at Dick, and then at Torpenhow, who was leaning +against the wall. He was not used to ex-employees who ordered him to be +good enough to do things. + +“Yes, it is rather a cold-blooded steal,” said Torpenhow, critically; +“but I'm afraid, I am very much afraid, you've struck the wrong man. Be +careful, Dick; remember, this isn't the Soudan.” + +“Considering what services the syndicate have done you in putting your +name before the world----” + +This was not a fortunate remark; it reminded Dick of certain vagrant +years lived out in loneliness and strife and unsatisfied desires. The +memory did not contrast well with the prosperous gentleman who proposed +to enjoy the fruit of those years. + +“I don't know quite what to do with you,” began Dick, meditatively. “Of +course you're a thief, and you ought to be half killed, but in your case +you'd probably die. I don't want you dead on this floor, and, besides, +it's unlucky just as one's moving in. Don't hit, sir; you'll only excite +yourself.” + +He put one hand on the man's forearm and ran the other down the plump +body beneath the coat. “My goodness!” said he to Torpenhow, “and this +gray oaf dares to be a thief! I have seen an Esneh camel-driver have the +black hide taken off his body in strips for stealing half a pound of wet +dates, and he was as tough as whipcord. This thing's soft all over--like +a woman.” + +There are few things more poignantly humiliating than being handled by +a man who does not intend to strike. The head of the syndicate began to +breathe heavily. Dick walked round him, pawing him, as a cat paws a +soft hearth-rug. Then he traced with his forefinger the leaden pouches +underneath the eyes, and shook his head. “You were going to steal my +things,--mine, mine, mine!--you, who don't know when you may die. Write +a note to your office,--you say you're the head of it,--and order them +to give Torpenhow my sketches,--every one of them. Wait a minute: your +hand's shaking. Now!” He thrust a pocket-book before him. The note +was written. Torpenhow took it and departed without a word, while Dick +walked round and round the spellbound captive, giving him such advice as +he conceived best for the welfare of his soul. When Torpenhow returned +with a gigantic portfolio, he heard Dick say, almost soothingly, “Now, +I hope this will be a lesson to you; and if you worry me when I have +settled down to work with any nonsense about actions for assault, +believe me, I'll catch you and manhandle you, and you'll die. You +haven't very long to live, anyhow. Go! Imshi, Vootsak,--get out!” The +man departed, staggering and dazed. Dick drew a long breath: “Phew! what +a lawless lot these people are! The first thing a poor orphan meets is +gang robbery, organised burglary! Think of the hideous blackness of that +man's mind! Are my sketches all right, Torp?” + +“Yes; one hundred and forty-seven of them. Well, I must say, Dick, +you've begun well.” + +“He was interfering with me. It only meant a few pounds to him, but it +was everything to me. I don't think he'll bring an action. I gave him +some medical advice gratis about the state of his body. It was cheap at +the little flurry it cost him. Now, let's look at my things.” + +Two minutes later Dick had thrown himself down on the floor and was deep +in the portfolio, chuckling lovingly as he turned the drawings over and +thought of the price at which they had been bought. + +The afternoon was well advanced when Torpenhow came to the door and saw +Dick dancing a wild saraband under the skylight. + +“I builded better than I knew, Torp,” he said, without stopping the +dance. “They're good! They're damned good! They'll go like flame! I +shall have an exhibition of them on my own brazen hook. And that man +would have cheated me out of it! Do you know that I'm sorry now that I +didn't actually hit him?” + +“Go out,” said Torpenhow,--“go out and pray to be delivered from the +sin of arrogance, which you never will be. Bring your things up from +whatever place you're staying in, and we'll try to make this barn a +little more shipshape.” + +“And then--oh, then,” said Dick, still capering, “we will spoil the +Egyptians!” + + + +CHAPTER IV + + The wolf-cub at even lay hid in the corn, + When the smoke of the cooking hung gray: + He knew where the doe made a couch for her fawn, + And he looked to his strength for his prey. + + But the moon swept the smoke-wreaths away. + + And he turned from his meal in the villager's close, + And he bayed to the moon as she rose. + --In Seonee. + +“WELL, and how does success taste?” said Torpenhow, some three months +later. He had just returned to chambers after a holiday in the country. + +“Good,” said Dick, as he sat licking his lips before the easel in the +studio. + +“I want more,--heaps more. The lean years have passed, and I approve of +these fat ones.” + +“Be careful, old man. That way lies bad work.” + +Torpenhow was sprawling in a long chair with a small fox-terrier asleep +on his chest, while Dick was preparing a canvas. A dais, a background, +and a lay-figure were the only fixed objects in the place. They rose +from a wreck of oddments that began with felt-covered water-bottles, +belts, and regimental badges, and ended with a small bale of second-hand +uniforms and a stand of mixed arms. The mark of muddy feet on the dais +showed that a military model had just gone away. The watery autumn +sunlight was falling, and shadows sat in the corners of the studio. + +“Yes,” said Dick, deliberately, “I like the power; I like the fun; I +like the fuss; and above all I like the money. I almost like the +people who make the fuss and pay the money. Almost. But they're a queer +gang,--an amazingly queer gang!” + +“They have been good enough to you, at any rate. That tin-pot exhibition +of your sketches must have paid. Did you see that the papers called it +the 'Wild Work Show'?” + +“Never mind. I sold every shred of canvas I wanted to; and, on my word, +I believe it was because they believed I was a self-taught flagstone +artist. I should have got better prices if I worked my things on wool or +scratched them on camel-bone instead of using mere black and white and +colour. Verily, they are a queer gang, these people. Limited isn't the +word to describe 'em. I met a fellow the other day who told me +that it was impossible that shadows on white sand should be +blue,--ultramarine,--as they are. I found out, later, that the man had +been as far as Brighton beach; but he knew all about Art, confound him. +He gave me a lecture on it, and recommended me to go to school to learn +technique. I wonder what old Kami would have said to that.” + +“When were you under Kami, man of extraordinary beginnings?” + +“I studied with him for two years in Paris. He taught by personal +magnetism. All he ever said was, 'Continuez, mes enfants,' and you had +to make the best you could of that. He had a divine touch, and he knew +something about colour. Kami used to dream colour; I swear he could +never have seen the genuine article; but he evolved it; and it was +good.” + +“Recollect some of those views in the Soudan?” said Torpenhow, with a +provoking drawl. + +Dick squirmed in his place. “Don't! It makes me want to get out there +again. What colour that was! Opal and umber and amber and claret and +brick-red and sulphur--cockatoo-crest-sulphur--against brown, with a +nigger-black rock sticking up in the middle of it all, and a decorative +frieze of camels festooning in front of a pure pale turquoise sky.” He +began to walk up and down. “And yet, you know, if you try to give these +people the thing as God gave it, keyed down to their comprehension and +according to the powers He has given you----” + +“Modest man! Go on.” + +“Half a dozen epicene young pagans who haven't even been to Algiers will +tell you, first, that your notion is borrowed, and, secondly, that it +isn't Art.” + +“This comes of my leaving town for a month. Dickie, you've been +promenading among the toy-shops and hearing people talk.” + +“I couldn't help it,” said Dick, penitently. “You weren't here, and it +was lonely these long evenings. A man can't work for ever.” + +“A man might have gone to a pub, and got decently drunk.” + +“I wish I had; but I forgathered with some men of sorts. They said they +were artists, and I knew some of them could draw,--but they wouldn't +draw. They gave me tea,--tea at five in the afternoon!--and talked about +Art and the state of their souls. As if their souls mattered. I've heard +more about Art and seen less of her in the last six months than in +the whole of my life. Do you remember Cassavetti, who worked for some +continental syndicate, out with the desert column? He was a regular +Christmas-tree of contraptions when he took the field in full fig, with +his water-bottle, lanyard, revolver, writing-case, housewife, gig-lamps, +and the Lord knows what all. He used to fiddle about with 'em and show +us how they worked; but he never seemed to do much except fudge his +reports from the Nilghai. See?” + +“Dear old Nilghai! He's in town, fatter than ever. He ought to be up +here this evening. I see the comparison perfectly. You should have kept +clear of all that man-millinery. Serves you right; and I hope it will +unsettle your mind.” + +“It won't. It has taught me what Art--holy sacred Art--means.” + +“You've learnt something while I've been away. What is Art?” + +“Give 'em what they know, and when you've done it once do it again.” + +Dick dragged forward a canvas laid face to the wall. “Here's a sample +of real Art. It's going to be a facsimile reproduction for a weekly. I +called it 'His Last Shot.' It's worked up from the little water-colour +I made outside El Maghrib. Well, I lured my model, a beautiful rifleman, +up here with drink; I drored him, and I redrored him, and I redrored +him, and I made him a flushed, dishevelled, bedevilled scallawag, with +his helmet at the back of his head, and the living fear of death in his +eye, and the blood oozing out of a cut over his ankle-bone. He wasn't +pretty, but he was all soldier and very much man.” + +“Once more, modest child!” + +Dick laughed. “Well, it's only to you I'm talking. I did him just as +well as I knew how, making allowance for the slickness of oils. Then the +art-manager of that abandoned paper said that his subscribers wouldn't +like it. It was brutal and coarse and violent,--man being naturally +gentle when he's fighting for his life. They wanted something more +restful, with a little more colour. I could have said a good deal, but +you might as well talk to a sheep as an art-manager. I took my 'Last +Shot' back. Behold the result! I put him into a lovely red coat without +a speck on it. That is Art. I polished his boots,--observe the high +light on the toe. That is Art. I cleaned his rifle,--rifles are +always clean on service,--because that is Art. I pipeclayed his +helmet,--pipeclay is always used on active service, and is indispensable +to Art. I shaved his chin, I washed his hands, and gave him an air of +fatted peace. Result, military tailor's pattern-plate. Price, thank +Heaven, twice as much as for the first sketch, which was moderately +decent.” + +“And do you suppose you're going to give that thing out as your work?” + +“Why not? I did it. Alone I did it, in the interests of sacred, +home-bred Art and Dickenson's Weekly.” + +Torpenhow smoked in silence for a while. Then came the verdict, +delivered from rolling clouds: “If you were only a mass of blathering +vanity, Dick, I wouldn't mind,--I'd let you go to the deuce on your own +mahl-stick; but when I consider what you are to me, and when I find +that to vanity you add the twopenny-halfpenny pique of a twelve-year-old +girl, then I bestir myself in your behalf. Thus!” + +The canvas ripped as Torpenhow's booted foot shot through it, and the +terrier jumped down, thinking rats were about. + +“If you have any bad language to use, use it. You have not. I continue. +You are an idiot, because no man born of woman is strong enough to take +liberties with his public, even though they be--which they ain't--all +you say they are.” + +“But they don't know any better. What can you expect from creatures born +and bred in this light?” Dick pointed to the yellow fog. “If they want +furniture-polish, let them have furniture-polish, so long as they pay +for it. They are only men and women. You talk as if they were gods.” + +“That sounds very fine, but it has nothing to do with the case. They are +they people you have to do work for, whether you like it or not. They +are your masters. Don't be deceived, Dickie, you aren't strong enough to +trifle with them,--or with yourself, which is more important. + +“Moreover,--Come back, Binkie: that red daub isn't going +anywhere,--unless you take precious good care, you will fall under the +damnation of the check-book, and that's worse than death. You will get +drunk--you're half drunk already--on easily acquired money. For that +money and you own infernal vanity you are willing to deliberately turn +out bad work. You'll do quite enough bad work without knowing it. And, +Dickie, as I love you and as I know you love me, I am not going to let +you cut off your nose to spite your face for all the gold in England. +That's settled. Now swear.” + +“Don't know,” said Dick. “I've been trying to make myself angry, but +I can't, you're so abominably reasonable. There will be a row on +Dickenson's Weekly, I fancy.” + +“Why the Dickenson do you want to work on a weekly paper? It's slow +bleeding of power.” + +“It brings in the very desirable dollars,” said Dick, his hands in his +pockets. + +Torpenhow watched him with large contempt. “Why, I thought it was a +man!” said he. “It's a child.” + +“No, it isn't,” said Dick, wheeling quickly. “You've no notion what the +certainty of cash means to a man who has always wanted it badly. Nothing +will pay me for some of my life's joys; on that Chinese pig-boat, for +instance, when we ate bread and jam for every meal, because Ho-Wang +wouldn't allow us anything better, and it all tasted of pig,--Chinese +pig. I've worked for this, I've sweated and I've starved for this, line +on line and month after month. And now I've got it I am going to make +the most of it while it lasts. Let them pay--they've no knowledge.” + +“What does Your Majesty please to want? You can't smoke more than you +do; you won't drink; you're a gross feeder; and you dress in the dark, +by the look of you. You wouldn't keep a horse the other day when I +suggested, because, you said, it might fall lame, and whenever you cross +the street you take a hansom. Even you are not foolish enough to suppose +that theatres and all the live things you can by thereabouts mean Life. +What earthly need have you for money?” + +“It's there, bless its golden heart,” said Dick. “It's there all the +time. Providence has sent me nuts while I have teeth to crack 'em with. +I haven't yet found the nut I wish to crack, but I'm keeping my teeth +filed. Perhaps some day you and I will go for a walk round the wide +earth.” + +“With no work to do, nobody to worry us, and nobody to compete with? You +would be unfit to speak to in a week. Besides, I shouldn't go. I don't +care to profit by the price of a man's soul,--for that's what it would +mean. Dick, it's no use arguing. You're a fool.” + +“Don't see it. When I was on that Chinese pig-boat, our captain got +credit for saving about twenty-five thousand very seasick little pigs, +when our old tramp of a steamer fell foul of a timber-junk. Now, taking +those pigs as a parallel----” + +“Oh, confound your parallels! Whenever I try to improve your soul, you +always drag in some anecdote from your very shady past. Pigs aren't the +British public; and self-respect is self-respect the world over. Go +out for a walk and try to catch some self-respect. And, I say, if the +Nilghai comes up this evening can I show him your diggings?” + +“Surely.” And Dick departed, to take counsel with himself in the rapidly +gathering London fog. + +Half an hour after he had left, the Nilghai laboured up the staircase. +He was the chiefest, as he was the youngest, of the war correspondents, +and his experiences dated from the birth of the needle-gun. Saving only +his ally, Keneu the Great War Eagle, there was no man higher in the +craft than he, and he always opened his conversation with the news that +there would be trouble in the Balkans in the spring. Torpenhow laughed +as he entered. + +“Never mind the trouble in the Balkans. Those little states are always +screeching. You've heard about Dick's luck?” + +“Yes; he has been called up to notoriety, hasn't he? I hope you keep him +properly humble. He wants suppressing from time to time.” + +“He does. He's beginning to take liberties with what he thinks is his +reputation.” + +“Already! By Jove, he has cheek! I don't know about his reputation, but +he'll come a cropper if he tries that sort of thing.” + +“So I told him. I don't think he believes it.” + +“They never do when they first start off. What's that wreck on the +ground there?” + +“Specimen of his latest impertinence.” Torpenhow thrust the torn edges +of the canvas together and showed the well-groomed picture to the +Nilghai, who looked at it for a moment and whistled. + +“It's a chromo,” said he,--“a chromo-litholeomargarine fake! What +possessed him to do it? And yet how thoroughly he has caught the note +that catches a public who think with their boots and read with their +elbows! The cold-blooded insolence of the work almost saves it; but +he mustn't go on with this. Hasn't he been praised and cockered up too +much? You know these people here have no sense of proportion. They'll +call him a second Detaille and a third-hand Meissonier while his fashion +lasts. It's windy diet for a colt.” + +“I don't think it affects Dick much. You might as well call a young +wolf a lion and expect him to take the compliment in exchange for a +shin-bone. Dick's soul is in the bank. He's working for cash.” + +“Now he has thrown up war work, I suppose he doesn't see that the +obligations of the service are just the same, only the proprietors are +changed.” + +“How should he know? He thinks he is his own master.” + +“Does he? I could undeceive him for his good, if there's any virtue in +print. He wants the whiplash.” + +“Lay it on with science, then. I'd flay him myself, but I like him too +much.” + +“I've no scruples. He had the audacity to try to cut me out with a woman +at Cairo once. I forgot that, but I remember now.” + +“Did he cut you out?” + +“You'll see when I have dealt with him. But, after all, what's the +good? Leave him alone and he'll come home, if he has any stuff in him, +dragging or wagging his tail behind him. There's more in a week of life +than in a lively weekly. None the less I'll slate him. I'll slate him +ponderously in the Cataclysm.” + +“Good luck to you; but I fancy nothing short of a crowbar would make +Dick wince. His soul seems to have been fired before we came across him. +He's intensely suspicious and utterly lawless.” + +“Matter of temper,” said the Nilghai. “It's the same with horses. Some +you wallop and they work, some you wallop and they jib, and some you +wallop and they go out for a walk with their hands in their pockets.” + +“That's exactly what Dick has done,” said Torpenhow. “Wait till he comes +back. In the meantime, you can begin your slating here. I'll show you +some of his last and worst work in his studio.” + +Dick had instinctively sought running water for a comfort to his mood of +mind. He was leaning over the Embankment wall, watching the rush of the +Thames through the arches of Westminster Bridge. He began by thinking of +Torpenhow's advice, but, as of custom, lost himself in the study of the +faces flocking past. Some had death written on their features, and Dick +marvelled that they could laugh. Others, clumsy and coarse-built for +the most part, were alight with love; others were merely drawn and lined +with work; but there was something, Dick knew, to be made out of them +all. The poor at least should suffer that he might learn, and the rich +should pay for the output of his learning. Thus his credit in the world +and his cash balance at the bank would be increased. So much the better +for him. He had suffered. Now he would take toll of the ills of others. + +The fog was driven apart for a moment, and the sun shone, a blood-red +wafer, on the water. Dick watched the spot till he heard the voice of +the tide between the piers die down like the wash of the sea at low +tide. A girl hard pressed by her lover shouted shamelessly, “Ah, get +away, you beast!” and a shift of the same wind that had opened the fog +drove across Dick's face the black smoke of a river-steamer at her berth +below the wall. He was blinded for the moment, then spun round and found +himself face to face with--Maisie. + +There was no mistaking. The years had turned the child to a woman, but +they had not altered the dark-gray eyes, the thin scarlet lips, or the +firmly modelled mouth and chin; and, that all should be as it was of +old, she wore a closely fitting gray dress. + +Since the human soul is finite and not in the least under its own +command, Dick, advancing, said “Halloo!” after the manner of schoolboys, +and Maisie answered, “Oh, Dick, is that you?” Then, against his will, +and before the brain newly released from considerations of the cash +balance had time to dictate to the nerves, every pulse of Dick's body +throbbed furiously and his palate dried in his mouth. The fog shut down +again, and Maisie's face was pearl-white through it. No word was spoken, +but Dick fell into step at her side, and the two paced the Embankment +together, keeping the step as perfectly as in their afternoon excursions +to the mud-flats. Then Dick, a little hoarsely--“What has happened to +Amomma?” + +“He died, Dick. Not cartridges; over-eating. He was always greedy. Isn't +it funny?” + +“Yes. No. Do you mean Amomma?” + +“Ye--es. No. This. Where have you come from?” + +“Over there,” He pointed eastward through the fog. “And you?” + +“Oh, I'm in the north,--the black north, across all the Park. I am very +busy.” + +“What do you do?” + +“I paint a great deal. That's all I have to do.” + +“Why, what's happened? You had three hundred a year.” + +“I have that still. I am painting; that's all.” + +“Are you alone, then?” + +“There's a girl living with me. Don't walk so fast, Dick; you're out of +step.” + +“Then you noticed it too?” + +“Of course I did. You're always out of step.” + +“So I am. I'm sorry. You went on with the painting?” + +“Of course. I said I should. I was at the Slade, then at Merton's in St. +John's Wood, the big studio, then I pepper-potted,--I mean I went to the +National,--and now I'm working under Kami.” + +“But Kami is in Paris surely?” + +“No; he has his teaching studio in Vitry-sur-Marne. I work with him in +the summer, and I live in London in the winter. I'm a householder.” + +“Do you sell much?” + +“Now and again, but not often. There is my 'bus. I must take it or lose +half an hour. Goodbye, Dick.” + +“Goodbye, Maisie. Won't you tell me where you live? I must see you +again; and perhaps I could help you. I--I paint a little myself.” + +“I may be in the Park tomorrow, if there is no working light. I walk +from the Marble Arch down and back again; that is my little excursion. +But of course I shall see you again.” She stepped into the omnibus and +was swallowed up by the fog. + +“Well--I--am--damned!” exclaimed Dick, and returned to the chambers. + +Torpenhow and the Nilghai found him sitting on the steps to the studio +door, repeating the phrase with an awful gravity. + +“You'll be more damned when I'm done with you,” said the Nilghai, +upheaving his bulk from behind Torpenhow's shoulder and waving a sheaf +of half-dry manuscript. “Dick, it is of common report that you are +suffering from swelled head.” + +“Halloo, Nilghai. Back again? How are the Balkans and all the little +Balkans? One side of your face is out of drawing, as usual.” + +“Never mind that. I am commissioned to smite you in print. Torpenhow +refuses from false delicacy. I've been overhauling the pot-boilers in +your studio. They are simply disgraceful.” + +“Oho! that's it, is it? If you think you can slate me, you're wrong. You +can only describe, and you need as much room to turn in, on paper, as a +P. and O. cargo-boat. But continue, and be swift. I'm going to bed.” + +“H'm! h'm! h'm! The first part only deals with your pictures. Here's +the peroration: 'For work done without conviction, for power wasted on +trivialities, for labour expended with levity for the deliberate purpose +of winning the easy applause of a fashion-driven public----” + +“That's 'His Last Shot,' second edition. Go on.” + +“----'public, there remains but one end,--the oblivion that is preceded +by toleration and cenotaphed with contempt. From that fate Mr. Heldar +has yet to prove himself out of danger.” + +“Wow--wow--wow--wow--wow!” said Dick, profanely. “It's a clumsy ending +and vile journalese, but it's quite true. And yet,”--he sprang to his +feet and snatched at the manuscript,--“you scarred, deboshed, battered +old gladiator! you're sent out when a war begins, to minister to the +blind, brutal, British public's bestial thirst for blood. They have +no arenas now, but they must have special correspondents. You're a fat +gladiator who comes up through a trap-door and talks of what he's seen. +You stand on precisely the same level as an energetic bishop, an affable +actress, a devastating cyclone, or--mine own sweet self. And you +presume to lecture me about my work! Nilghai, if it were worth while I'd +caricature you in four papers!” + +The Nilghai winced. He had not thought of this. + +“As it is, I shall take this stuff and tear it small--so!” The +manuscript fluttered in slips down the dark well of the staircase. “Go +home, Nilghai,” said Dick; “go home to your lonely little bed, and leave +me in peace. I am about to turn in till to morrow.” + +“Why, it isn't seven yet!” said Torpenhow, with amazement. + +“It shall be two in the morning, if I choose,” said Dick, backing to the +studio door. “I go to grapple with a serious crisis, and I shan't want +any dinner.” + +The door shut and was locked. + +“What can you do with a man like that?” said the Nilghai. + +“Leave him alone. He's as mad as a hatter.” + +At eleven there was a kicking on the studio door. “Is the Nilghai with +you still?” said a voice from within. “Then tell him he might have +condensed the whole of his lumbering nonsense into an epigram: 'Only +the free are bond, and only the bond are free.' Tell him he's an idiot, +Torp, and tell him I'm another.” + +“All right. Come out and have supper. You're smoking on an empty +stomach.” + +There was no answer. + + + +CHAPTER V + + “I have a thousand men,” said he, + “To wait upon my will, + And towers nine upon the Tyne, + And three upon the Till.” + + “And what care I for you men,” said she, + “Or towers from Tyne to Till, + “Sith you must go with me,” she said, + “To wait upon my will?” + --Sir Hoggie and the Fairies + +Next morning Torpenhow found Dick sunk in deepest repose of tobacco. + +“Well, madman, how d'you feel?” + +“I don't know. I'm trying to find out.” + +“You had much better do some work.” + +“Maybe; but I'm in no hurry. I've made a discovery. Torp, there's too +much Ego in my Cosmos.” + +“Not really! Is this revelation due to my lectures, or the Nilghai's?” + +“It came to me suddenly, all on my own account. Much too much Ego; and +now I'm going to work.” + +He turned over a few half-finished sketches, drummed on a new canvas, +cleaned three brushes, set Binkie to bite the toes of the lay figure, +rattled through his collection of arms and accoutrements, and then went +out abruptly, declaring that he had done enough for the day. + +“This is positively indecent,” said Torpenhow, “and the first time that +Dick has ever broken up a light morning. Perhaps he has found out +that he has a soul, or an artistic temperament, or something equally +valuable. That comes of leaving him alone for a month. Perhaps he +has been going out of evenings. I must look to this.” He rang for the +bald-headed old housekeeper, whom nothing could astonish or annoy. + +“Beeton, did Mr. Heldar dine out at all while I was out of town?” + +“Never laid 'is dress-clothes out once, sir, all the time. Mostly 'e +dined in; but 'e brought some most remarkable young gentlemen up 'ere +after theatres once or twice. Remarkable fancy they was. You gentlemen +on the top floor does very much as you likes, but it do seem to me, sir, +droppin' a walkin'-stick down five flights o' stairs an' then goin' +down four abreast to pick it up again at half-past two in the mornin', +singin' 'Bring back the whiskey, Willie darlin','--not once or twice, +but scores o' times,--isn't charity to the other tenants. What I say is, +'Do as you would be done by.' That's my motto.” + +“Of course! of course! I'm afraid the top floor isn't the quietest in +the house.” + +“I make no complaints, sir. I have spoke to Mr. Heldar friendly, an' +he laughed, an' did me a picture of the missis that is as good as a +coloured print. It 'asn't the high shine of a photograph, but what I say +is, 'Never look a gift-horse in the mouth.' Mr. Heldar's dress-clothes +'aven't been on him for weeks.” + +“Then it's all right,” said Torpenhow to himself. “Orgies are healthy, +and Dick has a head of his own, but when it comes to women making +eyes I'm not so certain,--Binkie, never you be a man, little dorglums. +They're contrary brutes, and they do things without any reason.” + +Dick had turned northward across the Park, but he was walking in the +spirit on the mud-flats with Maisie. He laughed aloud as he remembered +the day when he had decked Amomma's horns with the ham-frills, and +Maisie, white with rage, had cuffed him. How long those four years +seemed in review, and how closely Maisie was connected with every hour +of them! Storm across the sea, and Maisie in a gray dress on the beach, +sweeping her drenched hair out of her eyes and laughing at the homeward +race of the fishing-smacks; hot sunshine on the mud-flats, and Maisie +sniffing scornfully, with her chin in the air; Maisie flying before +the wind that threshed the foreshore and drove the sand like small shot +about her ears; Maisie, very composed and independent, telling lies to +Mrs. Jennett while Dick supported her with coarser perjuries; Maisie +picking her way delicately from stone to stone, a pistol in her hand +and her teeth firm-set; and Maisie in a gray dress sitting on the +grass between the mouth of a cannon and a nodding yellow sea-poppy. The +pictures passed before him one by one, and the last stayed the longest. + +Dick was perfectly happy with a quiet peace that was as new to his mind +as it was foreign to his experiences. It never occurred to him that +there might be other calls upon his time than loafing across the Park in +the forenoon. + +“There's a good working light now,” he said, watching his shadow +placidly. “Some poor devil ought to be grateful for this. And there's +Maisie.” + +She was walking towards him from the Marble Arch, and he saw that no +mannerism of her gait had been changed. It was good to find her still +Maisie, and, so to speak, his next-door neighbour. No greeting passed +between them, because there had been none in the old days. + +“What are you doing out of your studio at this hour?” said Dick, as one +who was entitled to ask. + +“Idling. Just idling. I got angry with a chin and scraped it out. Then I +left it in a little heap of paint-chips and came away.” + +“I know what palette-knifing means. What was the piccy?” + +“A fancy head that wouldn't come right,--horrid thing!” + +“I don't like working over scraped paint when I'm doing flesh. The grain +comes up woolly as the paint dries.” + +“Not if you scrape properly.” Maisie waved her hand to illustrate her +methods. There was a dab of paint on the white cuff. Dick laughed. + +“You're as untidy as ever.” + +“That comes well from you. Look at your own cuff.” + +“By Jove, yes! It's worse than yours. I don't think we've much altered +in anything. Let's see, though.” He looked at Maisie critically. The +pale blue haze of an autumn day crept between the tree-trunks of the +Park and made a background for the gray dress, the black velvet toque +above the black hair, and the resolute profile. + +“No, there's nothing changed. How good it is! D'you remember when I +fastened your hair into the snap of a hand-bag?” + +Maisie nodded, with a twinkle in her eyes, and turned her full face to +Dick. + +“Wait a minute,” said he. “That mouth is down at the corners a little. +Who's been worrying you, Maisie?” + +“No one but myself. I never seem to get on with my work, and yet I try +hard enough, and Kami says----” + +“'Continuez, mesdemoiselles. Continuez toujours, mes enfants.' Kami is +depressing. I beg your pardon.” + +“Yes, that's what he says. He told me last summer that I was doing +better and he'd let me exhibit this year.” + +“Not in this place, surely?” + +“Of course not. The Salon.” + +“You fly high.” + +“I've been beating my wings long enough. Where do you exhibit, Dick?” + +“I don't exhibit. I sell.” + +“What is your line, then?” + +“Haven't you heard?” Dick's eyes opened. Was this thing possible? He +cast about for some means of conviction. They were not far from the +Marble Arch. “Come up Oxford Street a little and I'll show you.” + +A small knot of people stood round a print-shop that Dick knew well. + +“Some reproduction of my work inside,” he said, with suppressed triumph. +Never before had success tasted so sweet upon the tongue. “You see the +sort of things I paint. D'you like it?” + +Maisie looked at the wild whirling rush of a field-battery going into +action under fire. Two artillery-men stood behind her in the crowd. + +“They've chucked the off lead-'orse” said one to the other. “'E's tore +up awful, but they're makin' good time with the others. That lead-driver +drives better nor you, Tom. See 'ow cunnin' 'e's nursin' 'is 'orse.” + +“Number Three'll be off the limber, next jolt,” was the answer. + +“No, 'e won't. See 'ow 'is foot's braced against the iron? 'E's all +right.” + +Dick watched Maisie's face and swelled with joy--fine, rank, vulgar +triumph. She was more interested in the little crowd than in the +picture. + +That was something that she could understand. + +“And I wanted it so! Oh, I did want it so!” she said at last, under her +breath. + +“Me,--all me!” said Dick, placidly. “Look at their faces. It hits 'em. +They don't know what makes their eyes and mouths open; but I know. And I +know my work's right.” + +“Yes. I see. Oh, what a thing to have come to one!” + +“Come to one, indeed! I had to go out and look for it. What do you +think?” + +“I call it success. Tell me how you got it.” + +They returned to the Park, and Dick delivered himself of the saga of his +own doings, with all the arrogance of a young man speaking to a woman. + +From the beginning he told the tale, the I--I--I's flashing through the +records as telegraph-poles fly past the traveller. Maisie listened and +nodded her head. The histories of strife and privation did not move her +a hair's-breadth. At the end of each canto he would conclude, “And that +gave me some notion of handling colour,” or light, or whatever it might +be that he had set out to pursue and understand. He led her breathless +across half the world, speaking as he had never spoken in his life +before. + +And in the flood-tide of his exaltation there came upon him a great +desire to pick up this maiden who nodded her head and said, “I +understand. Go on,”--to pick her up and carry her away with him, because +she was Maisie, and because she understood, and because she was his +right, and a woman to be desired above all women. + +Then he checked himself abruptly. “And so I took all I wanted,” he said, +“and I had to fight for it. Now you tell.” + +Maisie's tale was almost as gray as her dress. It covered years of +patient toil backed by savage pride that would not be broken though +dealers laughed, and fogs delayed work, and Kami was unkind and even +sarcastic, and girls in other studios were painfully polite. It had a +few bright spots, in pictures accepted at provincial exhibitions, but +it wound up with the oft repeated wail, “And so you see, Dick, I had no +success, though I worked so hard.” + +Then pity filled Dick. Even thus had Maisie spoken when she could not +hit the breakwater, half an hour before she had kissed him. And that had +happened yesterday. + +“Never mind,” he said. “I'll tell you something, if you'll believe it.” + The words were shaping themselves of their own accord. “The whole thing, +lock, stock, and barrel, isn't worth one big yellow sea-poppy below Fort +Keeling.” + +Maisie flushed a little. “It's all very well for you to talk, but you've +had the success and I haven't.” + +“Let me talk, then. I know you'll understand. Maisie, dear, it sounds a +bit absurd, but those ten years never existed, and I've come back again. +It really is just the same. Can't you see? You're alone now and I'm +alone. What's the use of worrying? Come to me instead, darling.” + +Maisie poked the gravel with her parasol. They were sitting on a bench. + +“I understand,” she said slowly. “But I've got my work to do, and I must +do it.” + +“Do it with me, then, dear. I won't interrupt.” + +“No, I couldn't. It's my work,--mine,--mine,--mine! I've been alone all +my life in myself, and I'm not going to belong to anybody except myself. +I remember things as well as you do, but that doesn't count. We were +babies then, and we didn't know what was before us. Dick, don't be +selfish. I think I see my way to a little success next year. Don't take +it away from me.” + +“I beg your pardon, darling. It's my fault for speaking stupidly. I +can't expect you to throw up all your life just because I'm back. I'll +go to my own place and wait a little.” + +“But, Dick, I don't want you to--go--out of--my life, now you've just +come back.” + +“I'm at your orders; forgive me.” Dick devoured the troubled little face +with his eyes. There was triumph in them, because he could not conceive +that Maisie should refuse sooner or later to love him, since he loved +her. + +“It's wrong of me,” said Maisie, more slowly than before; “it's wrong +and selfish; but, oh, I've been so lonely! No, you misunderstand. Now +I've seen you again,--it's absurd, but I want to keep you in my life.” + +“Naturally. We belong.” + +“We don't; but you always understood me, and there is so much in my work +that you could help me in. You know things and the ways of doing things. +You must.” + +“I do, I fancy, or else I don't know myself. Then you won't care to lose +sight of me altogether, and--you want me to help you in your work?” + +“Yes; but remember, Dick, nothing will ever come of it. That's why I +feel so selfish. Can't things stay as they are? I do want your help.” + +“You shall have it. But let's consider. I must see your pics first, and +overhaul your sketches, and find out about your tendencies. You should +see what the papers say about my tendencies! Then I'll give you good +advice, and you shall paint according. Isn't that it, Maisie?” + +Again there was triumph in Dick's eye. + +“It's too good of you,--much too good. Because you are consoling +yourself with what will never happen, and I know that, and yet I want to +keep you. Don't blame me later, please.” + +“I'm going into the matter with my eyes open. Moreover the Queen can +do no wrong. It isn't your selfishness that impresses me. It's your +audacity in proposing to make use of me.” + +“Pooh! You're only Dick,--and a print-shop.” + +“Very good: that's all I am. But, Maisie, you believe, don't you, that I +love you? I don't want you to have any false notions about brothers and +sisters.” + +Maisie looked up for a moment and dropped her eyes. + +“It's absurd, but--I believe. I wish I could send you away before you +get angry with me. But--but the girl that lives with me is red-haired, +and an impressionist, and all our notions clash.” + +“So do ours, I think. Never mind. Three months from today we shall be +laughing at this together.” + +Maisie shook her head mournfully. “I knew you wouldn't understand, and +it will only hurt you more when you find out. Look at my face, Dick, and +tell me what you see.” + +They stood up and faced each other for a moment. The fog was gathering, +and it stifled the roar of the traffic of London beyond the railings. +Dick brought all his painfully acquired knowledge of faces to bear on +the eyes, mouth, and chin underneath the black velvet toque. + +“It's the same Maisie, and it's the same me,” he said. “We've both nice +little wills of our own, and one or other of us has to be broken. Now +about the future. I must come and see your pictures some day,--I suppose +when the red-haired girl is on the premises.” + +“Sundays are my best times. You must come on Sundays. There are such +heaps of things I want to talk about and ask your advice about. Now I +must get back to work.” + +“Try to find out before next Sunday what I am,” said Dick. “Don't take +my word for anything I've told you. Good-bye, darling, and bless you.” + +Maisie stole away like a little gray mouse. Dick watched her till she +was out of sight, but he did not hear her say to herself, very soberly, +“I'm a wretch,--a horrid, selfish wretch. But it's Dick, and Dick will +understand.” + +No one has yet explained what actually happens when an irresistible +force meets the immovable post, though many have thought deeply, even as +Dick thought. He tried to assure himself that Maisie would be led in +a few weeks by his mere presence and discourse to a better way of +thinking. Then he remembered much too distinctly her face and all that +was written on it. + +“If I know anything of heads,” he said, “there's everything in that face +but love. I shall have to put that in myself; and that chin and mouth +won't be won for nothing. But she's right. She knows what she wants, and +she's going to get it. What insolence! Me! Of all the people in the wide +world, to use me! But then she's Maisie. There's no getting over that +fact; and it's good to see her again. This business must have been +simmering at the back of my head for years.... She'll use me as I +used Binat at Port Said. She's quite right. It will hurt a little. +I shall have to see her every Sunday,--like a young man courting a +housemaid. She's sure to come around; and yet--that mouth isn't a +yielding mouth. I shall be wanting to kiss her all the time, and I shall +have to look at her pictures,--I don't even know what sort of work she +does yet,--and I shall have to talk about Art,--Woman's Art! Therefore, +particularly and perpetually, damn all varieties of Art. It did me a +good turn once, and now it's in my way. I'll go home and do some Art.” + +Half-way to the studio, Dick was smitten with a terrible thought. The +figure of a solitary woman in the fog suggested it. + +“She's all alone in London, with a red-haired impressionist girl, who +probably has the digestion of an ostrich. Most red-haired people have. +Maisie's a bilious little body. They'll eat like lone women,--meals at +all hours, and tea with all meals. I remember how the students in Paris +used to pig along. She may fall ill at any minute, and I shan't be able +to help. Whew! this is ten times worse than owning a wife.” + +Torpenhow entered the studio at dusk, and looked at Dick with eyes full +of the austere love that springs up between men who have tugged at the +same oar together and are yoked by custom and use and the intimacies of +toil. This is a good love, and, since it allows, and even encourages, +strife, recrimination, and brutal sincerity, does not die, but grows, +and is proof against any absence and evil conduct. + +Dick was silent after he handed Torpenhow the filled pipe of council. He +thought of Maisie and her possible needs. It was a new thing to think of +anybody but Torpenhow, who could think for himself. Here at last was an +outlet for that cash balance. He could adorn Maisie barbarically with +jewelry,--a thick gold necklace round that little neck, bracelets +upon the rounded arms, and rings of price upon her hands,--the cool, +temperate, ringless hands that he had taken between his own. It was an +absurd thought, for Maisie would not even allow him to put one ring on +one finger, and she would laugh at golden trappings. It would be better +to sit with her quietly in the dusk, his arm around her neck and her +face on his shoulder, as befitted husband and wife. Torpenhow's boots +creaked that night, and his strong voice jarred. Dick's brows contracted +and he murmured an evil word because he had taken all his success as a +right and part payment for past discomfort, and now he was checked in +his stride by a woman who admitted all the success and did not instantly +care for him. + +“I say, old man,” said Torpenhow, who had made one or two vain attempts +at conversation, “I haven't put your back up by anything I've said +lately, have I?” + +“You! No. How could you?” + +“Liver out of order?” + +“The truly healthy man doesn't know he has a liver. I'm only a bit +worried about things in general. I suppose it's my soul.” + +“The truly healthy man doesn't know he has a soul. What business have +you with luxuries of that kind?” + +“It came of itself. Who's the man that says that we're all islands +shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding?” + +“He's right, whoever he is,--except about the misunderstanding. I don't +think we could misunderstand each other.” + +The blue smoke curled back from the ceiling in clouds. Then Torpenhow, +insinuatingly--“Dick, is it a woman?” + +“Be hanged if it's anything remotely resembling a woman; and if you +begin to talk like that, I'll hire a red-brick studio with white paint +trimmings, and begonias and petunias and blue Hungarias to play among +three-and-sixpenny pot-palms, and I'll mount all my pics in aniline-dye +plush plasters, and I'll invite every woman who maunders over what her +guide-books tell her is Art, and you shall receive 'em, Torp,--in a +snuff-brown velvet coat with yellow trousers and an orange tie. You'll +like that?” + +“Too thin, Dick. A better man than you once denied with cursing and +swearing. You've overdone it, just as he did. It's no business of mine, +of course, but it's comforting to think that somewhere under the stars +there's saving up for you a tremendous thrashing. Whether it'll come +from heaven or earth, I don't know, but it's bound to come and break you +up a little. You want hammering.” + +Dick shivered. “All right,” said he. “When this island is disintegrated, +it will call for you.” + +“I shall come round the corner and help to disintegrate it some more. +We're talking nonsense. Come along to a theatre.” + + + +CHAPTER VI + + “And you may lead a thousand men, + Nor ever draw the rein, + But ere ye lead the Faery Queen + 'Twill burst your heart in twain.” + + He has slipped his foot from the stirrup-bar, + The bridle from his hand, + And he is bound by hand and foot + To the Queen 'o Faery-land. + ----Sir Hoggie and the Fairies. + +Some weeks later, on a very foggy Sunday, Dick was returning across the +Park to his studio. “This,” he said, “is evidently the thrashing that +Torp meant. It hurts more than I expected; but the Queen can do no +wrong; and she certainly has some notion of drawing.” + +He had just finished a Sunday visit to Maisie,--always under the green +eyes of the red-haired impressionist girl, whom he learned to hate +at sight,--and was tingling with a keen sense of shame. Sunday after +Sunday, putting on his best clothes, he had walked over to the untidy +house north of the Park, first to see Maisie's pictures, and then to +criticise and advise upon them as he realised that they were productions +on which advice would not be wasted. Sunday after Sunday, and his love +grew with each visit, he had been compelled to cram his heart back from +between his lips when it prompted him to kiss Maisie several times and +very much indeed. Sunday after Sunday, the head above the heart had +warned him that Maisie was not yet attainable, and that it would be +better to talk as connectedly as possible upon the mysteries of the +craft that was all in all to her. Therefore it was his fate to endure +weekly torture in the studio built out over the clammy back garden of a +frail stuffy little villa where nothing was ever in its right place and +nobody every called,--to endure and to watch Maisie moving to and fro +with the teacups. He abhorred tea, but, since it gave him a little +longer time in her presence, he drank it devoutly, and the red-haired +girl sat in an untidy heap and eyed him without speaking. She was always +watching him. + +Once, and only once, when she had left the studio, Maisie showed him +an album that held a few poor cuttings from provincial papers,--the +briefest of hurried notes on some of her pictures sent to outlying +exhibitions. Dick stooped and kissed the paint-smudged thumb on the open +page. “Oh, my love, my love,” he muttered, “do you value these things? +Chuck 'em into the waste-paper basket!” + +“Not till I get something better,” said Maisie, shutting the book. + +Then Dick, moved by no respect for his public and a very deep regard for +the maiden, did deliberately propose, in order to secure more of these +coveted cuttings, that he should paint a picture which Maisie should +sign. + +“That's childish,” said Maisie, “and I didn't think it of you. It must +be my work. Mine,--mine,--mine!” + +“Go and design decorative medallions for rich brewers' houses. You are +thoroughly good at that.” Dick was sick and savage. + +“Better things than medallions, Dick,” was the answer, in tones that +recalled a gray-eyed atom's fearless speech to Mrs. Jennett. Dick would +have abased himself utterly, but that other girl trailed in. + +Next Sunday he laid at Maisie's feet small gifts of pencils that could +almost draw of themselves and colours in whose permanence he believed, +and he was ostentatiously attentive to the work in hand. It demanded, +among other things, an exposition of the faith that was in him. + +Torpenhow's hair would have stood on end had he heard the fluency with +which Dick preached his own gospel of Art. + +A month before, Dick would have been equally astonished; but it was +Maisie's will and pleasure, and he dragged his words together to make +plain to her comprehension all that had been hidden to himself of the +whys and wherefores of work. There is not the least difficulty in doing +a thing if you only know how to do it; the trouble is to explain your +method. + +“I could put this right if I had a brush in my hand,” said Dick, +despairingly, over the modelling of a chin that Maisie complained would +not “look flesh,”--it was the same chin that she had scraped out with +the palette knife,--“but I find it almost impossible to teach you. +There's a queer grim Dutch touch about your painting that I like; but +I've a notion that you're weak in drawing. You foreshorten as though you +never used the model, and you've caught Kami's pasty way of dealing with +flesh in shadow. Then, again, though you don't know it yourself, you +shirk hard work. Suppose you spend some of your time on line lone. Line +doesn't allow of shirking. Oils do, and three square inches of flashy, +tricky stuff in the corner of a pic sometimes carry a bad thing off,--as +I know. That's immoral. Do line-work for a little while, and then I can +tell more about your powers, as old Kami used to say.” + +Maisie protested; she did not care for the pure line. + +“I know,” said Dick. “You want to do your fancy heads with a bunch of +flowers at the base of the neck to hide bad modelling.” The red-haired +girl laughed a little. “You want to do landscapes with cattle knee-deep +in grass to hide bad drawing. You want to do a great deal more than +you can do. You have sense of colour, but you want form. Colour's a +gift,--put it aside and think no more about it,--but form you can be +drilled into. Now, all your fancy heads--and some of them are very +good--will keep you exactly where you are. With line you must go forward +or backward, and it will show up all your weaknesses.” + +“But other people----” began Maisie. + +“You mustn't mind what other people do. If their souls were your soul, +it would be different. You stand and fall by your own work, remember, +and it's waste of time to think of any one else in this battle.” + +Dick paused, and the longing that had been so resolutely put away came +back into his eyes. He looked at Maisie, and the look asked as plainly +as words, Was it not time to leave all this barren wilderness of canvas +and counsel and join hands with Life and Love? Maisie assented to the +new programme of schooling so adorably that Dick could hardly restrain +himself from picking her up then and there and carrying her off to the +nearest registrar's office. It was the implicit obedience to the spoken +word and the blank indifference to the unspoken desire that baffled and +buffeted his soul. He held authority in that house,--authority limited, +indeed, to one-half of one afternoon in seven, but very real while it +lasted. Maisie had learned to appeal to him on many subjects, from the +proper packing of pictures to the condition of a smoky chimney. The +red-haired girl never consulted him about anything. + +On the other hand, she accepted his appearances without protest, and +watched him always. He discovered that the meals of the establishment +were irregular and fragmentary. They depended chiefly on tea, pickles, +and biscuit, as he had suspected from the beginning. The girls were +supposed to market week and week about, but they lived, with the help of +a charwoman, as casually as the young ravens. Maisie spent most of her +income on models, and the other girl revelled in apparatus as refined +as her work was rough. Armed with knowledge, dear-bought from the Docks, +Dick warned Maisie that the end of semi-starvation meant the crippling +of power to work, which was considerably worse than death. + +Maisie took the warning, and gave more thought to what she ate and +drank. When his trouble returned upon him, as it generally did in the +long winter twilights, the remembrance of that little act of domestic +authority and his coercion with a hearth-brush of the smoky drawing-room +chimney stung Dick like a whip-lash. + +He conceived that this memory would be the extreme of his sufferings, +till one Sunday, the red-haired girl announced that she would make a +study of Dick's head, and that he would be good enough to sit still, +and--quite as an afterthought--look at Maisie. He sat, because he could +not well refuse, and for the space of half an hour he reflected on all +the people in the past whom he had laid open for the purposes of his +own craft. He remembered Binat most distinctly,--that Binat who had once +been an artist and talked about degradation. + +It was the merest monochrome roughing in of a head, but it presented the +dumb waiting, the longing, and, above all, the hopeless enslavement of +the man, in a spirit of bitter mockery. + +“I'll buy it,” said Dick, promptly, “at your own price.” + +“My price is too high, but I dare say you'll be as grateful if----” The +wet sketch, fluttered from the girl's hand and fell into the ashes of +the studio stove. When she picked it up it was hopelessly smudged. + +“Oh, it's all spoiled!” said Maisie. “And I never saw it. Was it like?” + +“Thank you,” said Dick under his breath to the red-haired girl, and he +removed himself swiftly. + +“How that man hates me!” said the girl. “And how he loves you, Maisie!” + +“What nonsense? I knew Dick's very fond of me, but he had his work to +do, and I have mine.” + +“Yes, he is fond of you, and I think he knows there is something in +impressionism, after all. Maisie, can't you see?” + +“See? See what?” + +“Nothing; only, I know that if I could get any man to look at me as that +man looks at you, I'd--I don't know what I'd do. But he hates me. Oh, +how he hates me!” + +She was not altogether correct. Dick's hatred was tempered with +gratitude for a few moments, and then he forgot the girl entirely. Only +the sense of shame remained, and he was nursing it across the Park +in the fog. “There'll be an explosion one of these days,” he said +wrathfully. “But it isn't Maisie's fault; she's right, quite right, as +far as she knows, and I can't blame her. This business has been going +on for three months nearly. Three months!--and it cost me ten years” + knocking about to get at the notion, the merest raw notion, of my +work. That's true; but then I didn't have pins, drawing-pins, and +palette-knives, stuck into me every Sunday. + +“Oh, my little darling, if ever I break you, somebody will have a very +bad time of it. No, she won't. I'd be as big a fool about her as I +am now. I'll poison that red-haired girl on my wedding-day,--she's +unwholesome,--and now I'll pass on these present bad times to Torp.” + +Torpenhow had been moved to lecture Dick more than once lately on the +sin of levity, and Dick and listened and replied not a word. In the +weeks between the first few Sundays of his discipline he had flung +himself savagely into his work, resolved that Maisie should at least +know the full stretch of his powers. Then he had taught Maisie that she +must not pay the least attention to any work outside her own, and +Maisie had obeyed him all too well. She took his counsels, but was not +interested in his pictures. + +“Your things smell of tobacco and blood,” she said once. “Can't you do +anything except soldiers?” + +“I could do a head of you that would startle you,” thought +Dick,--this was before the red-haired girl had brought him under +the guillotine,--but he only said, “I am very sorry,” and harrowed +Torpenhow's soul that evening with blasphemies against Art. Later, +insensibly and to a large extent against his own will, he ceased to +interest himself in his own work. + +For Maisie's sake, and to soothe the self-respect that it seemed to him +he lost each Sunday, he would not consciously turn out bad stuff, but, +since Maisie did not care even for his best, it were better not to +do anything at all save wait and mark time between Sunday and Sunday. +Torpenhow was disgusted as the weeks went by fruitless, and then +attacked him one Sunday evening when Dick felt utterly exhausted after +three hours' biting self-restraint in Maisie's presence. There was +Language, and Torpenhow withdrew to consult the Nilghai, who had come it +to talk continental politics. + +“Bone-idle, is he? Careless, and touched in the temper?” said the +Nilghai. “It isn't worth worrying over. Dick is probably playing the +fool with a woman.” + +“Isn't that bad enough?” + +“No. She may throw him out of gear and knock his work to pieces for +a while. She may even turn up here some day and make a scene on the +staircase: one never knows. But until Dick speaks of his own accord you +had better not touch him. He is no easy-tempered man to handle.” + +“No; I wish he were. He is such an aggressive, cocksure, you-be-damned +fellow.” + +“He'll get that knocked out of him in time. He must learn that he can't +storm up and down the world with a box of moist tubes and a slick brush. +You're fond of him?” + +“I'd take any punishment that's in store for him if I could; but the +worst of it is, no man can save his brother.” + +“No, and the worser of it is, there is no discharge in this war. Dick +must learn his lesson like the rest of us. Talking of war, there'll be +trouble in the Balkans in the spring.” + +“That trouble is long coming. I wonder if we could drag Dick out there +when it comes off?” + +Dick entered the room soon afterwards, and the question was put to him. + +“Not good enough,” he said shortly. “I'm too comf'y where I am.” + +“Surely you aren't taking all the stuff in the papers seriously?” said +the Nilghai. “Your vogue will be ended in less than six months,--the +public will know your touch and go on to something new,--and where will +you be then?” + +“Here, in England.” + +“When you might be doing decent work among us out there? Nonsense! I +shall go, the Keneu will be there, Torp will be there, Cassavetti will +be there, and the whole lot of us will be there, and we shall have as +much as ever we can do, with unlimited fighting and the chance for you +of seeing things that would make the reputation of three Verestchagins.” + +“Um!” said Dick, pulling at his pipe. + +“You prefer to stay here and imagine that all the world is gaping at +your pictures? Just think how full an average man's life is of his own +pursuits and pleasures. When twenty thousand of him find time to look +up between mouthfuls and grunt something about something they aren't +the least interested in, the net result is called fame, reputation, or +notoriety, according to the taste and fancy of the speller my lord.” + +“I know that as well as you do. Give me credit for a little gumption.” + +“Be hanged if I do!” + +“Be hanged, then; you probably will be,--for a spy, by excited Turks. +Heigh-ho! I'm weary, dead weary, and virtue has gone out of me.” Dick +dropped into a chair, and was fast asleep in a minute. + +“That's a bad sign,” said the Nilghai, in an undertone. + +Torpenhow picked the pipe from the waistcoat where it was beginning to +burn, and put a pillow behind the head. “We can't help; we can't help,” + he said. “It's a good ugly sort of old cocoanut, and I'm fond of it. +There's the scar of the wipe he got when he was cut over in the square.” + +“Shouldn't wonder if that has made him a trifle mad.” + +“I should. He's a most businesslike madman.” + +Then Dick began to snore furiously. + +“Oh, here, no affection can stand this sort of thing. Wake up, Dick, and +go and sleep somewhere else, if you intend to make a noise about it.” + +“When a cat has been out on the tiles all night,” said the Nilghai, in +his beard, “I notice that she usually sleeps all day. This is natural +history.” + +Dick staggered away rubbing his eyes and yawning. In the night-watches +he was overtaken with an idea, so simple and so luminous that he +wondered he had never conceived it before. It was full of craft. He +would seek Maisie on a week-day,--would suggest an excursion, and would +take her by train to Fort Keeling, over the very ground that they two +had trodden together ten years ago. + +“As a general rule,” he explained to his chin-lathered reflection in the +morning, “it isn't safe to cross an old trail twice. Things remind one +of things, and a cold wind gets up, and you feel sad; but this is an +exception to every rule that ever was. I'll go to Maisie at once.” + +Fortunately, the red-haired girl was out shopping when he arrived, and +Maisie in a paint-spattered blouse was warring with her canvas. She was +not pleased to see him; for week-day visits were a stretch of the bond; +and it needed all his courage to explain his errand. + +“I know you've been working too hard,” he concluded, with an air of +authority. “If you do that, you'll break down. You had much better +come.” + +“Where?” said Maisie, wearily. She had been standing before her easel +too long, and was very tired. + +“Anywhere you please. We'll take a train tomorrow and see where it +stops. We'll have lunch somewhere, and I'll bring you back in the +evening.” + +“If there's a good working light tomorrow, I lose a day.” Maisie +balanced the heavy white chestnut palette irresolutely. + +Dick bit back an oath that was hurrying to his lips. He had not yet +learned patience with the maiden to whom her work was all in all. + +“You'll lose ever so many more, dear, if you use every hour of working +light. Overwork's only murderous idleness. Don't be unreasonable. I'll +call for you tomorrow after breakfast early.” + +“But surely you are going to ask----” + +“No, I am not. I want you and nobody else. Besides, she hates me as much +as I hate her. She won't care to come. Tomorrow, then; and pray that we +get sunshine.” + +Dick went away delighted, and by consequence did no work whatever. + +He strangled a wild desire to order a special train, but bought a great +gray kangaroo cloak lined with glossy black marten, and then retired +into himself to consider things. + +“I'm going out for the day tomorrow with Dick,” said Maisie to the +red-haired girl when the latter returned, tired, from marketing in the +Edgware road. + +“He deserves it. I shall have the studio floor thoroughly scrubbed while +you're away. It's very dirty.” + +Maisie had enjoyed no sort of holiday for months and looked forward to +the little excitement, but not without misgivings. + +“There's nobody nicer than Dick when he talks sensibly,” she thought, +“but I'm sure he'll be silly and worry me, and I'm sure I can't tell him +anything he'd like to hear. If he'd only be sensible, I should like him +so much better.” + +Dick's eyes were full of joy when he made his appearance next morning +and saw Maisie, gray-ulstered and black-velvet-hatted, standing in the +hallway. Palaces of marble, and not sordid imitation of grained wood, +were surely the fittest background for such a divinity. The red-haired +girl drew her into the studio for a moment and kissed her hurriedly. + +Maisie's eyebrows climbed to the top of her forehead; she was altogether +unused to these demonstrations. “Mind my hat,” she said, hurrying away, +and ran down the steps to Dick waiting by the hansom. + +“Are you quite warm enough! Are you sure you wouldn't like some more +breakfast? Put the cloak over your knees.” + +“I'm quite comf'y, thanks. Where are we going, Dick? Oh, do stop singing +like that. People will think we're mad.” + +“Let 'em think,--if the exertion doesn't kill them. They don't know who +we are, and I'm sure I don't care who they are. My faith, Maisie, you're +looking lovely!” + +Maisie stared directly in front of her and did not reply. The wind of a +keen clear winter morning had put colour into her cheeks. Overhead, +the creamy-yellow smoke-clouds were thinning away one by one against a +pale-blue sky, and the improvident sparrows broke off from water-spout +committees and cab-rank cabals to clamour of the coming of spring. + +“It will be lovely weather in the country,” said Dick. + +“But where are we going?” + +“Wait and see.” + +The stopped at Victoria, and Dick sought tickets. For less than half the +fraction of an instant it occurred to Maisie, comfortably settled by the +waiting-room fire, that it was much more pleasant to send a man to the +booking-office than to elbow one's own way through the crowd. Dick put +her into a Pullman,--solely on account of the warmth there; and she +regarded the extravagance with grave scandalised eyes as the train moved +out into the country. + +“I wish I knew where we are going,” she repeated for the twentieth time. + +The name of a well-remembered station flashed by, towards the end of the +run, and Maisie was delighted. + +“Oh, Dick, you villain!” + +“Well, I thought you might like to see the place again. You haven't been +here since the old times, have you?” + +“No. I never cared to see Mrs. Jennett again; and she was all that was +ever there.” + +“Not quite. Look out a minute. There's the windmill above the +potato-fields; they haven't built villas there yet; d'you remember when +I shut you up in it?” + +“Yes. How she beat you for it! I never told it was you.” + +“She guessed. I jammed a stick under the door and told you that I was +burying Amomma alive in the potatoes, and you believed me. You had a +trusting nature in those days.” + +They laughed and leaned to look out, identifying ancient landmarks with +many reminiscences. Dick fixed his weather eye on the curve of Maisie's +cheek, very near his own, and watched the blood rise under the clear +skin. He congratulated himself upon his cunning, and looked that the +evening would bring him a great reward. + +When the train stopped they went out to look at an old town with new +eyes. First, but from a distance, they regarded the house of Mrs. +Jennett. + +“Suppose she should come out now, what would you do?” said Dick, with +mock terror. + +“I should make a face.” + +“Show, then,” said Dick, dropping into the speech of childhood. + +Maisie made that face in the direction of the mean little villa, and +Dick laughed. + +“'This is disgraceful,'” said Maisie, mimicking Mrs. Jennett's tone. +“'Maisie, you run in at once, and learn the collect, gospel, and epistle +for the next three Sundays. After all I've taught you, too, and three +helps every Sunday at dinner! Dick's always leading you into mischief. +If you aren't a gentleman, Dick, you might at least...'” + +The sentence ended abruptly. Maisie remembered when it had last been +used. + +“'Try to behave like one,'” said Dick, promptly. “Quite right. Now we'll +get some lunch and go on to Fort Keeling,--unless you'd rather drive +there?” + +“We must walk, out of respect to the place. How little changed it all +is!” + +They turned in the direction of the sea through unaltered streets, +and the influence of old things lay upon them. Presently they passed +a confectioner's shop much considered in the days when their joint +pocket-money amounted to a shilling a week. + +“Dick, have you any pennies?” said Maisie, half to herself. + +“Only three; and if you think you're going to have two of 'em to buy +peppermints with, you're wrong. She says peppermints aren't ladylike.” + +Again they laughed, and again the colour came into Maisie's cheeks as +the blood boiled through Dick's heart. After a large lunch they went +down to the beach and to Fort Keeling across the waste, wind-bitten land +that no builder had thought it worth his while to defile. The winter +breeze came in from the sea and sang about their ears. + +“Maisie,” said Dick, “your nose is getting a crude Prussian blue at the +tip. I'll race you as far as you please for as much as you please.” + +She looked round cautiously, and with a laugh set off, swiftly as the +ulster allowed, till she was out of breath. + +“We used to run miles,” she panted. “It's absurd that we can't run now.” + +“Old age, dear. This it is to get fat and sleek in town. When I wished +to pull your hair you generally ran for three miles, shrieking at the +top of your voice. I ought to know, because those shrieks of yours were +meant to call up Mrs. Jennett with a cane and----” + +“Dick, I never got you a beating on purpose in my life.” + +“No, of course you never did. Good heavens! look at the sea.” + +“Why, it's the same as ever!” said Maisie. + +Torpenhow had gathered from Mr. Beeton that Dick, properly dressed and +shaved, had left the house at half-past eight in the morning with a +travelling-rug over his arm. The Nilghai rolled in at mid-day for chess +and polite conversation. + +“It's worse than anything I imagined,” said Torpenhow. + +“Oh, the everlasting Dick, I suppose! You fuss over him like a hen with +one chick. Let him run riot if he thinks it'll amuse him. You can whip a +young pup off feather, but you can't whip a young man.” + +“It isn't a woman. It's one woman; and it's a girl.” + +“Where's your proof?” + +“He got up and went out at eight this morning,--got up in the middle of +the night, by Jove! a thing he never does except when he's on service. +Even then, remember, we had to kick him out of his blankets before the +fight began at El-Maghrib. It's disgusting.” + +“It looks odd; but maybe he's decided to buy a horse at last. He might +get up for that, mightn't he?” + +“Buy a blazing wheelbarrow! He'd have told us if there was a horse in +the wind. It's a girl.” + +“Don't be certain. Perhaps it's only a married woman.” + +“Dick has some sense of humour, if you haven't. Who gets up in the gray +dawn to call on another man's wife? It's a girl.” + +“Let it be a girl, then. She may teach him that there's somebody else in +the world besides himself.” + +“She'll spoil his hand. She'll waste his time, and she'll marry him, and +ruin his work for ever. He'll be a respectable married man before we can +stop him, and--he'll ever go on the long trail again.” + +“All quite possible, but the earth won't spin the other way when that +happens.... No! ho! I'd give something to see Dick 'go wooing with +the boys.' Don't worry about it. These things be with Allah, and we can +only look on. Get the chessmen.” + +The red-haired girl was lying down in her own room, staring at the +ceiling. The footsteps of people on the pavement sounded, as they grew +indistinct in the distance, like a many-times-repeated kiss that was +all one long kiss. Her hands were by her side, and they opened and shut +savagely from time to time. + +The charwoman in charge of the scrubbing of the studio knocked at her +door: “Beg y' pardon, miss, but in cleanin' of a floor there's two, +not to say three, kind of soap, which is yaller, an' mottled, an' +disinfectink. Now, jist before I took my pail into the passage I though +it would be pre'aps jest as well if I was to come up 'ere an' ask you +what sort of soap you was wishful that I should use on them boards. The +yaller soap, miss----” + +There was nothing in the speech to have caused the paroxysm of fury +that drove the red-haired girl into the middle of the room, almost +shouting--“Do you suppose I care what you use? Any kind will do!--any +kind!” + +The woman fled, and the red-haired girl looked at her own reflection in +the glass for an instant and covered her face with her hands. It was as +though she had shouted some shameless secret aloud. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + Roses red and roses white + Plucked I for my love's delight. + + She would none of all my posies,-- + Bade me gather her blue roses. + + Half the world I wandered through, + Seeking where such flowers grew; + Half the world unto my quest + Answered but with laugh and jest. + + It may be beyond the grave + She shall find what she would have. + + Mine was but an idle quest,-- + Roses white and red are best! + ----Blue Roses + +Indeed the sea had not changed. Its waters were low on the mud-banks, +and the Marazion Bell-buoy clanked and swung in the tide-way. On the +white beach-sand dried stumps of sea-poppy shivered and chattered. + +“I don't see the old breakwater,” said Maisie, under her breath. + +“Let's be thankful that we have as much as we have. I don't believe +they've mounted a single new gun on the fort since we were here. Come +and look.” + +They came to the glacis of Fort Keeling, and sat down in a nook +sheltered from the wind under the tarred throat of a forty-pounder +cannon. + +“Now, if Ammoma were only here!” said Maisie. + +For a long time both were silent. Then Dick took Maisie's hand and +called her by her name. + +She shook her head and looked out to sea. + +“Maisie, darling, doesn't it make any difference?” + +“No!” between clenched teeth. “I'd--I'd tell you if it did; but it +doesn't. Oh, Dick, please be sensible.” + +“Don't you think that it ever will?” + +“No, I'm sure it won't.” + +“Why?” + +Maisie rested her chin on her hand, and, still regarding the sea, spoke +hurriedly--“I know what you want perfectly well, but I can't give it to +you, Dick. It isn't my fault; indeed, it isn't. If I felt that I +could care for any one----But I don't feel that I care. I simply don't +understand what the feeling means.” + +“Is that true, dear?” + +“You've been very good to me, Dickie; and the only way I can pay you +back is by speaking the truth. I daren't tell a fib. I despise myself +quite enough as it is.” + +“What in the world for?” + +“Because--because I take everything that you give me and I give you +nothing in return. It's mean and selfish of me, and whenever I think of +it it worries me.” + +“Understand once for all, then, that I can manage my own affairs, and if +I choose to do anything you aren't to blame. You haven't a single thing +to reproach yourself with, darling.” + +“Yes, I have, and talking only makes it worse.” + +“Then don't talk about it.” + +“How can I help myself? If you find me alone for a minute you are always +talking about it; and when you aren't you look it. You don't know how I +despise myself sometimes.” + +“Great goodness!” said Dick, nearly jumping to his feet. “Speak the +truth now, Maisie, if you never speak it again! Do I--does this worrying +bore you?” + +“No. It does not.” + +“You'd tell me if it did?” + +“I should let you know, I think.” + +“Thank you. The other thing is fatal. But you must learn to forgive +a man when he's in love. He's always a nuisance. You must have known +that?” + +Maisie did not consider the last question worth answering, and Dick was +forced to repeat it. + +“There were other men, of course. They always worried just when I was in +the middle of my work, and wanted me to listen to them.” + +“Did you listen?” + +“At first; and they couldn't understand why I didn't care. And they used +to praise my pictures; and I thought they meant it. I used to be proud +of the praise, and tell Kami, and--I shall never forget--once Kami +laughed at me.” + +“You don't like being laughed at, Maisie, do you?” + +“I hate it. I never laugh at other people unless--unless they do +bad work. Dick, tell me honestly what you think of my pictures +generally,--of everything of mine that you've seen.” + +“'Honest, honest, and honest over!'” quoted Dick from a catchword of +long ago. “Tell me what Kami always says.” + +Maisie hesitated. “He--he says that there is feeling in them.” + +“How dare you tell me a fib like that? Remember, I was under Kami for +two years. I know exactly what he says.” + +“It isn't a fib.” + +“It's worse; it's a half-truth. Kami says, when he puts his head on one +side,--so, 'Il y a du sentiment, mais il n'y a pas de parti pris.'” He +rolled the r threateningly, as Kami used to do. + +“Yes, that is what he says; and I'm beginning to think that he is +right.” + +“Certainly he is.” Dick admitted that two people in the world could do +and say no wrong. Kami was the man. + +“And now you say the same thing. It's so disheartening.” + +“I'm sorry, but you asked me to speak the truth. Besides, I love you +too much to pretend about your work. It's strong, it's patient +sometimes,--not always,--and sometimes there's power in it, but there's +no special reason why it should be done at all. At least, that's how it +strikes me.” + +“There's no special reason why anything in the world should ever be +done. You know that as well as I do. I only want success.” + +“You're going the wrong way to get it, then. Hasn't Kami ever told you +so?” + +“Don't quote Kami to me. I want to know what you think. My work's bad, +to begin with.” + +“I didn't say that, and I don't think it.” + +“It's amateurish, then.” + +“That it most certainly is not. You're a work-woman, darling, to your +boot-heels, and I respect you for that.” + +“You don't laugh at me behind my back?” + +“No, dear. You see, you are more to me than any one else. Put this cloak +thing round you, or you'll get chilled.” + +Maisie wrapped herself in the soft marten skins, turning the gray +kangaroo fur to the outside. “This is delicious,” she said, rubbing her +chin thoughtfully along the fur. + +“Well? Why am I wrong in trying to get a little success?” + +“Just because you try. Don't you understand, darling? Good work has +nothing to do with--doesn't belong to--the person who does it. It's put +into him or her from outside.” + +“But how does that affect----” + +“Wait a minute. All we can do is to learn how to do our work, to be +masters of our materials instead of servants, and never to be afraid of +anything.” + +“I understand that.” + +“Everything else comes from outside ourselves. Very good. If we sit down +quietly to work out notions that are sent to us, we may or we may not +do something that isn't bad. A great deal depends on being master of the +bricks and mortar of the trade. But the instant we begin to think +about success and the effect of our work--to play with one eye on the +gallery--we lose power and touch and everything else. At least that's +how I have found it. Instead of being quiet and giving every power +you possess to your work, you're fretting over something which you can +neither help no hinder by a minute. See?” + +“It's so easy for you to talk in that way. People like what you do. +Don't you ever think about the gallery?” + +“Much too often; but I'm always punished for it by loss of power. It's +as simple as the Rule of Three. If we make light of our work by using +it for our own ends, our work will make light of us, and, as we're the +weaker, we shall suffer.” + +“I don't treat my work lightly. You know that it's everything to me.” + +“Of course; but, whether you realise it or not, you give two strokes +for yourself to one for your work. It isn't your fault, darling. I do +exactly the same thing, and know that I'm doing it. Most of the French +schools, and all the schools here, drive the students to work for their +own credit, and for the sake of their pride. I was told that all +the world was interested in my work, and everybody at Kami's talked +turpentine, and I honestly believed that the world needed elevating and +influencing, and all manner of impertinences, by my brushes. By Jove, I +actually believed that! When my little head was bursting with a notion +that I couldn't handle because I hadn't sufficient knowledge of my +craft, I used to run about wondering at my own magnificence and getting +ready to astonish the world.” + +“But surely one can do that sometimes?” + +“Very seldom with malice aforethought, darling. And when it's done it's +such a tiny thing, and the world's so big, and all but a millionth part +of it doesn't care. Maisie, come with me and I'll show you something of +the size of the world. One can no more avoid working than eating,--that +goes on by itself,--but try to see what you are working for. I know such +little heavens that I could take you to,--islands tucked away under the +Line. You sight them after weeks of crashing through water as black as +black marble because it's so deep, and you sit in the fore-chains +day after day and see the sun rise almost afraid because the sea's so +lonely.” + +“Who is afraid?--you, or the sun?” + +“The sun, of course. And there are noises under the sea, and sounds +overhead in a clear sky. Then you find your island alive with hot moist +orchids that make mouths at you and can do everything except talk. +There's a waterfall in it three hundred feet high, just like a sliver of +green jade laced with silver; and millions of wild bees live up in the +rocks; and you can hear the fat cocoanuts falling from the palms; and +you order an ivory-white servant to sling you a long yellow hammock with +tassels on it like ripe maize, and you put up your feet and hear the +bees hum and the water fall till you go to sleep.” + +“Can one work there?” + +“Certainly. One must do something always. You hang your canvas up in a +palm tree and let the parrots criticise. When the scuffle you heave a +ripe custard-apple at them, and it bursts in a lather of cream. There +are hundreds of places. Come and see them.” + +“I don't quite like that place. It sounds lazy. Tell me another.” + +“What do you think of a big, red, dead city built of red sandstone, +with raw green aloes growing between the stones, lying out neglected on +honey-coloured sands? There are forty dead kings there, Maisie, each in +a gorgeous tomb finer than all the others. You look at the palaces and +streets and shops and tanks, and think that men must live there, +till you find a wee gray squirrel rubbing its nose all alone in the +market-place, and a jewelled peacock struts out of a carved doorway and +spreads its tail against a marble screen as fine pierced as point-lace. +Then a monkey--a little black monkey--walks through the main square to +get a drink from a tank forty feet deep. He slides down the creepers to +the water's edge, and a friend holds him by the tail, in case he should +fall in.” + +“Is that all true?” + +“I have been there and seen. Then evening comes, and the lights change +till it's just as though you stood in the heart of a king-opal. A little +before sundown, as punctually as clockwork, a big bristly wild boar, +with all his family following, trots through the city gate, churning the +foam on his tusks. You climb on the shoulder of a blind black stone god +and watch that pig choose himself a palace for the night and stump in +wagging his tail. Then the night-wind gets up, and the sands move, and +you hear the desert outside the city singing, 'Now I lay me down to +sleep,' and everything is dark till the moon rises. Maisie, darling, +come with me and see what the world is really like. It's very lovely, +and it's very horrible,--but I won't let you see anything horrid,--and +it doesn't care your life or mine for pictures or anything else except +doing its own work and making love. Come, and I'll show you how to brew +sangaree, and sling a hammock, and--oh, thousands of things, and you'll +see for yourself what colour means, and we'll find out together what +love means, and then, maybe, we shall be allowed to do some good work. +Come away!” + +“Why?” said Maisie. + +“How can you do anything until you have seen everything, or as much as +you can? And besides, darling, I love you. Come along with me. You +have no business here; you don't belong to this place; you're half a +gipsy,--your face tells that; and I--even the smell of open water makes +me restless. Come across the sea and be happy!” + +He had risen to his feet, and stood in the shadow of the gun, looking +down at the girl. The very short winter afternoon had worn away, and, +before they knew, the winter moon was walking the untroubled sea. Long +ruled lines of silver showed where a ripple of the rising tide was +turning over the mud-banks. The wind had dropped, and in the intense +stillness they could hear a donkey cropping the frosty grass many yards +away. A faint beating, like that of a muffled drum, came out of the +moon-haze. + +“What's that?” said Maisie, quickly. “It sounds like a heart beating. +Where is it?” + +Dick was so angry at this sudden wrench to his pleadings that he could +not trust himself to speak, and in this silence caught the sound. Maisie +from her seat under the gun watched him with a certain amount of fear. + +She wished so much that he would be sensible and cease to worry her with +over-sea emotion that she both could and could not understand. She was +not prepared, however, for the change in his face as he listened. + +“It's a steamer,” he said,--“a twin-screw steamer, by the beat. I can't +make her out, but she must be standing very close inshore. Ah!” as the +red of a rocket streaked the haze, “she's standing in to signal before +she clears the Channel.” + +“Is it a wreck?” said Maisie, to whom these words were as Greek. + +Dick's eyes were turned to the sea. “Wreck! What nonsense! She's only +reporting herself. Red rocket forward--there's a green light aft now, +and two red rockets from the bridge.” + +“What does that mean?” + +“It's the signal of the Cross Keys Line running to Australia. I wonder +which steamer it is.” The note of his voice had changed; he seemed to +be talking to himself, and Maisie did not approve of it. The moonlight +broke the haze for a moment, touching the black sides of a long steamer +working down Channel. “Four masts and three funnels--she's in deep +draught, too. That must be the Barralong, or the Bhutia. No, the Bhutia +has a clipper bow. It's the Barralong, to Australia. She'll lift the +Southern Cross in a week,--lucky old tub!--oh, lucky old tub!” + +He stared intently, and moved up the slope of the fort to get a better +view, but the mist on the sea thickened again, and the beating of the +screws grew fainter. Maisie called to him a little angrily, and he +returned, still keeping his eyes to seaward. “Have you ever seen the +Southern Cross blazing right over your head?” he asked. “It's superb!” + +“No,” she said shortly, “and I don't want to. If you think it's so +lovely, why don't you go and see it yourself?” + +She raised her face from the soft blackness of the marten skins about +her throat, and her eyes shone like diamonds. The moonlight on the gray +kangaroo fur turned it to frosted silver of the coldest. + +“By Jove, Maisie, you look like a little heathen idol tucked up there.” + The eyes showed that they did not appreciate the compliment. “I'm +sorry,” he continued. “The Southern Cross isn't worth looking at unless +someone helps you to see. That steamer's out of hearing.” + +“Dick,” she said quietly, “suppose I were to come to you now,--be quiet +a minute,--just as I am, and caring for you just as much as I do.” + +“Not as a brother, though. You said you didn't--in the Park.” + +“I never had a brother. Suppose I said, 'Take me to those places, and in +time, perhaps, I might really care for you,' what would you do?” + +“Send you straight back to where you came from, in a cab. No, I +wouldn't; I'd let you walk. But you couldn't do it, dear. And I wouldn't +run the risk. You're worth waiting for till you can come without +reservation.” + +“Do you honestly believe that?” + +“I have a hazy sort of idea that I do. Has it never struck you in that +light?” + +“Ye--es. I feel so wicked about it.” + +“Wickeder than usual?” + +“You don't know all I think. It's almost too awful to tell.” + +“Never mind. You promised to tell me the truth--at least.” + +“It's so ungrateful of me, but--but, though I know you care for me, and +I like to have you with me, I'd--I'd even sacrifice you, if that would +bring me what I want.” + +“My poor little darling! I know that state of mind. It doesn't lead to +good work.” + +“You aren't angry? Remember, I do despise myself.” + +“I'm not exactly flattered,--I had guessed as much before,--but I'm not +angry. I'm sorry for you. Surely you ought to have left a littleness +like that behind you, years ago.” + +“You've no right to patronise me! I only want what I have worked for so +long. It came to you without any trouble, and--and I don't think it's +fair.” + +“What can I do? I'd give ten years of my life to get you what you want. +But I can't help you; even I can't help.” + +A murmur of dissent from Maisie. He went on--“And I know by what you +have just said that you're on the wrong road to success. It isn't got +at by sacrificing other people,--I've had that much knocked into me; +you must sacrifice yourself, and live under orders, and never think for +yourself, and never have real satisfaction in your work except just at +the beginning, when you're reaching out after a notion.” + +“How can you believe all that?” + +“There's no question of belief or disbelief. That's the law, and you +take it or refuse it as you please. I try to obey, but I can't, and +then my work turns bad on my hands. Under any circumstances, remember, +four-fifths of everybody's work must be bad. But the remnant is worth +the trouble for its own sake.” + +“Isn't it nice to get credit even for bad work?” + +“It's much too nice. But----May I tell you something? It isn't a pretty +tale, but you're so like a man that I forget when I'm talking to you.” + +“Tell me.” + +“Once when I was out in the Soudan I went over some ground that we had +been fighting on for three days. There were twelve hundred dead; and we +hadn't time to bury them.” + +“How ghastly!” + +“I had been at work on a big double-sheet sketch, and I was wondering +what people would think of it at home. The sight of that field taught +me a good deal. It looked just like a bed of horrible toadstools in all +colours, and--I'd never seen men in bulk go back to their beginnings +before. So I began to understand that men and women were only material +to work with, and that what they said or did was of no consequence. +See? Strictly speaking, you might just as well put your ear down to the +palette to catch what your colours are saying.” + +“Dick, that's disgraceful!” + +“Wait a minute. I said, strictly speaking. Unfortunately, everybody must +be either a man or a woman.” + +“I'm glad you allow that much.” + +“In your case I don't. You aren't a woman. But ordinary people, Maisie, +must behave and work as such. That's what makes me so savage.” He hurled +a pebble towards the sea as he spoke. “I know that it is outside my +business to care what people say; I can see that it spoils my output +if I listen to 'em; and yet, confound it all,”--another pebble flew +seaward,--“I can't help purring when I'm rubbed the right way. Even when +I can see on a man's forehead that he is lying his way through a clump +of pretty speeches, those lies make me happy and play the mischief with +my hand.” + +“And when he doesn't say pretty things?” + +“Then, belovedest,”--Dick grinned,--“I forget that I am the steward of +these gifts, and I want to make that man love and appreciate my work +with a thick stick. It's too humiliating altogether; but I suppose even +if one were an angel and painted humans altogether from outside, one +would lose in touch what one gained in grip.” + +Maisie laughed at the idea of Dick as an angel. + +“But you seem to think,” she said, “that everything nice spoils your +hand.” + +“I don't think. It's the law,--just the same as it was at Mrs. +Jennett's. Everything that is nice does spoil your hand. I'm glad you +see so clearly.” + +“I don't like the view.” + +“Nor I. But--have got orders: what can do? Are you strong enough to face +it alone?” + +“I suppose I must.” + +“Let me help, darling. We can hold each other very tight and try to +walk straight. We shall blunder horribly, but it will be better than +stumbling apart. Maisie, can't you see reason?” + +“I don't think we should get on together. We should be two of a trade, +so we should never agree.” + +“How I should like to meet the man who made that proverb! He lived in a +cave and ate raw bear, I fancy. I'd make him chew his own arrow-heads. +Well?” + +“I should be only half married to you. I should worry and fuss about my +work, as I do now. Four days out of the seven I'm not fit to speak to.” + +“You talk as if no one else in the world had ever used a brush. +D'you suppose that I don't know the feeling of worry and bother and +can't-get-at-ness? You're lucky if you only have it four days out of the +seven. What difference would that make?” + +“A great deal--if you had it too.” + +“Yes, but I could respect it. Another man might not. He might laugh at +you. But there's no use talking about it. If you can think in that way +you can't care for me--yet.” + +The tide had nearly covered the mud-banks and twenty little ripples +broke on the beach before Maisie chose to speak. + +“Dick,” she said slowly, “I believe very much that you are better than I +am.” + +“This doesn't seem to bear on the argument--but in what way?” + +“I don't quite know, but in what you said about work and things; and +then you're so patient. Yes, you're better than I am.” + +Dick considered rapidly the murkiness of an average man's life. There +was nothing in the review to fill him with a sense of virtue. He lifted +the hem of the cloak to his lips. + +“Why,” said Maisie, making as though she had not noticed, “can you see +things that I can't? I don't believe what you believe; but you're right, +I believe.” + +“If I've seen anything, God knows I couldn't have seen it but for you, +and I know that I couldn't have said it except to you. You seemed to +make everything clear for a minute; but I don't practice what I preach. +You would help me... There are only us two in the world for all +purposes, and--and you like to have me with you?” + +“Of course I do. I wonder if you can realise how utterly lonely I am!” + +“Darling, I think I can.” + +“Two years ago, when I first took the little house, I used to walk up +and down the back-garden trying to cry. I never can cry. Can you?” + +“It's some time since I tried. What was the trouble? Overwork?” + +“I don't know; but I used to dream that I had broken down, and had no +money, and was starving in London. I thought about it all day, and it +frightened me--oh, how it frightened me!” + +“I know that fear. It's the most terrible of all. It wakes me up in the +night sometimes. You oughtn't to know anything about it.” + +“How do you know?” + +“Never mind. Is your three hundred a year safe?” + +“It's in Consols.” + +“Very well. If any one comes to you and recommends a better +investment,--even if I should come to you,--don't you listen. Never +shift the money for a minute, and never lend a penny of it,--even to the +red-haired girl.” + +“Don't scold me so! I'm not likely to be foolish.” + +“The earth is full of men who'd sell their souls for three hundred a +year; and women come and talk, and borrow a five-pound note here and +a ten-pound note there; and a woman has no conscience in a money debt. +Stick to your money, Maisie, for there's nothing more ghastly in the +world than poverty in London. It's scared me. By Jove, it put the fear +into me! And one oughtn't to be afraid of anything.” + +To each man is appointed his particular dread,--the terror that, if he +does not fight against it, must cow him even to the loss of his manhood. +Dick's experience of the sordid misery of want had entered into the +deeps of him, and, lest he might find virtue too easy, that memory stood +behind him, tempting to shame, when dealers came to buy his wares. As +the Nilghai quaked against his will at the still green water of a lake +or a mill-dam, as Torpenhow flinched before any white arm that could cut +or stab and loathed himself for flinching, Dick feared the poverty he +had once tasted half in jest. His burden was heavier than the burdens of +his companions. + +Maisie watched the face working in the moonlight. + +“You've plenty of pennies now,” she said soothingly. + +“I shall never have enough,” he began, with vicious emphasis. Then, +laughing, “I shall always be three-pence short in my accounts.” + +“Why threepence?” + +“I carried a man's bag once from Liverpool Street Station to +Blackfriar's Bridge. It was a sixpenny job,--you needn't laugh; indeed +it was,--and I wanted the money desperately. He only gave me threepence; +and he hadn't even the decency to pay in silver. Whatever money I make, +I shall never get that odd threepence out of the world.” + +This was not language befitting the man who had preached of the sanctity +of work. It jarred on Maisie, who preferred her payment in applause, +which, since all men desire it, must be of the right. She hunted for her +little purse and gravely took out a threepenny bit. + +“There it is,” she said. “I'll pay you, Dickie; and don't worry any +more; it isn't worth while. Are you paid?” + +“I am,” said the very human apostle of fair craft, taking the coin. “I'm +paid a thousand times, and we'll close that account. It shall live on my +watch-chain; and you're an angel, Maisie.” + +“I'm very cramped, and I'm feeling a little cold. Good gracious! the +cloak is all white, and so is your moustache! I never knew it was so +chilly.” + +A light frost lay white on the shoulder of Dick's ulster. He, too, had +forgotten the state of the weather. They laughed together, and with that +laugh ended all serious discourse. + +They ran inland across the waste to warm themselves, then turned to look +at the glory of the full tide under the moonlight and the intense black +shadows of the furze bushes. It was an additional joy to Dick that +Maisie could see colour even as he saw it,--could see the blue in the +white of the mist, the violet that is in gray palings, and all things +else as they are,--not of one hue, but a thousand. And the moonlight +came into Maisie's soul, so that she, usually reserved, chattered of +herself and of the things she took interest in,--of Kami, wisest of +teachers, and of the girls in the studio,--of the Poles, who will kill +themselves with overwork if they are not checked; of the French, who +talk at great length of much more than they will ever accomplish; of +the slovenly English, who toil hopelessly and cannot understand that +inclination does not imply power; of the Americans, whose rasping +voices in the hush of a hot afternoon strain tense-drawn nerves to +breaking-point, and whose suppers lead to indigestion; of tempestuous +Russians, neither to hold nor to bind, who tell the girls ghost-stories +till the girls shriek; of stolid Germans, who come to learn one thing, +and, having mastered that much, stolidly go away and copy pictures for +evermore. Dick listened enraptured because it was Maisie who spoke. He +knew the old life. + +“It hasn't changed much,” he said. “Do they still steal colours at +lunch-time?” + +“Not steal. Attract is the word. Of course they do. I'm good--I only +attract ultramarine; but there are students who'd attract flake-white.” + +“I've done it myself. You can't help it when the palettes are hung up. +Every colour is common property once it runs down,--even though you +do start it with a drop of oil. It teaches people not to waste their +tubes.” + +“I should like to attract some of your colours, Dick. Perhaps I might +catch your success with them.” + +“I mustn't say a bad word, but I should like to. What in the world, +which you've just missed a lovely chance of seeing, does success or want +of success, or a three-storied success, matter compared with----No, I +won't open that question again. It's time to go back to town.” + +“I'm sorry, Dick, but----” + +“You're much more interested in that than you are in me.” + +“I don't know, I don't think I am.” + +“What will you give me if I tell you a sure short-cut to everything you +want,--the trouble and the fuss and the tangle and all the rest? Will +you promise to obey me?” + +“Of course.” + +“In the first place, you must never forget a meal because you happen +to be at work. You forgot your lunch twice last week,” said Dick, at a +venture, for he knew with whom he was dealing. + +“No, no,--only once, really.” + +“That's bad enough. And you mustn't take a cup of tea and a biscuit in +place of a regular dinner, because dinner happens to be a trouble.” + +“You're making fun of me!” + +“I never was more in earnest in my life. Oh, my love, my love, hasn't +it dawned on you yet what you are to me? Here's the whole earth in a +conspiracy to give you a chill, or run over you, or drench you to the +skin, or cheat you out of your money, or let you die of overwork and +underfeeding, and I haven't the mere right to look after you. Why, I +don't even know if you have sense enough to put on warm things when the +weather's cold.” + +“Dick, you're the most awful boy to talk to--really! How do you suppose +I managed when you were away?” + +“I wasn't here, and I didn't know. But now I'm back I'd give everything +I have for the right of telling you to come in out of the rain.” + +“Your success too?” + +This time it cost Dick a severe struggle to refrain from bad words. + +“As Mrs. Jennett used to say, you're a trial, Maisie! You've been cooped +up in the schools too long, and you think every one is looking at you. +There aren't twelve hundred people in the world who understand pictures. +The others pretend and don't care. Remember, I've seen twelve hundred +men dead in toadstool-beds. It's only the voice of the tiniest little +fraction of people that makes success. The real world doesn't care a +tinker's--doesn't care a bit. For aught you or I know, every man in the +world may be arguing with a Maisie of his own.” + +“Poor Maisie!” + +“Poor Dick, I think. Do you believe while he's fighting for what's +dearer than his life he wants to look at a picture? And even if he did, +and if all the world did, and a thousand million people rose up and +shouted hymns to my honour and glory, would that make up to me for the +knowledge that you were out shopping in the Edgware Road on a rainy day +without an umbrella? Now we'll go to the station.” + +“But you said on the beach----” persisted Maisie, with a certain fear. + +Dick groaned aloud: “Yes, I know what I said. My work is everything I +have, or am, or hope to be, to me, and I believe I've learnt the law +that governs it; but I've some lingering sense of fun left,--though +you've nearly knocked it out of me. I can just see that it isn't +everything to all the world. Do what I say, and not what I do.” + +Maisie was careful not to reopen debatable matters, and they returned to +London joyously. The terminus stopped Dick in the midst of an eloquent +harangue on the beauties of exercise. He would buy Maisie a horse,--such +a horse as never yet bowed head to bit,--would stable it, with a +companion, some twenty miles from London, and Maisie, solely for her +health's sake should ride with him twice or thrice a week. + +“That's absurd,” said she. “It wouldn't be proper.” + +“Now, who in all London tonight would have sufficient interest or +audacity to call us two to account for anything we chose to do?” + +Maisie looked at the lamps, the fog, and the hideous turmoil. Dick was +right; but horseflesh did not make for Art as she understood it. + +“You're very nice sometimes, but you're very foolish more times. I'm not +going to let you give me horses, or take you out of your way tonight. +I'll go home by myself. Only I want you to promise me something. You +won't think any more about that extra threepence, will you? Remember, +you've been paid; and I won't allow you to be spiteful and do bad work +for a little thing like that. You can be so big that you mustn't be +tiny.” + +This was turning the tables with a vengeance. There remained only to put +Maisie into her hansom. + +“Goodbye,” she said simply. “You'll come on Sunday. It has been a +beautiful day, Dick. Why can't it be like this always?” + +“Because love's like line-work: you must go forward or backward; you +can't stand still. By the way, go on with your line-work. Good night, +and, for my--for my sake, take care of yourself.” + +He turned to walk home, meditating. The day had brought him nothing that +he hoped for, but--surely this was worth many days--it had brought him +nearer to Maisie. The end was only a question of time now, and the prize +well worth the waiting. By instinct, once more, he turned to the river. + +“And she understood at once,” he said, looking at the water. “She found +out my pet besetting sin on the spot, and paid it off. My God, how she +understood! And she said I was better than she was! Better than she +was!” He laughed at the absurdity of the notion. “I wonder if girls +guess at one-half a man's life. They can't, or--they wouldn't marry us.” + He took her gift out of his pocket, and considered it in the light of a +miracle and a pledge of the comprehension that, one day, would lead to +perfect happiness. Meantime, Maisie was alone in London, with none to +save her from danger. And the packed wilderness was very full of danger. + +Dick made his prayer to Fate disjointedly after the manner of the +heathen as he threw the piece of silver into the river. If any evil were +to befal, let him bear the burden and let Maisie go unscathed, since +the threepenny piece was dearest to him of all his possessions. It was +a small coin in itself, but Maisie had given it, and the Thames held it, +and surely the Fates would be bribed for this once. + +The drowning of the coin seemed to cut him free from thought of Maisie +for the moment. He took himself off the bridge and went whistling to his +chambers with a strong yearning for some man-talk and tobacco after his +first experience of an entire day spent in the society of a woman. +There was a stronger desire at his heart when there rose before him an +unsolicited vision of the Barralong dipping deep and sailing free for +the Southern Cross. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + And these two, as I have told you, + Were the friends of Hiawatha, + Chibiabos, the musician, + And the very strong man, Kwasind. + --Hiawatha + +Torpenhow was paging the last sheets of some manuscript, while the +Nilghai, who had come for chess and remained to talk tactics, was +reading through the first part, commenting scornfully the while. + +“It's picturesque enough and it's sketchy,” said he; “but as a serious +consideration of affairs in Eastern Europe, it's not worth much.” + +“It's off my hands at any rate.... Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, +thirty-nine slips altogether, aren't there? That should make between +eleven and twelve pages of valuable misinformation. Heigh-ho!” Torpenhow +shuffled the writing together and hummed-- + + 'Young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell, + If I'd as much money as I could tell, + I never would cry, Young lambs to sell!'” + +Dick entered, self-conscious and a little defiant, but in the best of +tempers with all the world. + +“Back at last?” said Torpenhow. + +“More or less. What have you been doing?” + +“Work. Dickie, you behave as though the Bank of England were behind you. +Here's Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday gone and you haven't done a line. +It's scandalous.” + +“The notions come and go, my children--they come and go like our +'baccy,” he answered, filling his pipe. “Moreover,” he stooped to thrust +a spill into the grate, “Apollo does not always stretch his----Oh, +confound your clumsy jests, Nilghai!” + +“This is not the place to preach the theory of direct inspiration,” + said the Nilghai, returning Torpenhow's large and workmanlike bellows to +their nail on the wall. “We believe in cobblers' wax. La!--where you sit +down.” + +“If you weren't so big and fat,” said Dick, looking round for a weapon, +“I'd----” + +“No skylarking in my rooms. You two smashed half my furniture last time +you threw the cushions about. You might have the decency to say How +d'you do? to Binkie. Look at him.” + +Binkie had jumped down from the sofa and was fawning round Dick's knee, +and scratching at his boots. + +“Dear man!” said Dick, snatching him up, and kissing him on the black +patch above his right eye. “Did ums was, Binks? Did that ugly Nilghai +turn you off the sofa? Bite him, Mr. Binkie.” He pitched him on the +Nilghai's stomach, as the big man lay at ease, and Binkie pretended to +destroy the Nilghai inch by inch, till a sofa cushion extinguished him, +and panting he stuck out his tongue at the company. + +“The Binkie-boy went for a walk this morning before you were up, Torp. I +saw him making love to the butcher at the corner when the shutters were +being taken down--just as if he hadn't enough to eat in his own proper +house,” said Dick. + +“Binks, is that a true bill?” said Torpenhow, severely. The little dog +retreated under the sofa cushion, and showed by the fat white back of +him that he really had no further interest in the discussion. + +“Strikes me that another disreputable dog went for a walk, too,” said +the Nilghai. “What made you get up so early? Torp said you might be +buying a horse.” + +“He knows it would need three of us for a serious business like that. +No, I felt lonesome and unhappy, so I went out to look at the sea, and +watch the pretty ships go by.” + +“Where did you go?” + +“Somewhere on the Channel. Progly or Snigly, or some watering-place was +its name; I've forgotten; but it was only two hours' run from London and +the ships went by.” + +“Did you see anything you knew?” + +“Only the Barralong outwards to Australia, and an Odessa grain-boat +loaded down by the head. It was a thick day, but the sea smelt good.” + +“Wherefore put on one's best trousers to see the Barralong?” said +Torpenhow, pointing. + +“Because I've nothing except these things and my painting duds. Besides, +I wanted to do honour to the sea.” + +“Did She make you feel restless?” asked the Nilghai, keenly. + +“Crazy. Don't speak of it. I'm sorry I went.” + +Torpenhow and the Nilghai exchanged a look as Dick, stooping, busied +himself among the former's boots and trees. + +“These will do,” he said at last; “I can't say I think much of your +taste in slippers, but the fit's the thing.” He slipped his feet into a +pair of sock-like sambhur-skin foot coverings, found a long chair, and +lay at length. + +“They're my own pet pair,” Torpenhow said. “I was just going to put them +on myself.” + +“All your reprehensible selfishness. Just because you see me happy for a +minute, you want to worry me and stir me up. Find another pair.” + +“Good for you that Dick can't wear your clothes, Torp. You two live +communistically,” said the Nilghai. + +“Dick never has anything that I can wear. He's only useful to sponge +upon.” + +“Confound you, have you been rummaging round among my clothes, then?” + said Dick. “I put a sovereign in the tobacco-jar yesterday. How do you +expect a man to keep his accounts properly if you----” + +Here the Nilghai began to laugh, and Torpenhow joined him. + +“Hid a sovereign yesterday! You're no sort of financier. You lent me a +fiver about a month back. Do you remember?” Torpenhow said. + +“Yes, of course.” + +“Do you remember that I paid it you ten days later, and you put it at +the bottom of the tobacco?” + +“By Jove, did I? I thought it was in one of my colour-boxes.” + +“You thought! About a week ago I went into your studio to get some +'baccy and found it.” + +“What did you do with it?” + +“Took the Nilghai to a theatre and fed him.” + +“You couldn't feed the Nilghai under twice the money--not though you +gave him Army beef. Well, I suppose I should have found it out sooner or +later. What is there to laugh at?” + +“You're a most amazing cuckoo in many directions,” said the Nilghai, +still chuckling over the thought of the dinner. “Never mind. We had both +been working very hard, and it was your unearned increment we spent, and +as you're only a loafer it didn't matter.” + +“That's pleasant--from the man who is bursting with my meat, too. I'll +get that dinner back one of these days. Suppose we go to a theatre now.” + +“Put our boots on,--and dress,--and wash?” The Nilghai spoke very +lazily. + +“I withdraw the motion.” + +“Suppose, just for a change--as a startling variety, you know--we, that +is to say we, get our charcoal and our canvas and go on with our work.” + +Torpenhow spoke pointedly, but Dick only wriggled his toes inside the +soft leather moccasins. + +“What a one-ideaed clucker that is! If I had any unfinished figures on +hand, I haven't any model; if I had my model, I haven't any spray, and I +never leave charcoal unfixed overnight; and if I had my spray and twenty +photographs of backgrounds, I couldn't do anything tonight. I don't feel +that way.” + +“Binkie-dog, he's a lazy hog, isn't he?” said the Nilghai. + +“Very good, I will do some work,” said Dick, rising swiftly. “I'll fetch +the Nungapunga Book, and we'll add another picture to the Nilghai Saga.” + +“Aren't you worrying him a little too much?” asked the Nilghai, when +Dick had left the room. + +“Perhaps, but I know what he can turn out if he likes. It makes me +savage to hear him praised for past work when I know what he ought to +do. You and I are arranged for----” + +“By Kismet and our own powers, more's the pity. I have dreamed of a good +deal.” + +“So have I, but we know our limitations now. I'm dashed if I know what +Dick's may be when he gives himself to his work. That's what makes me so +keen about him.” + +“And when all's said and done, you will be put aside--quite rightly--for +a female girl.” + +“I wonder... Where do you think he has been today?” + +“To the sea. Didn't you see the look in his eyes when he talked about +her? He's as restless as a swallow in autumn.” + +“Yes; but did he go alone?” + +“I don't know, and I don't care, but he has the beginnings of the +go-fever upon him. He wants to up-stakes and move out. There's no +mistaking the signs. Whatever he may have said before, he has the call +upon him now.” + +“It might be his salvation,” Torpenhow said. + +“Perhaps--if you care to take the responsibility of being a saviour.” + +Dick returned with the big clasped sketch-book that the Nilghai knew +well and did not love too much. In it Dick had drawn all manner of +moving incidents, experienced by himself or related to him by the +others, of all the four corners of the earth. But the wider range of the +Nilghai's body and life attracted him most. When truth failed he +fell back on fiction of the wildest, and represented incidents in the +Nilghai's career that were unseemly,--his marriages with many African +princesses, his shameless betrayal, for Arab wives, of an army corps to +the Mahdi, his tattooment by skilled operators in Burmah, his +interview (and his fears) with the yellow headsman in the blood-stained +execution-ground of Canton, and finally, the passings of his spirit into +the bodies of whales, elephants, and toucans. Torpenhow from time to +time had added rhymed descriptions, and the whole was a curious piece of +art, because Dick decided, having regard to the name of the book which +being interpreted means “naked,” that it would be wrong to draw the +Nilghai with any clothes on, under any circumstances. Consequently the +last sketch, representing that much-enduring man calling on the War +Office to press his claims to the Egyptian medal, was hardly delicate. +He settled himself comfortably on Torpenhow's table and turned over the +pages. + +“What a fortune you would have been to Blake, Nilghai!” he said. +“There's a succulent pinkness about some of these sketches that's +more than life-like. 'The Nilghai surrounded while bathing by the +Mahdieh'--that was founded on fact, eh?” + +“It was very nearly my last bath, you irreverent dauber. Has Binkie come +into the Saga yet?” + +“No; the Binkie-boy hasn't done anything except eat and kill cats. +Let's see. Here you are as a stained-glass saint in a church. Deuced +decorative lines about your anatomy; you ought to be grateful for being +handed down to posterity in this way. Fifty years hence you'll exist in +rare and curious facsimiles at ten guineas each. What shall I try this +time? The domestic life of the Nilghai?” + +“Hasn't got any.” + +“The undomestic life of the Nilghai, then. Of course. Mass-meeting of +his wives in Trafalgar Square. That's it. They came from the ends of the +earth to attend Nilghai's wedding to an English bride. This shall be an +epic. It's a sweet material to work with.” + +“It's a scandalous waste of time,” said Torpenhow. + +“Don't worry; it keeps one's hand in--specially when you begin without +the pencil.” He set to work rapidly. “That's Nelson's Column. Presently +the Nilghai will appear shinning up it.” + +“Give him some clothes this time.” + +“Certainly--a veil and an orange-wreath, because he's been married.” + +“Gad, that's clever enough!” said Torpenhow over his shoulder, as Dick +brought out of the paper with three twirls of the brush a very fat back +and labouring shoulder pressed against stone. + +“Just imagine,” Dick continued, “if we could publish a few of these dear +little things every time the Nilghai subsidises a man who can write, to +give the public an honest opinion of my pictures.” + +“Well, you'll admit I always tell you when I have done anything of that +kind. I know I can't hammer you as you ought to be hammered, so I give +the job to another. Young Maclagan, for instance----” + +“No-o--one half-minute, old man; stick your hand out against the dark of +the wall-paper--you only burble and call me names. That left shoulder's +out of drawing. I must literally throw a veil over that. Where's my +pen-knife? Well, what about Maclagan?” + +“I only gave him his riding-orders to--to lambast you on general +principles for not producing work that will last.” + +“Whereupon that young fool,”--Dick threw back his head and shut one +eye as he shifted the page under his hand,--“being left alone with an +ink-pot and what he conceived were his own notions, went and spilt them +both over me in the papers. You might have engaged a grown man for the +business, Nilghai. How do you think the bridal veil looks now, Torp?” + +“How the deuce do three dabs and two scratches make the stuff stand away +from the body as it does?” said Torpenhow, to whom Dick's methods were +always new. + +“It just depends on where you put 'em. If Maclagan had know that much +about his business he might have done better.” + +“Why don't you put the damned dabs into something that will stay, then?” + insisted the Nilghai, who had really taken considerable trouble in +hiring for Dick's benefit the pen of a young gentleman who devoted most +of his waking hours to an anxious consideration of the aims and ends of +Art, which, he wrote, was one and indivisible. + +“Wait a minute till I see how I am going to manage my procession of +wives. You seem to have married extensively, and I must rough 'em in +with the pencil--Medes, Parthians, Edomites.... Now, setting +aside the weakness and the wickedness and--and the fat-headedness of +deliberately trying to do work that will live, as they call it, I'm +content with the knowledge that I've done my best up to date, and I +shan't do anything like it again for some hours at least--probably +years. Most probably never.” + +“What! any stuff you have in stock your best work?” said Torpenhow. + +“Anything you've sold?” said the Nilghai. + +“Oh no. It isn't here and it isn't sold. Better than that, it can't be +sold, and I don't think any one knows where it is. I'm sure I don't.... +And yet more and more wives, on the north side of the square. Observe +the virtuous horror of the lions!” + +“You may as well explain,” said Torpenhow, and Dick lifted his head from +the paper. + +“The sea reminded me of it,” he said slowly. “I wish it hadn't. It +weighs some few thousand tons--unless you cut it out with a cold +chisel.” + +“Don't be an idiot. You can't pose with us here,” said the Nilghai. + +“There's no pose in the matter at all. It's a fact. I was loafing from +Lima to Auckland in a big, old, condemned passenger-ship turned into +a cargo-boat and owned by a second-hand Italian firm. She was a crazy +basket. We were cut down to fifteen ton of coal a day, and we thought +ourselves lucky when we kicked seven knots an hour out of her. Then +we used to stop and let the bearings cool down, and wonder whether the +crack in the shaft was spreading.” + +“Were you a steward or a stoker in those days?” + +“I was flush for the time being, so I was a passenger, or else I +should have been a steward, I think,” said Dick, with perfect gravity, +returning to the procession of angry wives. “I was the only other +passenger from Lima, and the ship was half empty, and full of rats and +cockroaches and scorpions.” + +“But what has this to do with the picture?” + +“Wait a minute. She had been in the China passenger trade and her lower +decks had bunks for two thousand pigtails. Those were all taken down, +and she was empty up to her nose, and the lights came through the port +holes--most annoying lights to work in till you got used to them. I +hadn't anything to do for weeks. The ship's charts were in pieces and +our skipper daren't run south for fear of catching a storm. So he did +his best to knock all the Society Islands out of the water one by one, +and I went into the lower deck, and did my picture on the port side as +far forward in her as I could go. There was some brown paint and some +green paint that they used for the boats, and some black paint for +ironwork, and that was all I had.” + +“The passengers must have thought you mad.” + +“There was only one, and it was a woman; but it gave me the notion of my +picture.” + +“What was she like?” said Torpenhow. + +“She was a sort of Negroid-Jewess-Cuban; with morals to match. She +couldn't read or write, and she didn't want to, but she used to come +down and watch me paint, and the skipper didn't like it, because he was +paying her passage and had to be on the bridge occasionally.” + +“I see. That must have been cheerful.” + +“It was the best time I ever had. To begin with, we didn't know whether +we should go up or go down any minute when there was a sea on; and when +it was calm it was paradise; and the woman used to mix the paints +and talk broken English, and the skipper used to steal down every few +minutes to the lower deck, because he said he was afraid of fire. +So, you see, we could never tell when we might be caught, and I had a +splendid notion to work out in only three keys of colour.” + +“What was the notion?” + +“Two lines in Poe-- + + 'Neither the angels in Heaven above nor the demons down under the sea, + Can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabel Lee.' + +It came out of the sea--all by itself. I drew that fight, fought out in +green water over the naked, choking soul, and the woman served as the +model for the devils and the angels both--sea-devils and sea-angels, +and the soul half drowned between them. It doesn't sound much, but when +there was a good light on the lower deck it looked very fine and creepy. +It was seven by fourteen feet, all done in shifting light for shifting +light.” + +“Did the woman inspire you much?” said Torpenhow. + +“She and the sea between them--immensely. There was a heap of bad +drawing in that picture. I remember I went out of my way to foreshorten +for sheer delight of doing it, and I foreshortened damnably, but for all +that it's the best thing I've ever done; and now I suppose the ship's +broken up or gone down. Whew! What a time that was!” + +“What happened after all?” + +“It all ended. They were loading her with wool when I left the ship, but +even the stevedores kept the picture clear to the last. The eyes of the +demons scared them, I honestly believe.” + +“And the woman?” + +“She was scared too when it was finished. She used to cross herself +before she went down to look at it. Just three colours and no chance of +getting any more, and the sea outside and unlimited love-making inside, +and the fear of death atop of everything else, O Lord!” He had ceased to +look at the sketch, but was staring straight in front of him across the +room. + +“Why don't you try something of the same kind now?” said the Nilghai. + +“Because those things come not by fasting and prayer. When I find a +cargo-boat and a Jewess-Cuban and another notion and the same old life, +I may.” + +“You won't find them here,” said the Nilghai. + +“No, I shall not.” Dick shut the sketch-book with a bang. “This room's +as hot as an oven. Open the window, some one.” + +He leaned into the darkness, watching the greater darkness of London +below him. The chambers stood much higher than the other houses, +commanding a hundred chimneys--crooked cowls that looked like sitting +cats as they swung round, and other uncouth brick and zinc mysteries +supported by iron stanchions and clamped by 8-pieces. Northward the +lights of Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square threw a copper-coloured +glare above the black roofs, and southward by all the orderly lights of +the Thames. A train rolled out across one of the railway bridges, and +its thunder drowned for a minute the dull roar of the streets. The +Nilghai looked at his watch and said shortly, “That's the Paris +night-mail. You can book from here to St. Petersburg if you choose.” + +Dick crammed head and shoulders out of the window and looked across the +river. Torpenhow came to his side, while the Nilghai passed over quietly +to the piano and opened it. Binkie, making himself as large as possible, +spread out upon the sofa with the air of one who is not to be lightly +disturbed. + +“Well,” said the Nilghai to the two pairs of shoulders, “have you never +seen this place before?” + +A steam-tug on the river hooted as she towed her barges to wharf. Then +the boom of the traffic came into the room. Torpenhow nudged Dick. + +“Good place to bank in--bad place to bunk in, Dickie, isn't it?” + +Dick's chin was in his hand as he answered, in the words of a general +not without fame, still looking out on the darkness--“'My God, what a +city to loot!'” + +Binkie found the night air tickling his whiskers and sneezed +plaintively. + +“We shall give the Binkie-dog a cold,” said Torpenhow. “Come in,” and +they withdrew their heads. “You'll be buried in Kensal Green, Dick, +one of these days, if it isn't closed by the time you want to go +there--buried within two feet of some one else, his wife and his +family.” + +“Allah forbid! I shall get away before that time comes. Give a man room +to stretch his legs, Mr. Binkie.” Dick flung himself down on the sofa +and tweaked Binkie's velvet ears, yawning heavily the while. + +“You'll find that wardrobe-case very much out of tune,” Torpenhow said +to the Nilghai. “It's never touched except by you.” + +“A piece of gross extravagance,” Dick grunted. “The Nilghai only comes +when I'm out.” + +“That's because you're always out. Howl, Nilghai, and let him hear.” + +“The life of the Nilghai is fraud and slaughter, His writings are +watered Dickens and water; But the voice of the Nilghai raised on high +Makes even the Mahdieh glad to die!” + +Dick quoted from Torpenhow's letterpress in the Nungapunga Book. + +“How do they call moose in Canada, Nilghai?” + +The man laughed. Singing was his one polite accomplishment, as many +Press-tents in far-off lands had known. + +“What shall I sing?” said he, turning in the chair. + +“'Moll Roe in the Morning,'” said Torpenhow, at a venture. + +“No,” said Dick, sharply, and the Nilghai opened his eyes. The old +chanty whereof he, among a very few, possessed all the words was not +a pretty one, but Dick had heard it many times before without wincing. +Without prelude he launched into that stately tune that calls together +and troubles the hearts of the gipsies of the sea-- + +“Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies, Farewell and adieu to you, +ladies of Spain.” + +Dick turned uneasily on the sofa, for he could hear the bows of the +Barralong crashing into the green seas on her way to the Southern Cross. + +Then came the chorus-- + +“We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors, We'll rant and +we'll roar across the salt seas, Until we take soundings in the Channel +of Old England From Ushant to Scilly 'tis forty-five leagues.” + +“Thirty-five-thirty-five,” said Dick, petulantly. “Don't tamper with +Holy Writ. Go on, Nilghai.” + +“The first land we made it was called the Deadman,” and they sang to the +end very vigourously. + +“That would be a better song if her head were turned the other way--to +the Ushant light, for instance,” said the Nilghai. + +“Flinging his arms about like a mad windmill,” said Torpenhow. “Give us +something else, Nilghai. You're in fine fog-horn form tonight.” + +“Give us the 'Ganges Pilot'; you sang that in the square the night +before El-Maghrib. By the way, I wonder how many of the chorus are alive +tonight,” said Dick. + +Torpenhow considered for a minute. “By Jove! I believe only you and I. +Raynor, Vicery, and Deenes--all dead; Vincent caught smallpox in Cairo, +carried it here and died of it. Yes, only you and I and the Nilghai.” + +“Umph! And yet the men here who've done their work in a well-warmed +studio all their lives, with a policeman at each corner, say that I +charge too much for my pictures.” + +“They are buying your work, not your insurance policies, dear child,” + said the Nilghai. + +“I gambled with one to get at the other. Don't preach. Go on with the +'Pilot.' Where in the world did you get that song?” + +“On a tombstone,” said the Nilghai. “On a tombstone in a distant land. I +made it an accompaniment with heaps of base chords.” + +“Oh, Vanity! Begin.” And the Nilghai began-- + +“I have slipped my cable, messmates, I'm drifting down with the tide, I +have my sailing orders, while yet at anchor ride. And never on fair June +morning have I put out to sea With clearer conscience or better hope, or +a heart more light and free. + +“Shoulder to shoulder, Joe, my boy, into the crowd like a wedge. Strike +with the hangers, messmates, but do not cut with the edge.” Cries +Charnock, “Scatter the faggots, double that Brahmin in two, The tall +pale widow for me, Joe, the little brown girl for you!” + +“Young Joe (you're nearing sixty), why is your hide so dark? Katie has +soft fair blue eyes, who blackened yours?--Why, hark!” + +They were all singing now, Dick with the roar of the wind of the open +sea about his ears as the deep bass voice let itself go. + +“The morning gun--Ho, steady! the arquebuses to me! I ha' sounded the +Dutch High Admiral's heart as my lead doth sound the sea. + +“Sounding, sounding the Ganges, floating down with the tide, Moore me +close to Charnock, next to my nut-brown bride. My blessing to Kate +at Fairlight--Holwell, my thanks to you; Steady! We steer for heaven, +through sand-drifts cold and blue.” + +“Now what is there in that nonsense to make a man restless?” said Dick, +hauling Binkie from his feet to his chest. + +“It depends on the man,” said Torpenhow. + +“The man who has been down to look at the sea,” said the Nilghai. + +“I didn't know she was going to upset me in this fashion.” + +“That's what men say when they go to say good-bye to a woman. It's more +easy though to get rid of three women than a piece of one's life and +surroundings.” + +“But a woman can be----” began Dick, unguardedly. + +“A piece of one's life,” continued Torpenhow. “No, she can't.” His face +darkened for a moment. “She says she wants to sympathise with you and +help you in your work, and everything else that clearly a man must +do for himself. Then she sends round five notes a day to ask why the +dickens you haven't been wasting your time with her.” + +“Don't generalise,” said the Nilghai. “By the time you arrive at +five notes a day you must have gone through a good deal and behaved +accordingly. Shouldn't begin these things, my son.” + +“I shouldn't have gone down to the sea,” said Dick, just a little +anxious to change the conversation. “And you shouldn't have sung.” + +“The sea isn't sending you five notes a day,” said the Nilghai. + +“No, but I'm fatally compromised. She's an enduring old hag, and +I'm sorry I ever met her. Why wasn't I born and bred and dead in a +three-pair back?” + +“Hear him blaspheming his first love! Why in the world shouldn't you +listen to her?” said Torpenhow. + +Before Dick could reply the Nilghai lifted up his voice with a shout +that shook the windows, in “The Men of the Sea,” that begins, as all +know, “The sea is a wicked old woman,” and after wading through eight +lines whose imagery is truthful, ends in a refrain, slow as the clacking +of a capstan when the boat comes unwillingly up to the bars where the +men sweat and tramp in the shingle. + +“'Ye that bore us, O restore us! She is kinder than ye; For the call is +on our heart-strings!' Said The Men of the Sea.” + +The Nilghai sang that verse twice, with simple cunning, intending that +Dick should hear. But Dick was waiting for the farewell of the men to +their wives. + +“'Ye that love us, can ye move us? She is dearer than ye; And your sleep +will be the sweeter,' Said The Men of the Sea.” + +The rough words beat like the blows of the waves on the bows of the +rickety boat from Lima in the days when Dick was mixing paints, making +love, drawing devils and angels in the half dark, and wondering whether +the next minute would put the Italian captain's knife between his +shoulder-blades. And the go-fever which is more real than many doctors' +diseases, waked and raged, urging him who loved Maisie beyond anything +in the world, to go away and taste the old hot, unregenerate life +again,--to scuffle, swear, gamble, and love light loves with his +fellows; to take ship and know the sea once more, and by her beget +pictures; to talk to Binat among the sands of Port Said while Yellow +Tina mixed the drinks; to hear the crackle of musketry, and see the +smoke roll outward, thin and thicken again till the shining black faces +came through, and in that hell every man was strictly responsible for +his own head, and his own alone, and struck with an unfettered arm. It +was impossible, utterly impossible, but-- + +“'Oh, our fathers in the churchyard, She is older than ye, And our +graves will be the greener,' Said The Men of the Sea.” + +“What is there to hinder?” said Torpenhow, in the long hush that +followed the song. + +“You said a little time since that you wouldn't come for a walk round +the world, Torp.” + +“That was months ago, and I only objected to your making money for +travelling expenses. You've shot your bolt here and it has gone home. Go +away and do some work, and see some things.” + +“Get some of the fat off you; you're disgracefully out of condition,” + said the Nilghai, making a plunge from the chair and grasping a handful +of Dick generally over the right ribs. “Soft as putty--pure tallow born +of over-feeding. Train it off, Dickie.” + +“We're all equally gross, Nilghai. Next time you have to take the field +you'll sit down, wink your eyes, gasp, and die in a fit.” + +“Never mind. You go away on a ship. Go to Lima again, or to Brazil. +There's always trouble in South America.” + +“Do you suppose I want to be told where to go? Great Heavens, the only +difficulty is to know where I'm to stop. But I shall stay here, as I +told you before.” + +“Then you'll be buried in Kensal Green and turn into adipocere with the +others,” said Torpenhow. “Are you thinking of commissions in hand? Pay +forfeit and go. You've money enough to travel as a king if you please.” + +“You've the grisliest notions of amusement, Torp. I think I see myself +shipping first class on a six-thousand-ton hotel, and asking the third +engineer what makes the engines go round, and whether it isn't very warm +in the stokehold. Ho! ho! I should ship as a loafer if ever I shipped at +all, which I'm not going to do. I shall compromise, and go for a small +trip to begin with.” + +“That's something at any rate. Where will you go?” said Torpenhow. “It +would do you all the good in the world, old man.” + +The Nilghai saw the twinkle in Dick's eye, and refrained from speech. + +“I shall go in the first place to Rathray's stable, where I shall hire +one horse, and take him very carefully as far as Richmond Hill. Then I +shall walk him back again, in case he should accidentally burst into a +lather and make Rathray angry. I shall do that tomorrow, for the sake of +air and exercise.” + +“Bah!” Dick had barely time to throw up his arm and ward off the cushion +that the disgusted Torpenhow heaved at his head. + +“Air and exercise indeed,” said the Nilghai, sitting down heavily on +Dick. + +“Let's give him a little of both. Get the bellows, Torp.” + +At this point the conference broke up in disorder, because Dick would +not open his mouth till the Nilghai held his nose fast, and there was +some trouble in forcing the nozzle of the bellows between his teeth; and +even when it was there he weakly tried to puff against the force of +the blast, and his cheeks blew up with a great explosion; and the enemy +becoming helpless with laughter he so beat them over the head with a +soft sofa cushion that became unsewn and distributed its feathers, +and Binkie, interfering in Torpenhow's interests, was bundled into the +half-empty bag and advised to scratch his way out, which he did after +a while, travelling rapidly up and down the floor in the shape of an +agitated green haggis, and when he came out looking for satisfaction, +the three pillars of his world were picking feathers out of their hair. + +“A prophet has no honour in his own country,” said Dick, ruefully, +dusting his knees. “This filthy fluff will never brush off my legs.” + +“It was all for your own good,” said the Nilghai. “Nothing like air and +exercise.” + +“All for your good,” said Torpenhow, not in the least with reference to +past clowning. “It would let you focus things at their proper worth and +prevent your becoming slack in this hothouse of a town. Indeed it would, +old man. I shouldn't have spoken if I hadn't thought so. Only, you make +a joke of everything.” + +“Before God I do no such thing,” said Dick, quickly and earnestly. “You +don't know me if you think that.” + +“I don't think it,” said the Nilghai. + +“How can fellows like ourselves, who know what life and death really +mean, dare to make a joke of anything? I know we pretend it, to save +ourselves from breaking down or going to the other extreme. Can't I see, +old man, how you're always anxious about me, and try to advise me to +make my work better? Do you suppose I don't think about that myself? But +you can't help me--you can't help me--not even you. I must play my own +hand alone in my own way.” + +“Hear, hear,” from the Nilghai. + +“What's the one thing in the Nilghai Saga that I've never drawn in +the Nungapunga Book?” Dick continued to Torpenhow, who was a little +astonished at the outburst. + +Now there was one blank page in the book given over to the sketch that +Dick had not drawn of the crowning exploit in the Nilghai's life; when +that man, being young and forgetting that his body and bones belonged to +the paper that employed him, had ridden over sunburned slippery grass +in the rear of Bredow's brigade on the day that the troopers flung +themselves at Caurobert's artillery, and for aught they knew twenty +battalions in front, to save the battered 24th German Infantry, to give +time to decide the fate of Vionville, and to learn ere their remnant +came back to Flavigay that cavalry can attack and crumple and break +unshaken infantry. Whenever he was inclined to think over a life that +might have been better, an income that might have been larger, and +a soul that might have been considerably cleaner, the Nilghai would +comfort himself with the thought, “I rode with Bredow's brigade at +Vionville,” and take heart for any lesser battle the next day might +bring. + +“I know,” he said very gravely. “I was always glad that you left it +out.” + +“I left it out because Nilghai taught me what the Germany army learned +then, and what Schmidt taught their cavalry. I don't know German. +What is it? 'Take care of the time and the dressing will take care of +itself.' I must ride my own line to my own beat, old man.” + +“Tempe ist richtung. You've learned your lesson well,” said the Nilghai. + +“He must go alone. He speaks truth, Torp.” + +“Maybe I'm as wrong as I can be--hideously wrong. I must find that out +for myself, as I have to think things out for myself, but I daren't turn +my head to dress by the next man. It hurts me a great deal more than you +know not to be able to go, but I cannot, that's all. I must do my own +work and live my own life in my own way, because I'm responsible for +both. Only don't think I frivol about it, Torp. I have my own matches and +sulphur, and I'll make my own hell, thanks.” + +There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Torpenhow said blandly, “What did +the Governor of North Carolina say to the Governor of South Carolina?” + +“Excellent notion. It is a long time between drinks. There are the +makings of a very fine prig in you, Dick,” said the Nilghai. + +“I've liberated my mind, estimable Binkie, with the feathers in his +mouth.” Dick picked up the still indignant one and shook him tenderly. +“You're tied up in a sack and made to run about blind, Binkie-wee, +without any reason, and it has hurt your little feelings. Never mind. +Sic volo, sic jubeo, stet pro ratione voluntas, and don't sneeze in my +eye because I talk Latin. Good night.” + +He went out of the room. + +“That's distinctly one for you,” said the Nilghai. “I told you it was +hopeless to meddle with him. He's not pleased.” + +“He'd swear at me if he weren't. I can't make it out. He has the +go-fever upon him and he won't go. I only hope that he mayn't have to go +some day when he doesn't want to,” said Torpenhow. + +* * * * * + +In his own room Dick was settling a question with himself--and the +question was whether all the world, and all that was therein, and a +burning desire to exploit both, was worth one threepenny piece thrown +into the Thames. + +“It came of seeing the sea, and I'm a cur to think about it,” he +decided. “After all, the honeymoon will be that tour--with reservations; +only... only I didn't realise that the sea was so strong. I didn't +feel it so much when I was with Maisie. These damnable songs did it. +He's beginning again.” + +But it was only Herrick's Nightpiece to Julia that the Nilghai sang, +and before it was ended Dick reappeared on the threshold, not altogether +clothed indeed, but in his right mind, thirsty and at peace. + +The mood had come and gone with the rising and the falling of the tide +by Fort Keeling. + + + +CHAPTER IX + + “If I have taken the common clay + And wrought it cunningly + In the shape of a god that was digged a clod, + The greater honour to me.” + + “If thou hast taken the common clay, + And thy hands be not free + From the taint of the soil, + thou hast made thy spoil + The greater shame to thee.” + --The Two Potters + +HE DID no work of any kind for the rest of the week. Then came another +Sunday. He dreaded and longed for the day always, but since the +red-haired girl had sketched him there was rather more dread than desire +in his mind. + +He found that Maisie had entirely neglected his suggestions about +line-work. She had gone off at score filed with some absurd notion for a +“fancy head.” It cost Dick something to command his temper. + +“What's the good of suggesting anything?” he said pointedly. + +“Ah, but this will be a picture,--a real picture; and I know that Kami +will let me send it to the Salon. You don't mind, do you?” + +“I suppose not. But you won't have time for the Salon.” + +Maisie hesitated a little. She even felt uncomfortable. + +“We're going over to France a month sooner because of it. I shall get +the idea sketched out here and work it up at Kami's.” + +Dick's heart stood still, and he came very near to being disgusted with +his queen who could do no wrong. “Just when I thought I had made some +headway, she goes off chasing butterflies. It's too maddening!” + +There was no possibility of arguing, for the red-haired girl was in the +studio. Dick could only look unutterable reproach. + +“I'm sorry,” he said, “and I think you make a mistake. But what's the +idea of your new picture?” + +“I took it from a book.” + +“That's bad, to begin with. Books aren't the places for pictures. +And----” + +“It's this,” said the red-haired girl behind him. “I was reading it to +Maisie the other day from The City of Dreadful Night. D'you know the +book?” + +“A little. I am sorry I spoke. There are pictures in it. What has taken +her fancy?” + +“The description of the Melancolia-- + + 'Her folded wings as of a mighty eagle, + But all too impotent to lift the regal + Robustness of her earth-born strength and pride. + +And here again. (Maisie, get the tea, dear.) + + 'The forehead charged with baleful thoughts and dreams, + The household bunch of keys, the housewife's gown, + Voluminous indented, and yet rigid + As though a shell of burnished metal frigid, + Her feet thick-shod to tread all weakness down.” + +There was no attempt to conceal the scorn of the lazy voice. Dick +winced. + +“But that has been done already by an obscure artist by the name of +Durer,” said he. “How does the poem run?-- + + 'Three centuries and threescore years ago, + With phantasies of his peculiar thought.' + +You might as well try to rewrite Hamlet. It will be a waste of time.” + +“No, it won't,” said Maisie, putting down the teacups with a clatter to +reassure herself. “And I mean to do it. Can't you see what a beautiful +thing it would make?” + +“How in perdition can one do work when one hasn't had the proper +training? Any fool can get a notion. It needs training to drive the +thing through,--training and conviction; not rushing after the first +fancy.” Dick spoke between his teeth. + +“You don't understand,” said Maisie. “I think I can do it.” + +Again the voice of the girl behind him-- + + “Baffled and beaten back, she works on still; + Weary and sick of soul, she works the more. + + Sustained by her indomitable will, + The hands shall fashion, and the brain shall pore, + And all her sorrow shall be turned to labour---- + +I fancy Maisie means to embody herself in the picture.” + +“Sitting on a throne of rejected pictures? No, I shan't, dear. The +notion in itself has fascinated me.--Of course you don't care for fancy +heads, Dick. I don't think you could do them. You like blood and bones.” + +“That's a direct challenge. If you can do a Melancolia that isn't merely +a sorrowful female head, I can do a better one; and I will, too. What +d'you know about Melacolias?” Dick firmly believed that he was even then +tasting three-quarters of all the sorrow in the world. + +“She was a woman,” said Maisie, “and she suffered a great deal,--till +she could suffer no more. Then she began to laugh at it all, and then I +painted her and sent her to the Salon.” + +The red-haired girl rose up and left the room, laughing. + +Dick looked at Maisie humbly and hopelessly. + +“Never mind about the picture,” he said. “Are you really going back to +Kami's for a month before your time?” + +“I must, if I want to get the picture done.” + +“And that's all you want?” + +“Of course. Don't be stupid, Dick.” + +“You haven't the power. You have only the ideas--the ideas and the +little cheap impulses. How you could have kept at your work for ten +years steadily is a mystery to me. So you are really going,--a month +before you need?” + +“I must do my work.” + +“Your work--bah!... No, I didn't mean that. It's all right, dear. +Of course you must do your work, and--I think I'll say goodbye for this +week.” + +“Won't you even stay for tea?” + +“No, thank you. Have I your leave to go, dear? There's nothing more you +particularly want me to do, and the line-work doesn't matter.” + +“I wish you could stay, and then we could talk over my picture. If only +one single picture's a success, it draws attention to all the others. I +know some of my work is good, if only people could see. And you needn't +have been so rude about it.” + +“I'm sorry. We'll talk the Melancolia over some one of the other +Sundays. There are four more--yes, one, two, three, four--before you go. +Goodbye, Maisie.” + +Maisie stood by the studio window, thinking, till the red-haired girl +returned, a little white at the corners of her lips. + +“Dick's gone off,” said Maisie. “Just when I wanted to talk about the +picture. Isn't it selfish of him?” + +Her companion opened her lips as if to speak, shut them again, and went +on reading The City of Dreadful Night. + +Dick was in the Park, walking round and round a tree that he had chosen +as his confidante for many Sundays past. He was swearing audibly, and +when he found that the infirmities of the English tongue hemmed in his +rage, he sought consolation in Arabic, which is expressly designed for +the use of the afflicted. He was not pleased with the reward of his +patient service; nor was he pleased with himself; and it was long before +he arrived at the proposition that the queen could do no wrong. + +“It's a losing game,” he said. “I'm worth nothing when a whim of hers +is in question. But in a losing game at Port Said we used to double +the stakes and go on. She do a Melancolia! She hasn't the power, or the +insight, or the training. Only the desire. She's cursed with the curse +of Reuben. She won't do line-work, because it means real work; and yet +she's stronger than I am. I'll make her understand that I can beat her +on her own Melancolia. Even then she wouldn't care. She says I can only +do blood and bones. I don't believe she has blood in her veins. All the +same I lover her; and I must go on loving her; and if I can humble her +inordinate vanity I will. I'll do a Melancolia that shall be something +like a Melancolia 'the Melancolia that transcends all wit.' I'll do it +at once, con--bless her.” + +He discovered that the notion would not come to order, and that he could +not free his mind for an hour from the thought of Maisie's departure. +He took very small interest in her rough studies for the Melancolia when +she showed them next week. The Sundays were racing past, and the time +was at hand when all the church bells in London could not ring +Maisie back to him. Once or twice he said something to Binkie about +'hermaphroditic futilities,' but the little dog received so many +confidences both from Torpenhow and Dick that he did not trouble his +tulip-ears to listen. + +Dick was permitted to see the girls off. They were going by the Dover +night-boat; and they hoped to return in August. It was then February, +and Dick felt that he was being hardly used. Maisie was so busy +stripping the small house across the Park, and packing her canvases, +that she had not time for thought. Dick went down to Dover and wasted +a day there fretting over a wonderful possibility. Would Maisie at the +very last allow him one small kiss? He reflected that he might capture +her by the strong arm, as he had seem women captured in the Southern +Soudan, and lead her away; but Maisie would never be led. She would turn +her gray eyes upon him and say, “Dick, how selfish you are!” Then his +courage would fail him. It would be better, after all, to beg for that +kiss. + +Maisie looked more than usually kissable as she stepped from the +night-mail on to the windy pier, in a gray waterproof and a little gray +cloth travelling-cap. The red-haired girl was not so lovely. Her green +eyes were hollow and her lips were dry. Dick saw the trunks aboard, and +went to Maisie's side in the darkness under the bridge. The mail-bags +were thundering into the forehold, and the red-haired girl was watching +them. + +“You'll have a rough passage tonight,” said Dick. “It's blowing outside. +I suppose I may come over and see you if I'm good?” + +“You mustn't. I shall be busy. At least, if I want you I'll send for +you. But I shall write from Vitry-sur-Marne. I shall have heaps of +things to consult you about. Oh, Dick, you have been so good to me!--so +good to me!” + +“Thank you for that, dear. It hasn't made any difference, has it?” + +“I can't tell a fib. It hasn't--in that way. But don't think I'm not +grateful.” + +“Damn the gratitude!” said Dick, huskily, to the paddle-box. + +“What's the use of worrying? You know I should ruin your life, and you'd +ruin mine, as things are now. You remember what you said when you were +so angry that day in the Park? One of us has to be broken. Can't you +wait till that day comes?” + +“No, love. I want you unbroken--all to myself.” + +Maisie shook her head. “My poor Dick, what can I say!” + +“Don't say anything. Give me a kiss. Only one kiss, Maisie. I'll swear +I won't take any more. You might as well, and then I can be sure you're +grateful.” + +Maisie put her cheek forward, and Dick took his reward in the darkness. + +It was only one kiss, but, since there was no time-limit specified, it +was a long one. Maisie wrenched herself free angrily, and Dick stood +abashed and tingling from head to toe. + +“Goodbye, darling. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry. Only--keep +well and do good work,--specially the Melancolia. I'm going to do +one, too. Remember me to Kami, and be careful what you drink. Country +drinking-water is bad everywhere, but it's worse in France. Write to +me if you want anything, and good-bye. Say good-bye to the +whatever-you-call-um girl, and--can't I have another kiss? No. You're +quite right. Goodbye.” + +A shout told him that it was not seemly to charge of the mail-bag +incline. He reached the pier as the steamer began to move off, and he +followed her with his heart. + +“And there's nothing--nothing in the wide world--to keep us apart except +her obstinacy. These Calais night-boats are much too small. I'll get +Torp to write to the papers about it. She's beginning to pitch already.” + +Maisie stood where Dick had left her till she heard a little gasping +cough at her elbow. The red-haired girl's eyes were alight with cold +flame. + +“He kissed you!” she said. “How could you let him, when he wasn't +anything to you? How dared you to take a kiss from him? Oh, Maisie, +let's go to the ladies' cabin. I'm sick,--deadly sick.” + +“We aren't into open water yet. Go down, dear, and I'll stay here. +I don't like the smell of the engines.... Poor Dick! He deserved +one,--only one. But I didn't think he'd frighten me so.” + +Dick returned to town next day just in time for lunch, for which he had +telegraphed. To his disgust, there were only empty plates in the studio. + +He lifted up his voice like the bears in the fairy-tale, and Torpenhow +entered, looking guilty. + +“H'sh!” said he. “Don't make such a noise. I took it. Come into my +rooms, and I'll show you why.” + +Dick paused amazed at the threshold, for on Torpenhow's sofa lay a +girl asleep and breathing heavily. The little cheap sailor-hat, the +blue-and-white dress, fitter for June than for February, dabbled with +mud at the skirts, the jacket trimmed with imitation Astrakhan and +ripped at the shoulder-seams, the one-and-elevenpenny umbrella, and, +above all, the disgraceful condition of the kid-topped boots, declared +all things. + +“Oh, I say, old man, this is too bad! You mustn't bring this sort up +here. They steal things from the rooms.” + +“It looks bad, I admit, but I was coming in after lunch, and she +staggered into the hall. I thought she was drunk at first, but it was +collapse. I couldn't leave her as she was, so I brought her up here and +gave her your lunch. She was fainting from want of food. She went fast +asleep the minute she had finished.” + +“I know something of that complaint. She's been living on sausages, +I suppose. Torp, you should have handed her over to a policeman for +presuming to faint in a respectable house. Poor little wretch! Look at +the face! There isn't an ounce of immorality in it. Only folly,--slack, +fatuous, feeble, futile folly. It's a typical head. D'you notice how +the skull begins to show through the flesh padding on the face and +cheek-bone?” + +“What a cold-blooded barbarian it is! Don't hit a woman when she's +down. Can't we do anything? She was simply dropping with starvation. She +almost fell into my arms, and when she got to the food she ate like a +wild beast. It was horrible.” + +“I can give her money, which she would probably spend in drinks. Is she +going to sleep for ever?” + +The girl opened her eyes and glared at the men between terror and +effrontery. + +“Feeling better?” said Torpenhow. + +“Yes. Thank you. There aren't many gentlemen that are as kind as you +are. Thank you.” + +“When did you leave service?” said Dick, who had been watching the +scarred and chapped hands. + +“How did you know I was in service? I was. General servant. I didn't +like it.” + +“And how do you like being your own mistress?” + +“Do I look as if I liked it?” + +“I suppose not. One moment. Would you be good enough to turn your face +to the window?” + +The girl obeyed, and Dick watched her face keenly,--so keenly that she +made as if to hide behind Torpenhow. + +“The eyes have it,” said Dick, walking up and down. “They are superb +eyes for my business. And, after all, every head depends on the eyes. +This has been sent from heaven to make up for--what was taken away. +Now the weekly strain's off my shoulders, I can get to work in earnest. +Evidently sent from heaven. Yes. Raise your chin a little, please.” + +“Gently, old man, gently. You're scaring somebody out of her wits,” said +Torpenhow, who could see the girl trembling. + +“Don't let him hit me! Oh, please don't let him hit me! I've been hit +cruel today because I spoke to a man. Don't let him look at me like +that! He's reg'lar wicked, that one. Don't let him look at me like that, +neither! Oh, I feel as if I hadn't nothing on when he looks at me like +that!” + +The overstrained nerves in the frail body gave way, and the girl wept +like a little child and began to scream. Dick threw open the window, and +Torpenhow flung the door back. + +“There you are,” said Dick, soothingly. “My friend here can call for a +policeman, and you can run through that door. Nobody is going to hurt +you.” + +The girl sobbed convulsively for a few minutes, and then tried to laugh. + +“Nothing in the world to hurt you. Now listen to me for a minute. I'm +what they call an artist by profession. You know what artists do?” + +“They draw the things in red and black ink on the pop-shop labels.” + +“I dare say. I haven't risen to pop-shop labels yet. Those are done by +the Academicians. I want to draw your head.” + +“What for?” + +“Because it's pretty. That is why you will come to the room across the +landing three times a week at eleven in the morning, and I'll give you +three quid a week just for sitting still and being drawn. And there's a +quid on account.” + +“For nothing? Oh, my!” The girl turned the sovereign in her hand, and +with more foolish tears, “Ain't neither 'o you two gentlemen afraid of +my bilking you?” + +“No. Only ugly girls do that. Try and remember this place. And, by the +way, what's your name?” + +“I'm Bessie,--Bessie----It's no use giving the rest. Bessie +Broke,--Stone-broke, if you like. What's your names? But there,--no one +ever gives the real ones.” + +Dick consulted Torpenhow with his eyes. + +“My name's Heldar, and my friend's called Torpenhow; and you must be +sure to come here. Where do you live?” + +“South-the-water,--one room,--five and sixpence a week. Aren't you +making fun of me about that three quid?” + +“You'll see later on. And, Bessie, next time you come, remember, you +needn't wear that paint. It's bad for the skin, and I have all the +colours you'll be likely to need.” + +Bessie withdrew, scrubbing her cheek with a ragged pocket-handkerchief. +The two men looked at each other. + +“You're a man,” said Torpenhow. + +“I'm afraid I've been a fool. It isn't our business to run about the +earth reforming Bessie Brokes. And a woman of any kind has no right on +this landing.” + +“Perhaps she won't come back.” + +“She will if she thinks she can get food and warmth here. I know she +will, worse luck. But remember, old man, she isn't a woman; she's my +model; and be careful.” + +“The idea! She's a dissolute little scarecrow,--a gutter-snippet and +nothing more.” + +“So you think. Wait till she has been fed a little and freed from fear. +That fair type recovers itself very quickly. You won't know her in a +week or two, when that abject fear has died out of her eyes. She'll be +too happy and smiling for my purposes.” + +“But surely you're not taking her out of charity?--to please me?” + +“I am not in the habit of playing with hot coals to please anybody. She +has been sent from heaven, as I may have remarked before, to help me +with my Melancolia.” + +“Never heard a word about the lady before.” + +“What's the use of having a friend, if you must sling your notions at +him in words? You ought to know what I'm thinking about. You've heard me +grunt lately?” + +“Even so; but grunts mean anything in your language, from bad 'baccy to +wicked dealers. And I don't think I've been much in your confidence for +some time.” + +“It was a high and soulful grunt. You ought to have understood that +it meant the Melancolia.” Dick walked Torpenhow up and down the room, +keeping silence. Then he smote him in the ribs, “Now don't you see it? +Bessie's abject futility, and the terror in her eyes, welded on to one +or two details in the way of sorrow that have come under my experience +lately. Likewise some orange and black,--two keys of each. But I can't +explain on an empty stomach.” + +“It sounds mad enough. You'd better stick to your soldiers, Dick, +instead of maundering about heads and eyes and experiences.” + +“Think so?” Dick began to dance on his heels, singing-- + +“They're as proud as a turkey when they hold the ready cash, You ought +to 'ear the way they laugh an' joke; They are tricky an' they're funny +when they've got the ready money,--Ow! but see 'em when they're all +stone-broke.” + +Then he sat down to pour out his heart to Maisie in a four-sheet letter +of counsel and encouragement, and registered an oath that he would get +to work with an undivided heart as soon as Bessie should reappear. + +The girl kept her appointment unpainted and unadorned, afraid and +overbold by turns. When she found that she was merely expected to sit +still, she grew calmer, and criticised the appointments of the studio +with freedom and some point. She liked the warmth and the comfort and +the release from fear of physical pain. Dick made two or three studies +of her head in monochrome, but the actual notion of the Melancolia would +not arrive. + +“What a mess you keep your things in!” said Bessie, some days later, +when she felt herself thoroughly at home. “I s'pose your clothes are +just as bad. Gentlemen never think what buttons and tape are made for.” + +“I buy things to wear, and wear 'em till they go to pieces. I don't know +what Torpenhow does.” + +Bessie made diligent inquiry in the latter's room, and unearthed a bale +of disreputable socks. “Some of these I'll mend now,” she said, “and +some I'll take home. D'you know, I sit all day long at home doing +nothing, just like a lady, and no more noticing them other girls in +the house than if they was so many flies. I don't have any unnecessary +words, but I put 'em down quick, I can tell you, when they talk to me. +No; it's quite nice these days. I lock my door, and they can only +call me names through the keyhole, and I sit inside, just like a lady, +mending socks. Mr. Torpenhow wears his socks out both ends at once.” + +“Three quid a week from me, and the delights of my society. No socks +mended. Nothing from Torp except a nod on the landing now and again, and +all his socks mended. Bessie is very much a woman,” thought Dick; and he +looked at her between half-shut eyes. Food and rest had transformed the +girl, as Dick knew they would. + +“What are you looking at me like that for?” she said quickly. “Don't. +You look reg'lar bad when you look that way. You don't think much o' me, +do you?” + +“That depends on how you behave.” + +Bessie behaved beautifully. Only it was difficult at the end of a +sitting to bid her go out into the gray streets. She very much preferred +the studio and a big chair by the stove, with some socks in her lap as +an excuse for delay. Then Torpenhow would come in, and Bessie would +be moved to tell strange and wonderful stories of her past, and still +stranger ones of her present improved circumstances. She would make them +tea as though she had a right to make it; and once or twice on these +occasions Dick caught Torpenhow's eyes fixed on the trim little figure, +and because Bessie's flittings about the room made Dick ardently long +for Maisie, he realised whither Torpenhow's thoughts were tending. And +Bessie was exceedingly careful of the condition of Torpenhow's linen. +She spoke very little to him, but sometimes they talked together on the +landing. + +“I was a great fool,” Dick said to himself. “I know what red firelight +looks like when a man's tramping through a strange town; and ours is a +lonely, selfish sort of life at the best. I wonder Maisie doesn't feel +that sometimes. But I can't order Bessie away. That's the worst of +beginning things. One never knows where they stop.” + +One evening, after a sitting prolonged to the last limit of the light, +Dick was roused from a nap by a broken voice in Torpenhow's room. He +jumped to his feet. “Now what ought I to do? It looks foolish to go +in.--Oh, bless you, Binkie!” The little terrier thrust Torpenhow's door +open with his nose and came out to take possession of Dick's chair. The +door swung wide unheeded, and Dick across the landing could see Bessie +in the half-light making her little supplication to Torpenhow. She was +kneeling by his side, and her hands were clasped across his knee. + +“I know,--I know,” she said thickly. “'Tisn't right 'o me to do this, +but I can't help it; and you were so kind,--so kind; and you never took +any notice 'o me. And I've mended all your things so carefully,--I did. +Oh, please, 'tisn't as if I was asking you to marry me. I wouldn't think +of it. But you--couldn't you take and live with me till Miss Right comes +along? I'm only Miss Wrong, I know, but I'd work my hands to the bare +bone for you. And I'm not ugly to look at. Say you will!” + +Dick hardly recognised Torpenhow's voice in reply--“But look here. It's +no use. I'm liable to be ordered off anywhere at a minute's notice if a +war breaks out. At a minute's notice--dear.” + +“What does that matter? Until you go, then. Until you go. 'Tisn't much +I'm asking, and--you don't know how good I can cook.” She had put an arm +round his neck and was drawing his head down. + +“Until--I--go, then.” + +“Torp,” said Dick, across the landing. He could hardly steady his voice. + +“Come here a minute, old man. I'm in trouble”-- + +“Heaven send he'll listen to me!” There was something very like an oath +from Bessie's lips. She was afraid of Dick, and disappeared down the +staircase in panic, but it seemed an age before Torpenhow entered the +studio. He went to the mantelpiece, buried his head on his arms, and +groaned like a wounded bull. + +“What the devil right have you to interfere?” he said, at last. + +“Who's interfering with which? Your own sense told you long ago you +couldn't be such a fool. It was a tough rack, St. Anthony, but you're +all right now.” + +“I oughtn't to have seen her moving about these rooms as if they +belonged to her. That's what upset me. It gives a lonely man a sort of +hankering, doesn't it?” said Torpenhow, piteously. + +“Now you talk sense. It does. But, since you aren't in a condition +to discuss the disadvantages of double housekeeping, do you know what +you're going to do?” + +“I don't. I wish I did.” + +“You're going away for a season on a brilliant tour to regain tone. +You're going to Brighton, or Scarborough, or Prawle Point, to see the +ships go by. And you're going at once. Isn't it odd? I'll take care of +Binkie, but out you go immediately. Never resist the devil. He holds the +bank. Fly from him. Pack your things and go.” + +“I believe you're right. Where shall I go?” + +“And you call yourself a special correspondent! Pack first and inquire +afterwards.” + +An hour later Torpenhow was despatched into the night for a hansom. + +“You'll probably think of some place to go to while you're moving,” said +Dick. “On to Euston, to begin with, and--oh yes--get drunk tonight.” + +He returned to the studio, and lighted more candles, for he found the +room very dark. + +“Oh, you Jezebel! you futile little Jezebel! Won't you hate me +tomorrow!--Binkie, come here.” + +Binkie turned over on his back on the hearth-rug, and Dick stirred him +with a meditative foot. + +“I said she was not immoral. I was wrong. She said she could cook. That +showed premeditated sin. Oh, Binkie, if you are a man you will go to +perdition; but if you are a woman, and say that you can cook, you will +go to a much worse place.” + + + +CHAPTER X + + What's you that follows at my side?-- + The foe that ye must fight, my lord.-- + That hirples swift as I can ride?-- + The shadow of the night, my lord.-- + Then wheel my horse against the foe!-- + He's down and overpast, my lord. + + Ye war against the sunset glow; + The darkness gathers fast, my lord. + ----The Fight of Heriot's Ford + +“This is a cheerful life,” said Dick, some days later. “Torp's away; +Bessie hates me; I can't get at the notion of the Melancolia; Maisie's +letters are scrappy; and I believe I have indigestion. What give a man +pains across the head and spots before his eyes, Binkie? Shall us take +some liver pills?” + +Dick had just gone through a lively scene with Bessie. She had for the +fiftieth time reproached him for sending Torpenhow away. She explained +her enduring hatred for Dick, and made it clear to him that she only sat +for the sake of his money. “And Mr. Torpenhow's ten times a better man +than you,” she concluded. + +“He is. That's why he went away. I should have stayed and made love to +you.” + +The girl sat with her chin on her hand, scowling. “To me! I'd like to +catch you! If I wasn't afraid 'o being hung I'd kill you. That's what +I'd do. D'you believe me?” + +Dick smiled wearily. It is not pleasant to live in the company of a +notion that will not work out, a fox-terrier that cannot talk, and a +woman who talks too much. He would have answered, but at that moment +there unrolled itself from one corner of the studio a veil, as it were, +of the flimsiest gauze. He rubbed his eyes, but the gray haze would not +go. + +“This is disgraceful indigestion. Binkie, we will go to a medicine-man. +We can't have our eyes interfered with, for by these we get our bread; +also mutton-chop bones for little dogs.” + +The doctor was an affable local practitioner with white hair, and he +said nothing till Dick began to describe the gray film in the studio. + +“We all want a little patching and repairing from time to time,” he +chirped. “Like a ship, my dear sir,--exactly like a ship. Sometimes the +hull is out of order, and we consult the surgeon; sometimes the +rigging, and then I advise; sometimes the engines, and we go to the +brain-specialist; sometimes the look-out on the bridge is tired, and +then we see an oculist. I should recommend you to see an oculist. A +little patching and repairing from time to time is all we want. An +oculist, by all means.” + +Dick sought an oculist,--the best in London. He was certain that the +local practitioner did not know anything about his trade, and more +certain that Maisie would laugh at him if he were forced to wear +spectacles. + +“I've neglected the warnings of my lord the stomach too long. Hence +these spots before the eyes, Binkie. I can see as well as I ever could.” + +As he entered the dark hall that led to the consulting-room a man +cannoned against him. Dick saw the face as it hurried out into the +street. + +“That's the writer-type. He has the same modelling of the forehead as +Torp. He looks very sick. Probably heard something he didn't like.” + +Even as he thought, a great fear came upon Dick, a fear that made him +hold his breath as he walked into the oculist's waiting room, with the +heavy carved furniture, the dark-green paper, and the sober-hued prints +on the wall. He recognised a reproduction of one of his own sketches. + +Many people were waiting their turn before him. His eye was caught by a +flaming red-and-gold Christmas-carol book. Little children came to that +eye-doctor, and they needed large-type amusement. + +“That's idolatrous bad Art,” he said, drawing the book towards himself. + +“From the anatomy of the angels, it has been made in Germany.” He opened +in mechanically, and there leaped to his eyes a verse printed in red +ink-- + + The next good joy that Mary had, + It was the joy of three, + To see her good Son Jesus Christ + Making the blind to see; + Making the blind to see, good Lord, + And happy we may be. + Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost + To all eternity! + +Dick read and re-read the verse till his turn came, and the doctor +was bending above him seated in an arm-chair. The blaze of the +gas-microscope in his eyes made him wince. The doctor's hand touched the +scar of the sword-cut on Dick's head, and Dick explained briefly how he +had come by it. When the flame was removed, Dick saw the doctor's face, +and the fear came upon him again. The doctor wrapped himself in a +mist of words. Dick caught allusions to “scar,” “frontal bone,” “optic +nerve,” “extreme caution,” and the “avoidance of mental anxiety.” + +“Verdict?” he said faintly. “My business is painting, and I daren't +waste time. What do you make of it?” + +Again the whirl of words, but this time they conveyed a meaning. + +“Can you give me anything to drink?” + +Many sentences were pronounced in that darkened room, and the prisoners +often needed cheering. Dick found a glass of liqueur brandy in his hand. + +“As far as I can gather,” he said, coughing above the spirit, “you call +it decay of the optic nerve, or something, and therefore hopeless. What +is my time-limit, avoiding all strain and worry?” + +“Perhaps one year.” + +“My God! And if I don't take care of myself?” + +“I really could not say. One cannot ascertain the exact amount of injury +inflicted by the sword-cut. The scar is an old one, and--exposure to the +strong light of the desert, did you say?--with excessive application to +fine work? I really could not say?” + +“I beg your pardon, but it has come without any warning. If you will +let me, I'll sit here for a minute, and then I'll go. You have been very +good in telling me the truth. Without any warning; without any warning. +Thanks.” + +Dick went into the street, and was rapturously received by Binkie. + +“We've got it very badly, little dog! Just as badly as we can get it. +We'll go to the Park to think it out.” + +They headed for a certain tree that Dick knew well, and they sat down to +think, because his legs were trembling under him and there was cold fear +at the pit of his stomach. + +“How could it have come without any warning? It's as sudden as being +shot. It's the living death, Binkie. We're to be shut up in the dark in +one year if we're careful, and we shan't see anybody, and we shall +never have anything we want, not though we live to be a hundred!” Binkie +wagged his tail joyously. “Binkie, we must think. Let's see how it +feels to be blind.” Dick shut his eyes, and flaming commas and +Catherine-wheels floated inside the lids. Yet when he looked across the +Park the scope of his vision was not contracted. He could see perfectly, +until a procession of slow-wheeling fireworks defiled across his +eyeballs. + +“Little dorglums, we aren't at all well. Let's go home. If only Torp +were back, now!” + +But Torpenhow was in the south of England, inspecting dockyards in the +company of the Nilghai. His letters were brief and full of mystery. + +Dick had never asked anybody to help him in his joys or his sorrows. He +argued, in the loneliness of his studio, henceforward to be decorated +with a film of gray gauze in one corner, that, if his fate were +blindness, all the Torpenhows in the world could not save him. “I can't +call him off his trip to sit down and sympathise with me. I must pull +through this business alone,” he said. He was lying on the sofa, eating +his moustache and wondering what the darkness of the night would be +like. Then came to his mind the memory of a quaint scene in the Soudan. +A soldier had been nearly hacked in two by a broad-bladed Arab spear. +For one instant the man felt no pain. Looking down, he saw that his +life-blood was going from him. The stupid bewilderment on his face +was so intensely comic that both Dick and Torpenhow, still panting and +unstrung from a fight for life, had roared with laughter, in which the +man seemed as if he would join, but, as his lips parted in a sheepish +grin, the agony of death came upon him, and he pitched grunting at their +feet. Dick laughed again, remembering the horror. It seemed so exactly +like his own case. + +“But I have a little more time allowed me,” he said. He paced up and +down the room, quietly at first, but afterwards with the hurried feet of +fear. It was as though a black shadow stood at his elbow and urged him +to go forward; and there were only weaving circles and floating pin-dots +before his eyes. + +“We need to be calm, Binkie; we must be calm.” He talked aloud for the +sake of distraction. “This isn't nice at all. What shall we do? We must +do something. Our time is short. I shouldn't have believed that this +morning; but now things are different. Binkie, where was Moses when the +light went out?” + +Binkie smiled from ear to ear, as a well-bred terrier should, but made +no suggestion. + +“'Were there but world enough and time, This coyness, Binkie, were not +crime.... But at my back I always hear----'” He wiped his forehead, +which was unpleasantly damp. “What can I do? What can I do? I haven't +any notions left, and I can't think connectedly, but I must do +something, or I shall go off my head.” + +The hurried walk recommenced, Dick stopping every now and again to drag +forth long-neglected canvases and old note-books; for he turned to his +work by instinct, as a thing that could not fail. “You won't do, and you +won't do,” he said, at each inspection. “No more soldiers. I couldn't +paint 'em. Sudden death comes home too nearly, and this is battle and +murder for me.” + +The day was failing, and Dick thought for a moment that the twilight +of the blind had come upon him unaware. “Allah Almighty!” he cried +despairingly, “help me through the time of waiting, and I won't whine +when my punishment comes. What can I do now, before the light goes?” + +There was no answer. Dick waited till he could regain some sort of +control over himself. His hands were shaking, and he prided himself on +their steadiness; he could feel that his lips were quivering, and the +sweat was running down his face. He was lashed by fear, driven forward +by the desire to get to work at once and accomplish something, and +maddened by the refusal of his brain to do more than repeat the news +that he was about to go blind. “It's a humiliating exhibition,” he +thought, “and I'm glad Torp isn't here to see. The doctor said I was to +avoid mental worry. Come here and let me pet you, Binkie.” + +The little dog yelped because Dick nearly squeezed the bark out of him. + +Then he heard the man speaking in the twilight, and, doglike, understood +that his trouble stood off from him--“Allah is good, Binkie. Not quite +so gentle as we could wish, but we'll discuss that later. I think I see +my way to it now. All those studies of Bessie's head were nonsense, and +they nearly brought your master into a scrape. I hold the notion now as +clear as crystal, 'the Melancolia that transcends all wit.' There shall +be Maisie in that head, because I shall never get Maisie; and Bess, of +course, because she knows all about Melancolia, though she doesn't know +she knows; and there shall be some drawing in it, and it shall all end +up with a laugh. That's for myself. Shall she giggle or grin? No, she +shall laugh right out of the canvas, and every man and woman that ever +had a sorrow of their own shall--what is it the poem says?-- 'Understand +the speech and feel a stir Of fellowship in all disastrous fight.' + +“'In all disastrous fight'? That's better than painting the thing merely +to pique Maisie. I can do it now because I have it inside me. Binkie, +I'm going to hold you up by your tail. You're an omen. Come here.” + +Binkie swung head downward for a moment without speaking. + +“Rather like holding a guinea-pig; but you're a brave little dog, and +you don't yelp when you're hung up. It is an omen.” + +Binkie went to his own chair, and as often as he looked saw Dick walking +up and down, rubbing his hands and chuckling. That night Dick wrote a +letter to Maisie full of the tenderest regard for her health, but saying +very little about his own, and dreamed of the Melancolia to be born. Not +till morning did he remember that something might happen to him in the +future. + +He fell to work, whistling softly, and was swallowed up in the clean, +clear joy of creation, which does not come to man too often, lest he +should consider himself the equal of his God, and so refuse to die at +the appointed time. He forgot Maisie, Torpenhow, and Binkie at his feet, +but remembered to stir Bessie, who needed very little stirring, into a +tremendous rage, that he might watch the smouldering lights in her eyes. + +He threw himself without reservation into his work, and did not think of +the doom that was to overtake him, for he was possessed with his notion, +and the things of this world had no power upon him. + +“You're pleased today,” said Bessie. + +Dick waved his mahl-stick in mystic circles and went to the sideboard +for a drink. In the evening, when the exaltation of the day had died +down, he went to the sideboard again, and after some visits became +convinced that the eye-doctor was a liar, since he could still see +everything very clearly. + +He was of opinion that he would even make a home for Maisie, and that +whether she liked it or not she should be his wife. The mood passed next +morning, but the sideboard and all upon it remained for his comfort. + +Again he set to work, and his eyes troubled him with spots and dashes +and blurs till he had taken counsel with the sideboard, and the +Melancolia both on the canvas and in his own mind appeared lovelier than +ever. There was a delightful sense of irresponsibility upon him, such +as they feel who walking among their fellow-men know that the +death-sentence of disease is upon them, and, seeing that fear is but +waste of the little time left, are riotously happy. The days passed +without event. + +Bessie arrived punctually always, and, though her voice seemed to Dick +to come from a distance, her face was always very near. The Melancolia +began to flame on the canvas, in the likeness of a woman who had known +all the sorrow in the world and was laughing at it. It was true that the +corners of the studio draped themselves in gray film and retired into +the darkness, that the spots in his eyes and the pains across his head +were very troublesome, and that Maisie's letters were hard to read and +harder still to answer. He could not tell her of his trouble, and he +could not laugh at her accounts of her own Melancolia which was always +going to be finished. But the furious days of toil and the nights of +wild dreams made amends for all, and the sideboard was his best friend +on earth. + +Bessie was singularly dull. She used to shriek with rage when Dick +stared at her between half-closed eyes. Now she sulked, or watched him +with disgust, saying very little. + +Torpenhow had been absent for six weeks. An incoherent note heralded his +return. “News! great news!” he wrote. “The Nilghai knows, and so +does the Keneu. We're all back on Thursday. Get lunch and clean your +accoutrements.” + +Dick showed Bessie the letter, and she abused him for that he had ever +sent Torpenhow away and ruined her life. + +“Well,” said Dick, brutally, “you're better as you are, instead of +making love to some drunken beast in the street.” He felt that he had +rescued Torpenhow from great temptation. + +“I don't know if that's any worse than sitting to a drunken beast in a +studio. You haven't been sober for three weeks. You've been soaking the +whole time; and yet you pretend you're better than me!” + +“What d'you mean?” said Dick. + +“Mean! You'll see when Mr. Torpenhow comes back.” + +It was not long to wait. Torpenhow met Bessie on the staircase without a +sign of feeling. He had news that was more to him than many Bessies, and +the Keneu and the Nilghai were trampling behind him, calling for Dick. + +“Drinking like a fish,” Bessie whispered. “He's been at it for nearly a +month.” She followed the men stealthily to hear judgment done. + +They came into the studio, rejoicing, to be welcomed over effusively by +a drawn, lined, shrunken, haggard wreck,--unshaven, blue-white about +the nostrils, stooping in the shoulders, and peering under his eyebrows +nervously. The drink had been at work as steadily as Dick. + +“Is this you?” said Torpenhow. + +“All that's left of me. Sit down. Binkie's quite well, and I've been +doing some good work.” He reeled where he stood. + +“You've done some of the worst work you've ever done in your life. Man +alive, you're----” + +Torpenhow turned to his companions appealingly, and they left the room +to find lunch elsewhere. Then he spoke; but, since the reproof of a +friend is much too sacred and intimate a thing to be printed, and since +Torpenhow used figures and metaphors which were unseemly, and contempt +untranslatable, it will never be known what was actually said to Dick, +who blinked and winked and picked at his hands. After a time the culprit +began to feel the need of a little self-respect. He was quite sure that +he had not in any way departed from virtue, and there were reasons, too, +of which Torpenhow knew nothing. He would explain. + +He rose, tried to straighten his shoulders, and spoke to the face he +could hardly see. + +“You are right,” he said. “But I am right, too. After you went away I +had some trouble with my eyes. So I went to an oculist, and he turned a +gasogene--I mean a gas-engine--into my eye. That was very long ago. He +said, 'Scar on the head,--sword-cut and optic nerve.' Make a note of +that. So I am going blind. I have some work to do before I go blind, and +I suppose that I must do it. I cannot see much now, but I can see best +when I am drunk. I did not know I was drunk till I was told, but I must +go on with my work. If you want to see it, there it is.” He pointed to +the all but finished Melancolia and looked for applause. + +Torpenhow said nothing, and Dick began to whimper feebly, for joy at +seeing Torpenhow again, for grief at misdeeds--if indeed they were +misdeeds--that made Torpenhow remote and unsympathetic, and for childish +vanity hurt, since Torpenhow had not given a word of praise to his +wonderful picture. + +Bessie looked through the keyhole after a long pause, and saw the two +walking up and down as usual, Torpenhow's hand on Dick's shoulder. + +Hereat she said something so improper that it shocked even Binkie, +who was dribbling patiently on the landing with the hope of seeing his +master again. + + + +CHAPTER XI + + The lark will make her hymn to God, + The partridge call her brood, + While I forget the heath I trod, + The fields wherein I stood. + + 'Tis dule to know not night from morn, + But deeper dule to know + I can but hear the hunter's horn + That once I used to blow. + --The Only Son + +IT WAS the third day after Torpenhow's return, and his heart was heavy. + +“Do you mean to tell me that you can't see to work without whiskey? It's +generally the other way about.” + +“Can a drunkard swear on his honour?” said Dick. + +“Yes, if he has been as good a man as you.” + +“Then I give you my word of honour,” said Dick, speaking hurriedly +through parched lips. “Old man, I can hardly see your face now. You've +kept me sober for two days,--if I ever was drunk,--and I've done no +work. Don't keep me back any more. I don't know when my eyes may give +out. The spots and dots and the pains and things are crowding worse than +ever. I swear I can see all right when I'm--when I'm moderately screwed, +as you say. Give me three more sittings from Bessie and all--the stuff +I want, and the picture will be done. I can't kill myself in three days. +It only means a touch of D. T. at the worst.” + +“If I give you three days more will you promise me to stop work and--the +other thing, whether the picture's finished or not?” + +“I can't. You don't know what that picture means to me. But surely you +could get the Nilghai to help you, and knock me down and tie me up. I +shouldn't fight for the whiskey, but I should for the work.” + +“Go on, then. I give you three days; but you're nearly breaking my +heart.” + +Dick returned to his work, toiling as one possessed; and the yellow +devil of whiskey stood by him and chased away the spots in his eyes. The +Melancolia was nearly finished, and was all or nearly all that he had +hoped she would be. Dick jested with Bessie, who reminded him that he +was “a drunken beast”; but the reproof did not move him. + +“You can't understand, Bess. We are in sight of land now, and soon we +shall lie back and think about what we've done. I'll give you three +months' pay when the picture's finished, and next time I have any more +work in hand--but that doesn't matter. Won't three months' pay make you +hate me less?” + +“No, it won't! I hate you, and I'll go on hating you. Mr. Torpenhow +won't speak to me any more. He's always looking at maps.” + +Bessie did not say that she had again laid siege to Torpenhow, or that +at the end of our passionate pleading he had picked her up, given her a +kiss, and put her outside the door with the recommendation not to be a +little fool. He spent most of his time in the company of the Nilghai, +and their talk was of war in the near future, the hiring of transports, +and secret preparations among the dockyards. He did not wish to see Dick +till the picture was finished. + +“He's doing first-class work,” he said to the Nilghai, “and it's quite +out of his regular line. But, for the matter of that, so's his infernal +soaking.” + +“Never mind. Leave him alone. When he has come to his senses again we'll +carry him off from this place and let him breathe clean air. Poor Dick! +I don't envy you, Torp, when his eyes fail.” + +“Yes, it will be a case of 'God help the man who's chained to our +Davie.' The worst is that we don't know when it will happen, and I +believe the uncertainty and the waiting have sent Dick to the whiskey +more than anything else.” + +“How the Arab who cut his head open would grin if he knew!” + +“He's at perfect liberty to grin if he can. He's dead. That's poor +consolation now.” + +In the afternoon of the third day Torpenhow heard Dick calling for him. + +“All finished!” he shouted. “I've done it! Come in! Isn't she a beauty? +Isn't she a darling? I've been down to hell to get her; but isn't she +worth it?” + +Torpenhow looked at the head of a woman who laughed,--a full-lipped, +hollow-eyed woman who laughed from out of the canvas as Dick had +intended she would. + +“Who taught you how to do it?” said Torpenhow. “The touch and notion +have nothing to do with your regular work. What a face it is! What eyes, +and what insolence!” Unconsciously he threw back his head and laughed +with her. “She's seen the game played out,--I don't think she had a good +time of it,--and now she doesn't care. Isn't that the idea?” + +“Exactly.” + +“Where did you get the mouth and chin from? They don't belong to Bess.” + +“They're--some one else's. But isn't it good? Isn't it thundering good? +Wasn't it worth the whiskey? I did it. Alone I did it, and it's the best +I can do.” He drew his breath sharply, and whispered, “Just God! what +could I not do ten years hence, if I can do this now!--By the way, what +do you think of it, Bess?” + +The girl was biting her lips. She loathed Torpenhow because he had taken +no notice of her. + +“I think it's just the horridest, beastliest thing I ever saw,” she +answered, and turned away. + +“More than you will be of that way of thinking, young woman.--Dick, +there's a sort of murderous, viperine suggestion in the poise of the +head that I don't understand,” said Torpenhow. + +“That's trick-work,” said Dick, chuckling with delight at being +completely understood. “I couldn't resist one little bit of sheer +swagger. It's a French trick, and you wouldn't understand; but it's got +at by slewing round the head a trifle, and a tiny, tiny foreshortening +of one side of the face from the angle of the chin to the top of the +left ear. That, and deepening the shadow under the lobe of the ear. It +was flagrant trick-work; but, having the notion fixed, I felt entitled +to play with it,--Oh, you beauty!” + +“Amen! She is a beauty. I can feel it.” + +“So will every man who has any sorrow of his own,” said Dick, slapping +his thigh. “He shall see his trouble there, and, by the Lord Harry, just +when he's feeling properly sorry for himself he shall throw back his +head and laugh,--as she is laughing. I've put the life of my heart and +the light of my eyes into her, and I don't care what comes.... I'm +tired,--awfully tired. I think I'll get to sleep. Take away the whiskey, +it has served its turn, and give Bessie thirty-six quid, and three over +for luck. Cover the picture.” + +He dropped asleep in the long chair, hid face white and haggard, almost +before he had finished the sentence. Bessie tried to take Torpenhow's +hand. “Aren't you never going to speak to me any more?” she said; but +Torpenhow was looking at Dick. + +“What a stock of vanity the man has! I'll take him in hand tomorrow and +make much of him. He deserves it.--Eh! what was that, Bess?” + +“Nothing. I'll put things tidy here a little, and then I'll go. You +couldn't give Me that three months' pay now, could you? He said you +were to.” + +Torpenhow gave her a check and went to his own rooms. Bessie faithfully +tidied up the studio, set the door ajar for flight, emptied half a +bottle of turpentine on a duster, and began to scrub the face of the +Melancolia viciously. The paint did not smudge quickly enough. She took +a palette-knife and scraped, following each stroke with the wet duster. +In five minutes the picture was a formless, scarred muddle of colours. +She threw the paint-stained duster into the studio stove, stuck out her +tongue at the sleeper, and whispered, “Bilked!” as she turned to run +down the staircase. She would never see Torpenhow any more, but she had +at least done harm to the man who had come between her and her desire +and who used to make fun of her. Cashing the check was the very cream of +the jest to Bessie. Then the little privateer sailed across the Thames, +to be swallowed up in the gray wilderness of South-the-Water. + +Dick slept till late in the evening, when Torpenhow dragged him off +to bed. His eyes were as bright as his voice was hoarse. “Let's have +another look at the picture,” he said, insistently as a child. + +“You--go--to--bed,” said Torpenhow. “You aren't at all well, though you +mayn't know it. You're as jumpy as a cat.” + +“I reform tomorrow. Good night.” + +As he repassed through the studio, Torpenhow lifted the cloth above the +picture, and almost betrayed himself by outcries: “Wiped out!--scraped +out and turped out! He's on the verge of jumps as it is. That's +Bess,--the little fiend! Only a woman could have done that!--with the +ink not dry on the check, too! Dick will be raving mad tomorrow. It was +all my fault for trying to help gutter-devils. Oh, my poor Dick, the +Lord is hitting you very hard!” + +Dick could not sleep that night, partly for pure joy, and partly because +the well-known Catherine-wheels inside his eyes had given place to +crackling volcanoes of many-coloured fire. “Spout away,” he said aloud. + +“I've done my work, and now you can do what you please.” He lay still, +staring at the ceiling, the long-pent-up delirium of drink in his +veins, his brain on fire with racing thoughts that would not stay to be +considered, and his hands crisped and dry. He had just discovered that +he was painting the face of the Melancolia on a revolving dome ribbed +with millions of lights, and that all his wondrous thoughts stood +embodied hundreds of feet below his tiny swinging plank, shouting +together in his honour, when something cracked inside his temples like +an overstrained bowstring, the glittering dome broke inward, and he was +alone in the thick night. + +“I'll go to sleep. The room's very dark. Let's light a lamp and see how +the Melancolia looks. There ought to have been a moon.” + +It was then that Torpenhow heard his name called by a voice that he did +not know,--in the rattling accents of deadly fear. + +“He's looked at the picture,” was his first thought, as he hurried +into the bedroom and found Dick sitting up and beating the air with his +hands. + +“Torp! Torp! where are you? For pity's sake, come to me!” + +“What's the matter?” + +Dick clutched at his shoulder. “Matter! I've been lying here for hours +in the dark, and you never heard me. Torp, old man, don't go away. I'm +all in the dark. In the dark, I tell you!” + +Torpenhow held the candle within a foot of Dick's eyes, but there was no +light in those eyes. He lit the gas, and Dick heard the flame catch. The +grip of his fingers on Torpenhow's shoulder made Torpenhow wince. + +“Don't leave me. You wouldn't leave me alone now, would you? I can't +see. D'you understand? It's black,--quite black,--and I feel as if I was +falling through it all.” + +“Steady does it.” Torpenhow put his arm round Dick and began to rock him +gently to and fro. + +“That's good. Now don't talk. If I keep very quiet for a while, this +darkness will lift. It seems just on the point of breaking. H'sh!” Dick +knit his brows and stared desperately in front of him. The night air was +chilling Torpenhow's toes. + +“Can you stay like that a minute?” he said. “I'll get my dressing-gown +and some slippers.” + +Dick clutched the bed-head with both hands and waited for the darkness +to clear away. “What a time you've been!” he cried, when Torpenhow +returned. “It's as black as ever. What are you banging about in the +door-way?” + +“Long chair,--horse-blanket,--pillow. Going to sleep by you. Lie down +now; you'll be better in the morning.” + +“I shan't!” The voice rose to a wail. “My God! I'm blind! I'm blind, and +the darkness will never go away.” He made as if to leap from the bed, +but Torpenhow's arms were round him, and Torpenhow's chin was on his +shoulder, and his breath was squeezed out of him. He could only gasp, +“Blind!” and wriggle feebly. + +“Steady, Dickie, steady!” said the deep voice in his ear, and the grip +tightened. “Bite on the bullet, old man, and don't let them think you're +afraid.” The grip could draw no closer. Both men were breathing heavily. + +Dick threw his head from side to side and groaned. + +“Let me go,” he panted. “You're cracking my ribs. We--we mustn't let +them think we're afraid, must we,--all the powers of darkness and that +lot?” + +“Lie down. It's all over now.” + +“Yes,” said Dick, obediently. “But would you mind letting me hold your +hand? I feel as if I wanted something to hold on to. One drops through +the dark so.” + +Torpenhow thrust out a large and hairy paw from the long chair. Dick +clutched it tightly, and in half an hour had fallen asleep. Torpenhow +withdrew his hand, and, stooping over Dick, kissed him lightly on the +forehead, as men do sometimes kiss a wounded comrade in the hour of +death, to ease his departure. + +In the gray dawn Torpenhow heard Dick talking to himself. He was adrift +on the shoreless tides of delirium, speaking very quickly--“It's a +pity,--a great pity; but it's helped, and it must be eaten, Master +George. Sufficient unto the day is the blindness thereof, and, further, +putting aside all Melancolias and false humours, it is of obvious +notoriety--such as mine was--that the queen can do no wrong. Torp +doesn't know that. I'll tell him when we're a little farther into the +desert. + +“What a bungle those boatmen are making of the steamer-ropes! They'll +have that four-inch hawser chafed through in a minute. I told you +so--there she goes! White foam on green water, and the steamer slewing +round. How good that looks! I'll sketch it. No, I can't. I'm afflicted +with ophthalmia. That was one of the ten plagues of Egypt, and it +extends up the Nile in the shape of cataract. Ha! that's a joke, Torp. +Laugh, you graven image, and stand clear of the hawser.... It'll +knock you into the water and make your dress all dirty, Maisie dear.” + +“Oh!” said Torpenhow. “This happened before. That night on the river.” + +“She'll be sure to say it's my fault if you get muddy, and you're quite +near enough to the breakwater. Maisie, that's not fair. Ah! I knew you'd +miss. Low and to the left, dear. But you've no conviction. Don't be angry, +darling. I'd cut my hand off if it would give you anything more than +obstinacy. My right hand, if it would serve.” + +“Now we mustn't listen. Here's an island shouting across seas of +misunderstanding with a vengeance. But it's shouting truth, I fancy,” + said Torpenhow. + +The babble continued. It all bore upon Maisie. Sometimes Dick lectured +at length on his craft, then he cursed himself for his folly in being +enslaved. He pleaded to Maisie for a kiss--only one kiss--before she +went away, and called to her to come back from Vitry-sur-Marne, if she +would; but through all his ravings he bade heaven and earth witness that +the queen could do no wrong. + +Torpenhow listened attentively, and learned every detail of Dick's life +that had been hidden from him. For three days Dick raved through the +past, and then a natural sleep. “What a strain he has been running +under, poor chap!” said Torpenhow. “Dick, of all men, handing himself +over like a dog! And I was lecturing him on arrogance! I ought to have +known that it was no use to judge a man. But I did it. What a demon that +girl must be! Dick's given her his life,--confound him!--and she's given +him one kiss apparently.” + +“Torp,” said Dick, from the bed, “go out for a walk. You've been here +too long. I'll get up. Hi! This is annoying. I can't dress myself. Oh, +it's too absurd!” + +Torpenhow helped him into his clothes and led him to the big chair +in the studio. He sat quietly waiting under strained nerves for +the darkness to lift. It did not lift that day, nor the next. Dick +adventured on a voyage round the walls. He hit his shins against the +stove, and this suggested to him that it would be better to crawl on all +fours, one hand in front of him. Torpenhow found him on the floor. + +“I'm trying to get the geography of my new possessions,” said he. “D'you +remember that nigger you gouged in the square? Pity you didn't keep the +odd eye. It would have been useful. Any letters for me? Give me all the +ones in fat gray envelopes with a sort of crown thing outside. They're +of no importance.” + +Torpenhow gave him a letter with a black M. on the envelope flap. Dick +put it into his pocket. There was nothing in it that Torpenhow might +not have read, but it belonged to himself and to Maisie, who would never +belong to him. + +“When she finds that I don't write, she'll stop writing. It's better +so. I couldn't be any use to her now,” Dick argued, and the tempter +suggested that he should make known his condition. Every nerve in him +revolted. “I have fallen low enough already. I'm not going to beg for +pity. Besides, it would be cruel to her.” He strove to put Maisie out of +his thoughts; but the blind have many opportunities for thinking, and as +the tides of his strength came back to him in the long employless days +of dead darkness, Dick's soul was troubled to the core. Another letter, +and another, came from Maisie. Then there was silence, and Dick sat by +the window, the pulse of summer in the air, and pictured her being won +by another man, stronger than himself. His imagination, the keener for +the dark background it worked against, spared him no single detail that +might send him raging up and down the studio, to stumble over the stove +that seemed to be in four places at once. Worst of all, tobacco would +not taste in the darkness. The arrogance of the man had disappeared, and +in its place were settled despair that Torpenhow knew, and blind passion +that Dick confided to his pillow at night. The intervals between +the paroxysms were filled with intolerable waiting and the weight of +intolerable darkness. + +“Come out into the Park,” said Torpenhow. “You haven't stirred out since +the beginning of things.” + +“What's the use? There's no movement in the dark; and, besides,”--he +paused irresolutely at the head of the stairs,--“something will run over +me.” + +“Not if I'm with you. Proceed gingerly.” + +The roar of the streets filled Dick with nervous terror, and he clung to +Torpenhow's arm. “Fancy having to feel for a gutter with your foot!” he +said petulantly, as he turned into the Park. “Let's curse God and die.” + +“Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorised compliments. By Jove, there +are the Guards!” + +Dick's figure straightened. “Let's get near 'em. Let's go in and look. +Let's get on the grass and run. I can smell the trees.” + +“Mind the low railing. That's all right!” Torpenhow kicked out a tuft +of grass with his heel. “Smell that,” he said. “Isn't it good?” Dick +sniffed luxuriously. “Now pick up your feet and run.” They approached +as near to the regiment as was possible. The clank of bayonets being +unfixed made Dick's nostrils quiver. + +“Let's get nearer. They're in column, aren't they?” + +“Yes. How did you know?” + +“Felt it. Oh, my men!--my beautiful men!” He edged forward as though he +could see. “I could draw those chaps once. Who'll draw 'em now?” + +“They'll move off in a minute. Don't jump when the band begins.” + +“Huh! I'm not a new charger. It's the silences that hurt. Nearer, +Torp!--nearer! Oh, my God, what wouldn't I give to see 'em for a +minute!--one half-minute!” + +He could hear the armed life almost within reach of him, could hear the +slings tighten across the bandsman's chest as he heaved the big drum +from the ground. + +“Sticks crossed above his head,” whispered Torpenhow. + +“I know. I know! Who should know if I don't? H'sh!” + +The drum-sticks fell with a boom, and the men swung forward to the crash +of the band. Dick felt the wind of the massed movement in his face, +heard the maddening tramp of feet and the friction of the pouches on the +belts. The big drum pounded out the tune. It was a music-hall refrain +that made a perfect quickstep-- + + “He must be a man of decent height, + He must be a man of weight, + He must come home on a Saturday night + In a thoroughly sober state; + He must know how to love me, + And he must know how to kiss; + And if he's enough to keep us both + I can't refuse him bliss.” + +“What's the matter?” said Torpenhow, as he saw Dick's head fall when the +last of the regiment had departed. + +“Nothing. I feel a little bit out of the running,--that's all. Torp, +take me back. Why did you bring me out?” + + + +CHAPTER XII + + There were three friends that buried the fourth, + The mould in his mouth and the dust in his eyes + And they went south and east, and north,-- + The strong man fights, but the sick man dies. + + There were three friends that spoke of the dead,-- + The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.-- + “And would he were with us now,” they said, + “The sun in our face and the wind in our eyes.” + --Ballad. + +The Nilghai was angry with Torpenhow. Dick had been sent to bed,--blind +men are ever under the orders of those who can see,--and since he had +returned from the Park had fluently sworn at Torpenhow because he was +alive, and all the world because it was alive and could see, while he, +Dick, was dead in the death of the blind, who, at the best, are only +burdens upon their associates. Torpenhow had said something about a Mrs. +Gummidge, and Dick had retired in a black fury to handle and re-handle +three unopened letters from Maisie. + +The Nilghai, fat, burly, and aggressive, was in Torpenhow's rooms. + +Behind him sat the Keneu, the Great War Eagle, and between them lay a +large map embellished with black-and-white-headed pins. + +“I was wrong about the Balkans,” said the Nilghai. “But I'm not wrong +about this business. The whole of our work in the Southern Soudan +must be done over again. The public doesn't care, of course, but the +government does, and they are making their arrangements quietly. You +know that as well as I do.” + +“I remember how the people cursed us when our troops withdrew from +Omdurman. It was bound to crop up sooner or later. But I can't go,” said +Torpenhow. He pointed through the open door; it was a hot night. “Can +you blame me?” + +The Keneu purred above his pipe like a large and very happy cat--“Don't +blame you in the least. It's uncommonly good of you, and all the rest +of it, but every man--even you, Torp--must consider his work. I know it +sounds brutal, but Dick's out of the race,--down,--gastados expended, +finished, done for. He has a little money of his own. He won't starve, +and you can't pull out of your slide for his sake. Think of your own +reputation.” + +“Dick's was five times bigger than mine and yours put together.” + +“That was because he signed his name to everything he did. It's all +ended now. You must hold yourself in readiness to move out. You can +command your own prices, and you do better work than any three of us.” + +“Don't tell me how tempting it is. I'll stay here to look after Dick +for a while. He's as cheerful as a bear with a sore head, but I think he +likes to have me near him.” + +The Nilghai said something uncomplimentary about soft-headed fools who +throw away their careers for other fools. Torpenhow flushed angrily. The +constant strain of attendance on Dick had worn his nerves thin. + +“There remains a third fate,” said the Keneu, thoughtfully. “Consider +this, and be not larger fools than necessary. Dick is--or rather +was--an able-bodied man of moderate attractions and a certain amount of +audacity.” + +“Oho!” said the Nilghai, who remembered an affair at Cairo. “I begin to +see,--Torp, I'm sorry.” + +Torpenhow nodded forgiveness: “You were more sorry when he cut you out, +though.--Go on, Keneu.” + +“I've often thought, when I've seen men die out in the desert, that if +the news could be sent through the world, and the means of transport +were quick enough, there would be one woman at least at each man's +bedside.” + +“There would be some mighty quaint revelations. Let us be grateful +things are as they are,” said the Nilghai. + +“Let us rather reverently consider whether Torp's three-cornered +ministrations are exactly what Dick needs just now.--What do you think +yourself, Torp?” + +“I know they aren't. But what can I do?” + +“Lay the matter before the board. We are all Dick's friends here. You've +been most in his life.” + +“But I picked it up when he was off his head.” + +“The greater chance of its being true. I thought we should arrive. Who +is she?” + +Then Torpenhow told a tale in plain words, as a special correspondent +who knows how to make a verbal precis should tell it. The men listened +without interruption. + +“Is it possible that a man can come back across the years to his +calf-love?” + +said the Keneu. “Is it possible?” + +“I give the facts. He says nothing about it now, but he sits fumbling +three letters from her when he thinks I'm not looking. What am I to do?” + +“Speak to him,” said the Nilghai. + +“Oh yes! Write to her,--I don't know her full name, remember,--and ask +her to accept him out of pity. I believe you once told Dick you were +sorry for him, Nilghai. You remember what happened, eh? Go into the +bedroom and suggest full confession and an appeal to this Maisie +girl, whoever she is. I honestly believe he'd try to kill you; and the +blindness has made him rather muscular.” + +“Torpenhow's course is perfectly clear,” said the Keneu. “He will go to +Vitry-sur-Marne, which is on the Bezieres-Landes Railway,--single track +from Tourgas. The Prussians shelled it out in '70 because there was +a poplar on the top of a hill eighteen hundred yards from the church +spire. There's a squadron of cavalry quartered there,--or ought to be. +Where this studio Torp spoke about may be I cannot tell. That is Torp's +business. I have given him his route. He will dispassionately explain +the situation to the girl, and she will come back to Dick,--the more +especially because, to use Dick's words, 'there is nothing but her +damned obstinacy to keep them apart.'” + +“And they have four hundred and twenty pounds a year between 'em.” + +Dick never lost his head for figures, even in his delirium. “You haven't +the shadow of an excuse for not going,” said the Nilghai. + +Torpenhow looked very uncomfortable. “But it's absurd and impossible. I +can't drag her back by the hair.” + +“Our business--the business for which we draw our money--is to do absurd +and impossible things,--generally with no reason whatever except to +amuse the public. Here we have a reason. The rest doesn't matter. I +shall share these rooms with the Nilghai till Torpenhow returns. There +will be a batch of unbridled 'specials' coming to town in a little +while, and these will serve as their headquarters. Another reason for +sending Torpenhow away. Thus Providence helps those who help others, +and”--here the Keneu dropped his measured speech--“we can't have you +tied by the leg to Dick when the trouble begins. It's your only chance +of getting away; and Dick will be grateful.” + +“He will,--worse luck! I can but go and try. I can't conceive a woman in +her senses refusing Dick.” + +“Talk that out with the girl. I have seen you wheedle an angry Mahdieh +woman into giving you dates. This won't be a tithe as difficult. You had +better not be here tomorrow afternoon, because the Nilghai and I will be +in possession. It is an order. Obey.” + +“Dick,” said Torpenhow, next morning, “can I do anything for you?” + +“No! Leave me alone. How often must I remind you that I'm blind?” + +“Nothing I could go for to fetch for to carry for to bring?” + +“No. Take those infernal creaking boots of yours away.” + +“Poor chap!” said Torpenhow to himself. “I must have been sitting on his +nerves lately. He wants a lighter step.” Then, aloud, “Very well. Since +you're so independent, I'm going off for four or five days. Say goodbye +at least. The housekeeper will look after you, and Keneu has my rooms.” + +Dick's face fell. “You won't be longer than a week at the outside? I +know I'm touched in the temper, but I can't get on without you.” + +“Can't you? You'll have to do without me in a little time, and you'll be +glad I'm gone.” + +Dick felt his way back to the big chair, and wondered what these things +might mean. He did not wish to be tended by the housekeeper, and yet +Torpenhow's constant tenderness jarred on him. He did not exactly know +what he wanted. The darkness would not lift, and Maisie's unopened +letters felt worn and old from much handling. He could never read them +for himself as long as life endured; but Maisie might have sent him some +fresh ones to play with. The Nilghai entered with a gift,--a piece of +red modelling-wax. He fancied that Dick might find interest in using his +hands. Dick poked and patted the stuff for a few minutes, and, “Is it +like anything in the world?” he said drearily. “Take it away. I may get +the touch of the blind in fifty years. Do you know where Torpenhow has +gone?” + +The Nilghai knew nothing. “We're staying in his rooms till he comes +back. Can we do anything for you?” + +“I'd like to be left alone, please. Don't think I'm ungrateful; but I'm +best alone.” + +The Nilghai chuckled, and Dick resumed his drowsy brooding and sullen +rebellion against fate. He had long since ceased to think about the work +he had done in the old days, and the desire to do more work had departed +from him. He was exceedingly sorry for himself, and the completeness +of his tender grief soothed him. But his soul and his body cried for +Maisie--Maisie who would understand. His mind pointed out that Maisie, +having her own work to do, would not care. His experience had taught him +that when money was exhausted women went away, and that when a man was +knocked out of the race the others trampled on him. “Then at the least,” + said Dick, in reply, “she could use me as I used Binat,--for some sort +of a study. I wouldn't ask more than to be near her again, even though I +knew that another man was making love to her. Ugh! what a dog I am!” + +A voice on the staircase began to sing joyfully-- + +“When we go--go--go away from here, Our creditors will weep and they +will wail, Our absence much regretting when they find that we've been +getting Out of England by next Tuesday's Indian mail.” + +Following the trampling of feet, slamming of Torpenhow's door, and the +sound of voices in strenuous debate, some one squeaked, “And see, you +good fellows, I have found a new water-bottle--firs'-class patent--eh, +how you say? Open himself inside out.” + +Dick sprang to his feet. He knew the voice well. “That's Cassavetti, +come back from the Continent. Now I know why Torp went away. There's a +row somewhere, and--I'm out of it!” + +The Nilghai commanded silence in vain. “That's for my sake,” Dick said +bitterly. “The birds are getting ready to fly, and they wouldn't +tell me. I can hear Morten-Sutherland and Mackaye. Half the War +Correspondents in London are there;--and I'm out of it.” + +He stumbled across the landing and plunged into Torpenhow's room. He +could feel that it was full of men. “Where's the trouble?” said he. “In +the Balkans at last? Why didn't some one tell me?” + +“We thought you wouldn't be interested,” said the Nilghai, shamefacedly. + +“It's in the Soudan, as usual.” + +“You lucky dogs! Let me sit here while you talk. I shan't be a skeleton +at the feast.--Cassavetti, where are you? Your English is as bad as +ever.” + +Dick was led into a chair. He heard the rustle of the maps, and the talk +swept forward, carrying him with it. Everybody spoke at once, discussing +press censorships, railway-routes, transport, water-supply, the +capacities of generals,--these in language that would have horrified a +trusting public,--ranting, asserting, denouncing, and laughing at the +top of their voices. There was the glorious certainty of war in the +Soudan at any moment. The Nilghai said so, and it was well to be in +readiness. The Keneu had telegraphed to Cairo for horses; Cassavetti +had stolen a perfectly inaccurate list of troops that would be ordered +forward, and was reading it out amid profane interruptions, and the +Keneu introduced to Dick some man unknown who would be employed as war +artist by the Central Southern Syndicate. “It's his first outing,” said +the Keneu. “Give him some tips--about riding camels.” + +“Oh, those camels!” groaned Cassavetti. “I shall learn to ride him +again, and now I am so much all soft! Listen, you good fellows. I know +your military arrangement very well. There will go the Royal Argalshire +Sutherlanders. So it was read to me upon best authority.” + +A roar of laughter interrupted him. + +“Sit down,” said the Nilghai. “The lists aren't even made out in the War +Office.” + +“Will there be any force at Suakin?” said a voice. + +Then the outcries redoubled, and grew mixed, thus: “How many Egyptian +troops will they use?--God help the Fellaheen!--There's a railway +in Plumstead marshes doing duty as a fives-court.--We shall have the +Suakin-Berber line built at last.--Canadian voyageurs are too careful. +Give me a half-drunk Krooman in a whale-boat.--Who commands the Desert +column?--No, they never blew up the big rock in the Ghineh bend. We +shall have to be hauled up, as usual.--Somebody tell me if there's an +Indian contingent, or I'll break everybody's head.--Don't tear the +map in two.--It's a war of occupation, I tell you, to connect with the +African companies in the South.--There's Guinea-worm in most of the +wells on that route.” Then the Nilghai, despairing of peace, bellowed +like a fog-horn and beat upon the table with both hands. + +“But what becomes of Torpenhow?” said Dick, in the silence that +followed. + +“Torp's in abeyance just now. He's off love-making somewhere, I +suppose,” said the Nilghai. + +“He said he was going to stay at home,” said the Keneu. + +“Is he?” said Dick, with an oath. “He won't. I'm not much good now, but +if you and the Nilghai hold him down I'll engage to trample on him till +he sees reason. He'll stay behind, indeed! He's the best of you all. +There'll be some tough work by Omdurman. We shall come there to stay, +this time. + +“But I forgot. I wish I were going with you.” + +“So do we all, Dickie,” said the Keneu. + +“And I most of all,” said the new artist of the Central Southern +Syndicate. + +“Could you tell me----” + +“I'll give you one piece of advice,” Dick answered, moving towards +the door. “If you happen to be cut over the head in a scrimmage, don't +guard. Tell the man to go on cutting. You'll find it cheapest in the +end. Thanks for letting me look in.” + +“There's grit in Dick,” said the Nilghai, an hour later, when the room +was emptied of all save the Keneu. + +“It was the sacred call of the war-trumpet. Did you notice how he +answered to it? Poor fellow! Let's look at him,” said the Keneu. + +The excitement of the talk had died away. Dick was sitting by the studio +table, with his head on his arms, when the men came in. He did not +change his position. + +“It hurts,” he moaned. “God forgive me, but it hurts cruelly; and yet, +y'know, the world has a knack of spinning round all by itself. Shall I +see Torp before he goes?” + +“Oh, yes. You'll see him,” said the Nilghai. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + The sun went down an hour ago, + I wonder if I face towards home; + If I lost my way in the light of day + How shall I find it now night is come? + --Old Song + +“Maisie, come to bed.” + +“It's so hot I can't sleep. Don't worry.” + +Maisie put her elbows on the window-sill and looked at the moonlight on +the straight, poplar-flanked road. Summer had come upon Vitry-sur-Marne +and parched it to the bone. The grass was dry-burnt in the meadows, the +clay by the bank of the river was caked to brick, the roadside flowers +were long since dead, and the roses in the garden hung withered on their +stalks. The heat in the little low bedroom under the eaves was almost +intolerable. The very moonlight on the wall of Kami's studio across +the road seemed to make the night hotter, and the shadow of the big +bell-handle by the closed gate cast a bar of inky black that caught +Maisie's eye and annoyed her. + +“Horrid thing! It should be all white,” she murmured. “And the gate +isn't in the middle of the wall, either. I never noticed that before.” + +Maisie was hard to please at that hour. First, the heat of the past few +weeks had worn her down; secondly, her work, and particularly the study +of a female head intended to represent the Melancolia and not finished +in time for the Salon, was unsatisfactory; thirdly, Kami had said as +much two days before; fourthly,--but so completely fourthly that it was +hardly worth thinking about,--Dick, her property, had not written to +her for more than six weeks. She was angry with the heat, with Kami, and +with her work, but she was exceedingly angry with Dick. + +She had written to him three times,--each time proposing a fresh +treatment of her Melancolia. Dick had taken no notice of these +communications. She had resolved to write no more. When she returned +to England in the autumn--for her pride's sake she could not return +earlier--she would speak to him. She missed the Sunday afternoon +conferences more than she cared to admit. All that Kami said was, +“Continuez, mademoiselle, continuez toujours,” and he had been repeating +the wearisome counsel through the hot summer, exactly like a cicada,--an +old gray cicada in a black alpaca coat, white trousers, and a huge felt +hat. + +But Dick had tramped masterfully up and down her little studio north +of the cool green London park, and had said things ten times worse than +continuez, before he snatched the brush out of her hand and showed her +where the error lay. His last letter, Maisie remembered, contained +some trivial advice about not sketching in the sun or drinking water at +wayside farmhouses; and he had said that not once, but three times,--as +if he did not know that Maisie could take care of herself. + +But what was he doing, that he could not trouble to write? A murmur of +voices in the road made her lean from the window. A cavalryman of the +little garrison in the town was talking to Kami's cook. The moonlight +glittered on the scabbard of his sabre, which he was holding in his hand +lest it should clank inopportunely. The cook's cap cast deep shadows on +her face, which was close to the conscript's. He slid his arm round her +waist, and there followed the sound of a kiss. + +“Faugh!” said Maisie, stepping back. + +“What's that?” said the red-haired girl, who was tossing uneasily +outside her bed. + +“Only a conscript kissing the cook,” said Maisie. + +“They've gone away now.” She leaned out of the window again, and put a +shawl over her nightgown to guard against chills. There was a very small +night-breeze abroad, and a sun-baked rose below nodded its head as one +who knew unutterable secrets. Was it possible that Dick should turn his +thoughts from her work and his own and descend to the degradation of +Suzanne and the conscript? He could not! The rose nodded its head and +one leaf therewith. It looked like a naughty little devil scratching its +ear. + +Dick could not, “because,” thought Maisie, “he is mine,--mine,--mine. He +said he was. I'm sure I don't care what he does. It will only spoil his +work if he does; and it will spoil mine too.” + +The rose continued to nod in the futile way peculiar to flowers. There +was no earthly reason why Dick should not disport himself as he chose, +except that he was called by Providence, which was Maisie, to assist +Maisie in her work. And her work was the preparation of pictures that +went sometimes to English provincial exhibitions, as the notices in the +scrap-book proved, and that were invariably rejected by the Salon when +Kami was plagued into allowing her to send them up. Her work in the +future, it seemed, would be the preparation of pictures on exactly +similar lines which would be rejected in exactly the same way----The +red-haired girl threshed distressfully across the sheets. “It's too hot +to sleep,” she moaned; and the interruption jarred. + +Exactly the same way. Then she would divide her years between the little +studio in England and Kami's big studio at Vitry-sur-Marne. No, she +would go to another master, who should force her into the success that +was her right, if patient toil and desperate endeavour gave one a +right to anything. Dick had told her that he had worked ten years to +understand his craft. She had worked ten years, and ten years were +nothing. Dick had said that ten years were nothing,--but that was in +regard to herself only. He had said--this very man who could not find +time to write--that he would wait ten years for her, and that she was +bound to come back to him sooner or later. He had said this in the +absurd letter about sunstroke and diphtheria; and then he had stopped +writing. He was wandering up and down moonlit streets, kissing cooks. +She would like to lecture him now,--not in her nightgown, of course, +but properly dressed, severely and from a height. Yet if he was kissing +other girls he certainly would not care whether she lecture him or not. +He would laugh at her. Very good. + +She would go back to her studio and prepare pictures that went, etc., +etc. + +The mill-wheel of thought swung round slowly, that no section of it +might be slurred over, and the red-haired girl tossed and turned behind +her. + +Maisie put her chin in her hands and decided that there could be no +doubt whatever of the villainy of Dick. To justify herself, she began, +unwomanly, to weigh the evidence. There was a boy, and he had said he +loved her. And he kissed her,--kissed her on the cheek,--by a yellow +sea-poppy that nodded its head exactly like the maddening dry rose in +the garden. Then there was an interval, and men had told her that they +loved her--just when she was busiest with her work. Then the boy came +back, and at their very second meeting had told her that he loved her. +Then he had----But there was no end to the things he had done. He +had given her his time and his powers. He had spoken to her of +Art, housekeeping, technique, teacups, the abuse of pickles as a +stimulant,--that was rude,--sable hair-brushes,--he had given her the +best in her stock,--she used them daily; he had given her advice that +she profited by, and now and again--a look. Such a look! The look of a +beaten hound waiting for the word to crawl to his mistress's feet. In +return she had given him nothing whatever, except--here she brushed her +mouth against the open-work sleeve of her nightgown--the privilege +of kissing her once. And on the mouth, too. Disgraceful! Was that not +enough, and more than enough? and if it was not, had he not cancelled +the debt by not writing and--probably kissing other girls? “Maisie, +you'll catch a chill. Do go and lie down,” said the wearied voice of her +companion. “I can't sleep a wink with you at the window.” + +Maisie shrugged her shoulders and did not answer. She was reflecting +on the meannesses of Dick, and on other meannesses with which he had +nothing to do. The moonlight would not let her sleep. It lay on the +skylight of the studio across the road in cold silver; she stared at it +intently and her thoughts began to slide one into the other. The shadow +of the big bell-handle in the wall grew short, lengthened again, and +faded out as the moon went down behind the pasture and a hare came +limping home across the road. Then the dawn-wind washed through the +upland grasses, and brought coolness with it, and the cattle lowed by +the drought-shrunk river. Maisie's head fell forward on the window-sill, +and the tangle of black hair covered her arms. + +“Maisie, wake up. You'll catch a chill.” + +“Yes, dear; yes, dear.” She staggered to her bed like a wearied child, +and as she buried her face in the pillows she muttered, “I think--I +think--But he ought to have written.” + +Day brought the routine of the studio, the smell of paint and +turpentine, and the monotone wisdom of Kami, who was a leaden artist, +but a golden teacher if the pupil were only in sympathy with him. Maisie +was not in sympathy that day, and she waited impatiently for the end of +the work. + +She knew when it was coming; for Kami would gather his black alpaca +coat into a bunch behind him, and, with faded flue eyes that saw neither +pupils nor canvas, look back into the past to recall the history of one +Binat. “You have all done not so badly,” he would say. “But you shall +remember that it is not enough to have the method, and the art, and +the power, nor even that which is touch, but you shall have also +the conviction that nails the work to the wall. Of the so many I +taught,”--here the students would begin to unfix drawing-pins or get +their tubes together,--“the very so many that I have taught, the best +was Binat. All that comes of the study and the work and the knowledge +was to him even when he came. After he left me he should have done all +that could be done with the colour, the form, and the knowledge. Only, +he had not the conviction. So today I hear no more of Binat,--the best +of my pupils,--and that is long ago. So today, too, you will be glad +to hear no more of me. Continuez, mesdemoiselles, and, above all, with +conviction.” + +He went into the garden to smoke and mourn over the lost Binat as the +pupils dispersed to their several cottages or loitered in the studio to +make plans for the cool of the afternoon. + +Maisie looked at her very unhappy Melancolia, restrained a desire to +grimace before it, and was hurrying across the road to write a letter +to Dick, when she was aware of a large man on a white troop-horse. How +Torpenhow had managed in the course of twenty hours to find his way to +the hearts of the cavalry officers in quarters at Vitry-sur-Marne, to +discuss with them the certainty of a glorious revenge for France, to +reduce the colonel to tears of pure affability, and to borrow the best +horse in the squadron for the journey to Kami's studio, is a mystery +that only special correspondents can unravel. + +“I beg your pardon,” said he. “It seems an absurd question to ask, but +the fact is that I don't know her by any other name: Is there any young +lady here that is called Maisie?” + +“I am Maisie,” was the answer from the depths of a great sun-hat. + +“I ought to introduce myself,” he said, as the horse capered in the +blinding white dust. “My name is Torpenhow. Dick Heldar is my best +friend, and--and--the fact is that he has gone blind.” + +“Blind!” said Maisie, stupidly. “He can't be blind.” + +“He has been stone-blind for nearly two months.” + +Maisie lifted up her face, and it was pearly white. “No! No! Not blind! +I won't have him blind!” + +“Would you care to see for yourself?” said Torpenhow. + +“Now,--at once?” + +“Oh, no! The Paris train doesn't go through this place till tonight. +There will be ample time.” + +“Did Mr. Heldar send you to me?” + +“Certainly not. Dick wouldn't do that sort of thing. He's sitting in +his studio, turning over some letters that he can't read because he's +blind.” + +There was a sound of choking from the sun-hat. Maisie bowed her head +and went into the cottage, where the red-haired girl was on a sofa, +complaining of a headache. + +“Dick's blind!” said Maisie, taking her breath quickly as she steadied +herself against a chair-back. “My Dick's blind!” + +“What?” The girl was on the sofa no longer. + +“A man has come from England to tell me. He hasn't written to me for six +weeks.” + +“Are you going to him?” + +“I must think.” + +“Think! I should go back to London and see him and I should kiss his +eyes and kiss them and kiss them until they got well again! If you don't +go I shall. Oh, what am I talking about? You wicked little idiot! Go to +him at once. Go!” + +Torpenhow's neck was blistering, but he preserved a smile of infinite +patience as Maisie's appeared bareheaded in the sunshine. + +“I am coming,” said she, her eyes on the ground. + +“You will be at Vitry Station, then, at seven this evening.” This was +an order delivered by one who was used to being obeyed. Maisie said +nothing, but she felt grateful that there was no chance of disputing +with this big man who took everything for granted and managed a +squealing horse with one hand. She returned to the red-haired girl, +who was weeping bitterly, and between tears, kisses,--very few of +those,--menthol, packing, and an interview with Kami, the sultry +afternoon wore away. + +Thought might come afterwards. Her present duty was to go to Dick,--Dick +who owned the wondrous friend and sat in the dark playing with her +unopened letters. + +“But what will you do,” she said to her companion. + +“I? Oh, I shall stay here and--finish your Melancolia,” she said, +smiling pitifully. “Write to me afterwards.” + +That night there ran a legend through Vitry-sur-Marne of a mad +Englishman, doubtless suffering from sunstroke, who had drunk all the +officers of the garrison under the table, had borrowed a horse from the +lines, and had then and there eloped, after the English custom, with one +of those more mad English girls who drew pictures down there under the +care of that good Monsieur Kami. + +“They are very droll,” said Suzanne to the conscript in the moonlight +by the studio wall. “She walked always with those big eyes that saw +nothing, and yet she kisses me on both cheeks as though she were my +sister, and gives me--see--ten francs!” + +The conscript levied a contribution on both gifts; for he prided himself +on being a good soldier. + +Torpenhow spoke very little to Maisie during the journey to Calais; +but he was careful to attend to all her wants, to get her a compartment +entirely to herself, and to leave her alone. He was amazed of the ease +with which the matter had been accomplished. + +“The safest thing would be to let her think things out. By Dick's +showing,--when he was off his head,--she must have ordered him about +very thoroughly. Wonder how she likes being under orders.” + +Maisie never told. She sat in the empty compartment often with her eyes +shut, that she might realise the sensation of blindness. It was an order +that she should return to London swiftly, and she found herself at last +almost beginning to enjoy the situation. This was better than looking +after luggage and a red-haired friend who never took any interest in her +surroundings. But there appeared to be a feeling in the air that she, +Maisie,--of all people,--was in disgrace. Therefore she justified her +conduct to herself with great success, till Torpenhow came up to her +on the steamer and without preface began to tell the story of Dick's +blindness, suppressing a few details, but dwelling at length on the +miseries of delirium. He stopped before he reached the end, as though he +had lost interest in the subject, and went forward to smoke. Maisie was +furious with him and with herself. + +She was hurried on from Dover to London almost before she could ask for +breakfast, and--she was past any feeling of indignation now--was bidden +curtly to wait in a hall at the foot of some lead-covered stairs while +Torpenhow went up to make inquiries. Again the knowledge that she was +being treated like a naughty little girl made her pale cheeks flame. It +was all Dick's fault for being so stupid as to go blind. + +Torpenhow led her up to a shut door, which he opened very softly. Dick +was sitting by the window, with his chin on his chest. There were three +envelopes in his hand, and he turned them over and over. The big man +who gave orders was no longer by her side, and the studio door snapped +behind her. + +Dick thrust the letters into his pocket as he heard the sound. “Hullo, +Torp! Is that you? I've been so lonely.” + +His voice had taken the peculiar flatness of the blind. Maisie pressed +herself up into a corner of the room. Her heart was beating furiously, +and she put one hand on her breast to keep it quiet. Dick was staring +directly at her, and she realised for the first time that he was blind. + +Shutting her eyes in a rail-way carriage to open them when she pleased +was child's play. This man was blind though his eyes were wide open. + +“Torp, is that you? They said you were coming.” Dick looked puzzled and +a little irritated at the silence. + +“No; it's only me,” was the answer, in a strained little whisper. Maisie +could hardly move her lips. + +“H'm!” said Dick, composedly, without moving. “This is a new phenomenon. +Darkness I'm getting used to; but I object to hearing voices.” + +Was he mad, then, as well as blind, that he talked to himself? Maisie's +heart beat more wildly, and she breathed in gasps. Dick rose and began +to feel his way across the room, touching each table and chair as he +passed. Once he caught his foot on a rug, and swore, dropping on his +knees to feel what the obstruction might be. Maisie remembered him +walking in the Park as though all the earth belonged to him, tramping +up and down her studio two months ago, and flying up the gangway of the +Channel steamer. The beating of her heart was making her sick, and Dick +was coming nearer, guided by the sound of her breathing. She put out a +hand mechanically to ward him off or to draw him to herself, she did not +know which. It touched his chest, and he stepped back as though he had +been shot. + +“It's Maisie!” said he, with a dry sob. “What are you doing here?” + +“I came--I came--to see you, please.” + +Dick's lips closed firmly. + +“Won't you sit down, then? You see, I've had some bother with my eyes, +and----” + +“I know. I know. Why didn't you tell me?” + +“I couldn't write.” + +“You might have told Mr. Torpenhow.” + +“What has he to do with my affairs?” + +“He--he brought me from Vitry-sur-Marne. He thought I ought to see you.” + +“Why, what has happened? Can I do anything for you? No, I can't. I +forgot.” + +“Oh, Dick, I'm so sorry! I've come to tell you, and----Let me take you +back to your chair.” + +“Don't! I'm not a child. You only do that out of pity. I never meant to +tell you anything about it. I'm no good now. I'm down and done for. Let +me alone!” + +He groped back to his chair, his chest labouring as he sat down. + +Maisie watched him, and the fear went out of her heart, to be followed +by a very bitter shame. He had spoken a truth that had been hidden from +the girl through every step of the impetuous flight to London; for he +was, indeed, down and done for--masterful no longer but rather a little +abject; neither an artist stronger than she, nor a man to be looked up +to--only some blind one that sat in a chair and seemed on the point of +crying. She was immensely and unfeignedly sorry for him--more sorry than +she had ever been for any one in her life, but not sorry enough to deny +his words. + +So she stood still and felt ashamed and a little hurt, because she had +honestly intended that her journey should end triumphantly; and now she +was only filled with pity most startlingly distinct from love. + +“Well?” said Dick, his face steadily turned away. “I never meant to +worry you any more. What's the matter?” + +He was conscious that Maisie was catching her breath, but was as +unprepared as herself for the torrent of emotion that followed. She had +dropped into a chair and was sobbing with her face hidden in her hands. + +“I can't--I can't!” she cried desperately. “Indeed, I can't. It isn't my +fault. I'm so sorry. Oh, Dickie, I'm so sorry.” + +Dick's shoulders straightened again, for the words lashed like a whip. + +Still the sobbing continued. It is not good to realise that you have +failed in the hour of trial or flinched before the mere possibility of +making sacrifices. + +“I do despise myself--indeed I do. But I can't. Oh, Dickie, you wouldn't +ask me--would you?” wailed Maisie. + +She looked up for a minute, and by chance it happened that Dick's eyes +fell on hers. The unshaven face was very white and set, and the lips +were trying to force themselves into a smile. But it was the worn-out +eyes that Maisie feared. Her Dick had gone blind and left in his place +some one that she could hardly recognise till he spoke. + +“Who is asking you to do anything, Maisie? I told you how it would be. +What's the use of worrying? For pity's sake don't cry like that; it +isn't worth it.” + +“You don't know how I hate myself. Oh, Dick, help me--help me!” The +passion of tears had grown beyond her control and was beginning to alarm +the man. He stumbled forward and put his arm round her, and her head +fell on his shoulder. + +“Hush, dear, hush! Don't cry. You're quite right, and you've nothing to +reproach yourself with--you never had. You're only a little upset by the +journey, and I don't suppose you've had any breakfast. What a brute Torp +was to bring you over.” + +“I wanted to come. I did indeed,” she protested. + +“Very well. And now you've come and seen, and I'm--immensely grateful. +When you're better you shall go away and get something to eat. What sort +of a passage did you have coming over?” + +Maisie was crying more subduedly, for the first time in her life glad +that she had something to lean against. Dick patted her on the shoulder +tenderly but clumsily, for he was not quite sure where her shoulder +might be. + +She drew herself out of his arms at last and waited, trembling and most +unhappy. He had felt his way to the window to put the width of the room +between them, and to quiet a little the tumult in his heart. + +“Are you better now?” he said. + +“Yes, but--don't you hate me?” + +“I hate you? My God! I?” + +“Isn't--isn't there anything I could do for you, then? I'll stay here +in England to do it, if you like. Perhaps I could come and see you +sometimes.” + +“I think not, dear. It would be kindest not to see me any more, please. +I don't want to seem rude, but--don't you think--perhaps you had almost +better go now.” + +He was conscious that he could not bear himself as a man if the strain +continued much longer. + +“I don't deserve anything else. I'll go, Dick. Oh, I'm so miserable.” + +“Nonsense. You've nothing to worry about; I'd tell you if you had. Wait +a moment, dear. I've got something to give you first. I meant it for +you ever since this little trouble began. It's my Melancolia; she was a +beauty when I last saw her. You can keep her for me, and if ever you're +poor you can sell her. She's worth a few hundreds at any state of the +market.” He groped among his canvases. “She's framed in black. Is this +a black frame that I have my hand on? There she is. What do you think of +her?” + +He turned a scarred formless muddle of paint towards Maisie, and the +eyes strained as though they would catch her wonder and surprise. One +thing and one thing only could she do for him. + +“Well?” + +The voice was fuller and more rounded, because the man knew he was +speaking of his best work. Maisie looked at the blur, and a lunatic +desire to laugh caught her by the throat. But for Dick's sake--whatever +this mad blankness might mean--she must make no sign. Her voice choked +with hard-held tears as she answered, still gazing at the wreck--“Oh, +Dick, it is good!” + +He heard the little hysterical gulp and took it for tribute. “Won't you +have it, then? I'll send it over to your house if you will.” + +“I? Oh yes--thank you. Ha! ha!” If she did not fly at once the laughter +that was worse than tears would kill her. She turned and ran, choking +and blinded, down the staircases that were empty of life to take refuge +in a cab and go to her house across the Parks. There she sat down in the +dismantled drawing-room and thought of Dick in his blindness, useless +till the end of life, and of herself in her own eyes. Behind the sorrow, +the shame, and the humiliation, lay fear of the cold wrath of the +red-haired girl when Maisie should return. Maisie had never feared her +companion before. Not until she found herself saying, “Well, he never +asked me,” did she realise her scorn of herself. And that is the end of +Maisie. + +* * * * * + +For Dick was reserved more searching torment. He could not realise at +first that Maisie, whom he had ordered to go had left him without a word +of farewell. He was savagely angry against Torpenhow, who had brought +upon him this humiliation and troubled his miserable peace. Then his +dark hour came and he was alone with himself and his desires to get what +help he could from the darkness. The queen could do no wrong, but in +following the right, so far as it served her work, she had wounded her +one subject more than his own brain would let him know. + +“It's all I had and I've lost it,” he said, as soon as the misery +permitted clear thinking. “And Torp will think that he has been so +infernally clever that I shan't have the heart to tell him. I must think +this out quietly.” + +“Hullo!” said Torpenhow, entering the studio after Dick had enjoyed two +hours of thought. “I'm back. Are you feeling any better?” + +“Torp, I don't know what to say. Come here.” Dick coughed huskily, +wondering, indeed, what he should say, and how to say it temperately. + +“What's the need for saying anything? Get up and tramp.” Torpenhow was +perfectly satisfied. + +They walked up and down as of custom, Torpenhow's hand on Dick's +shoulder, and Dick buried in his own thoughts. + +“How in the world did you find it all out?” said Dick, at last. + +“You shouldn't go off your head if you want to keep secrets, Dickie. It +was absolutely impertinent on my part; but if you'd seen me rocketing +about on a half-trained French troop-horse under a blazing sun you'd +have laughed. There will be a charivari in my rooms tonight. Seven other +devils----” + +“I know--the row in the Southern Soudan. I surprised their councils the +other day, and it made me unhappy. Have you fixed your flint to go? Who +d'you work for?” + +“Haven't signed any contracts yet. I wanted to see how your business +would turn out.” + +“Would you have stayed with me, then, if--things had gone wrong?” He put +his question cautiously. + +“Don't ask me too much. I'm only a man.” + +“You've tried to be an angel very successfully.” + +“Oh ye--es!... Well, do you attend the function tonight? We shall +be half screwed before the morning. All the men believe the war's a +certainty.” + +“I don't think I will, old man, if it's all the same to you. I'll stay +quiet here.” + +“And meditate? I don't blame you. You observe a good time if ever a man +did.” + +That night there was a tumult on the stairs. The correspondents poured +in from theatre, dinner, and music-hall to Torpenhow's room that they +might discuss their plan of campaign in the event of military operations +becoming a certainty. Torpenhow, the Keneu, and the Nilghai had bidden +all the men they had worked with to the orgy; and Mr. Beeton, the +housekeeper, declared that never before in his checkered experience had +he seen quite such a fancy lot of gentlemen. They waked the chambers +with shoutings and song; and the elder men were quite as bad as the +younger. For the chances of war were in front of them, and all knew what +those meant. + +Sitting in his own room a little perplexed by the noise across the +landing, Dick suddenly began to laugh to himself. + +“When one comes to think of it the situation is intensely comic. +Maisie's quite right--poor little thing. I didn't know she could cry +like that before; but now I know what Torp thinks, I'm sure he'd be +quite fool enough to stay at home and try to console me--if he knew. +Besides, it isn't nice to own that you've been thrown over like a broken +chair. I must carry this business through alone--as usual. If there +isn't a war, and Torp finds out, I shall look foolish, that's all. If +there is a way I mustn't interfere with another man's chances. Business +is business, and I want to be alone--I want to be alone. What a row +they're making!” + +Somebody hammered at the studio door. + +“Come out and frolic, Dickie,” said the Nilghai. + +“I should like to, but I can't. I'm not feeling frolicsome.” + +“Then, I'll tell the boys and they'll drag you like a badger.” + +“Please not, old man. On my word, I'd sooner be left alone just now.” + +“Very good. Can we send anything in to you? Fizz, for instance. +Cassavetti is beginning to sing songs of the Sunny South already.” + +For one minute Dick considered the proposition seriously. + +“No, thanks, I've a headache already.” + +“Virtuous child. That's the effect of emotion on the young. All my +congratulations, Dick. I also was concerned in the conspiracy for your +welfare.” + +“Go to the devil--oh, send Binkie in here.” + +The little dog entered on elastic feet, riotous from having been +made much of all the evening. He had helped to sing the choruses; +but scarcely inside the studio he realised that this was no place for +tail-wagging, and settled himself on Dick's lap till it was bedtime. +Then he went to bed with Dick, who counted every hour as it struck, and +rose in the morning with a painfully clear head to receive Torpenhow's +more formal congratulations and a particular account of the last night's +revels. + +“You aren't looking very happy for a newly accepted man,” said +Torpenhow. + +“Never mind that--it's my own affair, and I'm all right. Do you really +go?” + +“Yes. With the old Central Southern as usual. They wired, and I accepted +on better terms than before.” + +“When do you start?” + +“The day after tomorrow--for Brindisi.” + +“Thank God.” Dick spoke from the bottom of his heart. + +“Well, that's not a pretty way of saying you're glad to get rid of me. +But men in your condition are allowed to be selfish.” + +“I didn't mean that. Will you get a hundred pounds cashed for me before +you leave?” + +“That's a slender amount for housekeeping, isn't it?” + +“Oh, it's only for--marriage expenses.” + +Torpenhow brought him the money, counted it out in fives and tens, and +carefully put it away in the writing table. + +“Now I suppose I shall have to listen to his ravings about his girl +until I go. Heaven send us patience with a man in love!” he said to +himself. + +But never a word did Dick say of Maisie or marriage. He hung in the +doorway of Torpenhow's room when the latter was packing and asked +innumerable questions about the coming campaign, till Torpenhow began to +feel annoyed. + +“You're a secretive animal, Dickie, and you consume your own smoke, +don't you?” he said on the last evening. + +“I--I suppose so. By the way, how long do you think this war will last?” + +“Days, weeks, or months. One can never tell. It may go on for years.” + +“I wish I were going.” + +“Good Heavens! You're the most unaccountable creature! Hasn't it +occurred to you that you're going to be married--thanks to me?” + +“Of course, yes. I'm going to be married--so I am. Going to be married. +I'm awfully grateful to you. Haven't I told you that?” + +“You might be going to be hanged by the look of you,” said Torpenhow. + +And the next day Torpenhow bade him good-bye and left him to the +loneliness he had so much desired. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him, + Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save, + Yet at the last, with his masters around him, + He of the Faith spoke as master to slave; + Yet at the last, tho' the Kafirs had maimed him, + Broken by bondage and wrecked by the reiver,-- + Yet at the last, tho' the darkness had claimed him, + He called upon Allah and died a believer.--Kizzilbashi. + +“Beg your pardon, Mr. Heldar, but--but isn't nothin' going to happen?” + said Mr. Beeton. + +“No!” Dick had just waked to another morning of blank despair and his +temper was of the shortest. + +“'Tain't my regular business, 'o course, sir; and what I say is, 'Mind +your own business and let other people mind theirs;' but just before Mr. +Torpenhow went away he give me to understand, like, that you might be +moving into a house of your own, so to speak--a sort of house with rooms +upstairs and downstairs where you'd be better attended to, though I try +to act just by all our tenants. Don't I?” + +“Ah! That must have been a mad-house. I shan't trouble you to take me +there yet. Get me my breakfast, please, and leave me alone.” + +“I hope I haven't done anything wrong, sir, but you know I hope that as +far as a man can I tries to do the proper thing by all the gentlemen in +chambers--and more particular those whose lot is hard--such as you, for +instance, Mr. Heldar. You likes soft-roe bloater, don't you? Soft-roe +bloaters is scarcer than hard-roe, but what I says is, 'Never mind a +little extra trouble so long as you give satisfaction to the tenants.'” + +Mr. Beeton withdrew and left Dick to himself. Torpenhow had been long +away; there was no more rioting in the chambers, and Dick had settled +down to his new life, which he was weak enough to consider nothing +better than death. + +It is hard to live alone in the dark, confusing the day and night; +dropping to sleep through sheer weariness at mid-day, and rising +restless in the chill of the dawn. At first Dick, on his awakenings, +would grope along the corridors of the chambers till he heard some one +snore. Then he would know that the day had not yet come, and return +wearily to his bedroom. + +Later he learned not to stir till there was a noise and movement in the +house and Mr. Beeton advised him to get up. Once dressed--and dressing, +now that Torpenhow was away, was a lengthy business, because collars, +ties, and the like hid themselves in far corners of the room, and search +meant head-beating against chairs and trunks--once dressed, there was +nothing whatever to do except to sit still and brood till the three +daily meals came. Centuries separated breakfast from lunch and lunch +from dinner, and though a man prayed for hundreds of years that his +mind might be taken from him, God would never hear. Rather the mind +was quickened and the revolving thoughts ground against each other as +millstones grind when there is no corn between; and yet the brain would +not wear out and give him rest. It continued to think, at length, with +imagery and all manner of reminiscences. It recalled Maisie and past +success, reckless travels by land and sea, the glory of doing work and +feeling that it was good, and suggested all that might have happened had +the eyes only been faithful to their duty. When thinking ceased +through sheer weariness, there poured into Dick's soul tide on tide of +overwhelming, purposeless fear--dread of starvation always, terror +lest the unseen ceiling should crush down upon him, fear of fire in the +chambers and a louse's death in red flame, and agonies of fiercer horror +that had nothing to do with any fear of death. Then Dick bowed his head, +and clutching the arms of his chair fought with his sweating self till +the tinkle of plates told him that something to eat was being set before +him. + +Mr. Beeton would bring the meal when he had time to spare, and +Dick learned to hang upon his speech, which dealt with badly fitted +gas-plugs, waste-pipes out of repair, little tricks for driving +picture-nails into walls, and the sins of the charwoman or the +housemaids. In the lack of better things the small gossip of a servants' +hall becomes immensely interesting, and the screwing of a washer on a +tap an event to be talked over for days. + +Once or twice a week, too, Mr. Beeton would take Dick out with him when +he went marketing in the morning to haggle with tradesmen over fish, +lamp-wicks, mustard, tapioca, and so forth, while Dick rested his weight +first on one foot and then on the other and played aimlessly with the +tins and string-ball on the counter. Then they would perhaps meet one of +Mr. Beeton's friends, and Dick, standing aside a little, would hold his +peace till Mr. Beeton was willing to go on again. + +The life did not increase his self-respect. He abandoned shaving as a +dangerous exercise, and being shaved in a barber's shop meant exposure +of his infirmity. He could not see that his clothes were properly +brushed, and since he had never taken any care of his personal +appearance he became every known variety of sloven. A blind man cannot +deal with cleanliness till he has been some months used to the darkness. +If he demand attendance and grow angry at the want of it, he must assert +himself and stand upright. Then the meanest menial can see that he is +blind and, therefore, of no consequence. A wise man will keep his eyes +on the floor and sit still. For amusement he may pick coal lump by lump +out of the scuttle with the tongs and pile it in a little heap in the +fender, keeping count of the lumps, which must all be put back again, +one by one and very carefully. He may set himself sums if he cares to +work them out; he may talk to himself or to the cat if she chooses to +visit him; and if his trade has been that of an artist, he may sketch +in the air with his forefinger; but that is too much like drawing a pig +with the eyes shut. He may go to his bookshelves and count his books, +ranging them in order of their size; or to his wardrobe and count his +shirts, laying them in piles of two or three on the bed, as they suffer +from frayed cuffs or lost buttons. + +Even this entertainment wearies after a time; and all the times are +very, very long. + +Dick was allowed to sort a tool-chest where Mr. Beeton kept hammers, +taps and nuts, lengths of gas-pipes, oil-bottles, and string. + +“If I don't have everything just where I know where to look for it, why, +then, I can't find anything when I do want it. You've no idea, sir, the +amount of little things that these chambers uses up,” said Mr. Beeton. + +Fumbling at the handle of the door as he went out: “It's hard on you, +sir, I do think it's hard on you. Ain't you going to do anything, sir?” + +“I'll pay my rent and messing. Isn't that enough?” + +“I wasn't doubting for a moment that you couldn't pay your way, sir; but +I 'ave often said to my wife, 'It's 'ard on 'im because it isn't as +if he was an old man, nor yet a middle-aged one, but quite a young +gentleman. That's where it comes so 'ard.'” + +“I suppose so,” said Dick, absently. This particular nerve through long +battering had ceased to feel--much. + +“I was thinking,” continued Mr. Beeton, still making as if to go, “that +you might like to hear my boy Alf read you the papers sometimes of an +evening. He do read beautiful, seeing he's only nine.” + +“I should be very grateful,” said Dick. “Only let me make it worth his +while.” + +“We wasn't thinking of that, sir, but of course it's in your own 'ands; +but only to 'ear Alf sing 'A Boy's best Friend is 'is Mother!' Ah!” + +“I'll hear him sing that too. Let him come this evening with the +newspapers.” + +Alf was not a nice child, being puffed up with many school-board +certificates for good conduct, and inordinately proud of his singing. +Mr. Beeton remained, beaming, while the child wailed his way through +a song of some eight eight-line verses in the usual whine of a young +Cockney, and, after compliments, left him to read Dick the foreign +telegrams. Ten minutes later Alf returned to his parents rather pale and +scared. + +“'E said 'e couldn't stand it no more,” he explained. + +“He never said you read badly, Alf?” Mrs. Beeton spoke. + +“No. 'E said I read beautiful. Said 'e never 'eard any one read like +that, but 'e said 'e couldn't abide the stuff in the papers.” + +“P'raps he's lost some money in the Stocks. Were you readin' him about +Stocks, Alf?” + +“No; it was all about fightin' out there where the soldiers is gone--a +great long piece with all the lines close together and very hard words +in it. 'E give me 'arf a crown because I read so well. And 'e says the +next time there's anything 'e wants read 'e'll send for me.” + +“That's good hearing, but I do think for all the half-crown--put it into +the kicking-donkey money-box, Alf, and let me see you do it--he might +have kept you longer. Why, he couldn't have begun to understand how +beautiful you read.” + +“He's best left to hisself--gentlemen always are when they're +downhearted,” said Mr. Beeton. + +Alf's rigorously limited powers of comprehending Torpenhow's special +correspondence had waked the devil of unrest in Dick. He could hear, +through the boy's nasal chant, the camels grunting in the squares behind +the soldiers outside Suakin; could hear the men swearing and chaffing +across the cooking pots, and could smell the acrid wood-smoke as it +drifted over camp before the wind of the desert. + +That night he prayed to God that his mind might be taken from him, +offering for proof that he was worthy of this favour the fact that he +had not shot himself long ago. That prayer was not answered, and indeed +Dick knew in his heart of hearts that only a lingering sense of humour +and no special virtue had kept him alive. Suicide, he had persuaded +himself, would be a ludicrous insult to the gravity of the situation as +well as a weak-kneed confession of fear. + +“Just for the fun of the thing,” he said to the cat, who had taken +Binkie's place in his establishment, “I should like to know how long +this is going to last. I can live for a year on the hundred pounds +Torp cashed for me. I must have two or three thousand at least in the +Bank--twenty or thirty years more provided for, that is to say. Then I +fall back on my hundred and twenty a year, which will be more by that +time. Let's consider. + +“Twenty-five--thirty-five--a man's in his prime then, they +say--forty-five--a middle-aged man just entering politics--fifty-five +'died at the comparatively early age of fifty-five,' according to the +newspapers. Bah! How these Christians funk death! Sixty-five--we're only +getting on in years. Seventy-five is just possible, though. Great hell, +cat O! fifty years more of solitary confinement in the dark! You'll die, +and Beeton will die, and Torp will die, and Mai--everybody else will +die, but I shall be alive and kicking with nothing to do. I'm very sorry +for myself. I should like some one else to be sorry for me. Evidently +I'm not going mad before I die, but the pain's just as bad as ever. +Some day when you're vivisected, cat O! they'll tie you down on a little +table and cut you open--but don't be afraid; they'll take precious good +care that you don't die. You'll live, and you'll be very sorry then that +you weren't sorry for me. Perhaps Torp will come back or... I wish I +could go to Torp and the Nilghai, even though I were in their way.” + +Pussy left the room before the speech was ended, and Alf, as he entered, +found Dick addressing the empty hearth-rug. + +“There's a letter for you, sir,” he said. “Perhaps you'd like me to read +it.” + +“Lend it to me for a minute and I'll tell you.” + +The outstretched hand shook just a little and the voice was not +over-steady. It was within the limits of human possibility that--that +was no letter from Maisie. He knew the heft of three closed envelopes +only too well. It was a foolish hope that the girl should write to +him, for he did not realise that there is a wrong which admits of no +reparation though the evildoer may with tears and the heart's best love +strive to mend all. It is best to forget that wrong whether it be caused +or endured, since it is as remediless as bad work once put forward. + +“Read it, then,” said Dick, and Alf began intoning according to the +rules of the Board School--“'I could have given you love, I could have +given you loyalty, such as you never dreamed of. Do you suppose I cared +what you were? But you chose to whistle everything down the wind for +nothing. My only excuse for you is that you are so young.' That's all,” + he said, returning the paper to be dropped into the fire. + +“What was in the letter?” asked Mrs. Beeton, when Alf returned. + +“I don't know. I think it was a circular or a tract about not whistlin' +at everything when you're young.” + +“I must have stepped on something when I was alive and walking about and +it has bounced up and hit me. God help it, whatever it is--unless it was +all a joke. But I don't know any one who'd take the trouble to play a +joke on me--Love and loyalty for nothing. It sounds tempting enough. I +wonder whether I have lost anything really?” + +Dick considered for a long time but could not remember when or how he +had put himself in the way of winning these trifles at a woman's hands. + +Still, the letter as touching on matters that he preferred not to think +about stung him into a fit of frenzy that lasted for a day and night. +When his heart was so full of despair that it would hold no more, +body and soul together seemed to be dropping without check through the +darkness. + +Then came fear of darkness and desperate attempts to reach the light +again. But there was no light to be reached. When that agony had left +him sweating and breathless, the downward flight would recommence till +the gathering torture of it spurred him into another fight as hopeless +as the first. Followed some few minutes of sleep in which he dreamed +that he saw. Then the procession of events would repeat itself till he +was utterly worn out and the brain took up its everlasting consideration +of Maisie and might-have-beens. + +At the end of everything Mr. Beeton came to his room and volunteered to +take him out. “Not marketing this time, but we'll go into the Parks if +you like.” + +“Be damned if I do,” quoth Dick. “Keep to the streets and walk up and +down. I like to hear the people round me.” + +This was not altogether true. The blind in the first stages of their +infirmity dislike those who can move with a free stride and unlifted +arms--but Dick had no earthly desire to go to the Parks. Once and +only once since Maisie had shut her door he had gone there under Alf's +charge. Alf forgot him and fished for minnows in the Serpentine with +some companions. After half an hour's waiting Dick, almost weeping with +rage and wrath, caught a passer-by, who introduced him to a friendly +policeman, who led him to a four-wheeler opposite the Albert Hall. He +never told Mr. Beeton of Alf's forgetfulness, but... this was not the +manner in which he was used to walk the Parks aforetime. + +“What streets would you like to walk down, then?” said Mr. Beeton, +sympathetically. His own ideas of a riotous holiday meant picnicking +on the grass of Green Park with his family, and half a dozen paper bags +full of food. + +“Keep to the river,” said Dick, and they kept to the river, and the rush +of it was in his ears till they came to Blackfriars Bridge and struck +thence on to the Waterloo Road, Mr. Beeton explaining the beauties of +the scenery as he went on. + +“And walking on the other side of the pavement,” said he, “unless I'm +much mistaken, is the young woman that used to come to your rooms to +be drawed. I never forgets a face and I never remembers a name, except +paying tenants, 'o course!” + +“Stop her,” said Dick. “It's Bessie Broke. Tell her I'd like to speak to +her again. Quick, man!” + +Mr. Beeton crossed the road under the noses of the omnibuses and +arrested Bessie then on her way northward. She recognised him as the +man in authority who used to glare at her when she passed up Dick's +staircase, and her first impulse was to run. + +“Wasn't you Mr. Heldar's model?” said Mr. Beeton, planting himself in +front of her. “You was. He's on the other side of the road and he'd like +to see you.” + +“Why?” said Bessie, faintly. She remembered--indeed had never for long +forgotten--an affair connected with a newly finished picture. + +“Because he has asked me to do so, and because he's most particular +blind.” + +“Drunk?” + +“No. 'Orspital blind. He can't see. That's him over there.” + +Dick was leaning against the parapet of the bridge as Mr. Beeton pointed +him out--a stub-bearded, bowed creature wearing a dirty magenta-coloured +neckcloth outside an unbrushed coat. There was nothing to fear from such +an one. Even if he chased her, Bessie thought, he could not follow far. +She crossed over, and Dick's face lighted up. It was long since a woman +of any kind had taken the trouble to speak to him. + +“I hope you're well, Mr. Heldar?” said Bessie, a little puzzled. Mr. +Beeton stood by with the air of an ambassador and breathed responsibly. + +“I'm very well indeed, and, by Jove! I'm glad to see--hear you, I mean, +Bess. You never thought it worth while to turn up and see us again after +you got your money. I don't know why you should. Are you going anywhere +in particular just now?” + +“I was going for a walk,” said Bessie. + +“Not the old business?” Dick spoke under his breath. + +“Lor, no! I paid my premium”--Bessie was very proud of that word--“for a +barmaid, sleeping in, and I'm at the bar now quite respectable. Indeed I +am.” + +Mr. Beeton had no special reason to believe in the loftiness of human +nature. Therefore he dissolved himself like a mist and returned to his +gas-plugs without a word of apology. Bessie watched the flight with a +certain uneasiness; but so long as Dick appeared to be ignorant of the +harm that had been done to him... + +“It's hard work pulling the beer-handles,” she went on, “and they've got +one of them penny-in-the-slot cash-machines, so if you get wrong by a +penny at the end of the day--but then I don't believe the machinery is +right. Do you?” + +“I've only seen it work. Mr. Beeton.” + +“He's gone. + +“I'm afraid I must ask you to help me home, then. I'll make it worth +your while. You see.” The sightless eyes turned towards her and Bessie +saw. + +“It isn't taking you out of your way?” he said hesitatingly. “I can ask +a policeman if it is.” + +“Not at all. I come on at seven and I'm off at four. That's easy hours.” + +“Good God!--but I'm on all the time. I wish I had some work to do too. +Let's go home, Bess.” + +He turned and cannoned into a man on the sidewalk, recoiling with an +oath. Bessie took his arm and said nothing--as she had said nothing when +he had ordered her to turn her face a little more to the light. They +walked for some time in silence, the girl steering him deftly through +the crowd. + +“And where's--where's Mr. Torpenhow?” she inquired at last. + +“He has gone away to the desert.” + +“Where's that?” + +Dick pointed to the right. “East--out of the mouth of the river,” said +he. + +“Then west, then south, and then east again, all along the under-side +of Europe. Then south again, God knows how far.” The explanation did +not enlighten Bessie in the least, but she held her tongue and looked to +Dick's patch till they came to the chambers. + +“We'll have tea and muffins,” he said joyously. “I can't tell you, +Bessie, how glad I am to find you again. What made you go away so +suddenly?” + +“I didn't think you'd want me any more,” she said, emboldened by his +ignorance. + +“I didn't, as a matter of fact--but afterwards--At any rate I'm glad +you've come. You know the stairs.” + +So Bessie led him home to his own place--there was no one to hinder--and +shut the door of the studio. + +“What a mess!” was her first word. “All these things haven't been looked +after for months and months.” + +“No, only weeks, Bess. You can't expect them to care.” + +“I don't know what you expect them to do. They ought to know what you've +paid them for. The dust's just awful. It's all over the easel.” + +“I don't use it much now.” + +“All over the pictures and the floor, and all over your coat. I'd like +to speak to them housemaids.” + +“Ring for tea, then.” Dick felt his way to the one chair he used by +custom. + +Bessie saw the action and, as far as in her lay, was touched. But there +remained always a keen sense of new-found superiority, and it was in her +voice when she spoke. + +“How long have you been like this?” she said wrathfully, as though the +blindness were some fault of the housemaids. + +“How?” + +“As you are.” + +“The day after you went away with the check, almost as soon as my +picture was finished; I hardly saw her alive.” + +“Then they've been cheating you ever since, that's all. I know their +nice little ways.” + +A woman may love one man and despise another, but on general feminine +principles she will do her best to save the man she despises from being +defrauded. Her loved one can look to himself, but the other man, being +obviously an idiot, needs protection. + +“I don't think Mr. Beeton cheats much,” said Dick. Bessie was flouncing +up and down the room, and he was conscious of a keen sense of enjoyment +as he heard the swish of her skirts and the light step between. + +“Tea and muffins,” she said shortly, when the ring at the bell was +answered; “two teaspoonfuls and one over for the pot. I don't want +the old teapot that was here when I used to come. It don't draw. Get +another.” + +The housemaid went away scandalised, and Dick chuckled. Then he began to +cough as Bessie banged up and down the studio disturbing the dust. + +“What are you trying to do?” + +“Put things straight. This is like unfurnished lodgings. How could you +let it go so?” + +“How could I help it? Dust away.” + +She dusted furiously, and in the midst of all the pother entered Mrs. +Beeton. Her husband on his return had explained the situation, winding +up with the peculiarly felicitous proverb, “Do unto others as you would +be done by.” She had descended to put into her place the person who +demanded muffins and an uncracked teapot as though she had a right to +both. + +“Muffins ready yet?” said Bess, still dusting. She was no longer a drab +of the streets but a young lady who, thanks to Dick's check, had paid +her premium and was entitled to pull beer-handles with the best. Being +neatly dressed in black she did not hesitate to face Mrs. Beeton, and +there passed between the two women certain regards that Dick would have +appreciated. The situation adjusted itself by eye. Bessie had won, and +Mrs. Beeton returned to cook muffins and make scathing remarks about +models, hussies, trollops, and the like, to her husband. + +“There's nothing to be got of interfering with him, Liza,” he said. +“Alf, you go along into the street to play. When he isn't crossed he's +as kindly as kind, but when he's crossed he's the devil and all. We took +too many little things out of his rooms since he was blind to be that +particular about what he does. They ain't no objects to a blind man, of +course, but if it was to come into court we'd get the sack. Yes, I did +introduce him to that girl because I'm a feelin' man myself.” + +“Much too feelin'!” Mrs. Beeton slapped the muffins into the dish, and +thought of comely housemaids long since dismissed on suspicion. + +“I ain't ashamed of it, and it isn't for us to judge him hard so long +as he pays quiet and regular as he do. I know how to manage young +gentlemen, you know how to cook for them, and what I says is, let each +stick to his own business and then there won't be any trouble. Take them +muffins down, Liza, and be sure you have no words with that young woman. +His lot is cruel hard, and if he's crossed he do swear worse than any +one I've ever served.” + +“That's a little better,” said Bessie, sitting down to the tea. “You +needn't wait, thank you, Mrs. Beeton.” + +“I had no intention of doing such, I do assure you.” + +Bessie made no answer whatever. This, she knew, was the way in +which real ladies routed their foes, and when one is a barmaid at a +first-class public-house one may become a real lady at ten minutes' +notice. + +Her eyes fell on Dick opposite her and she was both shocked and +displeased. There were droppings of food all down the front of his +coat; the mouth under the ragged ill-grown beard drooped sullenly; the +forehead was lined and contracted; and on the lean temples the hair was +a dusty indeterminate colour that might or might not have been called +gray. The utter misery and self-abandonment of the man appealed to +her, and at the bottom of her heart lay the wicked feeling that he was +humbled and brought low who had once humbled her. + +“Oh! it is good to hear you moving about,” said Dick, rubbing his hands. +“Tell us all about your bar successes, Bessie, and the way you live +now.” + +“Never mind that. I'm quite respectable, as you'd see by looking at me. +You don't seem to live too well. What made you go blind that sudden? Why +isn't there any one to look after you?” + +Dick was too thankful for the sound of her voice to resent the tone of +it. + +“I was cut across the head a long time ago, and that ruined my eyes. I +don't suppose anybody thinks it worth while to look after me any more. +Why should they?--and Mr. Beeton really does everything I want.” + +“Don't you know any gentlemen and ladies, then, while you was--well?” + +“A few, but I don't care to have them looking at me.” + +“I suppose that's why you've growed a beard. Take it off, it don't +become you.” + +“Good gracious, child, do you imagine that I think of what becomes of me +these days?” + +“You ought. Get that taken off before I come here again. I suppose I can +come, can't I?” + +“I'd be only too grateful if you did. I don't think I treated you very +well in the old days. I used to make you angry.” + +“Very angry, you did.” + +“I'm sorry for it, then. Come and see me when you can and as often as +you can. God knows, there isn't a soul in the world to take that trouble +except you and Mr. Beeton.” + +“A lot of trouble he's taking and she too.” This with a toss of the +head. + +“They've let you do anyhow and they haven't done anything for you. I've +only to look and see that much. I'll come, and I'll be glad to come, but +you must go and be shaved, and you must get some other clothes--those +ones aren't fit to be seen.” + +“I have heaps somewhere,” he said helplessly. + +“I know you have. Tell Mr. Beeton to give you a new suit and I'll brush +it and keep it clean. You may be as blind as a barn-door, Mr. Heldar, +but it doesn't excuse you looking like a sweep.” + +“Do I look like a sweep, then?” + +“Oh, I'm sorry for you. I'm that sorry for you!” she cried impulsively, +and took Dick's hands. Mechanically, he lowered his head as if to +kiss--she was the only woman who had taken pity on him, and he was not +too proud for a little pity now. She stood up to go. + +“Nothing 'o that kind till you look more like a gentleman. It's quite +easy when you get shaved, and some clothes.” + +He could hear her drawing on her gloves and rose to say good-bye. She +passed behind him, kissed him audaciously on the back of the neck, and +ran away as swiftly as on the day when she had destroyed the Melancolia. + +“To think of me kissing Mr. Heldar,” she said to herself, “after all +he's done to me and all! Well, I'm sorry for him, and if he was shaved +he wouldn't be so bad to look at, but... Oh them Beetons, how +shameful they've treated him! I know Beeton's wearing his shirt on his +back today just as well as if I'd aired it. Tomorrow, I'll see... I +wonder if he has much of his own. It might be worth more than the bar--I +wouldn't have to do any work--and just as respectable as if no one +knew.” + +Dick was not grateful to Bessie for her parting gift. He was acutely +conscious of it in the nape of his neck throughout the night, but it +seemed, among very many other things, to enforce the wisdom of getting +shaved. + +He was shaved accordingly in the morning, and felt the better for it. A +fresh suit of clothes, white linen, and the knowledge that some one in +the world said that she took an interest in his personal appearance made +him carry himself almost upright; for the brain was relieved for a while +from thinking of Maisie, who, under other circumstances, might have +given that kiss and a million others. + +“Let us consider,” said he, after lunch. “The girl can't care, and it's +a toss-up whether she comes again or not, but if money can buy her to +look after me she shall be bought. Nobody else in the world would take +the trouble, and I can make it worth her while. She's a child of the +gutter holding brevet rank as a barmaid; so she shall have everything +she wants if she'll only come and talk and look after me.” He rubbed his +newly shorn chin and began to perplex himself with the thought of her +not coming. “I suppose I did look rather a sweep,” he went on. “I had +no reason to look otherwise. I knew things dropped on my clothes, but +it didn't matter. It would be cruel if she didn't come. She must. Maisie +came once, and that was enough for her. She was quite right. She had +something to work for. This creature has only beer-handles to pull, +unless she has deluded some young man into keeping company with her. +Fancy being cheated for the sake of a counter-jumper! We're falling +pretty low.” + +Something cried aloud within him:--This will hurt more than anything +that has gone before. It will recall and remind and suggest and +tantalise, and in the end drive you mad. + +“I know it, I know it!” Dick cried, clenching his hands despairingly; +“but, good heavens! is a poor blind beggar never to get anything out of +his life except three meals a day and a greasy waistcoat? I wish she'd +come.” + +Early in the afternoon time she came, because there was no young man in +her life just then, and she thought of material advantages which would +allow her to be idle for the rest of her days. + +“I shouldn't have known you,” she said approvingly. “You look as you +used to look--a gentleman that was proud of himself.” + +“Don't you think I deserve another kiss, then?” said Dick, flushing a +little. + +“Maybe--but you won't get it yet. Sit down and let's see what I can do +for you. I'm certain sure Mr. Beeton cheats you, now that you can't go +through the housekeeping books every month. Isn't that true?” + +“You'd better come and housekeep for me then, Bessie.” + +“Couldn't do it in these chambers--you know that as well as I do.” + +“I know, but we might go somewhere else, if you thought it worth your +while.” + +“I'd try to look after you, anyhow; but I shouldn't care to have to work +for both of us.” This was tentative. + +Dick laughed. + +“Do you remember where I used to keep my bank-book?” said he. “Torp took +it to be balanced just before he went away. Look and see.” + +“It was generally under the tobacco-jar. Ah!” + +“Well?” + +“Oh! Four thousand two hundred and ten pounds nine shillings and a +penny! Oh my!” + +“You can have the penny. That's not bad for one year's work. Is that and +a hundred and twenty pounds a year good enough?” + +The idleness and the pretty clothes were almost within her reach now, +but she must, by being housewifely, show that she deserved them. + +“Yes; but you'd have to move, and if we took an inventory, I think we'd +find that Mr. Beeton has been prigging little things out of the rooms +here and there. They don't look as full as they used.” + +“Never mind, we'll let him have them. The only thing I'm particularly +anxious to take away is that picture I used you for--when you used to +swear at me. We'll pull out of this place, Bess, and get away as far as +ever we can.” + +“Oh yes,” she said uneasily. + +“I don't know where I can go to get away from myself, but I'll try, +and you shall have all the pretty frocks that you care for. You'll like +that. Give me that kiss now, Bess. Ye gods! it's good to put one's arm +round a woman's waist again.” + +Then came the fulfilment of the prophecy within the brain. If his arm +were thus round Maisie's waist and a kiss had just been given and +taken between them,--why then... He pressed the girl more closely to +himself because the pain whipped him. She was wondering how to explain +a little accident to the Melancolia. At any rate, if this man really +desired the solace of her company--and certainly he would relapse into +his original slough if she withdrew it--he would not be more than just a +little vexed. + +It would be delightful at least to see what would happen, and by +her teachings it was good for a man to stand in certain awe of his +companion. + +She laughed nervously, and slipped out of his reach. + +“I shouldn't worrit about that picture if I was you,” she began, in the +hope of turning his attention. + +“It's at the back of all my canvases somewhere. Find it, Bess; you know +it as well as I do.” + +“I know--but--” + +“But what? You've wit enough to manage the sale of it to a dealer. +Women haggle much better than men. It might be a matter of eight or nine +hundred pounds to--to us. I simply didn't like to think about it for +a long time. It was mixed up with my life so.--But we'll cover up +our tracks and get rid of everything, eh? Make a fresh start from the +beginning, Bess.” + +Then she began to repent very much indeed, because she knew the value of +money. Still, it was probable that the blind man was overestimating the +value of his work. Gentlemen, she knew, were absurdly particular about +their things. She giggled as a nervous housemaid giggles when she tries +to explain the breakage of a pipe. + +“I'm very sorry, but you remember I was--I was angry with you before Mr. +Torpenhow went away?” + +“You were very angry, child; and on my word I think you had some right +to be.” + +“Then I--but aren't you sure Mr. Torpenhow didn't tell you?” + +“Tell me what? Good gracious, what are you making such a fuss about when +you might just as well be giving me another kiss?” + +He was beginning to learn, not for the first time in his experience, +that kissing is a cumulative poison. The more you get of it, the more +you want. + +Bessie gave the kiss promptly, whispering, as she did so, “I was so +angry I rubbed out that picture with the turpentine. You aren't angry, +are you?” + +“What? Say that again.” The man's hand had closed on her wrist. + +“I rubbed it out with turps and the knife,” faltered Bessie. “I thought +you'd only have to do it over again. You did do it over again, didn't +you? Oh, let go of my wrist; you're hurting me.” + +“Isn't there anything left of the thing?” + +“N'nothing that looks like anything. I'm sorry--I didn't know you'd take +on about it; I only meant to do it in fun. You aren't going to hit me?” + +“Hit you! No! Let's think.” + +He did not relax his hold upon her wrist but stood staring at the +carpet. + +Then he shook his head as a young steer shakes it when the lash of the +stock-whip cross his nose warns him back to the path on to the shambles +that he would escape. For weeks he had forced himself not to think of +the Melancolia, because she was a part of his dead life. With Bessie's +return and certain new prospects that had developed themselves, the +Melancolia--lovelier in his imagination than she had ever been on +canvas--reappeared. By her aid he might have procured more money +wherewith to amuse Bess and to forget Maisie, as well as another +taste of an almost forgotten success. Now, thanks to a vicious little +housemaid's folly, there was nothing to look for--not even the hope that +he might some day take an abiding interest in the housemaid. Worst of +all, he had been made to appear ridiculous in Maisie's eyes. A woman +will forgive the man who has ruined her life's work so long as he gives +her love; a man may forgive those who ruin the love of his life, but he +will never forgive the destruction of his work. + +“Tck--tck--tck,” said Dick between his teeth, and then laughed softly. +“It's an omen, Bessie, and--a good many things considered, it serves me +right for doing what I have done. By Jove! that accounts for Maisie's +running away. She must have thought me perfectly mad--small blame to +her! The whole picture ruined, isn't it so? What made you do it?” + +“Because I was that angry. I'm not angry now--I'm awful sorry.” + +“I wonder.--It doesn't matter, anyhow. I'm to blame for making the +mistake.” + +“What mistake?” + +“Something you wouldn't understand, dear. Great heavens! to think that +a little piece of dirt like you could throw me out of stride!” Dick was +talking to himself as Bessie tried to shake off his grip on her wrist. + +“I ain't a piece of dirt, and you shouldn't call me so! I did it 'cause +I hated you, and I'm only sorry now 'cause you're 'cause you're----” + +“Exactly--because I'm blind. There's noting like tact in little things.” + +Bessie began to sob. She did not like being shackled against her will; +she was afraid of the blind face and the look upon it, and was sorry too +that her great revenge had only made Dick laugh. + +“Don't cry,” he said, and took her into his arms. “You only did what you +thought right.” + +“I--I ain't a little piece of dirt, and if you say that I'll never come +to you again.” + +“You don't know what you've done to me. I'm not angry--indeed, I'm not. +Be quiet for a minute.” + +Bessie remained in his arms shrinking. Dick's first thought was +connected with Maisie, and it hurt him as white-hot iron hurts an open +sore. + +Not for nothing is a man permitted to ally himself to the wrong woman. + +The first pang--the first sense of things lost is but the prelude to +the play, for the very just Providence who delights in causing pain has +decreed that the agony shall return, and that in the midst of keenest +pleasure. + +They know this pain equally who have forsaken or been forsaken by +the love of their life, and in their new wives' arms are compelled to +realise it. + +It is better to remain alone and suffer only the misery of being alone, +so long as it is possible to find distraction in daily work. When that +resource goes the man is to be pitied and left alone. + +These things and some others Dick considered while he was holding Bessie +to his heart. + +“Though you mayn't know it,” he said, raising his head, “the Lord is a +just and a terrible God, Bess; with a very strong sense of humour. It +serves me right--how it serves me right! Torp could understand it if +he were here; he must have suffered something at your hands, child, but +only for a minute or so. I saved him. Set that to my credit, some one.” + +“Let me go,” said Bess, her face darkening. “Let me go.” + +“All in good time. Did you ever attend Sunday school?” + +“Never. Let me go, I tell you; you're making fun of me.” + +“Indeed, I'm not. I'm making fun of myself.... Thus. 'He saved +others, himself he cannot save.' It isn't exactly a school-board text.” + He released her wrist, but since he was between her and the door, she +could not escape. “What an enormous amount of mischief one little woman +can do!” + +“I'm sorry; I'm awful sorry about the picture.” + +“I'm not. I'm grateful to you for spoiling it.... What were we +talking about before you mentioned the thing?” + +“About getting away--and money. Me and you going away.” + +“Of course. We will get away--that is to say, I will.” + +“And me?” + +“You shall have fifty whole pounds for spoiling a picture.” + +“Then you won't----?” + +“I'm afraid not, dear. Think of fifty pounds for pretty things all to +yourself.” + +“You said you couldn't do anything without me.” + +“That was true a little while ago. I'm better now, thank you. Get me my +hat.” + +“S'pose I don't?” + +“Beeton will, and you'll lose fifty pounds. That's all. Get it.” + +Bessie cursed under her breath. She had pitied the man sincerely, had +kissed him with almost equal sincerity, for he was not unhandsome; it +pleased her to be in a way and for a time his protector, and above all +there were four thousand pounds to be handled by some one. Now through +a slip of the tongue and a little feminine desire to give a little, +not too much, pain she had lost the money, the blessed idleness and the +pretty things, the companionship, and the chance of looking outwardly as +respectable as a real lady. + +“Now fill me a pipe. Tobacco doesn't taste, but it doesn't matter, and +I'll think things out. What's the day of the week, Bess?” + +“Tuesday.” + +“Then Thursday's mail-day. What a fool--what a blind fool I have been! +Twenty-two pounds covers my passage home again. Allow ten for additional +expenses. We must put up at Madam Binat's for old time's sake. +Thirty-two pounds altogether. Add a hundred for the cost of the last +trip--Gad, won't Torp stare to see me!--a hundred and thirty-two leaves +seventy-eight for baksheesh--I shall need it--and to play with. What +are you crying for, Bess? It wasn't your fault, child; it was mine +altogether. Oh, you funny little opossum, mop your eyes and take me out! +I want the pass-book and the check-book. Stop a minute. Four thousand +pounds at four per cent--that's safe interest--means a hundred and sixty +pounds a year; one hundred and twenty pounds a year--also safe--is two +eighty, and two hundred and eighty pounds added to three hundred a year +means gilded luxury for a single woman. Bess, we'll go to the bank.” + +Richer by two hundred and ten pounds stored in his money-belt, Dick +caused Bessie, now thoroughly bewildered, to hurry from the bank to the +P. and O. offices, where he explained things tersely. + +“Port Said, single first; cabin as close to the baggage-hatch as +possible. What ship's going?” + +“The Colgong,” said the clerk. + +“She's a wet little hooker. Is it Tilbury and a tender, or Galleons and +the docks?” + +“Galleons. Twelve-forty, Thursday.” + +“Thanks. Change, please. I can't see very well--will you count it into +my hand?” + +“If they all took their passages like that instead of talking about +their trunks, life would be worth something,” said the clerk to his +neighbour, who was trying to explain to a harassed mother of many that +condensed milk is just as good for babes at sea as daily dairy. Being +nineteen and unmarried, he spoke with conviction. + +“We are now,” quoth Dick, as they returned to the studio, patting the +place where his money-belt covered ticket and money, “beyond the reach +of man, or devil, or woman--which is much more important. I've had three +little affairs to carry through before Thursday, but I needn't ask you +to help, Bess. Come here on Thursday morning at nine. We'll breakfast, +and you shall take me down to Galleons Station.” + +“What are you going to do?” + +“Going away, of course. What should I stay for?” + +“But you can't look after yourself?” + +“I can do anything. I didn't realise it before, but I can. I've done a +great deal already. Resolution shall be treated to one kiss if Bessie +doesn't object.” Strangely enough, Bessie objected and Dick laughed. +“I suppose you're right. Well, come at nine the day after tomorrow and +you'll get your money.” + +“Shall I sure?” + +“I don't bilk, and you won't know whether I do or not unless you come. +Oh, but it's long and long to wait! Good-bye, Bessie,--send Beeton here +as you go out.” + +The housekeeper came. + +“What are all the fittings of my rooms worth?” said Dick, imperiously. + +“'Tisn't for me to say, sir. Some things is very pretty and some is wore +out dreadful.” + +“I'm insured for two hundred and seventy.” + +“Insurance policies is no criterion, though I don't say----” + +“Oh, damn your longwindedness! You've made your pickings out of me and +the other tenants. Why, you talked of retiring and buying a public-house +the other day. Give a straight answer to a straight question.” + +“Fifty,” said Mr. Beeton, without a moment's hesitation. + +“Double it; or I'll break up half my sticks and burn the rest.” + +He felt his way to a bookstand that supported a pile of sketch-books, +and wrenched out one of the mahogany pillars. + +“That's sinful, sir,” said the housekeeper, alarmed. + +“It's my own. One hundred or----” + +“One hundred it is. It'll cost me three and six to get that there +pilaster mended.” + +“I thought so. What an out and out swindler you must have been to spring +that price at once!” + +“I hope I've done nothing to dissatisfy any of the tenants, least of all +you, sir.” + +“Never mind that. Get me the money tomorrow, and see that all my clothes +are packed in the little brown bullock-trunk. I'm going.” + +“But the quarter's notice?” + +“I'll pay forfeit. Look after the packing and leave me alone.” + +Mr. Beeton discussed this new departure with his wife, who decided that +Bessie was at the bottom of it all. Her husband took a more charitable +view. + +“It's very sudden--but then he was always sudden in his ways. Listen to +him now!” + +There was a sound of chanting from Dick's room. + +“We'll never come back any more, boys, We'll never come back no more; +We'll go to the deuce on any excuse, And never come back no more! Oh say +we're afloat or ashore, boys, Oh say we're afloat or ashore; But we'll +never come back any more, boys, We'll never come back no more!” + +“Mr. Beeton! Mr. Beeton! Where the deuce is my pistol?” + +“Quick, he's going to shoot himself 'avin' gone mad!” said Mrs. Beeton. + +Mr. Beeton addressed Dick soothingly, but it was some time before the +latter, threshing up and down his bedroom, could realise the intention +of the promises to 'find everything tomorrow, sir.' + +“Oh, you copper-nosed old fool--you impotent Academician!” he shouted +at last. “Do you suppose I want to shoot myself? Take the pistol in your +silly shaking hand then. If you touch it, it will go off, because it's +loaded. It's among my campaign-kit somewhere--in the parcel at the +bottom of the trunk.” + +Long ago Dick had carefully possessed himself of a forty-pound weight +field-equipment constructed by the knowledge of his own experience. It +was this put-away treasure that he was trying to find and rehandle. Mr. +Beeton whipped the revolver out of its place on the top of the package, +and Dick drove his hand among the khaki coat and breeches, the blue +cloth leg-bands, and the heavy flannel shirts doubled over a pair of +swan-neck spurs. Under these and the water-bottle lay a sketch-book and +a pigskin case of stationery. + +“These we don't want; you can have them, Mr. Beeton. Everything else +I'll keep. Pack 'em on the top right-hand side of my trunk. When you've +done that come into the studio with your wife. I want you both. Wait a +minute; get me a pen and a sheet of notepaper.” + +It is not an easy thing to write when you cannot see, and Dick had +particular reasons for wishing that his work should be clear. So he +began, following his right hand with his left: “The badness of this +writing is because I am blind and cannot see my pen.” H'mph!--even a +lawyer can't mistake that. It must be signed, I suppose, but it +needn't be witnessed. Now an inch lower--why did I never learn to use +a type-writer?--“This is the last will and testament of me, Richard +Heldar. I am in sound bodily and mental health, and there is no previous +will to revoke.”--That's all right. Damn the pen! Whereabouts on the +paper was I?--” “I leave everything that I possess in the world, including +four thousand pounds, and two thousand seven hundred and twenty eight +pounds held for me--oh, I can't get this straight.” He tore off half +the sheet and began again with the caution about the handwriting. +Then: “I leave all the money I possess in the world to”--here followed +Maisie's name, and the names of the two banks that held the money. + +“It mayn't be quite regular, but no one has a shadow of a right to +dispute it, and I've given Maisie's address. Come in, Mr. Beeton. +This is my signature; I want you and your wife to witness it. Thanks. +Tomorrow you must take me to the landlord and I'll pay forfeit for +leaving without notice, and I'll lodge this paper with him in case +anything happens while I'm away. Now we're going to light up the studio +stove. Stay with me, and give me my papers as I want 'em.” + +No one knows until he has tried how fine a blaze a year's accumulation +of bills, letters, and dockets can make. Dick stuffed into the stove +every document in the studio--saving only three unopened letters; +destroyed sketch-books, rough note-books, new and half-finished canvases +alike. + +“What a lot of rubbish a tenant gets about him if he stays long enough +in one place, to be sure,” said Mr. Beeton, at last. + +“He does. Is there anything more left?” Dick felt round the walls. + +“Not a thing, and the stove's nigh red-hot.” + +“Excellent, and you've lost about a thousand pounds' worth of sketches. +Ho! ho! Quite a thousand pounds' worth, if I can remember what I used to +be.” + +“Yes, sir,” politely. Mr. Beeton was quite sure that Dick had gone mad, +otherwise he would have never parted with his excellent furniture for a +song. The canvas things took up storage room and were much better out of +the way. + +There remained only to leave the little will in safe hands: that could +not be accomplished til tomorrow. Dick groped about the floor picking +up the last pieces of paper, assured himself again and again that there +remained no written word or sign of his past life in drawer or desk, +and sat down before the stove till the fire died out and the contracting +iron cracked in the silence of the night. + + + +CHAPTER XV + + With a heart of furious fancies, + Whereof I am commander; + With a burning spear and a horse of air, + To the wilderness I wander. + + With a knight of ghosts and shadows + I summoned am to tourney-- + Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end, + Methinks it is no journey. + --Tom o' Bedlam's Song + +“Goodbye, Bess; I promised you fifty. Here's a hundred--all that I got +for my furniture from Beeton. That will keep you in pretty frocks for +some time. You've been a good little girl, all things considered, but +you've given me and Torpenhow a fair amount of trouble.” + +“Give Mr. Torpenhow my love if you see him, won't you?” + +“Of course I will, dear. Now take me up the gang-plank and into the +cabin. Once aboard the lugger and the maid is--and I am free, I mean.” + +“Who'll look after you on this ship?” + +“The head-steward, if there's any use in money. The doctor when we come +to Port Said, if I know anything of P. and O. doctors. After that, the +Lord will provide, as He used to do.” + +Bess found Dick his cabin in the wild turmoil of a ship full of +leavetakers and weeping relatives. Then he kissed her, and laid himself +down in his bunk until the decks should be clear. He who had taken so +long to move about his own darkened rooms well understood the geography +of a ship, and the necessity of seeing to his own comforts was as wine +to him. + +Before the screw began to thrash the ship along the Docks he had been +introduced to the head-steward, had royally tipped him, secured a good +place at table, opened out his baggage, and settled himself down with +joy in the cabin. It was scarcely necessary to feel his way as he moved +about, for he knew everything so well. Then God was very kind: a deep +sleep of weariness came upon him just as he would have thought of +Maisie, and he slept till the steamer had cleared the mouth of the +Thames and was lifting to the pulse of the Channel. + +The rattle of the engines, the reek of oil and paint, and a very +familiar sound in the next cabin roused him to his new inheritance. + +“Oh, it's good to be alive again!” He yawned, stretched himself +vigorously, and went on deck to be told that they were almost abreast of +the lights of Brighton. This is no more open water than Trafalgar Square +is a common; the free levels begin at Ushant; but none the less Dick +could feel the healing of the sea at work upon him already. A boisterous +little cross-swell swung the steamer disrespectfully by the nose; and +one wave breaking far aft spattered the quarterdeck and the pile of new +deck-chairs. He heard the foam fall with the clash of broken glass, was +stung in the face by a cupful, and sniffing luxuriously, felt his way to +the smoking-room by the wheel. There a strong breeze found him, blew +his cap off and left him bareheaded in the doorway, and the smoking-room +steward, understanding that he was a voyager of experience, said that +the weather would be stiff in the chops off the Channel and more than +half a gale in the Bay. These things fell as they were foretold, and +Dick enjoyed himself to the utmost. It is allowable and even necessary +at sea to lay firm hold upon tables, stanchions, and ropes in moving +from place to place. On land the man who feels with his hands is +patently blind. At sea even a blind man who is not sea-sick can jest +with the doctor over the weakness of his fellows. Dick told the doctor +many tales--and these are coin of more value than silver if properly +handled--smoked with him till unholy hours of the night, and so won his +short-lived regard that he promised Dick a few hours of his time when +they came to Port Said. + +And the sea roared or was still as the winds blew, and the engines sang +their song day and night, and the sun grew stronger day by day, and +Tom the Lascar barber shaved Dick of a morning under the opened +hatch-grating where the cool winds blew, and the awnings were spread and +the passengers made merry, and at last they came to Port Said. + +“Take me,” said Dick, to the doctor, “to Madame Binat's--if you know +where that is.” + +“Whew!” said the doctor, “I do. There's not much to choose between 'em; +but I suppose you're aware that that's one of the worst houses in the +place. They'll rob you to begin with, and knife you later.” + +“Not they. Take me there, and I can look after myself.” + +So he was brought to Madame Binat's and filled his nostrils with the +well-remembered smell of the East, that runs without a change from the +Canal head to Hong-Kong, and his mouth with the villainous Lingua Franca +of the Levant. The heat smote him between the shoulder-blades with +the buffet of an old friend, his feet slipped on the sand, and his +coat-sleeve was warm as new-baked bread when he lifted it to his nose. + +Madame Binat smiled with the smile that knows no astonishment when Dick +entered the drinking-shop which was one source of her gains. But for a +little accident of complete darkness he could hardly realise that he +had ever quitted the old life that hummed in his ears. Somebody opened +a bottle of peculiarly strong Schiedam. The smell reminded Dick of +Monsieur Binat, who, by the way, had spoken of art and degradation. + +Binat was dead; Madame said as much when the doctor departed, +scandalised, so far as a ship's doctor can be, at the warmth of Dick's +reception. Dick was delighted at it. “They remember me here after a +year. They have forgotten me across the water by this time. Madame, I +want a long talk with you when you're at liberty. It is good to be back +again.” + +In the evening she set an iron-topped cafe-table out on the sands, and +Dick and she sat by it, while the house behind them filled with riot, +merriment, oaths, and threats. The stars came out and the lights of the +shipping in the harbour twinkled by the head of the Canal. + +“Yes. The war is good for trade, my friend; but what dost thou do here? +We have not forgotten thee.” + +“I was over there in England and I went blind.” + +“But there was the glory first. We heard of it here, even here--I +and Binat; and thou hast used the head of Yellow 'Tina--she is still +alive--so often and so well that 'Tina laughed when the papers arrived +by the mail-boats. It was always something that we here could recognise +in the paintings. And then there was always the glory and the money for +thee.” + +“I am not poor--I shall pay you well.” + +“Not to me. Thou hast paid for everything.” Under her breath, “Mon Dieu, +to be blind and so young! What horror!” + +Dick could not see her face with the pity on it, or his own with the +discoloured hair at the temples. He did not feel the need of pity; he +was too anxious to get to the front once more, and explained his desire. + +“And where? The Canal is full of the English ships. Sometimes they fire +as they used to do when the war was here--ten years ago. Beyond Cairo +there is fighting, but how canst thou go there without a correspondent's +passport? And in the desert there is always fighting, but that is +impossible also,” said she. + +“I must go to Suakin.” He knew, thanks to Alf's readings, that Torpenhow +was at work with the column that was protecting the construction of the +Suakin-Berber line. P. and O. steamers do not touch at that port, and, +besides, Madame Binat knew everybody whose help or advice was worth +anything. They were not respectable folk, but they could cause things to +be accomplished, which is much more important when there is work toward. + +“But at Suakin they are always fighting. That desert breeds men +always--and always more men. And they are so bold! Why to Suakin?” + +“My friend is there. + +“Thy friend! Chtt! Thy friend is death, then.” + +Madame Binat dropped a fat arm on the table-top, filled Dick's glass +anew, and looked at him closely under the stars. There was no need that +he should bow his head in assent and say--“No. He is a man, but--if it +should arrive... blamest thou?” + +“I blame?” she laughed shrilly. “Who am I that I should blame any +one--except those who try to cheat me over their consommations. But it +is very terrible.” + +“I must go to Suakin. Think for me. A great deal has changed within the +year, and the men I knew are not here. The Egyptian lighthouse steamer +goes down the Canal to Suakin--and the post-boats--But even then----” + +“Do not think any longer. I know, and it is for me to think. Thou shalt +go--thou shalt go and see thy friend. Be wise. Sit here until the house +is a little quiet--I must attend to my guests--and afterwards go to bed. +Thou shalt go, in truth, thou shalt go.” + +“Tomorrow?” + +“As soon as may be.” She was talking as though he were a child. + +He sat at the table listening to the voices in the harbour and the +streets, and wondering how soon the end would come, till Madame Binat +carried him off to bed and ordered him to sleep. The house shouted and +sang and danced and revelled, Madame Binat moving through it with +one eye on the liquor payments and the girls and the other on Dick's +interests. To this latter end she smiled upon scowling and furtive +Turkish officers of fellaheen regiments, and was more than kind to camel +agents of no nationality whatever. + +In the early morning, being then appropriately dressed in a flaming +red silk ball-dress, with a front of tarnished gold embroidery and a +necklace of plate-glass diamonds, she made chocolate and carried it in +to Dick. + +“It is only I, and I am of discreet age, eh? Drink and eat the roll too. +Thus in France mothers bring their sons, when those behave wisely, the +morning chocolate.” She sat down on the side of the bed whispering:--“It +is all arranged. Thou wilt go by the lighthouse boat. That is a bribe +of ten pounds English. The captain is never paid by the Government. The +boat comes to Suakin in four days. There will go with thee George, a +Greek muleteer. Another bribe of ten pounds. I will pay; they must not +know of thy money. George will go with thee as far as he goes with his +mules. Then he comes back to me, for his well-beloved is here, and if +I do not receive a telegram from Suakin saying that thou art well, the +girl answers for George.” + +“Thank you.” He reached out sleepily for the cup. “You are much too +kind, Madame.” + +“If there were anything that I might do I would say, stay here and be +wise; but I do not think that would be best for thee.” She looked at her +liquor-stained dress with a sad smile. “Nay, thou shalt go, in truth, +thou shalt go. It is best so. My boy, it is best so.” + +She stooped and kissed Dick between the eyes. “That is for +good-morning,” she said, going away. “When thou art dressed we will +speak to George and make everything ready. But first we must open the +little trunk. Give me the keys.” + +“The amount of kissing lately has been simply scandalous. I shall expect +Torp to kiss me next. He is more likely to swear at me for getting in +his way, though. Well, it won't last long.--Ohe, Madame, help me to my +toilette of the guillotine! There will be no chance of dressing properly +out yonder.” + +He was rummaging among his new campaign-kit, and rowelling his hands +with the spurs. There are two ways of wearing well-oiled ankle-jacks, +spotless blue bands, khaki coat and breeches, and a perfectly pipeclayed +helmet. The right way is the way of the untired man, master of himself, +setting out upon an expedition, well pleased. + +“Everything must be very correct,” Dick explained. “It will become dirty +afterwards, but now it is good to feel well dressed. Is everything as it +should be?” + +He patted the revolver neatly hidden under the fulness of the blouse on +the right hip and fingered his collar. + +“I can do no more,” Madame said, between laughing and crying. “Look at +thyself--but I forgot.” + +“I am very content.” He stroked the creaseless spirals of his leggings. + +“Now let us go and see the captain and George and the lighthouse boat. +Be quick, Madame.” + +“But thou canst not be seen by the harbour walking with me in the +daylight. Figure to yourself if some English ladies----” + +“There are no English ladies; and if there are, I have forgotten them. +Take me there.” + +In spite of this burning impatience it was nearly evening ere the +lighthouse boat began to move. Madame had said a great deal both to +George and the captain touching the arrangements that were to be made +for Dick's benefit. Very few men who had the honour of her acquaintance +cared to disregard Madame's advice. That sort of contempt might end in +being knifed by a stranger in a gambling hell upon surprisingly short +provocation. + +For six days--two of them were wasted in the crowded Canal--the +little steamer worked her way to Suakin, where she was to pick up the +superintendent of the lighthouse; and Dick made it his business to +propitiate George, who was distracted with fears for the safety of his +light-of-love and half inclined to make Dick responsible for his own +discomfort. When they arrived George took him under his wing, and +together they entered the red-hot seaport, encumbered with the material +and wastage of the Suakin-Berger line, from locomotives in disconsolate +fragments to mounds of chairs and pot-sleepers. + +“If you keep with me,” said George, “nobody will ask for passports or +what you do. They are all very busy.” + +“Yes; but I should like to hear some of the Englishmen talk. They might +remember me. I was known here a long time ago--when I was some one +indeed.” + +“A long time ago is a very long time ago here. The graveyards are full. +Now listen. This new railway runs out so far as Tanai-el-Hassan--that is +seven miles. Then there is a camp. They say that beyond Tanai-el-Hassan +the English troops go forward, and everything that they require will be +brought to them by this line.” + +“Ah! Base camp. I see. That's a better business than fighting Fuzzies in +the open.” + +“For this reason even the mules go up in the iron-train.” + +“Iron what?” + +“It is all covered with iron, because it is still being shot at.” + +“An armoured train. Better and better! Go on, faithful George.” + +“And I go up with my mules tonight. Only those who particularly require +to go to the camp go out with the train. They begin to shoot not far +from the city.” + +“The dears--they always used to!” Dick snuffed the smell of parched +dust, heated iron, and flaking paint with delight. Certainly the old +life was welcoming him back most generously. + +“When I have got my mules together I go up tonight, but you must first +send a telegram of Port Said, declaring that I have done you no harm.” + +“Madame has you well in hand. Would you stick a knife into me if you had +the chance?” + +“I have no chance,” said the Greek. “She is there with that woman.” + +“I see. It's a bad thing to be divided between love of woman and the +chance of loot. I sympathise with you, George.” + +They went to the telegraph-office unquestioned, for all the world was +desperately busy and had scarcely time to turn its head, and Suakin was +the last place under sky that would be chosen for holiday-ground. On +their return the voice of an English subaltern asked Dick what he was +doing. The blue goggles were over his eyes and he walked with his hand +on George's elbow as he replied--“Egyptian Government--mules. My orders +are to give them over to the A. C. G. at Tanai-el-Hassan. Any occasion +to show my papers?” + +“Oh, certainly not. I beg your pardon. I'd no right to ask, but not +seeing your face before I----” + +“I go out in the train tonight, I suppose,” said Dick, boldly. “There +will be no difficulty in loading up the mules, will there?” + +“You can see the horse-platforms from here. You must have them loaded up +early.” The young man went away wondering what sort of broken-down +waif this might be who talked like a gentleman and consorted with Greek +muleteers. Dick felt unhappy. To outface an English officer is no small +thing, but the bluff loses relish when one plays it from the utter dark, +and stumbles up and down rough ways, thinking and eternally thinking +of what might have been if things had fallen out otherwise, and all had +been as it was not. + +George shared his meal with Dick and went off to the mule-lines. His +charge sat alone in a shed with his face in his hands. Before his +tight-shut eyes danced the face of Maisie, laughing, with parted lips. +There was a great bustle and clamour about him. He grew afraid and +almost called for George. + +“I say, have you got your mules ready?” It was the voice of the +subaltern over his shoulder. + +“My man's looking after them. The--the fact is I've a touch of +ophthalmia and can't see very well. + +“By Jove! that's bad. You ought to lie up in hospital for a while. I've +had a turn of it myself. It's as bad as being blind.” + +“So I find it. When does this armoured train go?” + +“At six o'clock. It takes an hour to cover the seven miles.” + +“Are the Fuzzies on the rampage--eh?” + +“About three nights a week. Fact is I'm in acting command of the +night-train. It generally runs back empty to Tanai for the night.” + +“Big camp at Tanai, I suppose?” + +“Pretty big. It has to feed our desert-column somehow.” + +“Is that far off?” + +“Between thirty and forty miles--in an infernal thirsty country.” + +“Is the country quiet between Tanai and our men?” + +“More or less. I shouldn't care to cross it alone, or with a subaltern's +command for the matter of that, but the scouts get through it in some +extraordinary fashion.” + +“They always did.” + +“Have you been here before, then?” + +“I was through most of the trouble when it first broke out.” + +“In the service and cashiered,” was the subaltern's first thought, so he +refrained from putting any questions. + +“There's your man coming up with the mules. It seems rather queer----” + +“That I should be mule-leading?” said Dick. + +“I didn't mean to say so, but it is. Forgive me--it's beastly +impertinence I know, but you speak like a man who has been at a public +school. There's no mistaking the tone.” + +“I am a public school man.” + +“I thought so. I say, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you're a +little down on your luck, aren't you? I saw you sitting with your head +in your hands, and that's why I spoke.” + +“Thanks. I am about as thoroughly and completely broke as a man need +be.” + +“Suppose--I mean I'm a public school man myself. Couldn't I +perhaps--take it as a loan y'know and----” + +“You're much too good, but on my honour I've as much money as I want. +... I tell you what you could do for me, though, and put me under an +everlasting obligation. Let me come into the bogie truck of the train. +There is a fore-truck, isn't there?” + +“Yes. How d'you know?” + +“I've been in an armoured train before. Only let me see--hear some +of the fun I mean, and I'll be grateful. I go at my own risk as a +non-combatant.” + +The young man thought for a minute. “All right,” he said. “We're +supposed to be an empty train, and there's no one to blow me up at the +other end.” + +George and a horde of yelling amateur assistants had loaded up the +mules, and the narrow-gauge armoured train, plated with three-eighths +inch boiler-plate till it looked like one long coffin, stood ready to +start. + +Two bogie trucks running before the locomotive were completely covered +in with plating, except that the leading one was pierced in front for +the muzzle of a machine-gun, and the second at either side for lateral +fire. + +The trucks together made one long iron-vaulted chamber in which a score +of artillerymen were rioting. + +“Whitechapel--last train! Ah, I see yer kissin' in the first class +there!” somebody shouted, just as Dick was clamouring into the forward +truck. + +“Lordy! 'Ere's a real live passenger for the Kew, Tanai, Acton, and +Ealin' train. Echo, sir. Speshul edition! Star, sir.”--“Shall I get you +a foot-warmer?” said another. + +“Thanks. I'll pay my footing,” said Dick, and relations of the most +amiable were established ere silence came with the arrival of the +subaltern, and the train jolted out over the rough track. + +“This is an immense improvement on shooting the unimpressionable Fuzzy +in the open,” said Dick, from his place in the corner. + +“Oh, but he's still unimpressed. There he goes!” said the subaltern, as +a bullet struck the outside of the truck. “We always have at least +one demonstration against the night-train. Generally they attack the +rear-truck, where my junior commands. He gets all the fun of the fair.” + +“Not tonight though! Listen!” said Dick. A flight of heavy-handed +bullets was succeeded by yelling and shouts. The children of the desert +valued their nightly amusement, and the train was an excellent mark. + +“Is it worth giving them half a hopper full?” the subaltern asked of the +engine, which was driven by a Lieutenant of Sappers. + +“I should think so! This is my section of the line. They'll be playing +old Harry with my permanent way if we don't stop 'em.” + +“Right O!” + +“Hrrmph!” said the machine gun through all its five noses as the +subaltern drew the lever home. The empty cartridges clashed on the floor +and the smoke blew back through the truck. There was indiscriminate +firing at the rear of the train, and return fire from the darkness +without and unlimited howling. Dick stretched himself on the floor, wild +with delight at the sounds and the smells. + +“God is very good--I never thought I'd hear this again. Give 'em hell, +men. Oh, give 'em hell!” he cried. + +The train stopped for some obstruction on the line ahead and a party +went out to reconnoitre, but came back, cursing, for spades. The +children of the desert had piled sand and gravel on the rails, and +twenty minutes were lost in clearing it away. Then the slow progress +recommenced, to be varied with more shots, more shoutings, the steady +clack and kick of the machine guns, and a final difficulty with a +half-lifted rail ere the train came under the protection of the roaring +camp at Tanai-el-Hassan. + +“Now, you see why it takes an hour and a half to fetch her through,” + said the subaltern, unshipping the cartridge-hopper above his pet gun. + +“It was a lark, though. I only wish it had lasted twice as long. +How superb it must have looked from outside!” said Dick, sighing +regretfully. + +“It palls after the first few nights. By the way, when you've settled +about your mules, come and see what we can find to eat in my tent. I'm +Bennil of the Gunners--in the artillery lines--and mind you don't fall +over my tent-ropes in the dark.” + +But it was all dark to Dick. He could only smell the camels, the +hay-bales, the cooking, the smoky fires, and the tanned canvas of the +tents as he stood, where he had dropped from the train, shouting for +George. There was a sound of light-hearted kicking on the iron skin of +the rear trucks, with squealing and grunting. George was unloading the +mules. + +The engine was blowing off steam nearly in Dick's ear; a cold wind of +the desert danced between his legs; he was hungry, and felt tired and +dirty--so dirty that he tried to brush his coat with his hands. That was +a hopeless job; he thrust his hands into his pockets and began to count +over the many times that he had waited in strange or remote places for +trains or camels, mules or horses, to carry him to his business. In +those days he could see--few men more clearly--and the spectacle of an +armed camp at dinner under the stare was an ever fresh pleasure to the +eye. There was colour, light, and motion, without which no man has much +pleasure in living. This night there remained for him only one more +journey through the darkness that never lifts to tell a man how far he +has travelled. Then he would grip Torpenhow's hand again--Torpenhow, who +was alive and strong, and lived in the midst of the action that had once +made the reputation of a man called Dick Heldar: not in the least to be +confused with the blind, bewildered vagabond who seemed to answer to +the same name. Yes, he would find Torpenhow, and come as near to the old +life as might be. Afterwards he would forget everything: Bessie, who had +wrecked the Melancolia and so nearly wrecked his life; Beeton, who lived +in a strange unreal city full of tin-tacks and gas-plugs and matters +that no men needed; that irrational being who had offered him love +and loyalty for nothing, but had not signed her name; and most of all +Maisie, who, from her own point of view, was undeniably right in all she +did, but oh, at this distance, so tantalisingly fair. + +George's hand on his arm pulled him back to the situation. + +“And what now?” said George. + +“Oh yes of course. What now? Take me to the camel-men. Take me to where +the scouts sit when they come in from the desert. They sit by their +camels, and the camels eat grain out of a black blanket held up at the +corners, and the men eat by their side just like camels. Take me there!” + +The camp was rough and rutty, and Dick stumbled many times over the +stumps of scrub. The scouts were sitting by their beasts, as Dick knew +they would. The light of the dung-fires flickered on their bearded +faces, and the camels bubbled and mumbled beside them at rest. It was no +part of Dick's policy to go into the desert with a convoy of +supplies. That would lead to impertinent questions, and since a blind +non-combatant is not needed at the front, he would probably be forced to +return to Suakin. + +He must go up alone, and go immediately. + +“Now for one last bluff--the biggest of all,” he said. “Peace be with +you, brethren!” The watchful George steered him to the circle of the +nearest fire. The heads of the camel-sheiks bowed gravely, and the +camels, scenting a European, looked sideways curiously like brooding +hens, half ready to get to their feet. + +“A beast and a driver to go to the fighting line tonight,” said Dick. + +“A Mulaid?” said a voice, scornfully naming the best baggage-breed that +he knew. + +“A Bisharin,” returned Dick, with perfect gravity. “A Bisharin without +saddle-galls. Therefore no charge of thine, shock-head.” + +Two or three minutes passed. Then--“We be knee-haltered for the night. +There is no going out from the camp.” + +“Not for money?” + +“H'm! Ah! English money?” + +Another depressing interval of silence. + +“How much?” + +“Twenty-five pounds English paid into the hand of the driver at my +journey's end, and as much more into the hand of the camel-sheik here, +to be paid when the driver returns.” + +This was royal payment, and the sheik, who knew that he would get his +commission on this deposit, stirred in Dick's behalf. + +“For scarcely one night's journey--fifty pounds. Land and wells and +good trees and wives to make a man content for the rest of his days. Who +speaks?” said Dick. + +“I,” said a voice. “I will go--but there is no going from the camp.” + +“Fool! I know that a camel can break his knee-halter, and the sentries +do not fire if one goes in chase. Twenty-five pounds and another +twenty-five pounds. But the beast must be a good Bisharin; I will take +no baggage-camel.” + +Then the bargaining began, and at the end of half an hour the first +deposit was paid over to the sheik, who talked in low tones to the +driver. + +Dick heard the latter say: “A little way out only. Any baggage-beast +will serve. Am I a fool to waste my cattle for a blind man?” + +“And though I cannot see”--Dick lifted his voice a little--“yet I carry +that which has six eyes, and the driver will sit before me. If we do not +reach the English troops in the dawn he will be dead.” + +“But where, in God's name, are the troops?” + +“Unless thou knowest let another man ride. Dost thou know? Remember it +will be life or death to thee.” + +“I know,” said the driver, sullenly. “Stand back from my beast. I am +going to slip him.” + +“Not so swiftly. George, hold the camel's head a moment. I want to feel +his cheek.” The hands wandered over the hide till they found the +branded half-circle that is the mark of the Biharin, the light-built +riding-camel. + +“That is well. Cut this one loose. Remember no blessing of God comes on +those who try to cheat the blind.” + +The men chuckled by the fires at the camel-driver's discomfiture. He had +intended to substitute a slow, saddle-galled baggage-colt. + +“Stand back!” one shouted, lashing the Biharin under the belly with a +quirt. Dick obeyed as soon as he felt the nose-string tighten in his +hand,--and a cry went up, “Illaha! Aho! He is loose.” + +With a roar and a grunt the Biharin rose to his feet and plunged forward +toward the desert, his driver following with shouts and lamentation. + +George caught Dick's arm and hurried him stumbling and tripping past a +disgusted sentry who was used to stampeding camels. + +“What's the row now?” he cried. + +“Every stitch of my kit on that blasted dromedary,” Dick answered, after +the manner of a common soldier. + +“Go on, and take care your throat's not cut outside--you and your +dromedary's.” + +The outcries ceased when the camel had disappeared behind a hillock, and +his driver had called him back and made him kneel down. + +“Mount first,” said Dick. Then climbing into the second seat and gently +screwing the pistol muzzle into the small of his companion's back, “Go +on in God's name, and swiftly. Goodbye, George. Remember me to Madame, +and have a good time with your girl. Get forward, child of the Pit!” + +A few minutes later he was shut up in a great silence, hardly broken by +the creaking of the saddle and the soft pad of the tireless feet. Dick +adjusted himself comfortably to the rock and pitch of the pace, girthed +his belt tighter, and felt the darkness slide past. For an hour he was +conscious only of the sense of rapid progress. + +“A good camel,” he said at last. + +“He was never underfed. He is my own and clean bred,” the driver +replied. + +“Go on.” + +His head dropped on his chest and he tried to think, but the tenor of +his thoughts was broken because he was very sleepy. In the half doze in +seemed that he was learning a punishment hymn at Mrs. Jennett's. He had +committed some crime as bad as Sabbath-breaking, and she had locked him +up in his bedroom. But he could never repeat more than the first two +lines of the hymn-- + +When Israel of the Lord believed Out of the land of bondage came. + +He said them over and over thousands of times. The driver turned in the +saddle to see if there were any chance of capturing the revolver and +ending the ride. Dick roused, struck him over the head with the +butt, and stormed himself wide awake. Somebody hidden in a clump of +camel-thorn shouted as the camel toiled up rising ground. A shot was +fired, and the silence shut down again, bringing the desire to sleep. +Dick could think no longer. He was too tired and stiff and cramped to +do more than nod uneasily from time to time, waking with a start and +punching the driver with the pistol. + +“Is there a moon?” he asked drowsily. + +“She is near her setting.” + +“I wish that I could see her. Halt the camel. At least let me hear the +desert talk.” + +The man obeyed. Out of the utter stillness came one breath of wind. +It rattled the dead leaves of a shrub some distance away and ceased. A +handful of dry earth detached itself from the edge of a rail trench and +crumbled softly to the bottom. + +“Go on. The night is very cold.” + +Those who have watched till the morning know how the last hour before +the light lengthens itself into many eternities. It seemed to Dick that +he had never since the beginning of original darkness done anything at +all save jolt through the air. Once in a thousand years he would +finger the nailheads on the saddle-front and count them all carefully. +Centuries later he would shift his revolver from his right hand to his +left and allow the eased arm to drop down at his side. From the safe +distance of London he was watching himself thus employed,--watching +critically. Yet whenever he put out his hand to the canvas that he might +paint the tawny yellow desert under the glare of the sinking moon, the +black shadow of a camel and the two bowed figures atop, that hand held a +revolver and the arm was numbed from wrist to collar-bone. Moreover, he +was in the dark, and could see no canvas of any kind whatever. + +The driver grunted, and Dick was conscious of a change in the air. + +“I smell the dawn,” he whispered. + +“It is here, and yonder are the troops. Have I done well?” + +The camel stretched out its neck and roared as there came down wind the +pungent reek of camels in the square. + +“Go on. We must get there swiftly. Go on.” + +“They are moving in their camp. There is so much dust that I cannot see +what they do.” + +“Am I in better case? Go forward.” + +They could hear the hum of voices ahead, the howling and the bubbling of +the beasts and the hoarse cries of the soldiers girthing up for the day. + +Two or three shots were fired. + +“Is that at us? Surely they can see that I am English,” Dick spoke +angrily. + +“Nay, it is from the desert,” the driver answered, cowering in his +saddle. + +“Go forward, my child! Well it is that the dawn did not uncover us an +hour ago.” + +The camel headed straight for the column and the shots behind +multiplied. The children of the desert had arranged that most +uncomfortable of surprises, a dawn attack for the English troops, and +were getting their distance by snap-shots at the only moving object +without the square. + +“What luck! What stupendous and imperial luck!” said Dick. “It's 'just +before the battle, mother.' Oh, God has been most good to me! Only”--the +agony of the thought made him screw up his eyes for an instant--“Maisie...” + +“Allahu! We are in,” said the man, as he drove into the rearguard and +the camel knelt. + +“Who the deuce are you? Despatches or what? What's the strength of the +enemy behind that ridge? How did you get through?” asked a dozen voices. +For all answer Dick took a long breath, unbuckled his belt, and shouted +from the saddle at the top of a wearied and dusty voice, “Torpenhow! +Ohe, Torp! Coo-ee, Tor-pen-how.” + +A bearded man raking in the ashes of a fire for a light to his pipe +moved very swiftly towards that cry, as the rearguard, facing about, +began to fire at the puffs of smoke from the hillocks around. Gradually +the scattered white cloudlets drew out into the long lines of banked +white that hung heavily in the stillness of the dawn before they turned +over wave-like and glided into the valleys. The soldiers in the square +were coughing and swearing as their own smoke obstructed their view, and +they edged forward to get beyond it. A wounded camel leaped to its feet +and roared aloud, the cry ending in a bubbling grunt. Some one had +cut its throat to prevent confusion. Then came the thick sob of a +man receiving his death-wound from a bullet; then a yell of agony and +redoubled firing. + +There was no time to ask any questions. + +“Get down, man! Get down behind the camel!” + +“No. Put me, I pray, in the forefront of the battle.” Dick turned his +face to Torpenhow and raised his hand to set his helmet straight, but, +miscalculating the distance, knocked it off. Torpenhow saw that his hair +was gray on the temples, and that his face was the face of an old man. + +“Come down, you damned fool! Dickie, come off!” + +And Dick came obediently, but as a tree falls, pitching sideways from +the Bisharin's saddle at Torpenhow's feet. His luck had held to the +last, even to the crowning mercy of a kindly bullet through his head. + +Torpenhow knelt under the lee of the camel, with Dick's body in his +arms. + + THE END + + + + + +VOLUME VII THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS + + + + +Preface + +To THE ADDRESS OF + +CAPTAIN J. MAFFLIN, + +Duke of Derry's (Pink) Hussars. + +DEAR MAFFLIN,--You will remember that I wrote this story as an Awful +Warning. None the less you have seen fit to disregard it and have +followed Gadsby's example--as I betted you would. I acknowledge that you +paid the money at once, but you have prejudiced the mind of Mrs. Mafflin +against myself, for though I am almost the only respectable friend +of your bachelor days, she has been darwaza band to me throughout the +season. Further, she caused you to invite me to dinner at the Club, +where you called me “a wild ass of the desert,” and went home +at half-past ten, after discoursing for twenty minutes on the +responsibilities of housekeeping. You now drive a mail-phaeton and sit +under a Church of England clergyman. I am not angry, Jack. It is your +kismet, as it was Gaddy's, and his kismet who can avoid? Do not think +that I am moved by a spirit of revenge as I write, thus publicly, that +you and you alone are responsible for this book. In other and more +expansive days, when you could look at a magnum without flushing and +at a cheroot without turning white, you supplied me with most of the +material. Take it back again--would that I could have preserved your +fetterless speech in the telling--take it back, and by your slippered +hearth read it to the late Miss Deercourt. She will not be any the more +willing to receive my cards, but she will admire you immensely, and you, +I feel sure, will love me. You may even invite me to another very bad +dinner--at the Club, which, as you and your wife know, is a safe +neutral ground for the entertainment of wild asses. Then, my very dear +hypocrite, we shall be quits. + +Yours always, + +RUDYARD KIPLING. + +P. S.--On second thoughts I should recommend you to keep the book away +from Mrs. Mafflin. + + + + +POOR DEAR MAMMA + + The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky, + The deer to the wholesome wold, + And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid, + As it was in the days of old. + --Gypsy Song. + +SCENE. Interior of Miss MINNIE THREEGAN'S Bedroom at Simla. Miss +THREEGAN, in window-seat, turning over a drawerful of things. Miss EMMA +DEERCOURT, bosom--friend, who has come to spend the day, sitting on +the bed, manipulating the bodice of a ballroom frock, and a bunch +of artificial lilies of the valley. Time, 5:30 P. M. on a hot May +afternoon. + +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! I'm sure he does. At least I +would be sure if he wasn't always riding with that odious Mrs. Hagan. + +Miss T. I suppose so. How does one manage to dance through one's heels +first? Look at this--isn't it shameful? (Spreads stocking-heel on open +hand for inspection.) + +Miss D. Never mind that! You can't mend it. Help me with this hateful +bodice. I've run the string so, and I've run the string so, and I can't +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 hasn't 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 I'm only half dressed! Well, I sha'n't +bother. + +Miss T. (Calmly.) You needn't. It isn't for us. That's Captain Gadsby. +He is going for a ride with Mamma. He generally comes five days out of +the seven. + +AGONIZED VOICE. (Prom 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, there's 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 won't +let it out. Where are my bangles? (Rummages on the toilet-table, and +dabs at her hair with a brush in the interval.) + +Miss D. Who is this Captain Gadsby? I don't think I've met him. + +Miss T. You must have. He belongs to the Harrar set. I've danced with +him, but I've never talked to him. He's a big yellow man, just like a +newly-hatched chicken, with an enormous moustache. He walks like this +(imitates Cavalry swagger), and he goes “Ha-Hmmm!” deep down in his +throat when he can't think of anything to say. Mamma likes him. I don't. + +Miss D. (Abstractedly.) Does he wax that moustache? + +Miss T. (Busy with Powder-puff.) Yes, I think so. Why? + +Miss D. (Bending over the bodice and sewing furiously.) Oh, +nothing--only-- + +Miss T. (Sternly.) Only what? Out with it, Emma. + +Miss D. Well, May Olger--she's engaged to Mr. Charteris, you +know--said--Promise you won't repeat this? + +Miss T. Yes, I promise. What did she say? + +Miss D. That--that being kissed (with a rush) with a man who didn't wax +his moustache was--like 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. I'm glad she +doesn't belong to my set--I 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 don't care. I'm 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. Won't 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. Ha-Hmmm. + +Miss T. (Aside.) If he's going to do that, I'm lost. I shall laugh. I +know I shall! + +Capt. G. (Pulling at his moustache and watching it sideways down his +nose.) Ha-Hmmm. (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.) +Won't 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. S'pose they've 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 didn't mean that. I wasn't +thinking of mou--eggs for an instant. I mean salt. Won't you have some +sa--sweets? (Aside.) He'll think me a raving lunatic. I wish Mamma would +come. + +Capt. G. (Aside.) It was a nursery-tea and she's ashamed of it. By Jove! +She doesn't look half bad when she colors up like that. (Aloud, helping +himself from the dish.) Have you seen those new chocolates at Peliti's? + +Miss T. No, I made these myself. What are they like? + +Capt. G. These! De-licious. (Aside.) And that's a fact. + +Miss T. (Aside.) Oh, bother! he'll think I'm fishing for compliments. +(Aloud.) No, Peliti's of course. + +Capt. G. (Enthusiastically.) Not to compare with these. How d'you make +them? I can't get my khansamah to understand the simplest thing beyond +mutton and fowl. + +Miss T. Yes? I'm not a khansamah, you know. Perhaps you frighten him. +You should never frighten a servant. He loses his head. It's very bad +policy. + +Capt. G. He's so awf'ly 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 can't speak the vernacular. + +Miss T. (Patronizingly.) You should pass the Higher Standard and try. + +Capt. G. I have, but I don't seem to be any the wiser. Are you? + +Miss T. I never passed the Higher Standard. But the khansamah is very +patient with me. He doesn't get angry when I talk about sheep's topees, +or order maunds of grain when I mean seers. + +Capt. G. (Aside with intense indignation.) I'd like to see Mir Khan +being rude to that girl! Hullo! Steady the Buffs! (Aloud.) And do you +understand about horses, too? + +Miss T. A little--not very much. I can't 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 allowance--neither more +nor less. And a grass-cut gets six rupees. That's 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? I've never seen you on the Mall. + +Miss T. (Aside.) I haven't passed him more than fifty times. (Aloud.) +Nearly every day. + +Capt. G. By Jove! I didn't know that. Ha-Hmmm (Pulls at his moustache +and is silent for forty seconds.) + +Miss T. (Desperately, and wondering what will happen next.) It looks +beautiful. I shouldn't touch it if I were you. (Aside.) It's all Mamma's +fault for not coming before. I will be rude! + +Capt. G. (Bronzing under the tan and bringing down his hand very +quickly.) Eh! Wha-at! Oh, yes! Ha! Ha! (Laughs uneasily.) (Aside.) Well, +of all the dashed cheek! I never had a woman say that to me yet. She +must be a cool hand or else--Ah! that nursery-tea! + +VOICE PROM THE UNKNOWN. Tchk! Tchk! Tchk! + +Capt. G. Good gracious! What's that? + +Miss T. The dog, I think. (Aside.) Emma has been listening, and I'll +never forgive her! + +Capt. G. (Aside.) They don't keep dogs here. (Aloud.) Didn't sound like +a dog, did it? + +Miss T. Then it must have been the cat. Let's 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.) There's going to be a dance at Viceregal Lodge on +Wednesday. Can you spare me one? + +Miss T. (Shortly.) No! I don't 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.) That's true, but little girls shouldn't understand +these things. (Aloud.) No, on my word, I don't. You dance beautifully. + +Miss T. Then why do you always stand out after half a dozen turns? I +thought officers in the Army didn't tell fibs. + +Capt. G. It wasn't a fib, believe me. I really do want the pleasure of a +dance with you. + +Miss T. (Wickedly.) Why? Won't Mamma dance with you any more? + +Capt. G. (More earnestly than the necessity demands.) I wasn't thinking +of your Mother. (Aside.) You little vixen! + +Miss T. (Still looking out of the window.) Eh? Oh, I beg your pardon. I +was thinking of something else. + +Capt. G. (Aside.) Well! I wonder what she'll say next. I've never known +a woman treat me like this before. I might b--Dash it, I might be an +Infantry subaltern! (Aloud.) Oh, please don't trouble. I'm not worth +thinking about. Isn't your Mother ready yet? + +Miss T. I should think so; but promise me, Captain Gamsby, you won't +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 don't know what rheumatism +is, and you oughtn't 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.) I'm sorry to hear that. +She hasn't mentioned it to me. + +Miss T. (Flurried.) Of course not! Poor dear Mamma never would. And +you mustn't say that I told you either. Promise me that you won't. Oh, +Captain Gamsby, promise me you won't! + +Capt. G. I am dumb, or--I shall be as soon as you've given me that +dance, and another--if you can trouble yourself to think about me for a +minute. + +Miss T. But you won't like it one little bit. You'll be awfully sorry +afterward. + +Capt. G. I shall like it above all things, and I shall only be sorry +that I didn't 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 can't be more than eight stone, but, +even then, it's an absurdly small foot. (Looks at his own riding boots.) + +Miss T. They're 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. Won't you write them +down? + +Miss T. I don't get so many dances that I shall confuse them. You will +be the offender. + +Capt. G. Wait and see! (Aside.) She doesn't dance perfectly, perhaps, +but-- + +Miss T. Your tea must have got cold by this time. Won't you have another +cup? + +Capt. G. No, thanks. Don't you think it's pleasanter out in the veranda? +(Aside.) I never saw hair take that color in the sunshine before. +(Aloud.) It's like one of Dicksee's pictures. + +Miss T. Yes I It's a wonderful sunset, isn't it? (Bluntly.) But what do +you know about Dicksee's pictures? + +Capt. G. I go Home occasionally. And I used to know the Galleries. +(Nervously.) You mustn't think me only a Philistine with a moustache. + +Miss T. Don't! Please don't. I'm so sorry for what I said then. I was +horribly rude. It slipped out before j thought. Don't you know the +temptation to say frightful and shocking things just for the mere sake +of saying them? I'm afraid I gave way to it. + +Capt. G. (Watching the girl as she flushes.) I think I know the feeling. +It would be terrible if we all yielded to it, wouldn't it? For instance, +I might say-- + +POOR DEAR MAMMA. (Entering, habited, hatted, and booted.) Ah, Captain +Gamsby? 'Sorry to keep you waiting. 'Hope you haven't been bored. 'My +little girl been talking to you? + +Miss T. (Aside.) I'm not sorry I spoke about the rheumatism. I'm not! +I'm NOT! I only wished I'd mentioned the corns too. + +Capt. G. (Aside.) What a shame! I wonder how old she is. It never +occurred to me before. (Aloud.) We've been discussing 'Shakespeare and +the musical glasses' in the veranda. + +Miss T. (Aside.) Nice man! He knows that quotation. He isn't a +Philistine with a moustache. (Aloud.) Goodbye, Captain Gadsby. (Aside.) +What a huge hand and what a squeeze! I don't 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, +don't 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 bates +that. (Passes out and to horse's head.) + +Capt. G. Let me do it! + +Miss. T. No, Vermillion understands me. Don't you, old man? (Loosens +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.) You've forgotten your guest, I +think, dear. + +Miss T. Good gracious! So I have! Goodbye. (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.) Can't hold up seven stone forever. It's all your +rheumatism. (Aloud.) Can't 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.) You're dull this afternoon, Captain Gadsby. + +Capt. G. (Spurring up wearily.) Why did you keep me waiting so long? + +Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. + +(AN INTERVAL OF THREE WEEKS.) + +GILDED YOUTH. (Sitting on railings opposite Town Hall.) Hullo, Gadsby! +'Been trotting out the Gorgonzola! We all thought it was the Gorgon +you're 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 THREEGAN 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 friend's 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.) He--he--he only spoke yesterday afternoon. + +Miss D. Bless you, dear! And I'm to be bridesmaid, aren't I? You know +you promised ever so long ago. + +Miss T. Of course. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. (Gets into +'rickshaw.) O Emma! + +Miss D. (With intense interest.) Yes, dear? + +Miss T. (Piano.) It's quite true--about-the-egg. + +Miss D. What egg? + +Miss T. (Pianissimo prestissimo.) The egg without the salt. (Forte.) +Chalo ghar ko jaldi, jhampani! (Go home, jhampani.) + +THE WORLD WITHOUT + +Certain people of importance. + +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! Pour a whiskey-peg, to take the taste out of my mouth. + +CURTISS. (Royal Artillery.) That's it, is it? What the deuce made you +dine at the Judge's? You know his bandobust. + +Blayne. 'Thought it couldn't be worse than the Club, but I'll swear he +buys ullaged liquor and doctors it with gin and ink (looking round the +room.) Is this all of you tonight? + +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 +Judge's, Blayne? + +Blayne. Cockley and his memsahib looking awfully white and fagged. +Female girl--couldn'tcatch the name--on her way to the Hills, +under the Cockleys' charge--the Judge, and Markyn fresh from +Simla--disgustingly fit. + +Curtiss. Good Lord, how truly magnificent! Was there enough ice? When I +mangled garbage there I got one whole lump--nearly 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 hadn'tcome across +just for the pleasure of your society. News! Great news! Markyn told me. + +DOONE. Who's dead now? + +Blayne. No one that I know of; but Gadsby's hooked at last! + +DROPPING CHORUS. How much? The Devil! Markyn was pulling your leg. Not +GADSBY! + +Blayne. (Humming.) “Yea, verily, verily, verily! Verily, verily, I say +unto thee.” Theodore, the gift 'o God! Our Phillup! It's 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 warily--one hand held +out, t'other ready to guard. Gadsby turned pink and said it was so. + +Curtiss. Poor old Caddy! They all do it. Who's she? Let's hear the +details. + +Blayne. She's a girl--daughter of a Colonel Somebody. + +Doone. Simla's stiff with Colonels' daughters. Be more explicit. + +Blayne. Wait a shake. What was her name? Thresomething. Three-- + +Curtiss. Stars, perhaps. Caddy knows that brand. + +Blayne. Threegan--Minnie Threegan. + +Mackesy. Threegan Isn't she a little bit of a girl with red hair? + +Blayne. 'Bout that--from what from what Markyn said. + +Mackesy. Then I've met her. She was at Lucknow last season. 'Owned a +permanently juvenile Mamma, and danced damnably. I say, Jervoise, you +knew the Threegans, didn't you? + +JERVOISE. (Civilian of twenty-five years' service, waking up from his +doze.) Eh? What's that? Knew who? How? I thought I was at Home, confound +you! + +Mackesy. The Threegan girl's engaged, so Blayne says. + +Jervoise. (Slowly.) Engaged--en-gaged! Bless my soul! I'm getting an old +man! Little Minnie Threegan engaged. It was only the other day I went +home with them in the Surat--no, the Massilia--and she was crawling +about on her hands and knees among the ayahs. 'Used to call me the +“Tick Tack Sahib” because I showed her my watch. And that was in +Sixty-Seven--no, Seventy. Good God, how time flies! I'm an old man. +I remember when Threegan married Miss Derwent--daughter of old Hooky +Derwent--but that was before your time. And so the little baby's engaged +to have a little baby of her own! Who's 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. Caddy has money--lucky devil. Place at Home, too. + +Doone. He comes of first-class stock. 'Can't quite understand his being +caught by a Colonel's daughter, and (looking cautiously round room.) +Black Infantry at that! No offence to you, Blayne. + +Blayne. (Stiffly.) Not much, thaanks. + +Curtiss. (Quoting motto of Irregular Moguls.) “We are what we are,” eh, +old man? But Gadsby was such a superior animal as a rule. Why didn't 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 mutton--chop in the morning. + +Doone. It's a dead goat as a rule, but go on, Mackesy. + +Mackesy. If a man's 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 platelayer's daughter, or something +of that kind. She was the only female about the place. + +Doone. Yes, poor brute. That smashed Benoit's chances of promotion +altogether. Mrs. Benoit used to ask “Was you goin' to the dance this +evenin'?” + +Curtiss. Hang it all! Gadsby hasn't married beneath him. There's no +tar-brush 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. You're all too +conceited--nothing's good enough for you. + +Blayne. Not even an empty Club, a dam' bad dinner at the Judge's, and +a Station as sickly as a hospital. You're quite right. We're a set of +Sybarites. + +Doone. Luxurious dogs, wallowing in-- + +Curtiss. Prickly heat between the shoulders. I'm covered with it. Let's +hope Beora will be cooler. + +Blayne. Whew! Are you ordered into camp, too? I thought the Gunners had +a clean sheet. + +Curtiss. No, worse luck. Two cases yesterday--one died--and if we have a +third, out we go. Is there any shooting at Beora, Doone? + +Doone. The country's 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. It's rather bad from here to Kuchara. + +Curtiss. Then we're pretty certain to have a heavy go of it. Heigho! +I shouldn't mind changing places with Gaddy for a while. 'Sport with +Amaryllis in the shade of the Town Hall, and all that. Oh, why doesn't +somebody come and marry me, instead of letting me go into cholera-camp? + +Mackesy. Ask the Committee. + +Curtiss. You ruffian! You'll 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 Kummel, 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. Cockley's +the only woman in the Station. She won't leave Cockley, and he's doing +his best to get her to go. + +Curtiss. Good, indeed! Here's Mrs. Cockley's health. To the only wife in +the Station and a damned brave woman! + +OMNES. (Drinking.) A damned brave woman + +Blayne. I suppose Gadsby will bring his wife here at the end of the cold +weather. They are going to be married almost immediately, I believe. + +Curtiss. Gadsby may thank his luck that the Pink Hussars are all +detachment and no headquarters this hot weather, or he'd 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? It's 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 Gadsby. + +Mackesy. He'll go Home after he's married, and send in his papers--see +if he doesn't. + +Blayne. Why shouldn't he? Hasn't he money? Would any one of us be here +if we weren't 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 rest--or else I spent it. + +Curtiss. Gadsby never had dealings with a shroff in his life. + +Doone. Virtuous Gadsby! If I had three thousand a month, paid from +England, I don't think I'd deal with a shroff either. + +Mackesy. (Yawning.) Oh, it's a sweet life! I wonder whether matrimony +would make it sweeter. + +Curtiss. Ask Cockley--with his wife dying by inches! + +Blayne. Go home and get a fool of a girl to come out to--what 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 can't do +anything to a roof till the Rains are over. + +Curtiss. What's wrong with you? You haven't eighty rotting Tommies to +take into a running stream. + +Doone. No: but I'm mixed boils and bad language. I'm a regular Job all +over my body. It's sheer poverty of blood, and I don't see any chance of +getting richer--either way. + +Blayne. Can't you take leave? + +Doone. That's the pull you Army men have over us. Ten days are nothing +in your sight. I'm so important that Government can't find a substitute +if I go away. Ye-es, I'd like to be Gadsby, whoever his wife may be. + +Curtiss. You've passed the turn of life that Mackesy was speaking of. + +Doone. Indeed I have, but I never yet had the brutality to ask a woman +to share my life out here. + +Blayne. On my soul I believe you're right. I'm thinking of Mrs. Cockley. +The woman's 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 months--and the same +with any woman. I fancy I see myself taking a wife on those terms. + +Mackesy. With the rupee at one and sixpence. The little Doones would be +little Debra Doones, with a fine Mussoorie @chi-chi anent 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, it's an enchanting prospect. By +the way, the rupee hasn't done falling yet. The time will come when we +shall think ourselves lucky if we only lose half our pay. + +Curtiss. Surely a third's loss enough. Who gains by the arrangement? +That's what I want to know. + +Blayne. The Silver Question! I'm going to bed if you begin squabbling +Thank Goodness, here's Anthony--looking like a ghost. + +Enter ANTHONY, Indian Medical Staff, very white and tired. + +Anthony. 'Evening, Blayne. It's raining in sheets. Whiskey peg lao, +khitmatgar. The roads are something ghastly. + +Curtiss. How's 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. He's a nervous little chap. What has he got, this time? + +Anthony. 'Can't 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. + +Curtiss. 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 he's been giving Fewton +for the last three weeks. He's doing his very best to frighten himself +into the grave. + +GENERAL CHORUS. Poor little devil! Why doesn't he get away? + +Anthony. 'Can't. He has his leave all right, but he's so dipped he can't +take it, and I don't think his name on paper would raise four annas. +That's 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. He's 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. That's bad. That's very bad. Poor little Miggy. Good little +chap, too. I say-- + +Anthony. What do you say? + +Blayne. Well, look here--anyhow. If it's like that--as you say--I 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? What's that? What's that? + +Curtiss. We want a hundred rupees from you. You're a bachelor drawing a +gigantic income, and there's a man in a hole. + +Jervoise. What man? Any one dead? + +Blayne. No, but he'll die if you don't--give the hundred. Here! Here's +a peg-voucher. You can see what we've signed for, and Anthony's man will +come round tomorrow to collect it. So there will be no trouble. + +Jervoise. (Signing.) One hundred, E. M. J. There you are (feebly). It +isn't one of your jokes, is it? + +Blayne. No, it really is wanted. Anthony, you were the biggest +poker-winner last week, and you've defrauded the tax-collector too long. +Sign! + +Anthony. Let's see. Three fifties and a seventy-two twenty-three +twenty--say four hundred and twenty. That'll give him a month clear at +the Hills. Many thanks, you men. I'll send round the chaprassi tomorrow. + +Curtiss. You must engineer his taking the stuff, and of course you +mustn't-- + +Anthony. Of course. It would never do. He'd weep with gratitude over his +evening drink. + +Blayne. That's just what he would do, damn him. Oh! I say, Anthony, you +pretend to know everything. Have you heard about Gadsby? + +Anthony. No. Divorce Court at last? + +Blayne. Worse. He's engaged! + +Anthony. How much? He can't be! + +Blayne. He is. He's going to be married in a few weeks. Markyn told me +at the Judge's this evening. It's pukka. + +Anthony. You don't say so? Holy Moses! There'll be a shine in the tents +of Kedar. + +Curtiss. 'Regiment cut up rough, think you? + +Anthony. 'Don't know anything about the Regiment. + +Mackesy. It is bigamy, then? + +Anthony. Maybe. Do you mean to say that you men have forgotten, or is +there more charity in the world than I thought? + +Doone. You don't 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.) It's 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 +Gadsby ever talk to any other woman? + +Curtiss. There's something in that. It was slightly noticeable now you +come to mention it. But she's at Naini Tal and he's at Simla. + +Anthony. He had to go to Simla to look after a globe-trotter relative of +his--a 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 mustn't 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. That's odd. Now I should have thought that Mrs. Deegie's +influence would have led them to take other men's wives. It ought to +have made them afraid of the judgment of Providence. + +Anthony. Mrs. Herriott will make Gadsby afraid of something more than +the judgment of Providence, I fancy. + +Blayne. Supposing things are as you say, he'll be a fool to face her. +He'll sit tight at Simla. + +Anthony. Shouldn't be a bit surprised if he went off to Naini to +explain. He's an unaccountable sort of man, and she's likely to be a +more than unaccountable woman. + +Doone. What makes you take her character away so confidently? + +Anthony. Primum tempus. Caddy was her first and a woman doesn't 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 o'clock, talking +scandal like a set of Station cats. Anthony, it's all your fault. We +were perfectly respectable till you came in. Go to bed. I'm off, Good +night all. + +Curtiss. Past one! It's past two by Jove, and here's 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. I'm ashamed of myself. Go to bed, you +slanderous villains, and if I'm sent to Beora tomorrow, be prepared to +hear I'm dead before paying my card account! + + + + +THE TENTS OF KEDAR + + Only why should it be with pain at all? + Why must I 'twixt the leaves of coronal + Put any kiss of pardon on thy brow? + Why should the other women know so much, + And talk together-- + Such the look and such + The smile he used to love with, then as now. + + --Any Wife to any Husband. + +SCENE. A Naini Tal dinner for thirty-four. Plate, wines, crockery, and +khitmatgars carefully 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! +'Didn't 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. You've no notion how your voice carries. (Aside.) So much +for shirking the written explanation. It'll 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 it's all over between us? + +MRS. H. I've a heavy score against you. Where were you at the Monday +Pop? 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.) It's for +Minnie's sake, but it's going to be dashed unpleasant. + +Mrs. H. Have I done anything to offend you? I never meant it if I have. +I couldn't help going for a ride with the Vaynor man. It was promised a +week before you came up. + +Capt. G. I didn't know-- + +Mrs. H. It really was. + +Capt. G. Anything about it, I mean. + +Mrs. H. What has upset you today? All these days? You haven't been near +me for four whole days--nearly one hundred hours. Was it kind of you, +Pip? And I've been looking forward so much to your coming. + +Capt. G. Have you? + +Mrs. H. You know I have! I've been as foolish as a schoolgirl about it. +I made a little calendar and put it in my card-case, and every time the +twelve o'clock gun went off I scratched out a square and said: “That +brings me nearer to Pip. My Pip!” + +Capt. G. (With an uneasy laugh). What will Mackler think if you neglect +him so? + +Mrs. H. And it hasn't brought you nearer. You seem farther away than +ever. Are you sulking 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 didn't see. (Turns right again.) Is +anything in me changed at all? + +Capt. G. For Goodness's 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 isn't an answer. Tell me whether +I have done anything. + +Capt. G. (Aside.) If it isn't ended here there will be a ghastly scene +some-where else. If only I'd written to her and stood the racket at long +range! (To Khitmatgar.) Han! Simpkin do. (Aloud.) I'll 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, can't afford it. Is it the Vaynor man, and don't +you like to say so? On my honor-- + +Capt. G. I haven't given the Vaynor man a thought. + +Mrs. H. But how d'you know that I haven't? + +Capt. G. (Aside.) Here's my chance and may 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, don't 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.) Corns--my worst. + +Mrs. H. Upon my word, you are the very rudest man in the world! I'll +never do it again. + +Capt. G. (Aside.) No, I don't think you will; but I wonder what you will +do before it's all over. (To Khitmatgar.) Thorah ur Simpkin do. + +Mrs. H. Well! Haven't you the grace to apologize, bad man? + +Capt. G. (Aside.) I mustn't let it drift back now. Trust a woman for +being as blind as a bat when she won't see. + +Mrs. H. I'm 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 she'd look away. “For +having behaved”--as 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.) That's not +a pretty joke. + +Capt. G. No. It's a reality. (Aside.) I wonder if smashes of this kind +are always so raw. + +Mrs. H. Really, Pip, you're getting more absurd every day. + +Capt. G. I don't think you quite understand me. Shall I repeat it? + +Mrs. H. No! For pity's sake don't do that. It's too terrible, even in +fur. + +Capt. G. I'll let her think it over for a while. But I ought to be +horsewhipped. + +Mrs. H. I want to know what you meant by 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 wouldn't look at me. (Aloud and very +slowly, his eyes on his plate.) D'you remember that evening in July, +before the Rains broke, when you said that the end would have to come +sooner or later--and 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. That's 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, don't they, Pip? + +Capt. G. (Brutally, touching shirt-stud.) So far as the expression goes. +(Aside.) It isn't in her nature to take things quietly. There'll be an +explosion yet. + +Mrs. H. (With a shudder.) Thank you. B-but even Red Indians allow people +to wriggle when they're being tortured, I believe. (Slips fan from +girdle and fans slowly: rim of fan level with chin.) + +PARTNER ON LEFT. Very close tonight, isn't it? 'You find it too much for +you? + +Mrs. H. Oh, no, not in the least. But they really ought to have punkahs, +even in your cool Naini Tal, oughtn't they? (Turns, dropping fan and +raising eyebrows.) + +Capt. G. It's all right. (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 swore--you never +contented yourself with merely Saying a thing--you swore that, as far +as lay in your power, you'd make my wretched life pleasant for me. And +you've denied me the consolation of breaking down. I should have +done it--indeed 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 haven't spoken or +written a word of warning, and you have let me believe in you till the +last minute. You haven't 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. I'm sure I don't know. (To Khitmatgar.) Ohe! Simpkin do. + +Mrs. H. You call yourself a man of the world, don't you? Do men of the +world behave like Devils when they do a woman the honor to get tired of +her? + +Capt. G. I'm sure I don't know. Don't speak so loud! + +Mrs. H. Keep us respectable, O Lord, whatever happens. Don't be afraid +of my compromising you. You've chosen your ground far too well, and I've +been properly brought up. (Lowering fan.) Haven't you any pity, Pip, +except for yourself? + +Capt. G. Wouldn't it be rather impertinent of me to say that I'm sorry +for you? + +Mrs. H. I think you have said it once or twice before. You're growing +very careful of my feelings. My God, Pip, I was a good woman once! You +said I was. You've made me what I am. What are you going to do with +me? What are you going to do with me? Won't 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. I'm awf'ly 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 +can't think worse than that? + +Mrs. H. Oh, yes, I can! And now, will you tell me the reason of all +this? Remorse? Has Bayard been suddenly conscience-stricken? + +Capt. G. (Angrily, his eyes still lowered.) No! The thing has come to an +end on my side. That's all. Mafisch! + +Mrs. H. “That's all. Mafisch!” As though I were a Cairene Dragoman. You +used to make prettier speeches. D'you remember when you said?-- + +Capt. G. For Heaven's sake don't bring that back! Call me anything you +like and I'll admit it-- + +Mrs. H. But you don't care to be reminded of old lies? If I could +hope to hurt you one-tenth as much as you have hurt me tonight--No, I +wouldn't--I couldn't do it--liar though you are. + +Capt. G. I've 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 don't know yourself. You +have been 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 it--Yes. + +Mrs. H. Lie the first. I wish I knew a coarser word. Lie seems so +ineffectual 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 Mafisch, 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.) I'll 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. +You'd 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 not--And so you were going to be virtuous +and blase', were you? To come to me and say: “I've done with you. The +incident is clo-osed.” 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 it's 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 can't keep you back! And you're going--think of it, Pip--to throw me +over for another woman. And you swore that all other women were--Pip, +my Pip! She can't care for you as I do. Believe me, she can't. Is it any +one that I know? + +Capt. G. Thank Goodness it isn't. (Aside.) I expected a cyclone, but not +an earthquake. + +Mrs. H. She can't! Is there anything that I wouldn't do for you--or +haven't done? And to 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? It's 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. No--not that! + +Mrs. H. I'll be more merciful than you were. Don't you know that all +women are alike? + +Capt. G. (Aside.) Then this is the exception that proves the rule. + +Mrs. H. All of them! I'll tell you anything you like. I will, upon +my word! They only want the admiration--from anybody--no matter +who--anybody! 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! I've kept the Vaynor man trotting after me like a poodle, and he +believes that he is the only man I am interested in. I'll tell you what +he said to me. + +Capt. G. Spare him. (Aside.) I wonder what his version is. + +Mrs. H. He's been waiting for me to look at him all through dinner. +Shall I do it, and you can see 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 British dining countenance.) + +Capt. G. (Critically.) He doesn't look pretty. Why didn't you wait till +the spoon was out of his mouth? + +Mrs. H. To amuse you. She'll make an exhibition of you as I've made of +him; and people will laugh at you. Oh, Pip, can't you see that? It's +as plain as the noonday Sun. You'll 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 +couldn't have done it if I hadn't cared for you so much. I have spoken +the truth. + +Capt. G. It doesn't alter the situation. + +Mrs. H. (Passionately.) Then she has said that she cares for you! Don't +believe her, Pip. It's a lie--as bad as yours to me! + +Capt. G. Ssssteady! I've 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 couldn't, in common politeness, +refuse the offer. + +Mrs. H. In common politeness I--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. She's not what you imagine. I meant to-- + +Mrs. H. Don't tell me anything about her! She won't care for you, and +when you come back, after having made an exhibition of yourself, you'll +find me occupied with-- + +Capt. G. (Insolently.) You couldn't while I am alive. (Aside.) If that +doesn't bring her pride to her rescue, nothing will. + +Mrs. H. (Drawing herself up.) Couldn't do it? I--(Softening.) You're +right. I don't believe I could--though you are what you are--a coward +and a liar in grain. + +Capt. G. It doesn't hurt so much after your little lecture--with +demonstrations. + +Mrs. H. One mass of vanity! Will nothing ever touch you in this life? +There must be a Hereafter if it's 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 the--the same pet names +you used to me? And if she cares for you, you two will laugh over my +story. Won't that be punishment heavy enough even for me--even for +me?--And it's all useless. That's another punishment. + +Capt. G. (Feebly.) Oh, come! I'm not so low as you think. + +Mrs. H. Not now, perhaps, but you will be. Oh, Pip, if a woman flatters +your vanity, there's 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 else--and I don't see why I +should be trusted--you can count upon my holding my tongue. + +Mrs. H. If you denied everything you've said this evening and declared +it was all in fun (a long pause), I'd trust you. Not otherwise. All +I ask is, don't tell her my name. Please don't. A man might forget: a +woman never would. (Looks up table and sees hostess beginning to collect +eyes.) So it's all ended, through no fault of mine--Haven't I behaved +beautifully? I've accepted your dismissal, and you managed it as cruelly +as you could, and I have made you respect my sex, haven't I? (Arranging +gloves and fan.) I only pray that she'll know you some day as I know you +now. I wouldn't be you then, for I think even your conceit will be +hurt. I hope she'll pay you back the humiliation you've brought on me. +I hope--No. I don't! I can't give you up! I must have something to look +forward to or I shall go crazy. When it's all over, come back to me, +come back to me, and you'll find that you're my Pip still! + +Capt. G. (Very clearly.) False move, and you pay for it. It's a girl! + +Mrs. H. (Rising.) Then it was true! They said--but I wouldn't 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? + + + + +WITH ANY AMAZEMENT + + And are not afraid with any amazement. --Marriage Service. + +SCENE. bachelor's 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 GADSBY's +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 I'm here! + +Capt. G. (Sitting up and yawning.) Mornin'. This is awf'ly good of +you, old fellow. Most awf'ly good of you. Don't know what I should do +without you. 'Pon my soul, I don't. 'Haven't slept a wink all night. + +Capt. M. I didn't get in till half-past eleven. 'Had 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, +you'd better go away. (With portentous gravity.) It's the happiest day +in my life. + +Capt. M. (Chuckling grimly.) Not by a very long chalk, my son. You're +going through some of the most refined torture you've 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, don't do that! You'll see me +through, won't you? I've been mugging up that beastly drill, and can't +remember a line of it. + +Capt. M. (Overturning G.'s uniform.) Go and tub. Don't bother me. I'll +give you ten minutes to dress in. + +INTERVAL, filled by the noise as of one splashing 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 it's going to +spread. (Aloud.) Come along to breakfast. + +Capt. G. I can't eat anything. I don't 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 haven't smoked for ten days, and I won't now. (Takes cheroot +which M. has cut for him, and blows smoke through his nose luxuriously.) +We aren't going down the Mall, are we? + +Capt. M. (Aside.) They're all alike in these stages. (Aloud.) No, my +Vestal. We're 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, don't cut my eye out with your stick. + +Capt. G. (Spinning round.) I say, isn't She the dearest creature that +ever walked? What's the time? What comes after “wilt thou take this +woman”? + +Capt. M. You go for the ring. R'c'lect it'll be on the top of my +right-hand little finger, and just be careful how you draw it off, +because I shall have the Verger's fees somewhere in my glove. + +Capt. G. (Walking forward hastily.) D--the Verger! Come along! It's past +twelve and I haven't seen Her since yesterday evening. (Spinning round +again.) She's an absolute angel, Jack, and She's 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, I'd 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. What's the time? How about the cursed wedding-cake and the +slippers? They don't throw 'em about in church, do they? + +Capt. M. Invariably. The Padre leads off with his boots. + +Capt. G. Confound your silly soul! Don't make fun of me. I can't stand +it, and I won't! + +Capt. M. (Untroubled.) So-ooo, old horse You'll have to sleep for a +couple of hours this afternoon. + +Capt. G. (Spinning round.) I'm not going to be treated like a dashed +child, understand that. + +Capt. M. (Aside.) Nerves gone to fiddle-strings. What a day we're +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 +you--after all these years? + +Capt. G. (Penitently.) I know, I know, Jack--but I'm as upset as I can +be. Don't mind what I say. Just hear me run through the drill and see if +I've 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. That's about the +gist of it. I'll prompt if you get into a hat. + +Capt. G. (Earnestly.) Yes, you'll stick by me, Jack, won't you? I'm +awfully happy, but I don't mind telling you that I'm in a blue funk! + +Capt. M. (Gravely.) Are you? I should never have noticed it. You don't +look like it. + +Capt. G. Don't I? That's all right. (Spinning round.) On my soul and +honor, Jack, She's the sweetest little angel that ever came down from +the sky. There isn't a woman on earth fit to speak to Her. + +Capt. M. (Aside.) And this is old Gadsby! (Aloud.) Go on if it relieves +you. + +Capt. G. You can laugh! That's all you wild asses of bachelors are fit +for. + +Capt. M. (Drawling.) You never would wait for the troop to come up. You +aren't quite married yet, y'know. + +Capt. G. Ugh! That reminds me. I don't believe I shall be able to get +into any boots Let's go home and try 'em on (Hurries forward.) + +Capt. M. 'Wouldn't be in your shoes for anything that Asia has to offer. + +Capt. G. (Spinning round.) That just shows your hideous blackness of +soul--your dense stupidity--your brutal narrow-mindedness. There's only +one fault about you. You're the best of good fellows, and I don't know +what I should have done without you, but--you aren't 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 you're going to be a blackguard, I'm going on--What's 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. I'm going to take you home, and you're going to lie down. + +Capt. G. What on earth do I want to lie down for? + +Capt. M. Give me a light from your cheroot and see. + +Capt. G. (Watching cheroot-butt quiver like a tuning-fork.) Sweet state +I'm in! + +Capt. M. You are. I'll get you a peg and you'll go to sleep. + +They return and M. compounds a four-finger peg. + +Capt. G. O bus! bus! It'll make me as drunk as an owl. + +Capt. M. 'Curious thing, 'twon't have the slightest effect on you. Drink +it off, chuck yourself down there, and go to bye-bye. + +Capt. G. It's absurd. I sha'n't sleep, I know I sha'n't! + +Falls into heavy doze at end of seven minutes. Capt. M. watches him +tenderly. + +Capt. M. Poor old Gadsby! I've seen a few turned off before, but never +one who went to the gallows in this condition. 'Can't tell how it +affects 'em, though. It's the thoroughbreds that sweat when they're +backed into double-harness.--And that's 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 pal--worse than the guns, isn't it? (G. +turns in his sleep, and M. touches him clumsily on the forehead.) Poor, +dear old Gaddy! Going like the rest of 'em--going like the rest of +'em--Friend that sticketh closer than a brother--eight years. Dashed +bit of a slip of a girl--eight weeks! And--where's your friend? (Smokes +disconsolately till church clock strikes three.) + +Capt. M. Up with you! Get into your kit. + +Capt. C. Already? Isn't it too soon? Hadn't I better have a shave? + +Capt. M. No! You're all right. (Aside.) He'd chip his chin to pieces. + +Capt. C. What's the hurry? + +Capt. M. You've got to be there first. + +Capt. C. To be stared at? + +Capt. M. Exactly. You're part of the show. Where's 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, you're under my orders. + +Capt. G. dresses. M. follows suit. + +Capt. M. (Critically, walking round.) M'--yes, you'll do. Only don't +look so like a criminal. Ring, gloves, fees--that's all right for me. +Let your moustache alone. Now, if the ponies are ready, we'll go. + +Capt. G. (Nervously.) It's much too soon. Let's light up! Let's have a +peg! Let's-- + +Capt. M. Let's make bally asses of ourselves! + +BELLS. (Without.)--“Good-peo-ple-all To prayers-we call.” + +Capt. M. There go the bells! Come on--unless you'd rather not. (They +ride off.) + +BELLS.--“We honor the King And Brides joy do bring--Good tidings we +tell, And ring the Dead's knell.” + +Capt. G. (Dismounting at the door of the Church.) I say, aren't we much +too soon? There are no end of people inside. I say, aren't we much too +late? Stick by me, Jack! What the devil do I do? + +Capt. M. Strike an attitude at the head of the aisle and wait for Her. +(G. groans as M. wheels him into position before three hundred eyes.) + +Capt. M. (Imploringly.) Gaddy, if you love me, for pity's sake, for the +Honor of the Regiment, stand up! Chuck yourself into your uniform! Look +like a man! I've got to speak to the Padre a minute. (G. breaks into a +gentle Perspiration.) If you wipe your face I'll never be your best man +again. Stand up! (G. trembles visibly.) + +Capt. M. (Returning.) She's coming now. Look out when the music starts. +There's the organ beginning to clack. + +Bride steps out of 'rickshaw at Church door. G. catches a glimpse of her +and takes heart. + +ORGAN.--“The Voice that breathed o'er Eden, That earliest marriage day, +The primal marriage-blessing, It hath not passed away.” + +Capt. M. (Watching G.) By Jove! He is looking well. 'Didn't think he had +it in him. + +Capt. G. How long does this hymn go on for? + +Capt. M. It will be over directly. (Anxiously.) (Beginning to bleach and +gulp.) Hold on, Gabby, and think 'o the Regiment. + +Capt. G. (Measuredly.) I say, there's 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 Featherweight's a woman--a +woman! And I thought she was a little girl. + +Capt. M. (In a whisper.) Form the halt--inward wheel. + +Capt. G. obeys mechanically and the ceremony proceeds. + +PADRE.... only unto her as ye both shall live? + +Capt. G. (His throat useless.) Ha-hmmm! + +Capt. M. Say you will or you won't. There's 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. You've given yourself away quite enough. Her right hand, man! +Repeat! Repeat! “Theodore Philip.” Have you forgotten your own name? + +Capt. G. stumbles through Affirmation, which Bride repeats without a +tremor. + +Capt. M. Now the ring! Follow the Padre! Don't pull off my glove! Here +it is! Great Cupid, he's found his voice. + +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! 'Tisn't 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 front--one length. Take her with you. I +don't come. You've 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! Wha-at? + +Capt. M. (Taking one pace to Bride.) If you don't, 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 Misses 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.) Ha-hmmm. (Thunders Of applause.) + +Capt. M. Doocid good, for a first attempt. Now go and change your kit +while Mamma is weeping over “the Missus.” (Capt. G. disappears. Capt. M. +starts up tearing his hair.) It's 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 mustn't crack Gaddy's 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. +It's a heathen custom. Give me the big bag. + +* * * * * + +Bride slips out quietly into 'rickshaw and departs toward the sunset. + +Capt. M. (In the open.) Stole away, by Jove! So much the worse for +Gaddy! Here he is. Now Gaddy, this'll be livelier than Amdberan! Where's +your horse? + +Capt. G. (Furiously, seeing that the women are out of an earshot.) Where +the d----'s my Wife? + +Capt. M. Half-way to Mahasu by this time. You'll 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 brute--you hog--you +beast! Get round! + +Wrenches horse's 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 love--ride, Gaddy--And God bless you! + +Throws half a pound of rice at G. who disappears, bowed forward on the +saddle, in a cloud of sunlit dust. + +Capt. M. I've 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 who'll be +the next victim. + +White satin slipper slides from his sleeve and falls at his feet. Left +wondering. + + + + +THE GARDEN OF EDEN + + And ye shall be as--Gods! + +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. I've 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 wouldn't mind. + +Capt. G. (With mock sternness.) I object awf'ly. How did you know that +it was yours to keep? + +Mrs. G. I guessed, Phil. + +Capt. G. (Rapturously.) Lit-tle Featherweight! + +Mrs. G. I won' t be called those sporting pet names, bad boy. + +Capt. G. You'll be called anything I choose. Has it ever occurred to +you, Madam, that you are my Wife? + +Mrs. G. It has. I haven't ceased wondering at it yet. + +Capt. G. Nor I. It seems so strange; and yet, somehow, it doesn't. +(Confidently.) You see, it could have been no one else. + +Mrs. G. (Softly.) No. No one else--for 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. Rut +only at the very first. (Chuckles.) I called you--stoop low and I'll +whisper--“a little beast.” Ho! Ho! Ho! + +Mrs. G. (Taking him by the moustache and making him sit up.) +“A-little-beast!” Stop laughing over your crime! And yet you had +the--the--awful cheek to propose to me! + +Capt. C. I'd changed my mind then. And you weren't a little beast any +more. + +Mrs. G. Thank you, sir! And when was I ever? + +Capt. G. Never! But that first day, when you gave me tea in that +peach-colored muslin gown thing, you looked--you did indeed, dear--such +an absurd little mite. And I didn't know what to say to you. + +Mrs. G. (Twisting moustache.) So you said “little beast.” Upon my word, +Sir! I called you a “Crrrreature,” but I wish now I had called you +something worse. + +Capt. G. (Very meekly.) I apologize, but you're hurting me awf'ly. +(Interlude.) You're 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, but--if it +amused you or did you any good--you might--wipe those dear little boots +of yours on me. + +Mrs. G. (Stretching out her hands.) Don't! Oh, don't! Philip, my King, +please don't talk like that. It's how I feel. You're so much too good +for me. So much too good! + +Capt. G. Me! I'm not fit to put my arm around you. (Puts it round.) + +Mrs. C. Yes, you are. But I--what have I ever done? + +Capt. G. Given me a wee bit of your heart, haven't you, my Queen! + +Mrs. G. That's nothing. Any one would do that. They cou--couldn'thelp +it. + +Capt. G. Pussy, you'll make me horribly conceited. Just when I was +beginning to feel so humble, too. + +Mrs. G. Humble! I don't believe it's in your character. + +Capt. G. What do you know of my character, Impertinence? + +Mrs. G. Ah, but I shall, shan't 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. You're 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.) D'you know that we're two +solemn, serious, grown-up people-- + +Capt. G. (Tilting her straw hat over her eyes.) You grown-up! Pooh! +You're a baby. + +Mrs. G. And we're talking nonsense. + +Capt. G. Then let's go on talking nonsense. I rather like it. Pussy, +I'll tell you a secret. Promise not to repeat? + +Mrs. G. Ye-es. Only to you. + +Capt. G. I love you. + +Mrs. G. Re-ally! For how long? + +Capt. G. Forever and ever. + +Mrs. G. That's a long time. + +Capt. G. 'Think so? It's the shortest I can do with. + +Mrs. G. You're getting quite clever. + +Capt. G. I'm talking to you. + +Mrs. G. Prettily turned. Hold up your stupid old head and I'll pay you +for it. + +Capt. G. (Affecting supreme contempt.) Take it yourself if you want it. + +Mrs. G. I've a great mind to--and I will! (Takes it and is repaid with +interest.) + +Capt. G, Little Featherweight, it's my opinion that we are a couple of +idiots. + +Mrs. G. We're the only two sensible people in the world. Ask the eagle. +He's coming by. + +Capt. G. Ah! I dare say he's 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 I--I and you--in +the whole wide, wide world until the end. (Sees the line of the Snows.) +How big and quiet the hills look! D'you think they care for us? + +Capt. G. 'Can't say I've consulted 'em particularly. I care, and that's +enough for me. + +Mrs. G. (Drawing nearer to him.) Yes, now--but afterward. What's that +little black blur on the Snows? + +Capt. G. A snowstorm, forty miles away. You'll 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. (Anxiously.) 'Not chilled, pet, are you? 'Better let me get +your cloak. + +Mrs. G. No. Don't leave me, Phil. Stay here. I believe I am afraid. Oh, +why are the hills so horrid! Phil, promise me that you'll always love +me. + +Capt. G. What's the trouble, darling? I can't promise any more than I +have; but I'll promise that again and again if you like. + +Mrs. G. (Her head on his shoulder.) Say it, then--say it! N-no--don't! +The--the--eagles would laugh. (Recovering.) My husband, you've 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.) I'm not clever, dear, and I +don't 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 what's coming now. + +Mrs. G. (Haltingly, her eyes lowered.) You told me once in the old +days--centuries and centuries ago--that you had been engaged before. I +didn't say anything--then. + +Capt. G. (Innocently.) Why not? + +Mrs. G. (Raising her eyes to his.) Because--because I was afraid of +losing you, my heart. But now--tell about it--please. + +Capt. G. There's nothing to tell. I was awf'ly old then--nearly two and +twenty--and she was quite that. + +Mrs. G. That means she was older than you. I shouldn't like her to have +been younger. Well? + +Capt. G. Well, I fancied myself in love and raved about a bit, and--oh, +yes, by Jove! I made up poetry. Ha! Ha! + +Mrs. G. You never wrote any for me! What 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 didn't show it as far as I remember. + +Mrs. G. As far as you remember! 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, p'raps I'll 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 don't know half my accomplishments yet. Wait till we are +settled in the Plains, and I'll show you how I bark at my troop. You +were going to say, darling? + +Mrs. G. I--I don't 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, you're shaking all over. I am so +sorry. Of course I never meant to upset you Don't tell me anything, I'm +a brute. + +Mrs. G. No, you aren't, and I will tell--There was a man. + +Capt. G. (Lightly.) Was there? Lucky man! + +Mrs. G. (In a whisper.) And I thought I cared for him. + +Capt. G. Still luckier man! Well? + +Mrs. G. And I thought I cared for him--and I didn't--and then you +came--and I cared for you very, very much indeed. That's all. (Face +hidden.) You aren't angry, are you? + +Capt. G. Angry? Not in the least. (Aside.) Good Lord, what have I done +to deserve this angel? + +Mrs. G. (Aside.) And he never asked for the name! How funny men are! But +perhaps it's as well. + +Capt. G. That man will go to heaven because you once thought you cared +for him. 'Wonder if you'll ever drag me up there? + +Mrs. G. (Firmly.) 'Sha'n't go if you don't. + +Capt. G. Thanks. I say, Pussy, I don't know much about your religious +beliefs. You were brought up to believe in a heaven and all that, +weren't you? + +Mrs. G. Yes. But it was a pincushion heaven, with hymn-books in all the +pews. + +Capt. G. (Wagging his head with intense 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 it's all right. + +Mrs. G. (As a troop of langurs crash through the branches.) So it's 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 shouldn't read those +books. + +Mrs. G. (Folding her hands.) If it pleases my Lord the King to issue +proclamation. + +Capt. G. Don't, dear one. There are no orders between us. Only I'd +rather you didn't. They lead to nothing, and bother people's 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 it's not dreadful--about other men. + +Mrs. G. It's about my own bad little self. + +Capt. G. Then it must be good. Go on, dear. + +Mrs. G. (Slowly.) I don't know why I'm telling you, Pip; but if ever you +marry again--(Interlude.) Take your hand from my mouth or I'll bite! In +the future, then remember--I don't know quite how to put it! + +Capt. G. (Snorting indignantly.) Don't 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 woman--yes, I am a woman--can't forget. + +Capt. G. By Jove, how do you know that? + +Mrs. G. (Confusedly.) I don't. I'm only guessing. I am--I was--a silly +little girl; but I feel that I know so much, oh, so very much more than +you, dearest. To begin with, I'm your wife. + +Capt. G. So I have been led to believe. + +Mrs. G. And I shall want to know every one of your secrets--to share +everything you know with you. (Stares round desperately.) + +Capt. G. So you shall, dear, so you shall--but don't look like that. + +Mrs. G. For your own sake don't stop me, Phil. I shall never talk to you +in this way again. You must not tell me! At least, not now. Later on, +when I'm an old matron it won't matter, but if you love me, be very good +to me now; for this part of my life I 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? That--that voice, and what you said +about the engagement-- + +Capt. G. But you asked to be told that, darling. + +Mrs. G. And that's why you shouldn't have told me! You must be the +Judge, and, oh, Pip, dearly as I love you, I shan't be able to help you! +I shall hinder you, and you must judge in spite of me! + +Capt. G. (Meditatively.) We have a great many things to find out +together, God help us both--say so, Pussy--but we shall understand each +other better every day; and I think I'm beginning to see now. How in the +world did you come to know just the importance of giving me just that +lead? + +Mrs. G. I've told you that I don't know. Only somehow it seemed that, in +all this new life, I was being guided for your sake as well as my own. + +Capt. G. (Aside.) Then Mafflin was right! They know, and we--we're blind +all of us. (Lightly.) 'Getting a little beyond our depth, dear, aren't +we? I'll remember, and, if I fail, let me be punished as I deserve. + +Mrs. G. There shall be no punishment. We'll start into life together +from here--you and I--and no one else. + +Capt. G. And no one else. (A pause.) Your eyelashes are all wet, Sweet? +Was there ever such a quaint little Absurdity? + +Mrs. G. Was there ever such nonsense talked before? + +Capt. G. (Knocking the ashes out of his pipe.) 'Tisn't what we say, it's +what we don't say, that helps. And it's all the profoundest philosophy. +But no one would understand--even if it were put into a book. + +Mrs. G. The idea! No--only we ourselves, or people like ourselves--if +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 be--unless we've appropriated all the happiness in the +world. + +Mrs. G. (Looking toward Simla.) Poor dears! Just fancy if we have! + +Capt. G. Then we'll hang on to the whole show, for it's a great deal too +jolly to lose--eh, 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 I'll +attend to you. Lend me that banjo. The spirit moveth me to yowl at the +sunset. + +Mrs. G. Mind! It's not tuned. Ah! How that jars! + +Capt. G. (Turning pegs.) It's amazingly different to keep a banjo to +proper pitch. + +Mrs. G. It's 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.)-- + +“Vanity, all is Vanity,” said Wisdom, scorning me--I clasped my true +Love's tender hand and answered frank and free-ee “If this be Vanity +who'd be wise? If this be Vanity who'd be wise? If this be Vanity who'd +be wi-ise (Crescendo.) Vanity let it be!” + +Mrs. G. (Defiantly to the grey of the evening sky.) “Vanity let it be!” + +ECHO. (Prom the Fagoo spur.) Let it be! + + + + +FATIMA + +And you may go in every room of the house and see everything that is +there, but into the Blue Room you must not go. --The Story of Blue +Beard. + +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 Hussar's 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.) Jack's an ass. There's +enough brass on this to load a mule--and, if the Americans know anything +about anything, it can be cut down to a bit only. 'Don't want the +watering-bridle, either. Humbug!--Half a dozen sets of chains and +pulleys for one horse! Rot! (Scratching his head.) Now, let's consider +it all over from the beginning. By Jove, I've forgotten the scale of +weights! Never mind. 'Keep the bit only, and eliminate every boss from +the crupper to breastplate. No breastplate at all. Simple leather strap +across the breast--like the Russians. Hi! Jack never thought of that! + +Mrs. G. (Entering hastily, her hand bound in a cloth.) Oh, Pip, I've +scalded my hand over that horrid, horrid Tiparee jam! + +Capt. G. (Absently.) Eh! Wha-at? + +Mrs. G. (With round-eyed reproach.) I've scalded it aw-fully! Aren't 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! Where's that scald? I can't see +it. + +Mrs. G. On the top of the little finger. There!--It's a most 'normous +big burn! + +Capt. G. (Kissing little finger.) Baby! Let Hyder look after the jam. +You know I don't care for sweets. + +Mrs. G. Indeed?--Pip! + +Capt. G. Not of that kind, anyhow. And now run along, Minnie, and leave +me to my own base devices. I'm busy. + +Mrs. G. (Calmly settling herself in long chair.) So I see. What a mess +you're 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. I'd like it. + +Capt. G. I'm afraid you wouldn't. Pussy--Don't you think that jam will +burn, or whatever it is that jam does when it's not looked after by a +clever little housekeeper? + +Mrs. G. I thought you said Hyder could attend to it. I left him in the +veranda, stirring--when 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, without weakening anything. +Farriery is all rot in incompetent hands. What's the use of a shoe-case +when a man's scouting? He can't stick it on with a lick--like a +stamp--the shoe! Skittles-- + +Mrs. G. What's skittles? Pah! What is this leather cleaned with? + +Capt. G. Cream and champagne and--Look here, dear, do you really want to +talk to me about anything important? + +Mrs. G. No. I've done my accounts, and I thought I'd like to see what +you're doing. + +Capt. G. Well, love, now you've seen and--Would you mind?--That is to +say--Minnie, 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 doesn't interest you. + +Mrs. G. Everything you do interests me, Pip. + +Capt. G. Yes, I know, I know, dear. I'll tell you all about it some day +when I've put a head on this thing. In the meantime-- + +Mrs. G. I'm to be turned out of the room like a troublesome child? + +Capt. G. No-o. I don't 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. Don't you think so? + +Mrs. G. Can't I lift them about? Let me try. (Reaches forward to +trooper's saddle.) + +Capt. G. Good gracious, child, don't touch it. You'll hurt yourself. +(Picking up saddle.) Little girls aren't 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 are--and how +strong! Oh, what's that ugly red streak inside your arm? + +Capt. G. (Lowering saddle quickly.) Nothing. It's a mark of sorts. +(Aside.) And Jack's coming to tiffin with his notions all cut and dried! + +Mrs. G. I know it's a mark, but I've never seen it before. It runs all +up the arm. What is it? + +Capt. G. A cut--if you want to know. + +Mrs. G. Want to know! Of course I do! I can't have my husband cut to +pieces in this way. How did it come? Was it an accident? Tell me, Pip. + +Capt. G. (Grimly.) No. 'Twasn't an accident. I got it--from a man--in +Afghanistan. + +Mrs. G. In action? Oh, Pip, and you never told me! + +Capt. G. I'd forgotten all about it. + +Mrs. G. Hold up your arm! What a horrid, ugly scar! Are you sure it +doesn't hurt now! How did the man give it you? + +Capt. G. (Desperately looking at his watch.) With a knife. I came +down--old Van Loo did, that's to say--and fell on my leg, so I couldn't +run. And then this man came up and began chopping at me as I sprawled. + +Mrs. G. Oh, don't, don't! That's enough!--Well, what happened? + +Capt. G. I couldn't get to my holster, and Mafflin came round the corner +and stopped the performance. + +Mrs. G. How? He's such a lazy man, I don't believe he did. + +Capt. G. Don't you? I don't think the man had much doubt about it. Jack +cut his head off. + +Mrs. G. Cut-his-head-off! “With one blow,” as they say in the books? + +Capt. G. I'm not sure. I was too interested in myself to know much about +it. Anyhow, the head 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 I've been married to you for ever so long; and you never would +have told me if I hadn't 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, I'm always with you, aren't I? + +Mrs. G. Always in my pocket, you were going to say. I know you are; but +you are always thinking away from me. + +Capt. G. (Trying to hide a smile.) Am I? I wasn't aware of it. I'm +awf'ly sorry. + +Mrs. G. (Piteously.) Oh, don't make fun of me! Pip, you know what I +mean. When you are reading one of those things about Cavalry, by that +idiotic Prince--why doesn't he be a Prince instead of a stable-boy? + +Capt. G. Prince Kraft a stable-boy--Oh, my Aunt! Never mind, dear. You +were going to say? + +Mrs. G. It doesn't matter; you don't care for what I say. Only--only +you get up and walk about the room, staring in front of you, and then +Mafflin comes in to dinner, and after I'm in the drawing-room I can +hear you and him talking, and talking, and talking, about things I can't +understand, and--oh, I get so tired and feel so lonely!--I don't 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 don't you ask +some nice people in to dinner? + +Mrs. G. Nice people! Where am I to find them? Horrid frumps! And if I +did, I shouldn't be amused. You know I only want you. + +Capt. G. And you have me surely, Sweetheart? + +Mrs. G. I have not! Pip why don't you take me into your life? + +Capt. G. More than I do? That would be difficult, dear. + +Mrs. G. Yes, I suppose it would--to you. I'm no help to you--no +companion to you; and you like to have it so. + +Capt. G. Aren't you a little unreasonable, Pussy? + +Mrs. G. (Stamping her foot.) I'm the most reasonable woman in the +world--when I'm treated properly. + +Capt. G. And since when have I been treating you improperly? + +Mrs. G. Always--and since the beginning. You know you have. + +Capt. G. I don't; but I'm willing to be convinced. + +Mrs. G. (Pointing to saddlery.) There! + +Capt. G. How do you mean? + +Mrs. G. What does all that mean? Why am I not to be told? 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, I've 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 comfort--socks and shirts and +things of that kind. + +Mrs. G. Why doesn't he pack them in a little trunk? + +Capt. G. (Kissing her.) Oh, you darling! Pack them in a little trunk, +indeed! Hussars don't carry trunks, and it's a most important thing to +make the horse do all the carrying. + +Mrs. G. But why need you bother about it? You're 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 it's a matter that I'm tremendously +interested in, because if I or Jack, or I and Jack, work out some sort +of lighter saddlery and all that, it's possible that we may get it +adopted. + +Mrs. G. How? + +Capt. G. Sanctioned at Home, where they will make a sealed pattern--a +pattern that all the saddlers must copy--and so it will be used by all +the regiments. + +Mrs. G. And that interests you? + +Capt. G. It's part of my profession, y'know, and my profession is a good +deal to me. Everything in a soldier's equipment is important, and if we +can improve that equipment, so much the better for the soldiers and for +us. + +Mrs. G. Who's “us”? + +Capt. G. Jack and I; only Jack's notions are too radical. What's that +big sigh for, Minnie? + +Mrs. G. Oh, nothing--and you've kept all this a secret from me! Why? + +Capt. G. Not a secret, exactly, dear. I didn't say anything about it to +you because I didn't 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 couldn't interest you. + +Mrs. G. It's your work and--and if you'd let me, I'd 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; but it's hard to +tell how light you can make a head-stall, for instance, until you've +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. Wouldn't that do? + +Capt. G. It would be awf'ly nice, dear, but it would be giving you +trouble for nothing. I can't work that way. I go by rule of thumb. I +know the present scale of weights, and the other one--the one that +I'm trying to work to--will shift and vary so much that I couldn't be +certain, even if I wrote it down. + +Mrs. G. I'm 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 can't think of anything. You're +always helping me you know. + +Mrs. G. Am I? How? + +Capt. G. You are of course, and as long as you're near me--I can't +explain exactly, but it's in the air. + +Mrs. G. And that's why you wanted to send me away? + +Capt. G. That's only when I'm trying to do work--grubby work like this. + +Mrs. G. Mafflin's better, then, isn't 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. It's our +hobby, and it may really be useful some day. + +Mrs. G. (After a pause.) And that's all that you have away from me? + +Capt. G. It isn't very far away from you now. Take care the oil on that +bit doesn't come off on your dress. + +Mrs. G. I wish--I wish so much that I could really help you. I believe I +could--if I left the room. But that's not what I mean. + +Capt. G. (Aside.) Give me patience! I wish she would go. (Aloud.) I +assure you you can't do anything for me, Minnie, and I must really +settle down to this. Where's my pouch? + +Mrs. G. (Crossing to writing-table.) Here you are, Bear. What a mess you +keep your table in! + +Capt. G. Don' ttouch it. There's a method in my madness, though you +mightn't think of it. + +Mrs. G. (At table.) I want to look--Do you keep accounts, Pip? + +Capt. G. (Bending over saddlery.) Of a sort. Are you rummaging among the +Troop papers? Be careful. + +Mrs. G. Why? I sha'n't disturb anything. Good gracious! I had no idea +that you had anything to do with so many sick horses. + +Capt. G. 'Wish I hadn't, but they insist on falling sick. Minnie, if +1 were you I really should not investigate those papers. You may come +across something that you won't like. + +Mrs. G. Why will you always treat me like a child? I know I'm not +displacing the horrid things. + +Capt. G. (Resignedly.) Very well, then. Don't blame me if anything +happens. Play with the table and let me go on with the saddlery. +(Slipping hand into trousers-pocket.) Oh, the deuce! + +Mrs. G. (Her back to G.) What's that for? + +Capt. G. Nothing. (Aside.) There's not much in it, but I wish I'd torn +it up. + +Mrs. G. (Turning over contents of table.) I know you'll hate me for +this; but I do want to see what your work is like. (A pause.) Pip, what +are “farcybuds”? + +Capt. G. Hah! Would you really like to know? They aren't 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, that's enough. Don't go on! + +Capt. G. But you wanted to know--Then these things suppurate and +matterate and spread-- + +Mrs. G. Pin, you're making me sick! You're a horrid, disgusting +schoolboy. + +Capt. G. (On his knees among the bridles.) You asked to be told. It's +not my fault if you worry me into talking about horrors. + +Mrs. G. Why didn't you say No? + +Capt. G. Good Heavens, child! Have you come in here simply to bully me? + +Mrs. G. I bully you? How could I! You're so strong. (Hysterically.) +Strong enough to pick me up and put me outside the door and leave me +there to cry. Aren't you? + +Capt. G. It seems to me that you're 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 wasn't 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. I'm going +to open it. May I? + +Capt. G. Certainly, if you want to. I'd sooner you didn't though. I +don't ask to look at your letters to the Deercourt girl. + +Mrs. G. You'd better not, Sir! (Takes letter from envelope.) Now, may I +look? If you say no, I shall cry. + +Capt. G. You've never cried in my knowledge of you, and I don't believe +you could. + +Mrs. G. I feel very like it today, Pip. Don't be hard on me. (Reads +letter.) It begins in the middle, without any “Dear Captain Gadsby,” or +anything. How funny! + +Capt. G. (Aside.) No, it's 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 into--shall 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 sorts--a Mrs. +Herriott--wife of a Colonel Herriott. I used to know some of her people +at Home long ago--before I came out. + +Mrs. G. Some Colonel's wives are young--as young as me. I knew one who +was younger. + +Capt. G. Then it couldn't have been Mrs. Herriott. She was old enough to +have been your mother, dear. + +Mrs. G. I remember now. Mrs. Scargill was 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 dress--the 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.) You'd better get a new dress, +then. (Aside.) Let us pray that that will turn her. + +Mrs. G. Oh, it isn't stained in the least. I only thought that I'd tell +you. (Returning to letter.) What an extraordinary person! (Reads.) +“But need I remind you that you have taken upon yourself a charge of +wardship”--what in the world is a charge of wardship?--“which as you +yourself know, may end in Consequences”-- + +Capt. G. (Aside.) It's 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 +Consequences--“almost inevitable Consequences” with a capital C--for +half a page. (Flushing scarlet.) Oh, good gracious! How abominable! + +Capt. G. (Promptly.) Do you think so? Doesn't 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. It's impertinent--it's simply horrid. What right has this woman +to write in this way to you? She oughtn't to. + +Capt. G. When you write to the Deercourt girl, I notice that you +generally fill three or four sheets. Can't you let an old woman babble +on paper once in a way? She means well. + +Mrs. G. I don't care. She shouldn't write, and if she did, you ought to +have shown me her letter. + +Capt. G. Can't you understand why I kept it to myself, or must I explain +at length--as I 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 hadn't taken it, you wouldn't have said a word. +I think this Harriet Herriott--it's like a name in a book--is an +interfering old Thing. + +Capt. G. (Aside.) So long as you thoroughly understand that she is old, +I don't much care what you think. (Aloud.) Very good, dear. Would you +like to write and tell her so? She's seven thousand miles away. + +Mrs. G. I don't 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. I've 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! Can't you leave that letter alone, or, at least, +can't you refrain from reading it aloud? I've been through it once. Put +it back on the desk. Do you hear me? + +Mrs. G. (Irresolutely.) I sh-sha'n't! (Looks at G.'s eyes.) Oh, Pip, +please! I didn't mean to make you angry--'Deed, I didn't. Pip, I'm so +sorry. I know I've wasted your time-- + +Capt. G. (Grimly.) You have. Now, will you be good enough to go--if +there is nothing more in my room that you are anxious to pry into? + +Mrs. G. (Putting out her hands.) Oh, Pip, don't look at me like that! +I've never seen you look like that before and it hu-urts me! I'm sorry. +I oughtn't to have been here at all, and--and--and--(sobbing.) Oh, be +good to me! Be good to me! There's only you--anywhere! Breaks down in +long chair, hiding face in cushions. + +Capt. G. (Aside.) She doesn't know how she flicked me on the raw. +(Aloud, bending over chair.) I didn't mean to be harsh, dear--I didn't +really. You can stay here as long as you please, and do what you please. +Don't cry like that. You'll make yourself sick. (Aside.) What on earth +has come over her? (Aloud.) Darling, what's the matter with you? + +Mrs. G. (Her face still hidden.) Let me go--let me go to my own room. +Only--only say you aren't angry with me. + +Capt. G. Angry with you, love! Of course not. I was angry with myself. +I'd lost my temper over the saddlery--Don't 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 didn't 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 wasn't scalded at all. I--wanted +to speak to you about--about--something else, and--I didn't know how. + +Capt. G. Speak away, then. (Looking into her eyes.) Eh! Wha-at? Minnie! +Here, don't go away! You don't mean? + +Mrs. G. (Hysterically, backing to portiere and hiding her face in its +folds.) The--the Almost Inevitable Consequences! (Flits through portiere +as G. attempts to catch her, and bolts her self in her own room.) + +Capt. G. (His arms full of portiere.) Oh! (Sitting down heavily in +chair.) I'm a brute, a pig--a bully, and a blackguard. My poor, poor +little darling! “Made to be amused only?”-- + + + + +THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW, KNOWING GOOD AND EVIL. + +SCENE. The GADSBYS' bungalow in the Plains, in June. Punkah-coolies +asleep in veranda where Captain GADSBY is walking up and down. DOCTOR'S +trap in porch. JUNIOR CHAPLAIN drifting generally and uneasily through +the house. Time, 3:40 A. M. Heat 94 degrees 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.) Go-in-to-the-room-and-see-her. She wants +to speak to you. (Aside, testily.) I shall have him on my hands next. + +JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. (In half-lighted dining room.) Isn't there any?-- + +DOCTOR. (Savagely.) Ha, you little fool! + +JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. Let me do my work. Gadsby, stop a minute--I (Edges +after G.) + +DOCTOR. Wait till she sends for you at least--at least. Man alive, he'll +kill you if you go in there! What are you bothering him for? + +JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. (Coming into veranda.) I've given him a stiff +brandy-peg. He wants it. You've forgotten him for the last ten hours +and--forgotten 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 street--such bonfires! Ayah, go and +put them out! (Appealingly.) How can I sleep with an installation of the +C.I.E. in my room? No--not C.I.E. Something else. What was it? + +Capt. G. (Trying to control his voice.) Minnie, I'm here. (Bending over +bed.) Don't you know me, Minnie? It's me--it's Phil--it's your husband. + +VOICE. (Mechanically.) It's me--it's Phil--it's your husband. + +Capt. G. She doesn't know me!--It's your own husband, darling. + +VOICE. Your own husband, darling. + +Ayah. (With an inspiration.) Memsahib understanding all I saying. + +Capt. G. Make her understand me then--quick! + +Ayah. (Hand on Mrs. G.'s fore-head.) Memsahib! Captain Sahib here. + +VOICE. Salaem do. (Fretfully.) I know I'm not fit to be seen. + +Ayah. (Aside to G.) Say “marneen” same as breakfash. + +Capt. G. Good morning, little woman. How are we today? + +VOICE. That's Phil. Poor old Phil. (Viciously.) Phil, you fool, I can't +see you. Come nearer. + +Capt. G. Minnie! Minnie! It's me--you know me? + +VOICE. (Mockingly.) Of course I do. Who does not know the man who was so +cruel to his wife--almost the only one he ever had? + +Capt. G. Yes, dear. Yes--of course, of course. But won't you speak to +him? He wants to speak to you so much. + +VOICE. They'd never let him in. The Doctor would give darwaza band even +if he were in the house. He'll 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 love--don't 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 +shut--tight as a plaster--a great, burning plaster. They had pasted our +marriage certificate all across the door, and it was made of red-hot +iron--people really ought to be more careful, you know. + +Capt. G. What am I to do? (Taking her in his arms.) Minnie! speak to +me--to Phil. + +VOICE. What shall I say? Oh, tell me what to say before it's too late! +They are all going away and I can't say anything. + +Capt. G. Say you know me! Only say you know me! + +DOCTOR. (Who has entered quietly.) For pity's sake don't take it too +much to heart, Gadsby. It's this way sometimes. They won't recognize. +They say all sorts of queer things--don't you see? + +Capt. G. All right! All right! Go away now; she'll recognize me; you're +bothering her. She must--mustn't she? + +DOCTOR. She will before--Have I your leave to try?-- + +Capt. G. Anything you please, so long as she'll know me. It's only a +question of hours, isn't it? + +DOCTOR. (Professionally.) While there's life there's hope y'know. But +don't build on it. + +Capt. G. I don't. Pull her together if it's possible. (Aside.) What have +I done to deserve this? + +DOCTOR. (Bending over bed.) Now, Mrs. Gadsby! We shall be all right +tomorrow. You must take it, or I sha'n't let Phil see you. It isn't +nasty, is it? + +Voice. Medicines! Always more medicines! Can't you leave me alone? + +Capt. G. Oh, leave her in peace, Doc! + +DOCTOR. (Stepping back,--aside.) May I be forgiven if I've done wrong. +(Aloud.) In a few minutes she ought to be sensible; but I daren't tell +you to look for anything. It's only-- + +Capt. G. What? Go on, man. + +DOCTOR. (In a whisper.) Forcing the last rally. + +Capt. G. Then leave us alone. + +DOCTOR. Don't mind what she says at first, if you can. They--they--they +turn against those they love most sometimes in this.--It's 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 don't know what I should have done if he hadn't 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 blossoms--Dead white +silk is only fit for widows, and I won't wear it. It's 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 me--even if I die too! + +VOICE. (Very faintly.) Pip, Pip dear. + +Capt. G. I'm here, darling. + +VOICE. What has happened? They've been bothering me so with medicines +and things, and they wouldn't let you come and see me. I was never ill +before. Am I ill now? + +Capt. G. You--you aren't quite well. + +VOICE. How funny! Have I been ill long? + +Capt. G. Some days; but you'll be all right in a little time. + +VOICE. Do you think so, Pip? I don't feel well and--Oh! what have they +done to my hair? + +Capt. G. I d-d-on't know. + +VOICE. They've cut it off. What a shame! + +Capt. G. It must have been to make your head cooler. + +VOICE. Just like a boy's wig. Don't I look horrid? + +Capt. G. Never looked prettier in your life, dear. (Aside.) How am I to +ask her to say goodbye? + +VOICE. I don't feel pretty. I feel very ill. My heart won't work. +It's nearly dead inside me, and there's a funny feeling in my eyes. +Everything seems the same distance--you and the almirah and the table +inside my eyes or miles away. What does it mean, Pip? + +Capt. G. You're a little feverish, Sweetheart--very feverish. (Breaking +down.) My love! my love! How can I let you go? + +VOICE. I thought so. Why didn't you tell me that at first? + +Capt. G. What? + +VOICE. That I am going to--die. + +Capt. G. But you aren't! You sha'n't. + +Ayah to punkah-coolie. (Stepping into veranda after a glance at the bed. +). Punkah chor do! (Stop pulling the punkah.) + +VOICE. It's hard, Pip. So very, very hard after one year--just one +year. (Wailing.) And I'm only twenty. Most girls aren't even married at +twenty. Can't they do anything to help me? I don't want to die. + +Capt. G. Hush, dear. You won't. + +VOICE. What's the use of talking? Help me! You've never failed me yet. +Oh, Phil, help me to keep alive. (Feverishly.) I don't believe you wish +me to live. You weren't a bit sorry when that horrid Baby thing died. I +wish I'd killed it! + +Capt. G. (Drawing his hand across his forehead.) It's more than a man's +meant to bear--it's not right. (Aloud.) Minnie, love, I'd die for you if +it would help. + +VOICE. No more death. There's enough already. Pip, don't you die too. + +Capt. G. I wish I dared. + +VOICE. It says: “Till Death do us part.” Nothing after that--and so it +would be no use. It stops at the dying. Why does it stop there? Only +such a very short life, too. Pip, I'm sorry we married. + +Capt. G. No! Anything but that, Min! + +VOICE. Because you'll forget and I'll forget. Oh, Pip, don't forget! I +always loved you, though I was cross sometimes. If I ever did anything +that you didn't like, say you forgive me now. + +Capt. G. You never did, darling. On my soul and honor you never did. I +haven't 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, +Pp. + +Capt. G. There's nothing to forgive. It was my fault. They were too near +the drive. For God's sake don't talk so, Minnie! There's such a lot to +say and so little time to say it in. + +VOICE. Say that you'll always love me--until the end. + +Capt. G. Until the end. (Carried away.) It's a lie. It must be, because +we've loved each other. This isn't 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 that's a lie. (With a parody of G.'s manner.) A damned lie! +(Recklessly.) Yes, I can swear as well as a Trooper, Pip. I can't make +my head think, though. That's because they cut off my hair. How can one +think with one's head all fuzzy? (Pleadingly.) Hold me, Pip! Keep me +with you always and always. (Relapsing.) But if you marry the Thorniss +girl when I'm dead, I'll come back and howl under our bedroom window all +night. Oh, bother! You'll think I'm a jackal. Pip, what time is it? + +Capt. G. A little before the dawn, dear. + +VOICE. I wonder where I shall be this time tomorrow? + +Capt. G. Would you like to see the Padre? + +VOICE. Why should I? He'd tell me that I am going to heaven; and that +wouldn't be true, because you are here. Do you recollect when 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 couldn't tell unless you +were told. Let's call him in and ask. + +Capt. G. (Gravely.) No. I don't think he'd like that. Your head comfy, +Sweetheart? + +VOICE. (Faintly with a sigh of contentment.) Yeth! Gracious, Pip, when +did you shave last? Your chin's worse than the barrel of a musical +box.--No, don't lift it up. I like it. (A pause.) You said you've never +cried at all. You're crying all over my cheek. + +Capt. G. I-I-I can't help it, dear. + +VOICE. How funny! I couldn't cry now to save my life. (G. shivers.) I +want to sing. + +Capt. G. Won't it tire you? 'Better not, perhaps. + +VOICE. Why? I won't be bothered about. (Begins in a hoarse quaver) + + “Minnie bakes oaten cake, Minnie brews ale, + All because her Johnnie's coming home from the sea.” (That's parade, Pip.) + “And she grows red as a rose, who was so pale; + And 'Are you sure the church-clock goes?' says she.” + +(Pettishly.) I knew I couldn't 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! Don't 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, I'm going now. Something's choking me +cruelly. (Indistinctly.) Into the dark--without you, my heart--But it's +a lie, dear--we mustn't believe it.--Forever and ever, living or dead. +Don't let me go, my husband--hold me tight.--They can't--whatever +happens. (A cough.) Pip--my Pip! Not for always--and--so--soon! (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. + +Ayah. (Still by bedside, with a shriek.) Ail Ail Tuta-phuta! My +Memsahib! Not getting--not have got!--Pusseena agyal (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.) Eh! The +Dev--What inspired you to stop the punkah? Get out, man--go away--wait +outside! Go! Here, Ayah! (Over his shoulder to G.) Mind I promise +nothing. + +The dawn breaks as G. stumbles into the garden. + +Capt. M. (Rehung up at the gate on his way to parade and very soberly.) +Old man, how goes? + +Capt. G. (Dazed.) I don't quite know. Stay a bit. Have a drink or +something. Don't run away. You're 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 charger's headstall.) Your curb's too loose. + +Capt. M. So it is. Put it straight, will you? (Aside.) I shall be late +for parade. Poor Gaddy. + +Capt. G. links and unlinks curb-chain aimlessly, and finally stands +staring toward the veranda. The day brightens. + +DOCTOR. (Knocked out of professional gravity, tramping across +flower-beds and shaking G's hands.) It'-it's-it's!--Gadsby, there's +a fair chance--a dashed fair chance. The flicker, y'know. The sweat, +y'know I saw how it would be. The punkah, y'know. Deuced clever woman +that Ayah of yours. Stopped the punkah just at the right time. A dashed +good chance! No--you don't go in. We'll pull her through yet I promise +on my reputation--under Providence. Send a man with this note to Bingle. +Two heads better than one. 'Specially the Ayah! We'll pull her round. +(Retreats hastily to house.) + +Capt. G. (His head on neck of M.'s charger.) Jack! I bub-bu-believe, I'm +going to make a bu-bub-bloody exhibitiod of byself. + +Capt. M. (Sniffing openly and feeling in his left cuff.) I b-b-believe, +I'b doing it already. Old bad, what cad I say? I'b as pleased as--Cod +dab you, Gaddy! You're one big idiot and I'b adother. (Pulling himself +together.) Sit tight! Here comes the Devil-dodger. + +JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. (Who is not in the Doctor's confidence.) We--we are +only men in these things, Gadsby. I know that I can say nothing now to +help. + +Capt. M. (jealously.) Then don't say it Leave him alone. It's not bad +enough to croak over. Here, Gaddy, take the chit to Bingle and ride +hell-for-leather. It'll do you good. I can't go. + +JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. Do him good! (Smiling.) Give me the chit and I'll +drive. Let him lie down. Your horse is blocking my cart--please! + +Capt. M. (Slowly without reining back.) I beg your pardon--I'll +apologize. On paper if you like. + +JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. (Flicking M.'s charger.) That'll do, thanks. Turn in, +Gadsby, and I'll bring Bingle back--ahem--“hell-for-leather.” + +Capt. M. (Solus.) It would have served me right if he'd cut me across +the face. He can drive too. I shouldn't care to go that pace in a bamboo +cart. What a faith he must have in his Maker--of harness! Come hup, you +brute! (Gallops off to parade, blowing his nose, as the sun rises.) + +(INTERVAL OF FIVE WEEKS.) + +Mrs. G. (Very white and pinched, in morning wrapper at breakfast 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? I've almost +forgotten. (Seriously.) Wasn't I very ill? + +Capt. G. Iller than I liked. (Tenderly.) Oh, you bad little Pussy, what +a start you gave me! + +Mrs. G. I'll never do it again. + +Capt. G. You'd better not. And now get those poor pale cheeks pink +again, or I shall be angry. Don't try to lift the urn. You'll upset it. +Wait. (Comes round to head of table and lifts urn.) + +Mrs. G. (Quickly.) Khitmatgar, howarchikhana 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.) I'm going to give Junda a +saree. + +Capt. G. I gave her fifty dibs. + +Mrs. G. So she told me. It was a 'normous reward. Was I worth it? +(Several interludes.) Don't! Here's the khitmatgar.--Two lumps or one +Sir? + + + + +THE SWELLING OF JORDAN + +If thou hast run with the footmen and they have wearied thee, then how +canst thou contend with horses? And if in the land of peace wherein thou +trustedst they wearied thee, then how wilt thou do in the swelling of +Jordan? + +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. How's the Infant Phenomenon and the +Proud Proprietor? + +Mrs. G. You'll find them in the front veranda; go through the house. I'm +Martha just now. + +Capt. M, 'Cumbered about with cares of Khitmatgars? I fly. + +Passes into front veranda, where GADSBV is watching GADSBY JUNIOR, aged +ten months, crawling about the matting. + +Capt. M. What's the trouble, Gaddy-spoiling an honest man's Europe +morning this way? (Seeing G. JUNIOR.) By Jove, that yearling's comin' on +amazingly! Any amount of bone below the knee there. + +Capt. G. Yes, he's a healthy little scoundrel. Don't you think his +hair's growing? + +Capt. M. Let's have a look. Hi! Hst Come here, General Luck, and we'll +report on you. + +Mrs. G. (Within.) What absurd name will you give him next? Why do you +call him that? + +Capt. M. Isn't he our Inspector-General of Cavalry? Doesn't he come down +in his seventeen-two perambulator every morning the Pink Hussars parade? +Don't 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 don't wish to see. +They've given me more than my fair share--knocking the squadron out of +shape. It's sickening! + +Capt. M. When you're in command, you'll do better, young 'un. Can'tyou +walk yet? Grip my finger and try. (To G.) 'Twon't hurt his hocks, will +it? + +Capt. G. Oh, no. Don't let him flop, though, or he'll lick all the +blacking off your boots. + +Mrs. G. (Within.) Who's destroying my son's character? + +Capt. M. And my Godson's. I'm ashamed of you, Gaddy. Punch your father +in the eye, Jack! Don't you stand it! Hit him again! + +Capt. G. (Sotto voce.) Put The Butcha down and come to the end of the +veranda. I'd rather the Wife didn't hear--just now. + +Capt. M. You look awf'ly serious. Anything wrong? + +Capt. G. 'Depends on your view entirely. I say, Jack, you won't think +more hardly of me than you can help, will you? Come further this +way.--The fact of the matter is, that I've made up my mind--at least I'm +thinking seriously of--cutting the Service. + +Capt. M. Hwhatt? + +Capt. G. Don't shout. I'm going to send in my papers. + +Capt. M. You! Are you mad? + +Capt. G. No--only married. + +Capt. M. Look here! What's the meaning of it all? You never intend to +leave us. You can't. Isn't 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 doesn't seem to +thrive in this God-forsaken country, and there's The Butcha to be +considered and all that, you know. + +Capt. M. Does she say that she doesn't like India? + +Capt. G. That's the worst of it. She won't 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, and--I don't 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. I'm going to chuck. You don't 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 who'll 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 +won't 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 he'd left his sword--by +the way, did you ever pay Ranken for that sword?--in an Utmanzai's +head--that man told me that he'd stick by me and the Pinks as long as +he lived. I don't blame him for not sticking by me--I'm not much of a +man--but I do blame him for not sticking by the Pink Hussars. + +Capt. G. (Uneasily.) We were little more than boys then. Can't you see, +Jack, how things stand? 'Tisn't as if we were serving for our bread. +We've all of us, more or less, got the filthy lucre. I'm luckier than +some, perhaps. There's no call for me to serve on. + +Capt. M. None in the world for you or for us, except the Regimental. If +you don't choose to answer to that, of course-- + +Capt. G. Don't 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 aren't some of Us. + +Capt. G. And then there are one's affairs at Home to be considered--my +place and the rents, and all that. I don't suppose my father can last +much longer, and that means the title, and so on. + +Capt. M. 'Fraid you won't be entered in the Stud Book correctly unless +you go Home? Take six months, then, and come out in October. If I could +slay off a brother or two, I s'pose I should be a Marquis of sorts. +Any fool can be that; but it needs men, Gaddy--men like you--to lead +flanking squadrons properly. Don't you delude yourself into the belief +that you're going Home to take your place and prance about among +pink-nosed Kabuli dowagers. You aren't built that way. I know better. + +Capt. G. A man has a right to live his life as happily as he can. You +aren't married. + +Capt. M. No--praise be to Providence and the one or two women who have +had the good sense to jawab me. + +Capt. G. Then you don't know what it is to go into your own room and see +your wife's head on the pillow, and when everything else is safe and the +house shut up for the night, to wonder whether the roof-beams won't 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 she'd break her +neck before she came back. All husbands aren't 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 weren't all you say. +You've 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. I've been uneasy and worried +about the Wife ever since that awful business three years ago--when--I +nearly lost her. Can you wonder? + +Capt. M. Oh, a shell never falls twice in the same place. You've paid +your toll to misfortune--why should your Wife be picked out more than +anybody else's? + +Capt. G. I can talk just as reasonably as you can, but you don't +understand--you don't understand. And then there's The Butcha. Deuce +knows where the Ayah takes him to sit in the evening! He has a bit of a +cough. Haven't you noticed it? + +Capt. M. Bosh! The Brigadier's jumping out of his skin with pure +condition. He's got a muzzle like a rose-leaf and the chest of a +two-year-old. What's demoralized you? + +Capt. G. Funk. That's the long and the short of it. Funk! + +Capt. M. But what is there to funk? + +Capt. G. Everything. It's ghastly. + +Capt. M. Ah! I see. You don't want to fight, And by Jingo when we do, + You've got the kid, you've got the Wife, + You've got the money, too. +That's about the case, eh? + +Capt. G. I suppose that's it. But it's not for myself. It's 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 don't +see it. My life's so good, so pleasant, as it is, that I want to make it +quite safe. Can't you understand? + +Capt. M. Perfectly. “Shelter-pit for the Off'cer's charger,” as they say +in the Line. + +Capt. G. And I have everything to my hand to make it so. I'm sick of the +strain and the worry for their sakes out here; and there isn't a single +real difficulty to prevent my dropping it altogether. It'll only cost +me--Jack, I hope you'll never know the shame that I've been going +through for the past six months. + +Capt. M. Hold on there! I don't wish to be told. Every man has his moods +and tenses sometimes. + +Capt. G. (Laughing bitterly.) 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 with me, Jack. I'm always +thinking about it. Phil Gadsby funking a fall on parade! Sweet picture, +isn't it! Draw it for me. + +Capt. M. (Gravely.) Heaven forbid! A man like you can't be as bad as +that. A fall is no nice thing, but one never gives it a thought. + +Capt. G. Doesn't one? Wait till you've got a wife and a youngster of +your own, and then you'll 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 haven't the dust to +bother us, as the men have, and whoever heard of a horse stepping on a +man? + +Capt. G. Never--as 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 don't care. You've ridden +Van Loo. Is he the sort of brute to pick his way--'specially when we're +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. Aren't three lengths enough for you? + +Capt. G. Yes--quite enough. They just allow for the full development of +the smash. I'm talking like a cur, I know: but I tell you that, for the +past three months, I've felt every hoof of the squadron in the small of +my back every time that I've led. + +Capt. M. But, Gaddy, this is awful! + +Capt. G. Isn't it lovely? Isn't 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 Haffy's eye. I +was afraid to do it again. + +Capt. M. I should think so. That was the best way to rupture old Van +Loo's tummy, and make him crumple you up. You knew that. + +Capt. G. I didn't care. It took the edge off him. + +Capt. M. “Took the edge off him”? Gaddy, you--you--you mustn't, you +know! Think of the men. + +Capt. G. That's another thing I am afraid of. D'you s'pose they know? + +Capt. M. Let's hope not; but they're 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. We'll start a boat on the Dal or +cross the Rhotang--shoot ibex or loaf--which you please. Only come! +You're a bit off your oats and you're talking nonsense. Look at the +Colonel--swag-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 him--chalkstones and +all? I can't, and I think I can shove a crock along a bit. + +Capt. G. Some men are different. I haven't any nerve. Lord help me, I +haven't the nerve! I've taken up a hole and a half to get my knees well +under the wallets. I can't help it. I'm so afraid of anything 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, but--I've got out +of the habit of lying to you, old man. Jack, you won't?--But I know you +won't. + +Capt. M. Of course not. (Half aloud.) The Pinks are paying dearly for +their Pride. + +Capt. G. Eh! Wha-at? + +Capt. M. Don't you know? The men have called Mrs. Gadsby the Pride of +the Pink Hussars ever since she came to us. + +Capt. G. 'Tisn't her fault. Don't think that. It's all mine. + +Capt. M. What does she say? + +Capt. G. I haven't exactly put it before her. She's the best little +woman in the world, Jack, and all that--but she wouldn't counsel a man +to stick to his calling if it came between him and her. At least, I +think-- + +Capt. M. Never mind. Don't tell her what you told me. Go on the Peerage +and Landed-Gentry tack. + +Capt. G. She'd see through it. She's five times cleverer than I am. + +Capt. M. (Aside.) Then she'll accept the sacrifice and think a little +bit worse of him for the rest of her days. + +Capt. G. (Absently.) 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? I'm not entitled to expect anything more, but +it's a bit hard when one's best friend turns round and-- + +Capt. M. So I have found. But you will have consolations--Bailiffs +and Drains and Liquid Manure and the Primrose League, and, perhaps, +if you're lucky, the Colonelcy of a Yeomanry Cav-al-ry Regiment--all +uniform and no riding, I believe. How old are you? + +Capt. G. Thirty-three. I know it's-- + +Capt. M. At forty you'll be a fool of a J. P. landlord. At fifty you'll +own a bath-chair, and The Brigadier, if he takes after you, will be +fluttering the dovecotes of--what's the particular dunghill you're going +to? Also, Mrs. Gadsby will be fat. + +Capt. G. (Limply.) This is rather more than a joke. + +Capt. M. D'you think so? Isn't cutting the Service a joke? It generally +takes a man fifty years to arrive at it. You're quite right, though. It +is more than a joke. You've managed it in thirty-three. + +Capt. G. Don't 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 I'm the only man in the world who can talk +to you like this without being knocked down. You mustn't take all that +I've said to heart in this way. I only spoke--a lot of it at least--out +of pure selfishness, because, because--Oh, damn it all, old man,--I +don't know what I shall do without you. Of course, you've got the money +and the place and all that--and there are two very good reasons why you +should take care of yourself. + +Capt. G. 'Doesn't make it any sweeter. I'm backing out--I know I am. I +always had a soft drop in me somewhere--and I daren't risk any danger to +them. + +Capt. M. Why in the world should you? You're bound to think of your +family--bound to think. Er--hmm. If I wasn't a younger son I'd go +too--be shot if I wouldn't! + +Capt. G. Thank you, Jack. It's a kind lie, but it's the blackest you've +told for some time. I know what I'm doing, and I'm going into it with my +eyes open. Old man, I can't help it. What would you do if you were in my +place? + +Capt. M. (Aside.) 'Couldn't conceive any woman getting permanently +between me and the Regiment. (Aloud.) 'Can't say. 'Very likely I should +do no better. I'm sorry for you--awf'ly sorry--but “if them's 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. I'm an ungrateful ruffian to say this, but +marriage--even as good a marriage as mine has been--hampers a man's +work, it cripples his sword-arm, and oh, it plays Hell with his notions +of duty. Sometimes--good and sweet as she is--sometimes I could wish +that I had kept my freedom--No, I don't 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 don't you? I dare say you would make some woman very +happy. + +Capt. G. There's the Law and the Prophets, Jack. Never mind the +Regiment. Make a woman happy. (Aside.) O Lord! + +Capt. M. We'll see. I must be off to make a Troop Cook desperately +unhappy. I won't have the wily Hussar fed on Government Bullock Train +shinbones--(Hastily.) Surely black ants can't be good for The Brigadier. +He's picking em off the matting and eating 'em. Here, Senor Comandante +Don Grubbynose, come and talk to me. (Lifts G. JUNIOR in his arms.) +'Want my watch? You won't 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. It's not the least consequence, I assure you. He'd treat the +world in the same way if he could get it into his hands. Everything's +made to be played, with and broken, isn't it, young 'un? + +* * * * * + +Mrs. G. Mafflin didn't at all like his watch being broken, though he +was too polite to say so. It was entirely his fault for giving it to +the child. Dem little puds are werry, werry feeble, aren't dey, by +Jack-in-de-box? (To G.) What did he want to see you for? + +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 don't think you need. Isn't it time +for The Butcha to have his nap? Bring a chair out here, dear. I've got +some thing to talk over with you. + +THIS IS THE END OF THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS + + + + + +VOLUME VIII from MINE OWN PEOPLE + + Bimi + Namgay Doola + The Recrudescence Of Imray + Moti Guj--Mutineer + + + + +BIMI + +THE orangoutang in the big iron cage lashed to the sheep-pen began the +discussion. The night was stiflingly hot, and as Hans Breitmann and I +passed him, dragging our bedding to the fore-peak of the steamer, he +roused himself and chattered obscenely. He had been caught somewhere in +the Malayan Archipelago, and was going to England to be exhibited at a +shilling a head. For four days he had struggled, yelled, and wrenched at +the heavy iron bars of his prison without ceasing, and had nearly slain +a Lascar incautious enough to come within reach of the great hairy paw. + +“It would be well for you, mine friend, if you was a liddle seasick,” + said Hans Breitmann, pausing by the cage. “You haf too much Ego in your +Cosmos.” + +The orangoutang's arm slid out negligently from between the bars. No one +would have believed that it would make a sudden snake-like rush at +the German's breast. The thin silk of the sleeping-suit tore out: Hans +stepped back unconcernedly, to pluck a banana from a bunch hanging close +to one of the boats. + +“Too much Ego,” said he, peeling the fruit and offering it to the caged +devil, who was rending the silk to tatters. + +Then we laid out our bedding in the bows, among the sleeping Lascars, +to catch any breeze that the pace of the ship might give us. The sea was +like smoky oil, except where it turned to fire under our forefoot +and whirled back into the dark in smears of dull flame. There was a +thunderstorm some miles away: we could see the glimmer of the lightning. +The ship's cow, distressed by the heat and the smell of the ape-beast in +the cage, lowed unhappily from time to time in exactly the same key as +the lookout man at the bows answered the hourly call from the bridge. +The trampling tune of the engines was very distinct, and the jarring +of the ash-lift, as it was tipped into the sea, hurt the procession of +hushed noise. Hans lay down by my side and lighted a good-night cigar. +This was naturally the beginning of conversation. He owned a voice as +soothing as the wash of the sea, and stores of experiences as vast as +the sea itself; for his business in life was to wander up and down the +world, collecting orchids and wild beasts and ethnological specimens for +German and American dealers. I watched the glowing end of his cigar wax +and wane in the gloom, as the sentences rose and fell, till I was nearly +asleep. The orangoutang, troubled by some dream of the forests of his +freedom, began to yell like a soul in purgatory, and to wrench madly at +the bars of the cage. + +“If he was out now dere would not be much of us left hereabouts,” said +Hans, lazily. “He screams good. See, now, how I shall tame him when he +stops himself.” + +There was a pause in the outcry, and from Hans' mouth came an imitation +of a snake's hiss, so perfect that I almost sprung to my feet. The +sustained murderous sound ran along the deck, and the wrenching at the +bars ceased. The orangoutang was quaking in an ecstasy of pure terror. + +“Dot stop him,” said Hans. “I learned dot trick in Mogoung Tanjong when +I was collecting liddle monkeys for some peoples in Berlin. Efery one +in der world is afraid of der monkeys except der snake. So I blay snake +against monkey, and he keep quite still. Dere was too much Ego in his +Cosmos. Dot is der soul-custom of monkeys. Are you asleep, or will you +listen, and I will tell a dale dot you shall not pelief?” + +“There's no tale in the wide world that I can't believe,” I said. + +“If you have learned pelief you haf learned somedings. Now I shall try +your pelief. Good! When I was collecting dose liddle monkeys--it was in +'79 or '80, und I was in der islands of der Archipelago--over dere in +der dark”--he pointed southward to New Guinea generally--“Mein Gott! I +would sooner collect life red devils than liddle monkeys. When +dey do not bite off your thumbs dey are always dying from +nostalgia--homesick--for dey haf der imperfect soul, which is midway +arrested in defelopment--und too much Ego. I was dere for nearly a year, +und dere I found a man dot was called Bertran. He was a Frenchman, und +he was a goot man--naturalist to the bone. Dey said he was an escaped +convict, but he was a naturalist, und dot was enough for me. He would +call all her life beasts from der forests, und dey would come. I said +he was St. Francis of Assisi in a new dransmigration produced, und he +laughed und said he had never preach to der fishes. He sold dem for +trepang--beche-de-mer. + +“Und dot man, who was king of beasts-tamer men, he had in der house +shush such anoder as dot devil-animal in der cage--a great orangoutang +dot thought he was a man. He haf found him when he was a child--der +orangoutang--und he was child and brother and opera comique all round to +Bertran. He had his room in dot house--not a cage, but a room--mit a bed +and sheets, and he would go to bed and get up in der morning and smoke +his cigar und eat his dinner mit Bertran, und walk mit him hand-in-hand, +which was most horrible. Herr Gott! I haf seen dot beast throw himself +back in his chair and laugh when Bertran haf made fun of me. He was +not a beast; he was a man, and he talked to Bertran, und Bertran +comprehended, for I have seen dem. Und he was always politeful to me +except when I talk too long to Bertran und say nodings at all to him. +Den he would pull me away--dis great, dark devil, mit his enormous paws +shush as if I was a child. He was not a beast, he was a man. Dis I saw +pefore I know him three months, und Bertran he haf saw the same; and +Bimi, der orangoutang, haf understood us both, mit his cigar between his +big-dog teeth und der blue gum. + +“I was dere a year, dere und at dere oder islands--somedimes for monkeys +and somedimes for butterflies und orchits. One time Bertran says to me +dot he will be married, because he hass found a girl dot was goot, and +he inquire if this marrying idea was right. I would not say, pecause +it was not me dot was going to be married. Den he go off courting der +girl--she was a half-caste French girl--very pretty. Haf you got a new +light for my cigar? Oof! Very pretty. Only I say 'Haf you thought of +Bimi? If he pulls me away when I talk to you, what will he do to your +wife? He will pull her in pieces. If I was you, Bertran, I would gif my +wife for wedding present der stuff figure of Bimi.' By dot time I bad +learned somedings about der monkey peoples. 'Shoot him?' says Bertran. +'He is your beast,' I said; 'if he was mine he would be shot now.' + +“Den I felt at der back of my neck der fingers of Bimi. Mein Gott! I +tell you dot he talked through dose fingers. It was der deaf-and-dumb +alphabet all gomplete. He slide his hairy arm round my neck, and he tilt +up my chin and look into my face, shust to see if I understood his talk +so well as he understood mine. + +“'See now dere!' says Bertran, 'und you would shoot him while he is +cuddling you? Dot is der Teuton ingrate!' + +“But I knew dot I had made Bimi a life's enemy, pecause his fingers haf +talk murder through the back of my neck. Next dime I see Bimi dere was +a pistol in my belt, und he touch it once, and I open de breech to show +him it was loaded. He haf seen der liddle monkeys killed in der woods, +and he understood. + +“So Bertran he was married, and he forgot clean about Bimi dot was +skippin' alone on the beach mit der haf of a human soul in his belly. +I was see him skip, und he took a big bough und thrash der sand till he +haf made a great hole like a grave. So I says to Bertran 'For any sakes, +kill Bimi. He is mad mit der jealousy.' + +“Bertran haf said: 'He is not mad at all. He haf obey and love my wife, +und if she speaks he will get her slippers,' und he looked at his wife +across der room. She was a very pretty girl. + +“Den I said to him: 'Dost thou pretend to know monkeys und dis beast dot +is lashing himself mad upon der sands, pecause you do not talk to him? +Shoot him when he comes to der house, for he haf der light in his eyes +dot means killing--und killing.' Bimi come to der house, but dere was +no light in his eyes. It was all put away, cunning--so cunning--und he +fetch der girl her slippers, and Bertran turn to me und say: 'Dost thou +know him in nine months more dan I haf known him in twelve years? Shall a +child stab his fader? I have fed him, und he was my child. Do not speak +this nonsense to my wife or to me any more.' + +“Dot next day Bertran came to my house to help me make some wood cases +for der specimens, und he tell me dot he haf left his wife a liddle +while mit Bimi in der garden. Den I finish my cases quick, und I say: +'Let us go to your house und get a trink.' He laugh und say: 'Come +along, dry mans.' + +“His wife was not in der garden, und Bimi did not come when Bertran +called. Und his wife did not come when he called, und he knocked at her +bedroom door und dot was shut tight-locked. Den he looked at me, und his +face was white. I broke down der door mit my shoulder, und der thatch of +der roof was torn into a great hole, und der sun came in upon der floor. +Haf you ever seen paper in der waste-basket, or cards at whist on der +table scattered? Dere was no wife dot could be seen. I tell you dere was +noddings in dot room dot might be a woman. Dere was stuff on der floor, +und dot was all. I looked at dese things und I was very sick; but +Bertran looked a little longer at what was upon the floor und der walls, +und der hole in der thatch. Den he pegan to laugh, soft and low, und I +know und thank God dot he was mad. He nefer cried, he nefer prayed. He +stood still in der doorway und laugh to himself. Den he said: 'She haf +locked herself in dis room, and he haf torn up der thatch. Fi donc. Dot +is so. We will mend der thatch und wait for Bimi. He will surely come.' + +“I tell you we waited ten days in dot house, after der room was made +into a room again, and once or twice we saw Bimi comin' a liddle way +from der woods. He was afraid pecause he haf done wrong. Bertran called +him when he was come to look on the tenth day, und Bimi come skipping +along der beach und making noises, mit a long piece of Nack hair in his +hands. Den Bertran laugh and say, 'Fi donc' shust as if it was a glass +broken upon der table; und Bimi come nearer, und Bertran was honey-sweet +in his voice and laughed to himself. For three days he made love to +Bimi, pecause Bimi would not let himself be touched Den Bimi come to +dinner at der same table mit us, und der hair on his hands was all +black und thick mit--mit what had dried on his hands. Bertran gave him +sangaree till Bimi was drunk and stupid, und den--” + +Hans paused to puff at his cigar. + +“And then?” said I. + +“Und den Bertran kill him with his hands, und I go for a walk upon der +heach. It was Bertran's own piziness. When I come back der ape he was +dead, und Bertran he was dying abofe him; but still he laughed a liddle +und low, and he was quite content. Now you know der formula uf der +strength of der orangoutang--it is more as seven to one in relation to +man. But Bertran, he haf killed Bimi mit sooch dings as Gott gif him. +Dot was der mericle.” + +The infernal clamor in the cage recommenced. “Aha! Dot friend of ours +haf still too much Ego in his Cosmos, Be quiet, thou!” + +Hans hissed long and venomously. We could hear the great beast quaking +in his cage. + +“But why in the world didn't you help Bertran instead of letting him be +killed?” I asked. + +“My friend,” said Hans, composedly stretching himself to slumber, “it +was not nice even to mineself dot I should lif after I had seen dot room +wit der hole in der thatch. Und Bertran, he was her husband. Good-night, +und sleep well.” + + + + +NAMGAY DOOLA + +ONCE upon a time there was a king who lived on the road to Thibet, very +many miles in the Himalaya Mountains. His kingdom was 11,000 feet above +the sea, and exactly four miles square, but most of the miles stood on +end, owing to the nature of the country. His revenues were rather less +than 400 pounds yearly, and they were expended on the maintenance of one +elephant and a standing army of five men. He was tributary to the Indian +government, who allowed him certain sums for keeping a section of the +Himalaya-Thibet road in repair. He further increased his revenues by +selling timber to the railway companies, for he would cut the great +deodar trees in his own forest and they fell thundering into the Sutlej +River and were swept down to the Plains, 300 miles away, and became +railway ties. Now and again this king, whose name does not matter, would +mount a ring-streaked horse and ride scores of miles to Simlatown to +confer with the lieutenant-governor on matters of state, or assure the +viceroy that his sword was at the service of the queen-empress. Then +the viceroy would cause a ruffle of drums to be sounded and the +ring-streaked horse and the cavalry of the state--two men in +tatters--and the herald who bore the Silver Stick before the king +would trot back to their own place, which was between the tail of a +heaven-climbing glacier and a dark birch forest. + +Now, from such a king, always remembering that he possessed one +veritable elephant and could count his descent for 1,200 years, I +expected, when it was my fate to wander through his dominions, no more +than mere license to live. + +The night had closed in rain, and rolling clouds blotted out the lights +of the villages in the valley. Forty miles away, untouched by cloud or +storm, the white shoulder of Dongo Pa--the Mountain of the Council of +the Gods--upheld the evening star. The monkeys sung sorrowfully to each +other as they hunted for dry roots in the fern-draped trees, and the +last puff of the day-wind brought from the unseen villages the scent +of damp wood smoke, hot cakes, dripping undergrowth, and rotting +pine-cones. That smell is the true smell of the Himalayas, and if it +once gets into the blood of a man he will, at the last, forgetting +everything else, return to the Hills to die. The clouds closed and the +smell went away, and there remained nothing in all the world except +chilling white mists and the boom of the Sutlej River. + +A fat-tailed sheep, who did not want to die, bleated lamentably at +my tent-door. He was scuffling with the prime minister and the +director-general of public education, and he was a royal gift to me and +my camp servants. I expressed my thanks suitably and inquired if I might +have audience of the king. The prime minister readjusted his turban--it +had fallen off in the struggle--and assured me that the king would +be very pleased to see me. Therefore I dispatched two bottles as a +foretaste, and when the sheep had entered upon another incarnation, +climbed up to the king's palace through the wet. He had sent his army +to escort me, but it stayed to talk with my cook. Soldiers are very much +alike all the world over. + +The palace was a four-roomed, white-washed mud-and-timber house, the +finest in all the Hills for a day's journey. The king was dressed in a +purple velvet jacket, white muslin trousers, and a saffron-yellow turban +of price. He gave me audience in a little carpeted room opening off the +palace courtyard, which was occupied by the elephant of state. The great +beast was sheeted and anchored from trunk to tail, and the curve of his +back stood out against the sky line. + +The prime minister and the director-general of public instruction were +present to introduce me; but all the court had been dismissed lest +the two bottles aforesaid should corrupt their morals. The king cast a +wreath of heavy, scented flowers round my neck as I bowed, and inquired +how my honored presence had the felicity to be. I said that through +seeing his auspicious countenance the mists of the night had turned +into sunshine, and that by reason of his beneficent sheep his good +deeds would be remembered by the gods. He said that since I had set my +magnificent foot in his kingdom the crops would probably yield seventy +per cent more than the average. I said that the fame of the king had +reached to the four corners of the earth, and that the nations gnashed +their teeth when they heard daily of the glory of his realm and the +wisdom of his moon-like prime minister and lotus-eyed director-general +of public education. + +Then we sat down on clean white cushions, and I was at the king's right +hand. Three minutes later he was telling me that the condition of the +maize crop was something disgraceful, and that the railway companies +would not pay him enough for his timber. The talk shifted to and fro +with the bottles. We discussed very many quaint things, and the king +became confidential on the subject of government generally. Most of all +he dwelt on the shortcomings of one of his subjects, who, from what I +could gather, had been paralyzing the executive. + +“In the old days,” said the king, “I could have ordered the elephant +yonder to trample him to death. Now I must e'en send him seventy miles +across the hills to be tried, and his keep for that time would be upon +the state. And the elephant eats everything.” + +“What be the man's crimes, Rajah Sahib?” said I. + +“Firstly, he is an 'outlander,' and no man of mine own people. Secondly, +since of my favor I gave him land upon his coming, he refuses to pay +revenue. Am I not the lord of the earth, above and below--entitled by +right and custom to one-eighth of the crop? Yet this devil, establishing +himself, refuses to pay a single tax... and he brings a poisonous +spawn of babes.” + +“Cast him into jail,” I said. + +“Sahib,” the king answered, shifting a little on the cushions, “once and +only once in these forty years sickness came upon me so that I was not +able to go abroad. In that hour I made a vow to my God that I would +never again cut man or woman from the light of the sun and the air of +God, for I perceived the nature of the punishment. How can I break my +vow? Were it only the lopping off of a hand or a foot, I should not +delay. But even that is impossible now that the English have rule. One +or another of my people”--he looked obliquely at the director-general +of public education--“would at once write a letter to the viceroy, and +perhaps I should be deprived of that ruffle of drums.” + +He unscrewed the mouthpiece of his silver water-pipe, fitted a plain +amber one, and passed the pipe to me. “Not content with refusing +revenue,” he continued, “this outlander refuses also to beegar” (this is +the corvee or forced labor on the roads), “and stirs my people up to the +like treason. Yet he is, if so he wills, an expert log-snatcher. There +is none better or bolder among my people to clear a block of the river +when the logs stick fast.” + +“But he worships strange gods,” said the prime minister, deferentially. + +“For that I have no concern,” said the king, who was as tolerant as +Akbar in matters of belief. “To each man his own god, and the fire or +Mother Earth for us all at the last. It is the rebellion that offends +me.” + +“The king has an army,” I suggested. “Has not the king burned the man's +house, and left him naked to the night dews?” + +“Nay. A hut is a hut, and it holds the life of a man. But once I sent +my army against him when his excuses became wearisome. Of their heads +he brake three across the top with a stick. The other two men ran away. +Also the guns would not shoot.” + +I had seen the equipment of the infantry. One-third of it was an old +muzzle-loading fowling-piece with ragged rust holes where the nipples +should have been; one-third a wirebound matchlock with a worm-eaten +stock, and one-third a four-bore flint duck-gun, without a flint. + +“But it is to be remembered,” said the king, reaching out for the +bottle, “that he is a very expert log-snatcher and a man of a merry +face. What shall I do to him, sahib?” + +This was interesting. The timid hill-folk would as soon have refused +taxes to their king as offerings to their gods. The rebel must be a man +of character. + +“If it be the king's permission,” I said, “I will not strike my tents +till the third day, and I will see this man. The mercy of the king is +godlike, and rebellion is like unto the sin of witchcraft. Moreover, +both the bottles, and another, be empty.” + +“You have my leave to go,” said the king. + +Next morning the crier went through the stare proclaiming that there was +a log-jam on the river and that it behooved all loyal subjects to clear +it. The people poured down from their villages to the moist, warm valley +of poppy fields, and the king and I went with them. + +Hundreds of dressed deodar logs had caught on a snag of rock, and the +river was bringing down more logs every minute to complete the blockade. +The water snarled and wrenched and worried at the timber, while the +population of the state prodded at the nearest logs with poles, in +the hope of easing the pressure. Then there went up a shout of “Namgay +Doola! Namgay Doola!” and a large, red-haired villager hurried up, +stripping off his clothes as he ran. + +“That he is. That is the rebel!” said the king. “Now will the dam be +cleared.” + +“But why has he red hair?” I asked, since red hair among hill-folk is as +uncommon as blue or green. + +“He is an outlander,” said the king. “Well done! Oh, well done!” + +Namgay Doola had scrambled on the jam and was clawing out the butt of +a log with a rude sort of a boat-hook. It slid forward slowly, as an +alligator moves, and three or four others followed it. The green water +spouted through the gaps. Then the villagers howled and shouted and +leaped among the logs, pulling and pushing the obstinate timber, and the +red head of Namgay Doola was chief among them all. The logs swayed and +chafed and groaned as fresh consignments from up-stream battered the now +weakening dam. It gave way at last in a smother of foam, racing butts, +bobbing black heads, and a confusion indescribable, as the river tossed +everything before it. I saw the red head go down with the last remnants +of the jam and disappear between the great grinding tree trunks. It rose +close to the hank, and blowing like a grampus, Namgay Doola wiped the +water out of his eyes and made obeisance to the king. + +I had time to observe the man closely. The virulent redness of his shock +head and beard was most startling, and in the thicket of hair twinkled +above high cheek-bones two very merry blue eyes. He was indeed an +outlander, but yet a Thibetan in language, habit and attire. He spoke +the Lepcha dialect with an indescribable softening of the gutturals. It +was not so much a lisp as an accent. + +“Whence comest thou?” I asked, wondering. + +“From Thibet.” He pointed across the hills and grinned. That grin went +straight to my heart. Mechanically I held out my hand and Namgay Doola +took it. No pure Thibetan would have understood the meaning of the +gesture. He went away to look for his clothes, and as he climbed back to +his village, I heard a joyous yell that seemed unaccountably familiar. +It was the whooping of Namgay Doola. + +“You see now,” said the king, “why I would not kill him. He is a bold +man among my logs, but,” and he shook his head like a schoolmaster, “I +know that before long there will be complaints of him in the court. Let +us return to the palace and do justice.” + +It was that king's custom to judge his subjects every day between eleven +and three o'clock. I heard him do justice equitably on weighty matters +of trespass, slander, and a little wife-stealing. Then his brow clouded +and he summoned me. + +“Again it is Namgay Doola,” he said, despairingly. “Not content with +refusing revenue on his own part, he has bound half his village by an +oath to the like treason. Never before has such a thing befallen me! Nor +are my taxes heavy.” + +A rabbit-faced villager, with a blush-rose stuck behind his ear, +advanced trembling. He had been in Namgay Doola's conspiracy, but had +told everything and hoped for the king's favor. + +“Oh, king!” said I, “if it be the king's will, let this matter stand +over till the morning. Only the gods can do right in a hurry, and it may +be that yonder villager has lied.” + +“Nay, for I know the nature of Namgay Doola; but since a guest asks, +let the matter remain. Wilt thou, for my sake, speak harshly to this +red-headed outlander? He may listen to thee.” + +I made an attempt that very evening, but for the life of me I could not +keep my countenance. Namgay Doola grinned so persuasively and began to +tell me about a big brown bear in a poppy field by the river. Would +I care to shoot that bear? I spoke austerely on the sin of detected +conspiracy and the certainty of punishment. Namgay Doola's face clouded +for a moment. Shortly afterward he withdrew from my tent, and I heard +him singing softly among the pines. The words were unintelligible to me, +but the tune, like his liquid, insinuating speech, seemed the ghost of +something strangely familiar. + +“Dir hane mard-i-yemen dir To weeree ala gee,” crooned Namgay Doola +again and again, and I racked my brain for that lost tune. It was not +till after dinner that I discovered some one had cut a square foot of +velvet from the centre of my best camera-cloth. This made me so angry +that I wandered down the valley in the hope of meeting the big brown +bear. I could hear him grunting like a discontented pig in the poppy +field as I waited shoulder deep in the dew-dripping Indian corn to catch +him after his meal. The moon was at full and drew out the scent of the +tasseled crop. Then I heard the anguished bellow of a Himalayan cow--one +of the little black crummies no bigger than Newfoundland dogs. Two +shadows that looked like a bear and her cub hurried past me. I was in +the act of firing when I saw that each bore a brilliant red head. The +lesser animal was trailing something rope-like that left a dark track +on the path. They were within six feet of me, and the shadow of the +moonlight lay velvet-black on their faces. Velvet-black was exactly the +word, for by all the powers of moonlight they were masked in the velvet +of my camera-cloth. I marveled, and went to bed. + +Next morning the kingdom was in an uproar. Namgay Doola, men said, had +gone forth in the night and with a sharp knife had cut off the tail of a +cow belonging to the rabbit-faced villager who had betrayed him. It was +sacrilege unspeakable against the holy cow. The state desired his blood, +but he had retreated into his hut, barricaded the doors and windows with +big stones, and defied the world. + +The king and I and the populace approached the hut cautiously. There was +no hope of capturing our man without loss of life, for from a hole in +the wall projected the muzzle of an extremely well-cared-for gun--the +only gun in the state that could shoot. Namgay Doola had narrowly missed +a villager just before we came up. + +The standing army stood. + +It could do no more, for when it advanced pieces of sharp shale flew +from the windows. To these were added from time to time showers of +scalding water. We saw red beads bobbing up and down within. The family +of Namgay Doola were aiding their sire. Blood-curdling yells of defiance +were the only answer to our prayers. + +“Never,” said the king, puffing, “has such a thing befallen my state. +Next year I will certainly buy a little cannon.” He looked at me +imploringly. + +“Is there any priest in the kingdom to whom he will listen?” said I, for +a light was beginning to break upon me. + +“He worships his own god,” said the prime minister. “We can but starve +him out.” + +“Let the white man approach,” said Namgay Doola from within. “All others +I will kill. Send me the white man.” + +The door was thrown open and I entered the smoky interior of a Thibetan +hut crammed with children. And every child had flaming red hair. A +freshgathered cow's tail lay on the floor, and by its side two pieces +of black velvet--my black velvet--rudely hacked into the semblance of +masks. + +“And what is this shame, Namgay Doola?” I asked. + +He grinned more charmingly than ever. “There is no shame,” said he. “I +did but cut off the tail of that man's cow. He betrayed me. I was minded +to shoot him, sahib, but not to death. Indeed, not to death; only in the +legs.” + +“And why at all, since it is the custom to pay revenue to the king? Why +at all?” + +“By the god of my father, I cannot tell,” said Namgay Doola. + +“And who was thy father?” + +“The same that had this gun.” He showed me his weapon, a Tower musket, +bearing date 1832 and the stamp of the Honorable East India Company. + +“And thy father's name?” said I. + +He obeyed, and I understood whence the puzzling accent in his speech +came. “Thimla Dhula!” said he, excitedly. “To this hour I worship his +god.” + +“May I see that god?” + +“In a little while--at twilight time.” + +“Rememberest thou aught of thy father's speech?” + +“It is long ago. But there was one word which he said often. Thus, +''Shun!' Then I and my brethren stood upon our feet, our hands to our +sides, thus.” + +“Even so. And what was thy mother?” + +“A woman of the Hills. We be Lepchas of Darjiling, but me they call an +outlander because my hair is as thou seest.” + +The Thibetan woman, his wife, touched him on the arm gently. The long +parley outside the fort had lasted far into the day. It was now close +upon twilight--the hour of the Angelus. Very solemnly the red-headed +brats rose from the floor and formed a semicircle. Namgay Doola laid his +gun aside, lighted a little oil-lamp, and set it before a recess in +the wall. Pulling back a wisp of dirty cloth, he revealed a worn brass +crucifix leaning against the helmet badge of a long-forgotten East India +Company's regiment. “Thus did my father,” he said, crossing himself +clumsily. The wife and children followed suit. Then, all together, they +struck up the wailing cham that I heard on the hillside: + +“Dir bane mard-i-yemen dir To weeree ala gee.” + +I was puzzled no longer. Again and again they sung, as if their hearts +would break, their version of the chorus of “The Wearing of the Green”: + + “They're hanging men and women, too, + For the wearing of the green,” + +A diabolical inspiration came to me. One of the brats, a boy about eight +years old--could he have been in the fields last night?--was watching +me as he sung. I pulled out a rupee, held the coin between finger and +thumb, and looked--only looked--at the gun leaning against the wall. +A grin of brilliant and perfect comprehension overspread his +porringer-like face. Never for an instant stopping the song, he held out +his hand for the money, and then slid the gun to my hand. I might +have shot Namgay Doola dead as he chanted, but I was satisfied. The +inevitable blood-instinct held true. Namgay Doola drew the curtain +across the recess. Angelus was over. + +“Thus my father sung. There was much more, but I have forgotten, and I +do not know the purport of even these words, but it may be that the god +will understand. I am not of this people, and I will not pay revenue.” + +“And why?” + +Again that soul-compelling grin. “What occupation would be to me between +crop and crop? It is better than scaring bears. But these people do not +understand.” + +He picked the masks off the floor and looked in my face as simply as a +child. + +“By what road didst thou attain knowledge to make those deviltries?” I +said, pointing. + +“I cannot tell. I am but a Lepcha of Darjiling, and yet the stuff”-- + +“Which thou hast stolen,” said I. + +“Nay, surely. Did I steal? I desired it so. The stuff--the stuff. What +else should I have done with the stuff?” He twisted the velvet between +his fingers. + +“But the sin of maiming the cow--consider that.” + +“Oh, sahib, the man betrayed me; the heifer's tail waved in the +moonlight, and I had my knife. What else should I have done? The tail +came off ere I was aware. Sahib, thou knowest more than I.” + +“That is true,” said I. “Stay within the door. I go to speak to the +king.” The population of the state were ranged on the hillside. I went +forth and spoke. + +“O king,” said I, “touching this man, there be two courses open to thy +wisdom. Thou canst either hang him from a tree--him and his brood--till +there remains no hair that is red within thy land.” + +“Nay,” said the king. “Why should I hurt the little children?” + +They had poured out of the hut and were making plump obeisances to +everybody. Namgay Doola waited at the door with his gun across his arm. + +“Or thou canst, discarding their impiety of the cow-maiming, raise him +to honor in thy army. He comes of a race that will not pay revenue. A +red flame is in his blood which comes out at the top of his head in that +glowing hair. Make him chief of thy army. Give him honor as may befall +and full allowance of work, but look to it, oh, king, that neither he +nor his hold a foot of earth from thee henceforward. Feed him with words +and favor, and also liquor from certain bottles that thou knowest of, +and he will be a bulwark of defense. But deny him even a tuftlet of +grass for his own. This is the nature that God has given him. Moreover, +he has brethren”-- + +The state groaned unanimously. + +“But if his brethren come they will surely fight with each other till +they die; or else the one will always give information concerning the +other. Shall he be of thy army, oh, king? Choose!” + +The king bowed his head, and I said: + +“Come forth, Namgay Doola, and command the king's army. Thy name shall +no more be Namgay in the mouths of men, but Patsay Doola, for, as thou +hast truly said, I know.” + +Then Namgay Doola, never christened Patsay Doola, son of Timlay +Doola--which is Tim Doolan--clasped the king's feet, cuffed the standing +army, and hurried in an agony of contrition from temple to temple making +offerings for the sin of the cattle--maiming. + +And the king was so pleased with my perspicacity that he offered to +sell me a village for 20 pounds sterling. But I buy no village in +the Himalayas so long as one red head flares between the tail of the +heaven-climbing glacier and the dark birch forest. + +I know that breed. + + + + +THE RECRUDESCENCE OF IMRAY + +Imray had achieved the impossible. Without warning, for no conceivable +motive, in his youth and at the threshold of his career he had chosen +to disappear from the world--which is to say, the little Indian station +where he lived. Upon a day he was alive, well, happy, and in great +evidence at his club, among the billiard-tables. Upon a morning he was +not, and no manner of search could make sure where he might be. He +had stepped out of his place; he had not appeared at his office at the +proper time, and his dog-cart was not upon the public roads. For these +reasons and because he was hampering in a microscopical degree the +administration of the Indian Empire, the Indian Empire paused for one +microscopical moment to make inquiry into the fate of Imray. Ponds were +dragged, wells were plumbed, telegrams were dispatched down the lines +of railways and to the nearest seaport town--1,200 miles away--but Imray +was not at the end of the drag-ropes nor the telegrams. He was gone, +and his place knew him no more. Then the work of the great Indian Empire +swept forward, because it could not be delayed, and Imray, from being a +man, became a mystery--such a thing as men talk over at their tables +in the club for a month and then forget utterly. His guns, horses, and +carts were sold to the highest bidder. His superior officer wrote +an absurd letter to his mother, saying that Imray had unaccountably +disappeared and his bungalow stood empty on the road. + +After three or four months of the scorching hot weather had gone by, +my friend Strickland, of the police force, saw fit to rent the bungalow +from the native landlord. This was before he was engaged to Miss +Youghal--an affair which has been described in another place--and while +he was pursuing his investigations into native life. His own life was +sufficiently peculiar, and men complained of his manners and customs. +There was always food in his house, but there were no regular times for +meals. He ate, standing up and walking about, whatever he might find on +the sideboard, and this is not good for the insides of human beings. +His domestic equipment was limited to six rifles, three shotguns, five +saddles, and a collection of stiff-jointed masheer rods, bigger and +stronger than the largest salmon rods. These things occupied one half of +his bungalow, and the other half was given up to Strickland and his dog +Tietjens--an enormous Rampur slut, who sung when she was ordered, and +devoured daily the rations of two men. She spoke to Strickland in a +language of her own, and whenever, in her walks abroad she saw things +calculated to destroy the peace of Her Majesty the Queen Empress, she +returned to her master and gave him information. Strickland would +take steps at once, and the end of his labors was trouble and fine and +imprisonment for other people. The natives believed that Tietjens was a +familiar spirit, and treated her with the great reverence that is born +of hate and fear One room in the bungalow was set apart for her special +use. She owned a bedstead, a blanket, and a drinking-trough, and if any +one came into Strickland's room at night, her custom was to knock down +the invader and give tongue till some one came with a light. Strickland +owes his life to her. When he was on the frontier in search of the local +murderer who came in the grey dawn to send Strickland much further +than the Andaman Islands, Tietjens caught him as he was crawling into +Strickland's tent with a dagger between his teeth, and after his record +of iniquity was established in the eyes of the law, he was hanged. From +that date Tietjens wore a collar of rough silver and employed a monogram +on her night blanket, and the blanket was double-woven Kashmir cloth, +for she was a delicate dog. + +Under no circumstances would she be separated from Strickland, and when +he was ill with fever she made great trouble for the doctors because she +did not know how to help her master and would not allow another creature +to attempt aid. Macarnaght, of the Indian Medical Service, beat her over +the head with a gun, before she could understand that she must give room +for those who could give quinine. + +A short time after Strickland had taken Imray's bungalow, my business +took me through that station, and naturally, the club quarters being +full, I quartered myself upon Strickland. It was a desirable bungalow, +eight-roomed, and heavily thatched against any chance of leakage from +rain. Under the pitch of the roof ran a ceiling cloth, which looked just +as nice as a whitewashed ceiling. The landlord had repainted it when +Strickland took the bungalow, and unless you knew how Indian bungalows +were built you would never have suspected that above the cloth lay the +dark, three-cornered cavern of the roof, where the beams and the under +side of the thatch harbored all manner of rats, hats, ants, and other +things. + +Tietjens met me in the veranda with a bay like the boom of the bells of +St. Paul's, and put her paws on my shoulders and said she was glad to +see me. Strickland had contrived to put together that sort of meal which +he called lunch, and immediately after it was finished went out about +his business. I was left alone with Tietjens and my own affairs. The +heat of the summer had broken up and given place to the warm damp of +the rains. There was no motion in the heated air, but the rain fell like +bayonet rods on the earth, and flung up a blue mist where it splashed +back again. The bamboos and the custard apples, the poinsettias and +the mango-trees in the garden stood still while the warm water lashed +through them, and the frogs began to sing among the aloe hedges. A +little before the light failed, and when the rain was at its worst, I +sat in the back veranda and heard the water roar from the eaves, and +scratched myself because I was covered with the thing they called +prickly heat. Tietjens came out with me and put her head in my lap, and +was very sorrowful, so I gave her biscuits when tea was ready, and I +took tea in the back veranda on account of the little coolness I +found there. The rooms of the house were dark behind me. I could smell +Strickland's saddlery and the oil on his guns, and I did not the least +desire to sit among these things. My own servant came to me in the +twilight, the muslin of his clothes clinging tightly to his drenched +body, and told me that a gentleman had called and wished to see some +one. Very much against my will, and because of the darkness of the +rooms, I went into the naked drawing-room, telling my man to bring the +lights. There might or might not have been a caller in the room--it +seems to me that I saw a figure by one of the windows, but when the +lights came there was nothing save the spikes of the rain without and +the smell of the drinking earth in my nostrils. I explained to my man +that he was no wiser than he ought to be, and went back to the veranda +to talk to Tietjens. She had gone out into the wet and I could hardly +coax her back to me--even with biscuits with sugar on top. Strickland +rode back, dripping wet, just before dinner, and the first thing he said +was: + +“Has any one called?” + +I explained, with apologies, that my servant had called me into the +drawing-room on a false alarm; or that some loafer had tried to call +on Strickland, and, thinking better of it, fled after giving his name. +Strickland ordered dinner without comment, and since it was a real +dinner, with white tablecloth attached, we sat down. + +At nine o'clock Strickland wanted to go to bed, and I was tired too. +Tietjens, who had been lying underneath the table, rose up and went into +the least exposed veranda as soon as her master moved to his own room, +which was next to the stately chamber set apart for Tietjens. If a mere +wife had wished to sleep out-of-doors in that pelting rain, it would not +have mattered, but Tietjens was a dog, and therefore the better animal. +I looked at Strickland, expecting to see him flog her with a whip. He +smiled queerly, as a man would smile after telling some hideous domestic +tragedy. “She has done this ever since I moved in here.” + +The dog was Strickland's dog, so I said nothing, but I felt all that +Strickland felt in being made light of. Tietjens encamped outside my +bedroom window, and storm after storm came up, thundered on the thatch, +and died away. The lightning spattered the sky as a thrown egg spattered +a barn door, but the light was pale blue, not yellow; and looking +through my slit bamboo blinds, I could see the great dog standing, not +sleeping, in the veranda, the hackles alift on her back, and her feet +planted as tensely as the drawn wire rope of a suspension bridge. In the +very short pauses of the thunder I tried to sleep, but it seemed that +some one wanted me very badly. He, whoever he was, was trying to call +me by name, but his voice was no more than a husky whisper. Then the +thunder ceased and Tietjens went into the garden and howled at the low +moon. Somebody tried to open my door, and walked about and through the +house, and stood breathing heavily in the verandas, and just when I was +falling asleep I fancied that I heard a wild hammering and clamoring +above my head or on the door. + +I ran into Strickland's room and asked him whether he was ill and had +been calling for me. He was lying on the bed half-dressed, with a pipe +in his mouth. “I thought you'd come,” he said. “Have I been walking +around the house at all?” + +I explained that he had been in the dining-room and the smoking-room and +two or three other places; and he laughed and told me to go back to bed. +I went back to bed and slept till the morning, but in all my dreams +I was sure I was doing some one an injustice in not attending to +his wants. What those wants were I could not tell, but a fluttering, +whispering, bolt-fumbling, luring, loitering some one was reproaching +me for my slackness, and through all the dreams I heard the howling of +Tietjens in the garden and the thrashing of the rain. + +I was in that house for two days, and Strickland went to his office +daily, leaving me alone for eight or ten hours a day, with Tietjens for +my only companion. As long as the full light lasted I was comfortable, +and so was Tietjens; but in the twilight she and I moved into the back +veranda and cuddled each other for company. We were alone in the house, +but for all that it was fully occupied by a tenant with whom I had +no desire to interfere. I never saw him, but I could see the curtains +between the rooms quivering where he had just passed through; I could +hear the chairs creaking as the bamboos sprung under a weight that had +just quitted them; and I could feel when I went to get a book from +the dining-room that somebody was waiting in the shadows of the front +veranda till I should have gone away. Tietjens made the twilight more +interesting by glaring into the darkened rooms, with every hair erect, +and following the motions of something that I could not see. She never +entered the rooms, but her eyes moved, and that was quite sufficient. +Only when my servant came to trim the lamps and make all light and +habitable, she would come in with me and spend her time sitting on her +haunches watching an invisible extra man as he moved about behind my +shoulder. Dogs are cheerful companions. + +I explained to Strickland, gently as might be, that I would go over to +the club and find for myself quarters there. I admired his hospitality, +was pleased with his guns and rods, but I did not much care for his +house and its atmosphere. He heard me out to the end, and then smiled +very wearily, but without contempt, for he is a man who understands +things. “Stay on,” he said, “and see what this thing means. All you have +talked about I have known since I took the bungalow. Stay on and wait. +Tietjens has left me. Are you going too?” + +I had seen him through one little affair connected with an idol that had +brought me to the doors of a lunatic asylum, and I had no desire to help +him through further experiences. He was a man to whom unpleasantnesses +arrived as do dinners to ordinary people. + +Therefore I explained more clearly than ever that I liked him immensely, +and would be happy to see him in the daytime, but that I didn't care to +sleep under his roof. This was after dinner, when Tietjens had gone out +to lie in the veranda. + +“'Pon my soul, I don't wonder,” said Strickland, with his eyes on the +ceiling-cloth. “Look at that.” + +The tails of two snakes were hanging between the cloth and the cornice +of the wall. They threw long shadows in the lamp-light. “If you are +afraid of snakes, of course”--said Strickland. “I hate and fear snakes, +because if you look into the eyes of any snake you will see that it +knows all and more of man's fall, and that it feels all the contempt +that the devil felt when Adam was evicted from Eden. Besides which its +bite is generally fatal, and it bursts up trouser legs.” + +“You ought to get your thatch over-hauled,” I said. “Give me a masheer +rod, and we'll poke 'em down.” + +“They'll hide among the roof beams,” said Strickland. “I can't stand +snakes overhead. I'm going up. If I shake 'em down, stand by with a +cleaning-rod and break their backs.” + +I was not anxious to assist Strickland in his work, but I took the +loading-rod and waited in the dining-room, while Strickland brought a +gardener's ladder from the veranda and set it against the side of the +room. The snake tails drew themselves up and disappeared. We could hear +the dry rushing scuttle of long bodies running over the baggy cloth. +Strickland took a lamp with him, while I tried to make clear the danger +of hunting roof snakes between a ceiling cloth and a thatch, apart from +the deterioration of property caused by ripping out ceiling-cloths. + +“N o n s en s e,” said Strickland. “They're sure to hide near the walls +by the cloth. The bricks are too cold for 'em, and the heat of the room +is just what they like.” He put his hands to the corner of the cloth +and ripped the rotten stuff from the cornice. It gave great sound of +tearing, and Strickland put his head through the opening into the +dark of the angle of the roof beams. I set my teeth and lifted the +loading-rod, for I had not the least knowledge of what might descend. + +“H'm,” said Strickland; and his voice rolled and rumbled in the roof. +“There's room for another set of rooms up here, and, by Jove! some one +is occupying em.” + +“Snakes?” I said down below. + +“No. It's a buffalo. Hand me up the two first joints of a masheer rod, +and I'll prod it. It's lying on the main beam.” + +I handed up the rod. + +“What a nest for owls and serpents! No wonder the snakes live here,” + said Strickland, climbing further into the roof. I could see his elbow +thrusting with the rod. “Come out of that, whoever you are! Look out! +Heads below there! It's tottering.” + +I saw the ceiling-cloth nearly in the centre of the room bag with a +shape that was pressing it downward and downward toward the lighted +lamps on the table. I snatched a lamp out of danger and stood back. Then +the cloth ripped out from the walls, tore, split, swayed, and shot down +upon the table something that I dared not look at till Strickland had +slid down the ladder and was standing by my side. + +He did not say much, being a man of few words, but he picked up the +loose end of the table-cloth and threw it over the thing on the table. + +“It strikes me,” said he, pulling down the lamp, “our friend Imray has +come back. Oh! you would, would you?” + +There was a movement under the cloth, and a little snake wriggled out, +to be back-broken by the butt of the masheer rod. I was sufficiently +sick to make no remarks worth recording. + +Strickland meditated and helped himself to drinks liberally. The thing +under the cloth made no more signs of life. + +“Is it Imray?” I said. + +Strickland turned back the cloth for a moment and looked. “It is Imray,” + he said, “and his throat is cut from ear to ear.” + +Then we spoke both together and to ourselves: + +“That's why he whispered about the house.” + +Tietjens, in the garden, began to bay furiously. A little later her +great nose heaved upon the dining-room door. + +She sniffed and was still. The broken and tattered ceiling-cloth hung +down almost to the level of the table, and there was hardly room to move +away from the discovery. + +Then Tietjens came in and sat down, her teeth bared and her forepaws +planted. She looked at Strickland. + +“It's bad business, old lady,” said he. “Men don't go up into the roofs +of their bungalows to die, and they don't fasten up the ceiling-cloth +behind 'em. Let's think it out.” + +“Let's think it out somewhere else,” I said. + +“Excellent idea! Turn the lamps out. We'll get into my room.” + +I did not turn the lamps out. I went into Strickland's room first and +allowed him to make the darkness. Then he followed me, and we lighted +tobacco and thought. Strickland did the thinking. I smoked furiously +because I was afraid. + +“Imray is back,” said Strickland. “The question is, who killed Imray? +Don't talk--I have a notion of my own. When I took this bungalow I took +most of Imray's servants. Imray was guileless and inoffensive, wasn't +he?” + +I agreed, though the heap under the cloth looked neither one thing nor +the other. + +“If I call the servants they will stand fast in a crowd and lie like +Aryans. What do you suggest?” + +“Call 'em in one by one,” I said. + +“They'll run away and give the news to all their fellows,” said +Strickland. + +“We must segregate 'em. Do you suppose your servant knows anything about +it?” + +“He may, for aught I know, but I don't think it's likely. He has only +been here two or three days.” + +“What's your notion?” I asked. + +“I can't quite tell. How the dickens did the man get the wrong side of +the ceiling-cloth?” + +There was a heavy coughing outside Strickland's bedroom door. This +showed that Bahadur Khan, his body-servant, had waked from sleep and +wished to put Strickland to bed. + +“Come in,” said Strickland. “It is a very warm night, isn't it?” + +Bahadur Khan, a great, green-turbaned, six-foot Mohammedan, said that it +was a very warm night, but that there was more rain pending, which, by +his honor's favor, would bring relief to the country. + +“It will be so, if God pleases,” said Strickland, tugging off his hoots. +“It is in my mind, Bahadur Khan, that I have worked thee remorselessly +for many days--ever since that time when thou first came into my +service. What time was that?” + +“Has the heaven-born forgotten? It was when Imray Sahib went secretly +to Europe without warning given, and I--even I--came into the honored +service of the protector of the poor.” + +“And Imray Sahib went to Europe?” + +“It is so said among the servants.” + +“And thou wilt take service with him when he returns?” + +“Assuredly, sahib. He was a good master and cherished his dependents.” + +“That is true. I am very tired, but I can go buck-shooting tomorrow. +Give me the little rifle that I use for black buck; it is in the case +yonder.” + +The man stooped over the case, banded barrels, stock, and fore-end to +Strickland, who fitted them together. Yawning dolefully, then he reached +down to the gun-case, took a solid drawn cartridge, and slipped it into +the breech of the .360 express. + +“And Imray Sahib has gone to Europe secretly? That is very strange, +Bahadur Khan, is it not?” + +“What do I know of the ways of the white man, heaven-born?” + +“Very little, truly. But thou shalt know more. It has reached me that +Imray Sahib has returned from his so long journeyings, and that even now +he lies in the next room, waiting his servant.” + +“Sahib!” + +The lamp-light slid along the barrels of the rifle as they leveled +themselves against Bahadur Khan's broad breast. + +“Go, then, and look!” said Strickland. “Take a lamp. Thy master is +tired, and he waits. Go!” + +The man picked up a lamp and went into the dining-room, Strickland +following, and almost pushing him with the muzzle of the rifle. He +looked for a moment at the black depths behind the ceiling-cloth, at the +carcass of the mangled snake under foot, and last, a grey glaze setting +on his face, at the thing under the table-cloth. + +“Hast thou seen?” said Strickland, after a pause. + +“I have seen. I am clay in the white man's hands. What does the presence +do?” + +“Hang thee within a month! What else?” + +“For killing him? Nay, sahib, consider. Walking among us, his servants, +he cast his eyes upon my child, who was four years old. Him he +bewitched, and in ten days he died of the fever. My child!” + +“What said Imray Sahib?” + +“He said he was a handsome child, and patted him on the head; wherefore +my child died. Wherefore I killed Imray Sahib in the twilight, when +he came back from office and was sleeping. The heaven-born knows all +things. I am the servant of the heaven-born.” + +Strickland looked at me above the rifle, and said, in the vernacular: +“Thou art witness to this saying. He has killed.” + +Bahadur Khan stood ashen grey in the light of the one lamp. The need for +justification came upon him very swiftly. + +“I am trapped,” he said, “but the offence was that man's. He cast an +evil eye upon my child, and I killed and hid him. Only such as are +served by devils,” he glared at Tietjens, crouched stolidly before him, +“only such could know what I did.” + +“It was clever. But thou shouldst have lashed him to the beam with a +rope. Now, thou thyself wilt hang by a rope. Orderly!” + +A drowsy policeman answered Strickland's call. He was followed by +another, and Tietjens sat still. + +“Take him to the station,” said Strickland. “There is a case toward.” + +“Do I hang, then?” said Bahadur Khan, making no attempt to escape and +keeping his eyes on the ground. + +“If the sun shines, or the water runs, thou wilt hang,” said Strickland. +Bahadur Khan stepped back one pace, quivered, and stood still. The two +policemen waited further orders. + +“Go!” said Strickland. + +“Nay; but I go very swiftly,” said Bahadur Khan. “Look! I am even now a +dead man.” + +He lifted his foot, and to the little toe there clung the head of the +half-killed snake, firm fixed in the agony of death. + +“I come of land-holding stock,” said Bahadur Khan, rocking where +he stood. “It were a disgrace for me to go to the public scaffold, +therefore I take this way. Be it remembered that the sahib's shirts are +correctly enumerated, and that there is an extra piece of soap in his +washbasin. My child was bewitched, and I slew the wizard. Why should you +seek to slay me? My honor is saved, and--and--I die.” + +At the end of an hour he died as they die who are bitten by the little +kariat, and the policeman bore him and the thing under the table-cloth +to their appointed places. They were needed to make clear the +disappearance of Imray. + +“This,” said Strickland, very calmly, as he climbed into bed, “is called +the nineteenth century. Did you hear what that man said?” + +“I heard,” I answered. “Imray made a mistake.” + +“Simply and solely through not knowing the nature and coincidence of a +little seasonal fever. Bahadur Khan has been with him for four years.” + +I shuddered. My own servant had been with me for exactly that length of +time. When I went over to my own room I found him waiting, impassive as +the copper head on a penny, to pull off my boots. + +“What has befallen Bahadur Khan?” said I. + +“He was bitten by a snake and died; the rest the sahib knows,” was the +answer. + +“And how much of the matter hast thou known?” + +“As much as might be gathered from one coming in the twilight to seek +satisfaction. Gently, sahib. Let me pull off those boots.” + +I had just settled to the sleep of exhaustion when I heard Strickland +shouting from his side of the house: + +“Tietjens has come back to her room!” + +And so she had. The great deer-hound was couched on her own bedstead, +on her own blanket, and in the next room the idle, empty ceiling-cloth +wagged light-heartedly as it flailed on the table. + + + + +MOTI GUJ--MUTINEER + +ONCE upon a time there was a coffee-planter in India who wished to clear +some forest land for coffee-planting. When he had cut down all the +trees and burned the underwood, the stumps still remained. Dynamite is +expensive and slow fire slow. The happy medium for stump-clearing is the +lord of all beasts, who is the elephant. He will either push the stump +out of the ground with his tusks, if he has any, or drag it out with +ropes. The planter, therefore, hired elephants by ones and twos and +threes, and fell to work. The very best of all the elephants belonged to +the very worst of all the drivers or mahouts; and this superior beast's +name was Moti Guj. He was the absolute property of his mahout, which +would never have been the case under native rule; for Moti Guj was a +creature to be desired by kings, and his name, being translated, meant +the Pearl Elephant. Because the British government was in the land, +Deesa, the mahout, enjoyed his property undisturbed. He was dissipated. +When he had made much money through the strength of his elephant, he +would get extremely drunk and give Moti Guj a beating with a tent-peg +over the tender nails of the forefeet. Moti Guj never trampled the life +out of Deesa on these occasions, for he knew that after the beating was +over, Deesa would embrace his trunk and weep and call him his love and +his life and the liver of his soul, and give him some liquor. Moti +Guj was very fond of liquor--arrack for choice, though he would drink +palm-tree toddy if nothing better offered. Then Deesa would go to sleep +between Moti Guj's forefeet, and as Deesa generally chose the middle of +the public road, and as Moti Guj mounted guard over him, and would not +permit horse, foot, or cart to pass by, traffic was congested till Deesa +saw fit to wake up. + +There was no sleeping in the daytime on the planter's clearing: the +wages were too high to risk. Deesa sat on Moti Guj's neck and gave him +orders, while Moti Guj rooted up the stumps--for he owned a magnificent +pair of tusks; or pulled at the end of a rope--for he had a magnificent +pair of shoulders--while Deesa kicked him behind the ears and said he +was the king of elephants. At evening time Moti Guj would wash down his +three hundred pounds' weight of green food with a quart of arrack, and +Deesa would take a share, and sing songs between Moti Guj's legs till it +was time to go to bed. Once a week Deesa led Moti Guj down to the river, +and Moti Gui lay on his side luxuriously in the shallows, while Deesa +went over him with a coir swab and a brick. Moti Guj never mistook the +pounding blow of the latter for the smack of the former that warned him +to get up and turn over on the other side. Then Deesa would look at his +feet and examine his eyes, and turn up the fringes of his mighty ears in +case of sores or budding ophthalmia. After inspection the two would come +up with a song from the sea, Moti Guj, all black and shining, waving a +torn tree branch twelve feet long in his trunk, and Deesa knotting up +his own long wet hair. + +It was a peaceful, well-paid life till Deesa felt the return of the +desire to drink deep. He wished for an orgy. The little draughts that +led nowhere were taking the manhood out of him. + +He went to the planter, and “My mother's dead,” said he, weeping. + +“She died on the last plantation two months ago, and she died once +before that when you were working for me last year,” said the planter, +who knew something of the ways of nativedom. + +“Then it's my aunt, and she was just the same as a mother to me,” said +Deesa, weeping more than ever. “She has left eighteen small children +entirely without bread, and it is I who must fill their little +stomachs,” said Deesa, beating his head on the floor. + +“Who brought the news?” said the planter. + +“The post,” said Deesa. + +“There hasn't been a post here for the past week. Get back to your +lines!”, + +“A devastating sickness has fallen on my village, and all my wives are +dying,” yelled Deesa, really in tears this time. + +“Call Chihun, who comes from Deesa's village,” said the planter. +“Chihun, has this man got a wife?” + +“He?” said Chihun. “No. Not a woman of our village would look at him. +They'd sooner marry the elephant!” + +Chihun snorted. Deesa wept and bellowed. + +“You will get into a difficulty in a minute,” said the planter. “Go back +to your work!” + +“Now I will speak Heaven's truth,” gulped Deesa, with an inspiration. +“I haven't been drunk for two months. I desire to depart in order to get +properly drunk afar off and distant from this heavenly plantation. Thus +I shall cause no trouble.” + +A flickering smile crossed the planter's face. “Deesa,” said he, “you've +spoken the truth, and I'd give you leave on the spot if anything could +be done with Moti Guj while you're away. You know that he will only obey +your orders.” + +“May the light of the heavens live forty thousand years. I shall be +absent but ten little days. After that, upon my faith and honor and +soul, I return. As to the inconsiderable interval, have I the gracious +permission of the heaven-born to call up Moti Guj?” + +Permission was granted, and in answer of Deesa's shrill yell, the mighty +tusker swung out of the shade of a clump of trees where he had been +squirting dust over himself till his master should return. + +“Light of my heart, protector of the drunken, mountain of might, give +ear!” said Deesa, standing in front of him. + +Moti Guj gave ear, and saluted with his trunk. “I am going away,” said +Deesa. + +Moti Guj's eyes twinkled. He liked jaunts as well as his master. One +could snatch all manner of nice things from the roadside then. + +“But you, you fussy old pig, must stay behind and work.” + +The twinkle died out as Moti Guj tried to look delighted. He hated +stump-hauling on the plantation. It hurt his teeth. + +“I shall be gone for ten days, oh, delectable one! Hold up your near +forefoot and I'll impress the fact upon it, warty toad of a dried +mud-puddle.” Deesa took a tent-peg and banged Moti Guj ten times on the +nails. Moti Guj grunted and shuffled from foot to foot. + +“Ten days,” said Deesa, “you will work and haul and root the trees as +Chihun here shall order you. Take up Chihun and set him on your neck!” + Moti Guj curled the tip of his trunk, Chihun put his foot there, and +was swung on to the neck. Deesa handed Chihun the heavy ankus--the iron +elephant goad. + +Chihun thumped Moti Guj's bald head as a paver thumps a curbstone. + +Moti Guj trumpeted. + +“Be still, hog of the backwoods! Chihun's your mahout for ten days. And +now bid me goodbye, beast after mine own heart. Oh, my lord, my king! +Jewel of all created elephants, lily of the herd, preserve your honored +health; be virtuous. Adieu!” + +Moti Guj lapped his trunk round Deesa and swung him into the air twice. +That was his way of bidding him goodbye. + +“He'll work now,” said Deesa to the planter. “Have I leave to go?” + +The planter nodded, and Deesa dived into the woods. Moti Guj went back +to haul stumps. + +Chihun was very kind to him, but he felt unhappy and forlorn for all +that. Chihun gave him a ball of spices, and tickled him under the chin, +and Chihun's little baby cooed to him after work was over, and Chihun's +wife called him a darling; but Moti Guj was a bachelor by instinct, as +Deesa was. He did not understand the domestic emotions. He wanted the +light of his universe back again--the drink and the drunken slumber, the +savage beatings and the savage caresses. + +None the less he worked well, and the planter wondered. Deesa had +wandered along the roads till he met a marriage procession of his own +caste, and, drinking, dancing, and tippling, had drifted with it past +all knowledge of the lapse of time. + +The morning of the eleventh day dawned, and there returned no Deesa, +Moti Guj was loosed from his ropes for the daily stint. He swung clear, +looked round, shrugged his shoulders, and began to walk away, as one +having business elsewhere. + +“Hi! ho! Come back you!” shouted Chihun. “Come back and put me on your +neck, misborn mountain! Return, splendor of the hillsides! Adornment of +all India, heave to, or I'll bang every toe off your forefoot!” + +Moti Guj gurgled gently, but did not obey. Chihun ran after him with a +rope and caught him up. Moti Guj put his ears forward, and Chihun knew +what that meant, though he tried to carry it off with high words. + +“None of your nonsense with me,” said he. “To your pickets, devil-son!” + +“Hrrump!” said Moti Guj, and that was all--that and the forebent ears. + +Moti Guj put his hands in his pockets, chewed a branch for a toothpick, +and strolled about the clearing, making fun of the other elephants who +had just set to work. + +Chihun reported the state of affairs to the planter, who came out with +a dog-whip and cracked it furiously. Moti Guj paid the white man +the compliment of charging him nearly a quarter of a mile across the +clearing and “Hrrumphing” him into his veranda. Then he stood outside +the house, chuckling to himself and shaking all over with the fun of it, +as an elephant will. + +“We'll thrash him,” said the planter. “He shall have the finest +thrashing ever elephant received. Give Kala Nag and Nazim twelve foot of +chain apiece, and tell them to lay on twenty.” + +Kala Nag--which means Black Snake--and Nazim were two of the biggest +elephants in the lines, and one of their duties was to administer the +graver punishment, since no man can beat an elephant properly. + +They took the whipping-chains and rattled them in their trunks as they +sidled up to Moti Guj, meaning to hustle him between them. Moti Guj had +never, in all his life of thirty-nine years, been whipped, and he did +not intend to begin a new experience. So he waited, waving his head from +right to left, and measuring the precise spot in Kala Nag's fat side +where a blunt tusk could sink deepest. Kala Nag had no tusks; the chain +was the badge of his authority; but for all that, he swung wide of Moti +Guj at the last minute, and tried to appear as if he had brought the +chain out for amusement. Nazim turned round and went home early. He did +not feel fighting fit that morning, and so Moti Guj was left standing +alone with his ears cocked. + +That decided the planter to argue no more, and Moti Guj rolled back to +his amateur inspection of the clearing. An elephant who will not work +and is not tied up is about as manageable as an eighty-one-ton gun loose +in a heavy seaway. He slapped old friends on the back and asked them if +the stumps were coming away easily; he talked nonsense concerning +labor and the inalienable rights of elephants to a long 'nooning'; and, +wandering to and fro, he thoroughly demoralized the garden till sundown, +when he returned to his picket for food. + +“If you won't work, you sha'n't eat,” said Chihun, angrily. “You're a +wild elephant, and no educated animal at all. Go back to your jungle.” + +Chihun's little brown baby was rolling on the floor of the hut, and +stretching out its fat arms to the huge shadow in the doorway. Moti Guj +knew well that it was the dearest thing on earth to Chihun. He swung out +his trunk with a fascinating crook at the end, and the brown baby threw +itself, shouting, upon it. Moti Guj made fast and pulled up till the +brown baby was crowing in the air twelve feet above his father's head. + +“Great Lord!” said Chihun. “Flour cakes of the best, twelve in number, +two feet across and soaked in rum, shall be yours on the instant, and +two hundred pounds weight of fresh-cut young sugar-cane therewith. Deign +only to put down safely that insignificant brat who is my heart and my +life to me!” + +Moti Guj tucked the brown baby comfortably between his forefeet, that +could have knocked into toothpicks all Chihun's hut, and waited for his +food. He ate it, and the brown baby crawled away. Moti Guj dozed and +thought of Deesa. One of many mysteries connected with the elephant is +that his huge body needs less sleep than anything else that lives. Four +or five hours in the night suffice--two just before midnight, lying down +on one side; two just after one o'clock, lying down on the other. The +rest of the silent hours are filled with eating and fidgeting, and long +grumbling soliloquies. + +At midnight, therefore, Moti Guj strode out of his pickets, for a +thought had come to him that Deesa might be lying drunk somewhere in +the dark forest with none to look after him. So all that night he chased +through the undergrowth, blowing and trumpeting and shaking his ears. He +went down to the river and blared across the shallows where Deesa used +to wash him, but there was no answer. He could not find Deesa, but he +disturbed all the other elephants in the lines, and nearly frightened to +death some gypsies in the woods. + +At dawn Deesa returned to the plantation. He had been very drunk in +deed, and he expected to get into trouble for outstaying his leave. He +drew a long breath when he saw that the bungalow and the plantation +were still uninjured, for he knew something of Moti Guj's temper, and +reported himself with many lies and salaams. Moti Guj had gone to his +pickets for breakfast. The night exercise had made him hungry. + +“Call up your beast,” said the planter; and Deesa shouted in the +mysterious elephant language that some mahouts believe came from China +at the birth of the world, when elephants and not men were masters. Moti +Guj heard and came. Elephants do not gallop They move from places at +varying rates of speed. If an elephant wished to catch an express train +he could not gallop, but he could catch the train. So Moti Guj was at +the planter's door almost before Chihun noticed that he had left his +pickets. He fell into Deesa's arms trumpeting with joy, and the man and +beast wept and slobbered over each other, and handled each other from +head to heel to see that no harm had befallen. + +“Now we will get to work,” said Deesa. “Lift me up, my son and my joy!” + +Moti Guj swung him up, and the two went to the coffee-clearing to look +for difficult stumps. + +The planter was too astonished to be very angry. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Rudyard Kipling: One +Volume Edition, by Rudyard Kipling + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF KIPLING *** + +***** This file should be named 2334-0.txt or 2334-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/3/2334/ + +Produced by David Reed + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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