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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-h/2334-h.htm b/2334-h/2334-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f34d199 --- /dev/null +++ b/2334-h/2334-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,44193 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Works of Rudyard Kipling: One Volume Edition, by Rudyard Kipling + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +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 and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE WORKS OF RUDYARD KIPLING:<br /> ONE VOLUME EDITION + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Rudyard Kipling + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>VOLUME I DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES AND OTHER + VERSES</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> GENERAL SUMMARY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ARMY HEADQUARTERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> STUDY OF AN ELEVATION, IN INDIAN INK </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> A LEGEND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THE STORY OF URIAH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE POST THAT FITTED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> DELILAH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> WHAT HAPPENED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> PINK DOMINOES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> MUNICIPAL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> A CODE OF MORALS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> THE LAST DEPARTMENT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> OTHER VERSES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> THE VAMPIRE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> TO THE UNKNOWN GODDESS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> THE RUPAIYAT OF OMAR KAL'VIN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> LA NUIT BLANCHE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> MY RIVAL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> THE LOVERS' LITANY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> A BALLAD OF BURIAL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> DIVIDED DESTINIES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> THE MASQUE OF PLENTY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> THE MARE'S NEST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> POSSIBILITIES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> CHRISTMAS IN INDIA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> PAGETT, M.P. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> THE SONG OF THE WOMEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> A BALLAD OF JAKKO HILL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> THE PLEA OF THE SIMLA DANCERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> THE BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING-HOUSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> AS THE BELL CLINKS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> AN OLD SONG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> THE MOON OF OTHER DAYS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> THE UNDERTAKER'S HORSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> ARITHMETIC ON THE FRONTIER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> THE BETROTHED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> A TALE OF TWO CITIES </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> <b>VOLUME II BALLADS AND BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> BALLADS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> THE LAST SUTTEE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S MERCY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S JEST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> THE BALLAD OF BOH DA THONE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER CATTLE THIEF </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> THE RHYME OF THE THREE CAPTAINS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> THE BALLAD OF THE CLAMPHERDOWN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> THE BALLAD OF THE “BOLIVAR” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> THE ENGLISH FLAG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> TOMLINSON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> TOMMY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> SOLDIER, SOLDIER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0060"> SCREW-GUNS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0061"> GUNGA DIN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0062"> LOOT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0063"> 'SNARLEYOW' </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0064"> THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0065"> BELTS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0066"> THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0067"> MANDALAY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0068"> FORD O' KABUL RIVER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0069"> ROUTE MARCHIN' </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0070"> <b>VOLUME III. THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW AND OTHER + GHOST STORIES</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0071"> THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0072"> MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0073"> THE STRANGE RIDE OF MORROWBIE JUKES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0074"> THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0075"> “THE FINEST STORY IN THE WORLD” </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0076"> <b>VOLUME IV UNDER THE DEODARS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0077"> THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0078"> AT THE PIT'S MOUTH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0079"> A WAYSIDE COMEDY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0080"> THE HILL OF ILLUSION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0081"> A SECOND-RATE WOMAN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0082"> ONLY A SUBALTERN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0083"> IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0084"> THE ENLIGHTENMENTS OF PAGETT, M.P. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0085"> <b>VOLUME V PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0086"> LISPETH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0087"> THREE AND—AN EXTRA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0088"> THROWN AWAY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0089"> MISS YOUGHAL'S SAIS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0090"> YOKED WITH AN UNBELIEVER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0091"> FALSE DAWN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0092"> THE RESCUE OF PLUFFLES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0093"> CUPID'S ARROWS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0094"> HIS CHANCE IN LIFE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0095"> WATCHES OF THE NIGHT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0096"> THE OTHER MAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0097"> CONSEQUENCES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0098"> THE CONVERSION OF AURELIAN McGOGGIN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0099"> A GERM DESTROYER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0100"> KIDNAPPED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0101"> THE ARREST OF LIEUTENANT GOLIGHTLY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0102"> THE HOUSE OF SUDDHOO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0103"> HIS WEDDED WIFE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0104"> THE BROKEN LINK HANDICAPPED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0105"> BEYOND THE PALE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0106"> IN ERROR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0107"> A BANK FRAUD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0108"> TODS' AMENDMENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0109"> IN THE PRIDE OF HIS YOUTH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0110"> PIG. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0111"> THE ROUT OF THE WHITE HUSSARS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0112"> THE BRONCKHORST DIVORCE-CASE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0113"> VENUS ANNODOMINI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0114"> THE BISARA OF POOREE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0115"> THE GATE OF A HUNDRED SORROWS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0116"> THE STORY OF MUHAMMAD DIN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0117"> ON THE STRENGTH OF A LIKENESS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0118"> WRESSLEY OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0119"> BY WORD OF MOUTH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0120"> TO BE HELD FOR REFERENCE. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0121"> <b>VOLUME VI THE LIGHT THAT FAILED</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0122"> THE LIGHT THAT FAILED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0138"> <b>VOLUME VII THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> Preface </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0140"> POOR DEAR MAMMA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0141"> THE TENTS OF KEDAR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0142"> WITH ANY AMAZEMENT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0143"> THE GARDEN OF EDEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0144"> FATIMA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0145"> THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW, KNOWING GOOD AND EVIL. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0146"> THE SWELLING OF JORDAN </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0147"> <b>VOLUME VIII from MINE OWN PEOPLE</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0148"> BIMI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0149"> NAMGAY DOOLA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0150"> THE RECRUDESCENCE OF IMRAY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0151"> MOTI GUJ—MUTINEER </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VOLUME I DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES AND OTHER VERSES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GENERAL SUMMARY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ARMY HEADQUARTERS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STUDY OF AN ELEVATION, IN INDIAN INK + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A LEGEND + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.! +</pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STORY OF URIAH + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE POST THAT FITTED + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DELILAH + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.” + </pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We have another Viceroy now, those days are dead and done— + Of Delilah Aberyswith and most mean Ulysses Gunne! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHAT HAPPENED + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PINK DOMINOES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MAN WHO COULD WRITE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MUNICIPAL + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A CODE OF MORALS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LAST DEPARTMENT + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OTHER VERSES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE VAMPIRE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO THE UNKNOWN GODDESS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE RUPAIYAT OF OMAR KAL'VIN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LA NUIT BLANCHE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY RIVAL + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LOVERS' LITANY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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!” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A BALLAD OF BURIAL + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (“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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DIVIDED DESTINIES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MASQUE OF PLENTY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MARE'S NEST + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + POSSIBILITIES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHRISTMAS IN INDIA + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PAGETT, M.P. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SONG OF THE WOMEN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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!” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A BALLAD OF JAKKO HILL + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PLEA OF THE SIMLA DANCERS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING-HOUSE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AS THE BELL CLINKS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN OLD SONG + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CERTAIN MAXIMS OF HAFIZ + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE GRAVE OF THE HUNDRED HEAD + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MOON OF OTHER DAYS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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!” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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.” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE UNDERTAKER'S HORSE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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?” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ARITHMETIC ON THE FRONTIER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BETROTHED + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A TALE OF TWO CITIES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 + * * * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VOLUME II BALLADS AND BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BALLADS + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LAST SUTTEE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S MERCY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +One watched beside the dreary mound that veiled the battered + thing, + And him the King with laughter called the Herald of the King. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S JEST + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“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!” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BALLAD OF BOH DA THONE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.) +</pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 <i>pet</i>. + + 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. +</pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.” + </pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.” + </pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER CATTLE THIEF + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE RHYME OF THE THREE CAPTAINS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This ballad appears to refer to one of the exploits of the notorious Paul + Jones, the American pirate. It is founded on fact. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +... 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!” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BALLAD OF THE CLAMPHERDOWN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BALLAD OF THE “BOLIVAR” + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ENGLISH FLAG + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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!” + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN IMPERIAL RESCRIPT + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TOMLINSON + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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!” + </pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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!” + + * * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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'. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TOMMY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SOLDIER, SOLDIER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SCREW-GUNS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GUNGA DIN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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.” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0062" id="link2H_4_0062"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LOOT + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0063" id="link2H_4_0063"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 'SNARLEYOW' + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WIDOW AT WINDSOR + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + '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!) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0065" id="link2H_4_0065"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BELTS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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... +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MANDALAY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FORD O' KABUL RIVER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ROUTE MARCHIN' + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 + + * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VOLUME III. THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW AND OTHER GHOST STORIES + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + May no ill dreams disturb my rest, + Nor Powers of Darkness me molest. + —Evening Hymn. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The scene and its surroundings were photographed on my memory. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Fourteen delightful days passed almost before I noticed their flight. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Kitty,” I cried, “there are poor Mrs. Wessington's jhampanies turned up + again! I wonder who has them now?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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— + </p> + <p> + “—There!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + In my room I sat down and tried calmly to reason out the matter. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + To save my life I could not speak afterward naturally, and from Sanjowlie + to the Church wisely held my tongue. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Mad as a hatter, poor devil—or drunk. Max, try and get him to come + home.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “That!” said I, pointing to It. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The 'rickshaw kept steady in front; and my red-whiskered friend seemed to + derive great pleasure from my account of its exact whereabouts. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take sole medical charge of you from this hour! for you're too + interesting a phenomenon to be passed over.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + We retraced our way over the Church Ridge, and I arrived at Dr. + Heatherlegh's house shortly after midnight. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + I was endeavoring to express my thanks for his kindness. He cut me short. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “'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.'” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Has it gone, child?” I gasped. Kitty only wept more bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is a mistake somewhere,” I repeated, “a hideous mistake. Come + and look at It.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Mr. Pansay,” she said, “that's quite enough. Syce ghora lao.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Heatherlegh's face, even in my abject misery, moved me to laughter. + </p> + <p> + “I'll stake my professional reputation”—he began. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a fool,” I whispered. “I've lost my life's happiness and you'd + better take me home.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And Kitty?” I asked, dully. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I groaned and turned over to the other side. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + In my heart I knew that nothing Heatherlegh could do would lighten the + burden that had been laid upon me. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + I met Kitty on the homeward road—a shadow among shadows. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY OWN TRUE GHOST STORY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As I came through the Desert thus it was— + As I came through the Desert. + —The City of Dreadful Night. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + When the morning came, I considered that I had done well and wisely, and + inquired for the means of departure. + </p> + <p> + “By the way, khansamah,” I said, “what were those three doolies doing in + my compound in the night?” + </p> + <p> + “There were no doolies,” said the khansamah. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Has this place always been a dak-bungalow?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the khansamah. “Ten or twenty years ago, I have forgotten how + long, it was a billiard room.” + </p> + <p> + “A how much?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember anything about the Sahibs?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Entered angrily the faithful partner of my sorrows, Kadir Baksh. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + If I had encouraged him the khansamah would have wandered all through + Bengal with his corpse. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Had I only stopped at the proper time, I could have made anything out of + it. + </p> + <p> + That was the bitterest thought of all! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STRANGE RIDE OF MORROWBIE JUKES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Alive or dead-there is no other way. + —Native Proverb. +</pre> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + In another we had passed the wretched dog, and I had almost forgotten why + it was that I had taken the horse and hogspear. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + I spun round quickly and faced the speaker. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no way of getting out?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Now I will give you something to eat,” said he. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It is so ordered,” he would reply, “and I do not yet know any one who has + disobeyed the orders.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “That,” said he, with another of his wheezy chuckles, “you may see for + yourself subsequently. You will have much time to make observations.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It is nothing to do,” said he. “Tomorrow you must do it for me. You are + stronger than I am.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + My only means of escape from the semicircle was protected with a + quicksand! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “What other Sahib, you swine? Speak at once, and don't stop to tell me a + lie.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “For pity's sake tell me all you know about him. Who was he? When did he + come, and when did he die?” + </p> + <p> + This appeal was a weak step on my part. Gunga Dass only leered and + replied:—“I will not—unless you give me something first.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and what then? Go on!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “In how long? In how long?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Go inside, Gunga Dass,” said I, “and fetch it out.” + </p> + <p> + I was feeling sick and faint with horror now. Gunga Dass nearly rolled off + the platform and howled aloud. + </p> + <p> + “But I am Brahmin, Sahib—a high-caste Brahmin. By your soul, by your + father's soul, do not make me do this thing!” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + 1. Bowl of a briarwood pipe, serrated at the edge; much worn and + blackened; bound with string at the crew. + </p> + <p> + 2. Two patent-lever keys; wards of both broken. + </p> + <p> + 3. Tortoise-shell-handled penknife, silver or nickel name-plate, marked + with monogram “B.K.” + </p> + <p> + 4. Envelope, postmark Undecipherable, bearing a Victorian stamp, addressed + to “Miss Mon-” (rest illegible) -“ham-'nt.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got it?” he panted. “Will you not let me look at it also? I + swear that I will return it.” + </p> + <p> + “Got what? Return what?” asked. + </p> + <p> + “That which you have in your hands. It will help us both.” He stretched + out his long, bird-like talons, trembling with eagerness. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth are you raving about? What is it you want me to give you?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Don't skip! Explain yourself. Do you mean to say that this slip of paper + will help us? What does it mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Read it aloud! Read it aloud! I beg and I pray you to read it aloud.” + </p> + <p> + I did so. Gunga Dass listened delightedly, and drew an irregular line in + the sand with his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But if you knew all this why didn't you get out before?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Brother to a Prince and fellow to a beggar if he be found worthy. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Within ten,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you make it eight?” said he. “Mine is rather urgent business.” + </p> + <p> + “I can send your telegrams within ten days if that will serve you,” I + said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But I'm going into the Indian Desert,” I explained. + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever tried that trick?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you come from?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he do to his father's widow, then?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He woke with a grunt, and I saw his face in the light of the lamps. + </p> + <p> + It was a great and shining face. + </p> + <p> + “Tickets again?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I. “I am to tell you that he is gone South for the week. He has + gone South for the week!” + </p> + <p> + The train had begun to move out. The red man rubbed his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + That is the dark half of the moon, and, as the advertisements say, “must + be experienced to be appreciated.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I was not pleased, because I wished to go to sleep, not to squabble with + loafers. “What do you want?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I watched the test. The men were absolutely sober, so I gave them each a + tepid whisky-and-soda. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Therefore we are going away to be Kings.” + </p> + <p> + “Kings in our own right,” muttered Dravot. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But that is provided against in the Contrack,” said Carnehan. “Neither + Women nor Liquor, Daniel.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Are you at all in earnest?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I handed him Wood on the “Sources of the Oxus.” Carnehan was deep in the + “Encyclopaedia.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I smoked while the men poured over Raverty, Wood, the maps, and the + “Encyclopaedia.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + This Contrack between me and you persuing witnesseth in the name of God—Amen + and so forth. + </p> + <p> + (One) That me and you will settle this matter together; i.e., to be Kings + of Kafiristan. + </p> + <p> + (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. + </p> + <p> + (Three) That we conduct ourselves with Dignity and Discretion, and if one + of us gets into trouble the other will stay by him. + </p> + <p> + Signed by you and me this day. + </p> + <p> + Peachey Taliaferro Carnehan. + </p> + <p> + Daniel Dravot. + </p> + <p> + Both Gentlemen at Large. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “The witless are under the protection of God,” stammered a flat-cheeked + Usbeg in broken Hindi. “They foretell future events.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I felt the butt of a Martini, and another and another. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty of 'em,” said Dravot, placidly. “Twenty of 'em and ammunition to + correspond, under the whirligigs and the mud dolls.” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven help you if you are caught with those things!” I said. “A Martini + is worth her weight in silver among the Pathans.” + </p> + <p> + “Fifteen hundred rupees of capital—every rupee we could beg, borrow, + or steal—are invested on these two camels,” said Dravot. + </p> + <p> + “We won't get caught. We're going through the Khaiber with a regular + caravan. Who'd touch a poor mad priest?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you got everything you want?” I asked, overcome with astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + I went back to the office, the man following with groans of pain, and I + turned up the lamp. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know you,” I said, handing him the whisky. “What can I do for + you?” + </p> + <p> + He took a gulp of the spirit raw, and shivered in spite of the suffocating + heat. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + I was more than a little astonished, and expressed my feelings + accordingly. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He paused for a moment, while I asked him if he could remember the nature + of the country through which he had journeyed. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Then ten men with bows and arrows ran down that valley, chasing twenty + men with bows and arrows, and the row was tremenjus. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Take some more whisky and go on,” I said. “That was the first village you + came into. How did you get to be King?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + At the risk of throwing the creature out of train I interrupted: “How + could you write a letter up yonder?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He had reduced the alphabet to eleven primitive sounds, and tried to teach + me his method, but I could not understand. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'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. + </p> + <p> + “'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!' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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. + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “He put half his beard into his mouth, all red like the gold of his crown. + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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.'” + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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.'” + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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!' + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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. + </p> + <p> + “'Billy Fish,' says I to the Chief of Bashkai, 'what's the difficulty + here? A straight answer to a true friend.' + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'What is up, Fish?' I say to the Bashkai man, who was wrapped up in his + furs and looking splendid to behold. + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'For the last time, drop it, Dan,' says I, in a whisper; 'Billy Fish here + says that there will be a row.' + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'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. + </p> + <p> + “'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. + </p> + <p> + “'God A'mighty!' says Dan, 'what is the meaning o' this?' + </p> + <p> + “'Come back! Come away!' says Billy Fish. 'Ruin and Mutiny is the matter. + We'll break for Bashkai if we can.' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'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. + </p> + <p> + “Then they stopped firing, and the horns in the temple blew again. + </p> + <p> + “'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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.' + </p> + <p> + “'All right, Dan,' says I; 'but come along now while there's time.' + </p> + <p> + “'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. + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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!' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'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. + </p> + <p> + “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! + </p> + <p> + “'The runners have been very quick,' says Billy Fish, with a little bit of + a laugh. 'They are waiting for us.' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'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!' + </p> + <p> + “'Go!' says I. 'Go to Hell, Dan! I'm with you here. Billy Fish, you clear + out, and we two will meet those folk.' + </p> + <p> + “'I'm a Chief,' says Billy Fish, quite quiet. 'I stay with you. My men can + go.' + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + The momentary shift of my eyes had broken the clear current. + </p> + <p> + “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?' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The Son of Man goes forth to war, + A golden crown to gain; + His blood-red banner streams afar— + Who follows in His train?” + </pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Two days later I inquired after his welfare of the Superintendent of the + Asylum. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I; “but do you happen to know if he had anything upon him by + any chance when he died?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to my knowledge,” said the Superintendent. + </p> + <p> + And there the matter rests. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “THE FINEST STORY IN THE WORLD” + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the trouble?” I said, knowing well what that trouble was. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It looks such awful rot now” he said, mournfully. “And yet it seemed so + good when I was thinking about it. What's wrong?” + </p> + <p> + I could not dishearten him by saying the truth. So I answered: “Perhaps + you don't feel in the mood for writing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes I do—except when I look at this stuff. Ugh!” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “It needs compression,” I suggested, cautiously. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Charlie, you're suffering from an alarming disease afflicting a numerous + class. Put the thing by, and tackle it again in a week.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to do it at once. What do you think of it?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I judge from a half-written tale? Tell me the story as it lies in + your head.” + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + “What do you think?” he said, at last. “I fancy I shall call it 'The Story + of a Ship.'” + </p> + <p> + “I think the idea's pretty good; but you won't Be able to handle it for + ever so long. Now I—” + </p> + <p> + “Would it be of any use to you? Would you care to take it? I should be + proud,” said Charlie, promptly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Let's make a bargain. I'll give you a fiver for the notion,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Charlie became a bank-clerk at once. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He had—none knew this better than I—but they were the notions + of other men. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It came by itself.” Charlie's eyes opened a little. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you told me a great deal about the hero that you must have read + before somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me again and I shall understand clearly. You say that your hero went + pirating. How did he live?” + </p> + <p> + “He was on the lower deck of this ship-thing that I was telling you + about.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of ship?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How is he chained?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I can, but I can't imagine your imagining it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” I demanded, amazed, not so much at the information as the tone of + command in which it was flung out. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You've a most provident imagination. Where have you been reading about + galleys and galley-slaves?” + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere that I remember. I row a little when I get the chance. But, + perhaps, if you say so, I may have read something.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it splendid? Isn't it superb?” he cried, after hasty greetings. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to this— + </p> + <p> + “'Wouldst thou,' so the helmsman answered, 'Know the secret of the sea? + Only those who brave its dangers Comprehend its mystery.' + </p> + <p> + “By gum! + </p> + <p> + “'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— + </p> + <p> + “'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.' + </p> + <p> + “I haven't braved any dangers, but I feel as if I knew all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “You certainly seem to have a grip of the sea. Have you ever seen it?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'When descends on the Atlantic The gigantic Storm-wind of the Equinox.'” + </p> + <p> + He shook me by the shoulder to make me understand the passion that was + shaking himself. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of things?” + </p> + <p> + “About the food the men ate; rotten figs and black beans and wine in a + skin bag, passed from bench to bench.” + </p> + <p> + “Was the ship built so long ago as that?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least. Did you make up anything else?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but it's nonsense.” Charlie flushed a little. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind; let's hear about it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you the paper on you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll attend to those details. Show me what your men wrote.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What is it supposed to mean in English?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But all you've told me would make a long book.” + </p> + <p> + “Make it then. You've only to sit down and write it out.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me a little time. Have you any more notions?” + </p> + <p> + “Not just now. I'm reading all the books I've bought. They're splendid.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell me what the corruption is supposed to mean—the gist of + the thing?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “'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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Therefore I danced again among the gods till a policeman saw me and took + steps in my direction. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think you're treating me quite fairly,” I said, speaking under + strong restraint. + </p> + <p> + “I've given you the story,” he said, shortly replunging into “Lara.” + </p> + <p> + “But I want the details.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Emar then, the arrow taking From the loosened string, Answered: 'That was + Norway breaking 'Neath thy hand, O King.'” + </p> + <p> + He gasped with pure delight of sound. + </p> + <p> + “That's better than Byron, a little,” I ventured. + </p> + <p> + “Better? Why it's true! How could he have known?” + </p> + <p> + I went back and repeated: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'What was that?' said Olaf, standing + On the quarter-deck, + 'Something heard I like the stranding + Of a shattered wreck.'” + </pre> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm tired. Let's talk. What happened the other night?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “No. That's news to me,” I answered, meekly, my heart beginning to beat. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” Charlie's eyes were alive and alight. He was looking at the wall + behind my chair. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How was that managed?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “It looked just like a banjo-string drawn tight, and it seemed to stay + there for years,” said Charlie. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “And then?” I said, trying to put away the devil of envy. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “What a scoundrel!” + </p> + <p> + “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.'' + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me something about the harbor where the fight was fought.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's curious. Our hero commanded the galley? Didn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't he just! He stood by the bows and shouted like a good 'un. He was + the man who killed the overseer.” + </p> + <p> + “But you were all drowned together, Charlie, weren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He shivered slightly and protested that he could remember no more. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Charlie,” I asked, “when the rowers on the galleys mutinied how did they + kill their overseers?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “And what happened after that?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The sound of my voice irritated him, and he motioned slightly with his + left hand as a man does when interruption jars. + </p> + <p> + “You never told me he was redheaded before, or that he captured your + galley,” I said, after a discreet interval. + </p> + <p> + Charlie did not raise his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “To the Beaches—the Long and Wonderful Beaches!” was the reply, + after a minute of silence. + </p> + <p> + “To Furdurstrandi?” I asked, tingling from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to Furdurstrandi,” he pronounced the word in a new fashion “And I + too saw”—The voice failed. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what you have said?” I shouted, incautiously. + </p> + <p> + He lifted his eyes, fully roused now. “No!” he snapped. “I wish you'd let + a chap go on reading. Hark to this: + </p> + <p> + “'But Othere, the old sea captain, He neither paused nor stirred Till the + king listened, and then + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.” + </pre> + <p> + “By Jove, what chaps those must have been, to go sailing all over the shop + never knowing where they'd fetch the land! Hah!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Business took him over London Bridge and I accompanied him. He was very + full of the importance of that book and magnified it. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + I waited only for an instant, but the barge and the cow had disappeared + under the bows of the steamer before I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Charlie, what do you suppose are Skroelings?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks. I'm off. You're sure you know nothing about Skroelings?” + </p> + <p> + “Not unless he's been entered for the Liverpool Handicap.” He nodded and + disappeared in the crowd. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Then I walked round the situation. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I walked with him for some time. “You are not well,” he said. “What is + there in your mind? You do not talk.” + </p> + <p> + “Grish Chunder, you've been too well educated to believe in a God, haven't + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oah, yes, here! But when I go home I must conciliate popular + superstition, and make ceremonies of purification, and my women will + anoint idols.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you something that one Englishman knows. It's an old tale to + you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Outcast yourself, Grish Chunder! You eat cow-beef every day. Let's think + the thing over. The boy remembers his incarnations.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he know that?” said Grish Chunder, quietly, swinging his legs as he + sat on my table. He was speaking in English now. + </p> + <p> + “He does not know anything. Would I speak to you if he did? Go on!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's leave that out of the question entirely. Is there any chance of his + being made to speak?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a ghost of a chance?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “This seems to be an exception to the rule.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I can, but I wasn't thinking of him. His name need never appear + in the story.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I see. That story will never be written. You can try.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to.” + </p> + <p> + “For your own credit and for the sake of money, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “No. For the sake of writing the story. On my honor that will be all.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “What I say. He has never, so far, thought about a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Hasn't he though!” I remembered some of Charlie's confidences. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I winced at the thought of my story being ruined by a housemaid. + </p> + <p> + And yet nothing was more probable. + </p> + <p> + Grish Chunder grinned. + </p> + <p> + “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”— + </p> + <p> + “Or else what? Remember he does not know that he knows.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Grish Chunder looked at him keenly for a minute. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” Charlie said, uneasily; “I didn't know you had any + one with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going,” said Grish Chunder. + </p> + <p> + He drew me into the lobby as he departed. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He may be all you say, but I'm not going to trust him to your Gods and + devils.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That is the reason why I am not going to see it any more. You'd better + go, Grish Chunder.” + </p> + <p> + He went, declaring far down the staircase that it was throwing away my + only chance of looking into the future. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me read it to myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you miss the proper expression. Besides, you always make my things + sound as if the rhymes were all wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Read it aloud, then. You're like the rest of 'em.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Charlie was, in one way at least, very like one kind of poet. + </p> + <p> + There was a pencil scrawl at the back of the paper and “What's that?” I + said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Here is Charlie's “blank verse”: + </p> + <p> + “We pulled for you when the wind was against us and the sails were low. + </p> + <p> + “Will you never let us go? + </p> + <p> + “We ate bread and onions when you took towns or ran aboard quickly when + you were beaten back by the foe, + </p> + <p> + “The captains walked up and down the deck in fair weather singing songs, + but we were below, + </p> + <p> + “We fainted with our chins on the oars and you did not see that we were + idle for we still swung to and fro. + </p> + <p> + “Will you never let us go? + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Will you never let us go? + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “H'm. What's oar-thresh, Charlie?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a really helpful collaborator. I suppose the hero went through + some few adventures before he married.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But you said the other day that he was red-haired.” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't have. Make him black-haired of course. You've no imagination.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You're right. You're the man with imagination. A black-haired chap in a + decked ship,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “No, an open ship—like a big boat.” + </p> + <p> + This was maddening. + </p> + <p> + “Your ship has been built and designed, closed and decked in; you said so + yourself,” I protested. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Why, 'of course,' Charlie?” said I. “I don't know. Are you making fun of + me?” + </p> + <p> + The current was broken for the time being. I took up a notebook and + pretended to make many entries in it. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “There's an enormous amount in you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, won't you let me send an essay on The Ways of Bank Clerks to + Tit-Bits, and get the guinea prize?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it. Suppose you go for a walk. I want to look through my notes + about our story.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Something about the galley.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember now. It's 25 per cent. of the profits, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's anything you like when I've done the tale.” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to be sure of that. I must go now. I've, I've an appointment.” + And he left me. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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.” + </pre> + <p> + “Yes, it's the early harrowing, past a doubt,” I said, with a dread at my + heart. Charlie smiled, but did not answer. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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!” + </pre> + <p> + “Well?” said Charlie, looking over my shoulder. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It comes like a thunderclap. Are you very happy, Charlie?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “What will your mother say?” I asked, cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care a damn what she says.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Now, about that galley-story,” I said, still more cheerfully, in a pause + in the rush of the speech. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0076" id="link2H_4_0076"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VOLUME IV UNDER THE DEODARS + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0077" id="link2H_4_0077"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “There's no he in the case. Who am I that an imaginary man should be + always credited to me? Am I an Apache?” + </p> + <p> + “No, dear, but somebody's scalp is generally drying at your wigwam-door. + Soaking, rather.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Sweet soul! I know his appetite,” said Mrs. Mallowe. “Did he, oh did he, + begin his wooing?” + </p> + <p> + “By a special mercy of Providence, no. He explained his importance as a + Pillar of the Empire. I didn't laugh.” + </p> + <p> + “Lucy, I don't believe you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask Captain Sangar; he was on the other side. Well, as I was saying, The + Mussuck dilated.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I can see him doing it,” said Mrs. Mallowe, pensively, scratching + her fox-terrier's ears. + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe laughed long and merrily. “And what did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “'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.” + </p> + <p> + “As he is of the other two things. I like The Mussuck, and I won't have + you call him names. He amuses me.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks. Polly, I'm wearied of this life. It's hollow.” + </p> + <p> + “Turn religious, then. I always said that Rome would be your fate.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks for your courtesy. I'll return it. Ye-es we are both not exactly—how + shall I put it?” + </p> + <p> + “What we have been. 'I feel it in my bones,' as Mrs. Crossley says. Polly, + I've wasted my life.” + </p> + <p> + “As how?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind how. I feel it. I want to be a Power before I die.” + </p> + <p> + “Be a Power then. You've wits enough for anything—and beauty?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Inform The Mussuck that he is the most fascinating and slimmest man in + Asia, and he'll tell you anything and everything you please.” + </p> + <p> + “Bother The Mussuck! I mean an intellectual Power—not a gas-power. + Polly, I'm going to start a salon.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Will you talk sensibly?” + </p> + <p> + “I will, dear, for I see that you are going to make a mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “I never made a mistake in my life at least, never one that I couldn't + explain away afterward.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, but why? It seems so easy.” + </p> + <p> + “Just what makes it so difficult. How many clever women are there in + Simla?” + </p> + <p> + “Myself and yourself,” said Mrs. Hauksbee, without a moment's hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “Modest woman! Mrs. Feardon would thank you for that. And how many clever + men?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—er—hundreds,” said Mrs. Hauksbee, vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But there are scores—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Detestable word! Have Civilians Culchaw? I never studied the breed + deeply.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And a military man?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a certain amount of wisdom in that view.” + </p> + <p> + “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”— + </p> + <p> + “George Eliot in the flesh,” interpolated Mrs. Hauksbee, wickedly. + </p> + <p> + “And collectively, my dear scoffer, we, men and women alike, have no + influence. + </p> + <p> + “Come into the veranda and look at the Mall!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And all my fervent admirers,” said Mrs. Hauksbee, piously. “Sir Henry + Haughton raves about me. But go on.” + </p> + <p> + “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”— + </p> + <p> + “Can't talk about anything except the last Gymkhana, or the sins of their + last nurse. I was calling on Mrs. Derwills this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Plenty of kala juggahs. Oh my poor little idea! Kala juggahs in a salon! + But who made you so awfully clever?” + </p> + <p> + “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”— + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? Are not Abana and Pharphar”— + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—that comes, too, sooner or later, Have you nerve enough to make + your bow yet?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Lucy, how can you be so absurd?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Let them see! They'll think I am rehearsing for The Fallen Angel. Look! + There's The Mussuck. How badly he rides. There!” + </p> + <p> + She blew a kiss to the venerable Indian administrator with infinite grace. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Never again,” said Mrs. Mallowe, with an affectation of indignation, + “shall you tiffin here! 'Lucindy, your behavior is scand'lus.'” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + She swept into the drawing-room, Mrs. Mallowe followed and put an arm + round her waist. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I've been through that too, dear,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe smiled in a superior and Sphinxlike fashion. + </p> + <p> + “I became an Influence,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn't Theosophilander. Jack says”— + </p> + <p> + “Never mind Jack. What a husband says is known before. What did you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I made a lasting impression.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe told. + </p> + <h3> + * * * * * * + </h3> + <p> + “And—you—mean—to—say that it is absolutely + Platonic on both sides?” + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely, or I should never have taken it up.” + </p> + <p> + “And his last promotion was due to you?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe nodded. + </p> + <p> + “And you warned him against the Topsham girl?” + </p> + <p> + Another nod. + </p> + <p> + “And told him of Sir Dugald Delane's private memo about him?” + </p> + <p> + A third nod. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Polly, you are a most extraordinary woman.” + </p> + <p> + “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”— + </p> + <p> + “Can't you choose a prettier word?” + </p> + <p> + “Team, of half a dozen, from The Mussuck to the Hawley Boy, you gain + nothing by it. Not even amusement.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “More or less,” said Mrs. Mallowe with an unfathomable smile. “But be sure + he understands that there must be no flirtation.” + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dribble-dribble-trickle-trickle + What a lot of raw dust! + My dollie's had an accident + And out came all the sawdust! —Nursery Rhyme. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + A week later, the two met at a Monday Pop. “Well?” said Mrs. Mallowe. + </p> + <p> + “I've caught him!” said Mrs. Hauksbee; her eyes were dancing with + merriment. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it, mad woman? I'm sorry I ever spoke to you about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Look between the pillars. In the third row; fourth from the end. You can + see his face now. Look!” + </p> + <p> + “Otis Yeere! Of all the improbable and impossible people! I don't believe + you.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “So I see, but does it follow that he is your property?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank goodness you haven't chosen a boy. What are you going to do with + him, assuming that you've got him?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have discovered a great deal about him considering the + shortness of your acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “In some cases.” + </p> + <p> + “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'?” + </p> + <p> + “Lucy, your long experiences of the Military Department have demoralized + you. One doesn't do that sort of thing on the Civil Side.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Go your own way since you must. But I'm sorry that I was weak enough to + suggest the amusement.” + </p> + <p> + “'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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “I knew there were women-dowdies in Bengal. They come up here sometimes. + But I didn't know that there were men-dowdies, too.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee did not reckon false modesty as one of her failings. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe rattled down-hill, having satisfied herself, by a glance + through the fringe of her sunshade, of the effect of her words. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I'm awf'ly sorry. I didn't mean it, you know,” said Yeere, + apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Yeere repeated the incident to Mrs. Hauksbee. He had come to look upon her + as his Mother Confessor. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious!” she ended, with the personal argument, “you'll apologize + next for being my attache?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” said Otis Yeere. “That's another thing altogether. I shall always + be”— + </p> + <p> + “What's coming?” thought Mrs. Hauksbee. + </p> + <p> + “Proud of that,” said Otis. + </p> + <p> + “Safe for the present,” she said to herself. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I! Why?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Otis Yeere laughed bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “There's not the least necessity that you should stay in it. Why do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I must. How'm I to get out of it?” + </p> + <p> + “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”— + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee paused for breath; then continued—“and in any way you + look at it, you ought to. You who could go so far!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Yeere, rather taken aback by the unexpected + eloquence. “1 haven't such a good opinion of myself.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “It is enough,” answered Otis, very solemnly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Are you certain of that?” said Otis Yeere. + </p> + <p> + “Quite. We're writing about a house now.” + </p> + <p> + Otis Yeere “stopped dead,” as Mrs. Hauksbee put it in discussing the + relapse with Mrs. Mallowe. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + As a rule, Mrs. Mallowe does not approve of staring, but on this occasion + she opened her eyes to the utmost. + </p> + <p> + “You have managed cleverly so far,” she said. “Speak to him, and ask him + what he means.” + </p> + <p> + “I will—at tonight's dance.” + </p> + <p> + “No-o, not at a dance,” said Mrs. Mallowe, cautiously. “Men are never + themselves quite at dances. Better wait till tomorrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe waited through the evening, looking long and earnestly into + the fire, and sometimes smiling to herself. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “Oh! oh! oh! The man's an idiot! A raving, positive idiot! I'm sorry I + ever saw him!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee burst into Mrs. Mallowe's house, at midnight, almost in + tears. + </p> + <p> + “What in the world has happened?” said Mrs. Mallowe, but her eyes showed + that she had guessed an answer. + </p> + <p> + “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”— + </p> + <p> + “Ah-hh!” said Mrs. Mallowe, in a tone of one who has successfully tracked + an obscure word through a large dictionary. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Very few men understand your devotion thoroughly.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “He did that, did he?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Morals above reproach,” purred Mrs. Mallowe. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Was this before or after supper?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! before—oceans before. Isn't it perfectly disgusting?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me think. I withhold judgment till tomorrow. Morning brings counsel.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “He doesn't seem to be very penitent,” said Mrs. Mallowe. “What's the + billet-doux in the centre?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee opened the neatly folded note,—another accomplishment + that she had taught Otis,—read it, and groaned tragically. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “No. It's a quotation from Mrs. Browning, and, in view of the facts of the + case, as Jack says, uncommonly well chosen. Listen: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'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?' +</pre> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Polly, you take my sorrows in a most unfeeling way.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you never can tell about a man!” said Mrs. Hauksbee, with deep scorn. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0078" id="link2H_4_0078"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AT THE PIT'S MOUTH + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + Once upon a time there was a man and his Wife and a Tertium Quid. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + The Tertium Quid pulled his moustache, and replied that horrid people were + unworthy of the consideration of nice people. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Work away,” said the Tertium Quid, “and let's see how it's done.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “That's queer,” said the Tertium Quid. “Where's my ulster?” + </p> + <p> + “What's queer?” said the Man's Wife. + </p> + <p> + “I have got a chill down my back just as if a goose had walked over my + grave.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you look at the thing, then?” said the Man's Wife. “Let us go.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to take the mare tomorrow,” said the Tertium Quid, “and she + will stand nothing heavier than a snaffle.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “'Jove! That looks beastly,” said the Tertium Quid. “Fancy being boarded + up and dropped into that well!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “To the world's end,” said the Man's Wife, and looked unspeakable things + over her near shoulder at the Tertium Quid. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0079" id="link2H_4_0079"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A WAYSIDE COMEDY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Because to every purpose there is time and judgment, therefore + the misery of man is great upon him. + —Eccles. viii. 6. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + All Kashima acquits Mrs. Vansuythen of any intention to do harm; but all + Kashima knows that she, and she alone, brought about their pain. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Little woman,” said Boulte, quietly, “do you care for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Immensely,” said she, with a laugh. “Can you ask it?” + </p> + <p> + “But I'm serious,” said Boulte. “Do you care for me?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Boulte dropped the flowers, and turned round quickly. “Do you want an + honest answer?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es, I've asked for it.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” he said. “Thanks, I only wanted to know, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” said the woman, between her sobs. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't seen him,” said Mrs. Boulte. “Good God! is that all?” + </p> + <p> + But Boulte was not listening, and her sentence ended in a gulp. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansuythen had shifted her defence to avoid the man's pleading, and + was desperately trying to keep him to a side-issue. + </p> + <p> + “There must be some mistake,” she insisted, “and it can be all put right + again.” + </p> + <p> + Boulte laughed grimly. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansuythen sat down helplessly on the sofa, overborne by the trouble + of her questioner. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell me what he said?” repeated Mrs. Boulte. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “You said he swore he had not cared for me. Was that true?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Vansuythen, very softly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Boulte wavered for an instant where she stood, and then fell forward + fainting. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Vansuythen, with no heart for explanations or impassioned + protestations, was kneeling over Mrs. Boulte. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + Boulte raised his head and said, slowly, “Oh, you liar!” + </p> + <p> + Kurrell's face changed. “What's that?” he asked, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think I should get any satisfaction from killing you, and I'm + pretty sure you'd get none from killing me.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + Kurrell stared long and gravely. The situation was getting beyond him. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” he said. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Kurrell took the double insult without wincing, and replied by another + question: “Go on. What happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Emma fainted,” said Boulte, simply. “But, look here, what had you been + saying to Mrs. Vansuythen?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I spoke the truth,” said Boulte, again more to himself than Kurrell. + “Emma told me she hated me. She has no right in me.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Kurrell felt almost virtuous as he put the question. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think that matters,” Boulte replied; “and it doesn't concern + you.” + </p> + <p> + “But it does! I tell you it does” began Kurrell, shamelessly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + Kurrell looked round the rat-pit of Kashima and made no reply. The injured + husband took up the wondrous tale. + </p> + <p> + “Ride on, and speak to Emma if you want to. God knows I don't care what + you do.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The whir of approaching wheels roused him. Mrs. Vansuythen was driving + home Mrs. Boulte, white and wan, with a cut on her forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Stop, please,” said Mrs. Boulte “I want to speak to Ted.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vansuythen obeyed, but as Mrs. Boulte leaned forward, putting her + hand upon the splash-board of the dog-cart, Kurrell spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I've seen your husband, Mrs. Boulte.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Boulte has made me understand that you were—that you were fond + of her once upon a time,” went on Mrs. Vansuythen. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” said Kurrell brutally. “It seems to me that Mrs. Boulte had better + be fond of her own husband first.” + </p> + <p> + “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! + <i>Sais,</i> gorah <i>ko</i> jane <i>do</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “You're singing villainously out of tune, Kurrell,” said the Major, + truthfully. “Pass me that banjo.” + </p> + <p> + And he sang in excruciating-wise till the stars came out and all Kashima + went to dinner. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + That was the beginning of the New Life of Kashima—the life that Mrs. + Boulte made when her tongue was loosened in the twilight. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Boulte and he go out tiger-shooting together in all friendship. Boulte has + put their relationship on a most satisfactory footing. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + But of course, as the Major says, “in a little Station we must all be + friendly.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0080" id="link2H_4_0080"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HILL OF ILLUSION + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + HE. Tell your jhampanis not to hurry so, dear. They forget I'm fresh from + the Plains. + </p> + <p> + SHE. Sure proof that I have not been going out with any one. Yes, they are + an untrained crew. Where do we go? + </p> + <p> + HE. As usual—to the world's end. No, Jakko. + </p> + <p> + SHE. Have your pony led after you, then. It's a long round. + </p> + <p> + HE. And for the last time, thank Heaven! + </p> + <p> + SHE. Do you mean that still? I didn't dare to write to you about it... all + these months. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + SHE. I! Oh! I don't know. I've had long enough to think, too. + </p> + <p> + HE. And you've changed your mind? + </p> + <p> + SHE. No. You ought to know that I am a miracle of constancy. What are your—arrangements? + </p> + <p> + HE. Ours, Sweetheart, please. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + SHE. Ssh! Don't talk of it in that way. It makes me afraid. Guy, how long + have we two been insane? + </p> + <p> + HE. Seven months and fourteen days; I forget the odd hours exactly, but + I'll think. + </p> + <p> + SHE. I only wanted to see if you remembered. Who are those two on the + Blessington Road? + </p> + <p> + HE. Eabrey and the Penner woman. What do they matter to us? Tell me + everything that you've been doing and saying and thinking. + </p> + <p> + SHE. Doing little, saying less, and thinking a great deal. I've hardly + been out at all. + </p> + <p> + Ha. That was wrong of you. You haven't been moping? + </p> + <p> + SHE. Not very much. Can you wonder that I'm disinclined for amusement? + </p> + <p> + HE. Frankly, I do. Where was the difficulty? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + HE. Nonsense. We shall be out of it. + </p> + <p> + SHE. You think so? + </p> + <p> + HE. I'm sure of it, if there is any power in steam or horse-flesh to carry + us away. Ha! ha! + </p> + <p> + SHE. And the fun of the situation comes in—where, my Lancelot? + </p> + <p> + HE. Nowhere, Guinevere. I was only thinking of something. + </p> + <p> + SHE. They say men have a keener sense of humor than women. Now <i>I</i> + was thinking of the scandal. + </p> + <p> + HE. Don't think of anything so ugly. We shall be beyond it. + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + HE. Love at least. Isn't that enough? + </p> + <p> + SHE. I have said so. + </p> + <p> + HE. And you think so still? + </p> + <p> + SHE. What do you think? + </p> + <p> + Ha. What have I <i>done</i>? 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. + </p> + <p> + SHE. And are you so much above the world that you can afford to pay it? Am + I? + </p> + <p> + Ha. My Divinity—what else? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + HE. Frowsy Scotchwoman? What is the use of bringing her into the + discussion? You were saying? + </p> + <p> + SHE. Nothing. Have you ever seen a man hanged? + </p> + <p> + HE. Yes. Once. + </p> + <p> + SHE. What was it for? + </p> + <p> + HE. Murder, of course. + </p> + <p> + SHE. Murder. Is that so great a sin after all? I wonder how he felt before + the drop fell. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + SHE. You feel it, fresh from below. Put on your ulster. What do you think + of my cape? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + SHE. He gave it me, on Wednesday... our wedding-day, you know. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + SHE. Don't you? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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.” + </pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + SHE. And when the frocks wear out, you'll get me new ones—and + everything else? + </p> + <p> + HE. Assuredly. + </p> + <p> + SHE. I wonder! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Ha. You think so? What is the mood now? + </p> + <p> + SHE. I can't tell. How cold it is! Let us get on quickly. + </p> + <p> + Ha. Better walk a little. Stop your jhampanis and get out. What's the + matter with you this evening, dear? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Ha. Goose! Between us, too! Damn Captain Congleton. There! + </p> + <p> + SHE. Chivalrous Knight! Is it your habit to swear much in talking? It jars + a little, and you might swear at me. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + HE. I thought you told me that you had not been going out much this + season? + </p> + <p> + SHE. Quite true, but when I do I dance with Captain Congleton. He dances + very nicely. + </p> + <p> + HE. And sit out with him, I suppose? + </p> + <p> + SHE. Yes. Have you any objection? Shall I stand under the chandelier in + future? + </p> + <p> + HE. What does he talk to you about? + </p> + <p> + SHE. What do men talk about when they sit out? + </p> + <p> + Ha. Ugh! Don't! Well now I'm up, you must dispense with the fascinating + Congleton for a while. I don't like him. + </p> + <p> + SHE. (after a pause). Do you know what you have said? + </p> + <p> + HE. 'Can't say that I do exactly. I'm not in the best of tempers. + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + HE. A good deal more than that. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + HE. I never said a word. + </p> + <p> + SHE. How much did you imply? Guy, is this amount of confidence to be our + stock to start the new life on? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + HE. How do you mean? + </p> + <p> + SHE. That is a part of the punishment. There cannot be perfect trust + between us. + </p> + <p> + HE. In Heaven's name, why not? + </p> + <p> + SHE. Hush! The Other Place is quite enough. Ask yourself. + </p> + <p> + HE. I don't follow. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + HE. Something of the sort. Centuries ago—in the Dark Ages, before I + ever met you, dear. + </p> + <p> + SHE. Tell me what you said to her. + </p> + <p> + HE. What does a man say to a girl? I've forgotten. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + HE. Well, and then? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + HE. Even bearable! It'll he Paradise. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + SHE. “The holy state of matrimony!” Ha! ha! ha! + </p> + <p> + HE. Ssh! Don't laugh in that horrible way! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + HE. For goodness' sake, stop! Don't make an exhibition of yourself. What + is the matter with you? + </p> + <p> + SHE. N-nothing. I'm better now. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + SHE. Thank'oo. I'm 'fraid my hat's on one side, too. + </p> + <p> + HE. What do you wear these huge dagger bonnet-skewers for? They're big + enough to kill a man with. + </p> + <p> + SHE. Oh! Don't kill me, though. You're sticking it into my head! Let me do + it. You men are so clumsy. + </p> + <p> + HE. Have you had many opportunities of comparing us—in this sort of + work? + </p> + <p> + SHE. Guy, what is my name? + </p> + <p> + HE. Eh! I don't follow. + </p> + <p> + SHE. Here's my cardcase. Can you read? + </p> + <p> + HE. Yes. Well? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + SHE. They'll be more scandalized before the end. + </p> + <p> + HE. Do-on't! I don't like you to talk in that way. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + HE. Don't be affected. + </p> + <p> + SHE. I'm not. I'm Mrs. Buzgago. Listen! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + That's the way she rolls her r's. Am I like her? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + HE. No. We aren't children. Why can't you be rational? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + HE. One or two. One can't make omelets without breaking eggs. + </p> + <p> + SHE (slowly). I don't see the necessity— + </p> + <p> + HE. Hah! What do you mean? + </p> + <p> + SHE. Shall I speak the truth? + </p> + <p> + HE. Under the circumstances, perhaps it would be as well. + </p> + <p> + SHE. Guy, I'm afraid. + </p> + <p> + HE. I thought we'd settled all that. What of? + </p> + <p> + SHE. Of you. + </p> + <p> + HE. Oh, damn it all! The old business! This is too had! + </p> + <p> + SHE. Of you. + </p> + <p> + HE. And what now? + </p> + <p> + SHE. What do you think of me? + </p> + <p> + HE. Beside the question altogether. What do you intend to do? + </p> + <p> + SHE. I daren't risk it. I'm afraid. If I could only cheat— + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + SHE. I never meant anything else. + </p> + <p> + HE. Then, why in the world do you pretend not to be willing to come? + </p> + <p> + SHE. It's not pretence, Guy. I am afraid. + </p> + <p> + HE. Please explain. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + HE. I see that you are desperately unreasonable, little woman. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + HE. I tell you I shall not. Won't anything make you understand that? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + HE. I suppose I ought to say that I can trust you. I've ample reason. + </p> + <p> + SHE. Please don't, dear. It hurts as much as if you hit me. + </p> + <p> + HE. It isn't exactly pleasant for me. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + SHE. Yes. No! Oh, give me time! The day after. I get into my 'rickshaw + here and meet Him at Peliti's. You ride. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BUZGAGO (in the Old Library, con. molt. exp.). + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Captain Congleton, I'm going to alter that to “flirt.” It sound better. + </p> + <p> + HE. No, I've changed my mind about the drink. Good night, little lady. I + shall see you tomorrow? + </p> + <p> + SHE. Yes. Good night, Guy. Don't be angry with me. + </p> + <p> + HE. Angry! You know I trust you absolutely. Good night and—God bless + you! + </p> + <p> + (Three seconds later. Alone.) Hmm! I'd give something to discover whether + there's another man at the back of all this. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0081" id="link2H_4_0081"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A SECOND-RATE WOMAN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Hooks and eyes, surely,” drawled Mrs. Mallowe. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be clever, Polly. You make my head ache. And round this hayrick + stood a crowd of men—a positive crowd!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps they also expected”— + </p> + <p> + “Polly, don't be Rabelaisian!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee stepped into the veranda and looked down upon the Mall, her + forehead puckered with thought. + </p> + <p> + “Hah!” said Mrs. Hauksbee, shortly. “Indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said Mrs. Mallowe, sleepily. + </p> + <p> + “That dowd and The Dancing Master—to whom I object.” + </p> + <p> + “Why to The Dancing Master? He is a middle-aged gentleman, of reprobate + and romantic tendencies, and tries to be a friend of mine.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “0—oh! I think I've met that sort of man before. And isn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “No. He confided that to me a few days ago. Ugh! Some men ought to Be + killed.” + </p> + <p> + “What happened then?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “And so fat too! I should have laughed in his face. Men seldom confide in + me. How is it they come to you?” + </p> + <p> + “For the sake of impressing me with their careers in the past. Protect me + from men with confidences!” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you encourage them?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Men are so unblushingly explicit if they are once allowed to talk, + whereas women's confidences are full of reservations and fibs, except”— + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And the extraordinary thing is that men will never believe it. They say + we are trying to hide something.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you'll get fat dear. If you took more exercise and a more + intelligent interest in your neighbors you would—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why couple me with the Hawley Boy? He is your property.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee dropped into a low chair in front of the fire, and, chin in + band, gazed long and steadfastly at Mrs. Mallowe. + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + “Don't! I don't like your quotations. They are so rude. Go to the Library + and bring me new books.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “That is the Creature!” said Mrs Hauksbee, with the air of one pointing + out a slug in the road. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mrs. Mallowe. “The man is the Creature. Ugh! Good-evening, Mr. + Bent. I thought you were coming to tea this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely it was for tomorrow, was it not?” answered The Dancing Master. “I + understood... I fancied... I'm so sorry... How very unfortunate!...” + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Mallowe had passed on. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I forgive every woman everything,” said Mrs. Mallowe. “He will be a + sufficient punishment for her. What a common voice she has!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “H'sh! She'll hear you.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know anything about him?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 'Babies?' + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I think Mrs. Delville may occupy his attention for a while.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose she knows that he is the head of a family?” + </p> + <p> + “Not from his lips. He swore me to eternal secrecy. Wherefore I tell you. + Don't you know that type of man?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm different. I've no sense of humor.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose that the Delville woman has humor?” + </p> + <p> + “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— + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Still with The Dancing Master, remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Still with The Dancing Master, I admit, but why on the strength of that + should you imagine”— + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “She is twenty years younger than he.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what those really are,” said Mrs. Mallowe. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I should go as I was,” said Mrs. Mallowe. “It would be a delicate + compliment to her style.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee studied herself in the glass. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “If you really are going, dirty tan would be too good; and you know that + dove—color spots with the rain.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Just Heavens! When did she do that?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “The Hawley Boy was riding with you. What did he think?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Other than your own. I shouldn't be in the least surprised if the Hawley + Boy immediately went to call.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee departed and, at the end of an hour, returned slightly + flushed. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And she?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you certain?”— + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Lu—cy!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You are incorrigible, simply.” + </p> + <p> + “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'?” + </p> + <p> + “You attach too much importance to The Dancing Master.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be uncharitable. Any sin but that I'll forgive.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Now for Pity's sake leave the wretched creature and The Dancing Master + alone. They never did you any harm.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did that sweet youth do?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Tete-Fele'e,” suggested Mrs. Mallowe. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be irreverent,” said Mrs. Mallowe. “I like Mrs. Bent's face.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Lucy, I should like you better if you were not always looking into + people's back bedrooms.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “But what reason has she for being angry?” + </p> + <p> + “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”— + </p> + <p> + “That she, too, is capable of every iniquity? I always prefer to believe + the best of everybody. It saves so much trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mallowe sighed and made no answer. + </p> + <p> + The conversation was holden after dinner while Mrs. Hauksbee was dressing + for a dance. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, this is too bad!” said Mrs. Mallowe sulkily. + </p> + <p> + “'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?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I do anything if you spin round like this?” protested Mrs. + Mallowe, fumbling with the knot of the laces. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he want much taking?” + </p> + <p> + “Lots! There was an arrangement of loose-boxes in kanats, and she was in + the next one talking to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Which? How? Explain.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “This is interesting. There! Now turn round. What happened?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I said he wouldn't.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I never studied her as closely as you did. It sounds unnatural. What + happened?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “She does it for my sake,” hinted the Virtuous Bent. + </p> + <p> + “A dangerous and designing woman,” purred Mrs. Waddy. + </p> + <p> + Worst of all, every other hotel in Simla was full! + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “Polly, are you afraid of diphtheria?” + </p> + <p> + “Of nothing in the world except smallpox. Diphtheria kills, but it doesn't + disfigure. Why do you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you learn all this?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Well. What's on your mind?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “On the most strict understanding that we see nothing of The Dancing + Master.” + </p> + <p> + “He will be only too glad to stay away. Polly, you're an angel. The woman + really is at her wits' end.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee's eyes softened; she looked out of the window and back into + Mrs. Mallowe's face. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Mrs. Hauksbee, simply. + </p> + <p> + “You dear!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And I also. Thank goodness I shall at last get all the sleep I want.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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”— + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing of illness,” said Mrs. Hauksbee to the Doctor. “Only tell + me what to do, and I'll do it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + But Dora did not improve, and the Doctor seemed to be always in the house. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Wake up! Wake up! Do something!” cried Mrs. Bent, piteously. “Dora's + choking to death! Do you mean to let her die?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee jumped to her feet and bent over the bed. The child was + fighting for breath, while the mother wrung her hands despairing. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Delville looked at the bed for an instant, took Mrs. Bent by the + shoulders, and said, quietly, “Get me some caustic. Be quick.” + </p> + <p> + The mother obeyed mechanically. Mrs. Delville had thrown herself down by + the side of the child and was opening its mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you're killing her!” cried Mrs. Bent. “Where's the Doctor! Leave her + alone!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Delville made no reply for a minute, but busied herself with the + child. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Delville turned her head. + </p> + <p> + “You're only just in time,” she said. “It was chokin' her when I came in, + an' I've burned it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “She was dyin',” said Mrs. Delville, under her breath. “Can you do + anythin'? What a mercy it was I went to the dance!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee raised her head. + </p> + <p> + “Is it all over?” she gasped. “I'm useless—I'm worse than useless! + What are you doing here?” + </p> + <p> + She stared at Mrs. Delville, and Mrs. Bent, realizing for the first time + who was the Goddess from the Machine, stared also. + </p> + <p> + Then Mrs. Delville made explanation, putting on a dirty long glove and + smoothing a crumpled and ill-fitting ball-dress. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bent was putting out the Doctor's eye with a lamp as he stooped over + Dora. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Delville picked up her shawl, and slouched out of the room, mopping + her eyes with the glove that she had not put on. + </p> + <p> + “I always said she was more than a woman,” sobbed Mrs. Hauksbee, + hysterically, “and that proves it!” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Kisses don't as a rule, do they? Of course you know what the result of + The Dowd's providential arrival has been.” + </p> + <p> + “They ought to build her a statue—only no sculptor dare copy those + skirts.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But Mrs. Bent”— + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Bent believes it more than any one else. She won't speak to The Dowd + now. Isn't The Dancing Master an angel?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee lifted up her voice and raged till bedtime. The doors of the + two rooms stood open. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “'Paltry,'” said Mrs. Mallowe. “Through her nose—like this—'Ha-ow + pahltry!'” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said the voice. “Ha-ow pahltry it all is!” + </p> + <p> + “Which?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Um!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't ask me. She was a woman. Go to sleep.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0082" id="link2H_4_0082"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ONLY A SUBALTERN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ... 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He patted Bobby on the shoulder and said: “Well done, my boy!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Dormer, for instance,” said Bobby. “I think he comes under the head of + fool-men. He mopes like a sick owl.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” said Bobby, admiringly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What measures? 'Man can't run round coddling his men forever.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Does Dormer do anything, Sergeant?” Bobby asked, with the air of one + continuing an interrupted conversation. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Scales? What scales?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Revere signed the last paper and the Sergeant retreated. + </p> + <p> + “It's a filthy amusement,” sighed Bobby to himself. Then aloud to Revere: + “Are you really worried about Dormer?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You blazing young fool!” said Revere, but his heart was full of much more + pleasant words. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + After six hours, Dormer paced to the stern, saluted, and said—“Beg + y'pardon, sir, but was you ever on the Durh'm Canal?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Bobby Wick. “Come and have some tiffin.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Private Dormer popped his head out of his blanket and gazed at the glory + below and around. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Beg y'pardon—sir,” he said, “but would you—would you min' + shakin' 'ands with me, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” said Bobby, and he shook accordingly. Dormer returned to + barracks and Bobby to mess. + </p> + <p> + “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'?” + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow,” said Revere, three weeks later, “he's doing his best to keep his + things clean.” + </p> + <p> + When the spring died, Bobby joined in the general scramble for Hill leave, + and to his surprise and delight secured three months. + </p> + <p> + “As good a boy as I want,” said Revere, the admiring skipper. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + So Bobby departed joyously to Simla Pahar with a tin box of gorgeous + raiment. + </p> + <p> + “Son of Wick—old Wick of Chota-Buldana? Ask him to dinner, dear,” + said the aged men. + </p> + <p> + “What a nice boy!” said the matrons and the maids. + </p> + <p> + “First-class place, Simla. Oh, ri-ipping!” said Bobby Wick, and ordered + new white cord breeches on the strength of it. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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! + </p> + <p> + “My faith! It'll be more bally corpse than bride, though, this journey. + Jump in, Bobby. Get on, Coachman!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But they were as fit as be-damned when I left them!” said Bobby. + </p> + <p> + “Then you'd better make them as fit as be-damned when you rejoin,” said + the Major, brutally. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “You're worth half a dozen of us, Bobby,” said Revere in a moment of + enthusiasm. “How the devil do you keep it up?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “A little, sir,” said Bobby. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Beg y'pardon, sir,” said a voice at the tent door; “but Dormer's 'orrid + bad, sir, an' they've taken him orf, sir. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “'E's awful bad, sir,” said the voice, hesitatingly. There was an + undecided squelching of heavy boots. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Bobby, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Excusin' 'imself before an' for takin' the liberty, 'e says it would be a + comfort for to assist 'im, sir, if”— + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Private Dormer was certainly “'orrid bad.” He had all but reached the + stage of collapse and was not pleasant to look upon. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been here all night, you young ass?” said the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “There or thereabouts,” said Bobby, ruefully. “He's frozen on to me.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” said Bobby. “I'm feeling done up, somehow.” Revere looked at him + anxiously and said nothing. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Wot's up?” asked twenty tents; and through twenty tents ran the answer—“Wick, + 'e's down.” + </p> + <p> + They brought the news to Revere and he groaned. “Any one but Bobby and I + shouldn't have cared! The Sergeant-Major was right.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Not if I can do anything!” said the Surgeon-Major, who had hastened over + from the mess where he had been dining. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Not going out this journey,” whispered Bobby Wick, gallantly, at the end + of the third day. + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” said the Surgeon-Major. “That's the way to look at it, Bobby.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The desire for life had departed, and Bobby was content to drift away on + the easy tide of Death. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + An expression of hopeless irritation crossed the boy's face, and he tried + to shake his head. + </p> + <p> + The Surgeon-Major bent down—“What is it? Bobby?”— + </p> + <p> + “Not that waltz,” muttered Bobby. “That's our own—our very ownest + own. Mummy dear.” + </p> + <p> + With this he sank into the stupor that gave place to death early next + morning. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Revere stayed in the tent for an hour. When he came out, his eyes were + redder than ever. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Ho!” said Private Conklin. “There's another bloomin' orf'cer dead.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0083" id="link2H_4_0083"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hurrah! hurrah! a soldier's life for me! + Shout, boys, shout! for it makes you jolly and free. + —The Ramrod Corps. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + That is the prologue. This is the story: + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Simmons, ye so-oor,” chuckled the parrot in the veranda, sleepily, + recognizing a well-known voice. Now that was absolutely all. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Colonel John Anthony Deever, C.B., sallied out, only to be saluted by s + spurt of dust at his feet. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Don't shoot,” said he to the men round him; “like as not you'll hit me. + I'll catch the beggar, livin'.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “A orf'cer! A blooming spangled orf'cer,” shrieked Simmons; “I'll make a + scarecrow of that orf'cer!” The trap stopped. + </p> + <p> + “What's this?” demanded the Major of Gunners. “You there, drop your + rifle.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's Jerry Blazes! I ain't got no quarrel with you, Jerry Blazes. + Pass frien', an' all's well!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He walked toward Simmons, with the intention of rushing him, and knocking + him down. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I see you!” said Simmons. “Come a bit furder on an' I'll do for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm comm',” said Corporal Slane, briefly; “you've done a bad day's work, + Sim. Come out 'ere an' come back with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Come to,”—laughed Simmons, sending a cartridge home with his thumb. + “Not before I've settled you an' Jerry Blazes.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + “You move 'and or foot, Slane,” said Simmons, “an' I'll kick Jerry Blazes' + 'ead in, and shoot you after.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “I dare.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + The temptation was more than Simmons could resist, for the Corporal in his + white clothes offered a perfect mark. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + But not a soul thought of comparing the “bloody-minded Simmons” to the + squawking, gaping schoolgirl with which this story opens. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0084" id="link2H_4_0084"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ENLIGHTENMENTS OF PAGETT, M.P. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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.” + </pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “A Happy New Year,” said Orde to his guest. “It's the first you've ever + spent out of England, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “And this is India!” said Pagett for the twentieth time staring long and + intently at the grey feathering of the tamarisks. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “'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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It isn't easy to see truly or far in India. But you had a decent + passage out, hadn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely the gathering together of Congress delegates is of itself a + new thing.” + </p> + <p> + “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: + </p> + <p> + “'Un vrai sire Chatelain Laisse ecrire Le vilain. Sa main digne Quand il + signe Egratigne Le velin.' + </p> + <p> + “And the little egratignures he most likes to make have been scored pretty + deeply by the sword.” + </p> + <p> + “But this is childish and mediaeval nonsense!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it isn't accounts, Mr. Edwards,” said Orde, cheerily. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You are probably, in your workshops, full of English mechanics, out of + the way of learning what the masses think.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And they are full of the Congress, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Nodding briefly to Orde, Edwards mounted his dog-cart and drove off. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “A native?” said Pagett. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “He seems to have a most illiberal prejudice against the Bengali,” said + the M.P. + </p> + <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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Bishen Singh, showing but little sign of discomposure, salaamed + respectfully to the friends and departed. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really mean to say these people prefer to have their cases tried + by English judges?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Orde looked at him with a dreary smile. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you explain this lack of interest?” said Pagett, putting aside the + rest of Orde's remarks. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Again Pagett disregarded the closing sentence. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “But who looks after the popular rights, being thus unrepresented?” + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Pagett's attention, however, was diverted to the gate, where a group of + cultivators stood in apparent hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It is old Jelbo, the Lumherdar, or head-man of Pind Sharkot, and a very + intelligent man for a villager.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with your big friend that he was so terribly in + earnest?” asked Pagett, when he had left. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And how on earth did you answer such a lunatic?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Criminal tribes—er—I don't quite understand,” said Pagett. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But criminals, Orde!” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “It's simply dreadful. They ought to be put down at once. Are there many + of them?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Your honor may perhaps remember me,” he said in English, and Orde scanned + him keenly. + </p> + <p> + “I know your face somehow. You belonged to the Shershah district I think, + when I was in charge there?” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “He is well, and he sends his salaam, but his circumstances are depressed, + and he also is down on his luck.” + </p> + <p> + “You learn English idioms at the Mission College, it seems.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Your father is a good man, and I will do what I can for him.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Orde had scarcely retired with his telegram when Pagett began: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you can tell me something of the National Congress movement?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Excepting, I suppose, Mahommedans, and the Christians?” said Pagett, + quick to use his recent instruction. + </p> + <p> + “These are some mere exceptions to the universal rule.” + </p> + <p> + “But the people outside the College, the working classes, the + agriculturists; your father and mother, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes,” said Pagett, feeling he was a little off the rails, “and what + are the benefits you expect to gain by it?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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”— + </p> + <p> + “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”— + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of young India?” asked Orde. + </p> + <p> + “Curious, very curious—and callow.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But he is a native and knows the facts.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But what does he mean by saying he is a student of a mission college? Is + he a Christian?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But does it succeed; do they make converts?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But our young friend said he wanted steam-engines and factories,” said + Pagett. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” asked Pagett. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Which means?” queried Pagett. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + A clatter of hoofs was heard, and Orde looked up with vexation, but his + brow cleared as a horseman halted under the porch. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You find it a tiresome subject?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's all that, and worse than that, for this kind of agitation is + anything but wholesome for the country.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are a thick-and-thin supporter of the Government as it is.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The mare was dancing with impatience, and Burke was evidently anxious to + be off, so the men wished him goodbye. + </p> + <p> + “Who is your genial friend who condemns both Congress and Government in a + breath?” asked Pagett, with an amused smile. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he is right about the Government's want of enterprise?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “They would act at least with intelligence and consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But is the solicitude of Lancashire in this matter entirely + disinterested?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Orde broke off to listen a moment. “There's Dr. Lathrop talking to my wife + in the drawing-room,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Surely not; that's a lady's voice, and if my ears don't deceive me, an + American.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Pagett intends to study the political aspect of things and the + possibility of bestowing electoral institutions on the people.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—I don't quite follow,” said Pagett, uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But do they marry so early?” said Pagett, vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but the advanced political party here will surely make it their + business to advocate social reforms as well as political ones,” said + Pagett. + </p> + <p> + “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: + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Pagett's eyes opened with a large wonder. Dr. Lathrop rose tempestuously. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a woman with a mission, and no mistake,” said Pagett, after a + pause. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How d'you account for the general indifference, then?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's seven hundred pounds,” said Pagett, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I wish it was,” replied Orde; “but anyway, it's an absurdly inadequate + sum, and shows one of the blank sides of Oriental character.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Is not this rather an ad hominem style of argument?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't quite admit it,” said Pagett. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to say, then, it's not a spontaneous movement?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely that's a very important class. Its members must be the ordained + leaders of popular thought.” + </p> + <p> + “Anywhere else they might be leaders, but they have no social weight + here.” + </p> + <p> + Pagett laughed. “That's an epigrammatic way of putting it, Orde.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Our houses are built on cemeteries,” said Orde. “There are scores of + thousands of graves within ten miles.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Ah? You'll know all about it in three months. Come in to lunch,” said + Orde. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0085" id="link2H_4_0085"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VOLUME V PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0086" id="link2H_4_0086"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LISPETH + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He was breathing queerly and was unconscious. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He made small haste to go away, and recovered his strength slowly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “How can what he and you said be untrue?” asked Lispeth. + </p> + <p> + “We said it as an excuse to keep you quiet, child,” said the Chaplain's + wife. + </p> + <p> + “Then you have lied to me,” said Lispeth, “you and he?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0087" id="link2H_4_0087"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THREE AND—AN EXTRA. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “When halter and heel ropes are slipped, do not give chase with + sticks but with gram.” —Punjabi Proverb. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I can't go,” said Mrs. Bremmil, “it is too soon after poor little Florrie—but + it need not stop you, Tom.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” said she, “I shall be dining out at the Longmores' on the evening + of the 26th. You'd better dine at the club.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + After the dinner at the Longmores, she went on to the dance—a little + late—and encountered Bremmil with Mrs. Hauksbee on his arm. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid you've come too late, MISTER Bremmil,” she said, with her eyes + twinkling. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + There was a fair sprinkling of “H” on it besides “H” at supper. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The couple went off in the darkness together, Bremmil riding very close to + the dandy. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Then we went in to supper. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0088" id="link2H_4_0088"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THROWN AWAY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + They were nothing very heart-breaking or above the average. He might be + crippled for life financially, and want a little nursing. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Partridge—which was the only thing a man could get near the Rest + House—is not big game; so every one laughed. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Presently he came out and found me leaving cards on the Mess. + </p> + <p> + There was no one else in the ante-room. + </p> + <p> + He said: “The Boy has gone out shooting. DOES a man shoot [missing] with a + revolver and a writing-case?” + </p> + <p> + I said: “Nonsense, Major!” for I saw what was in his mind. + </p> + <p> + He said: “Nonsense or nonsense, I'm going to the Canal now—at once. + I don't feel easy.” + </p> + <p> + Then he thought for a minute, and said: “Can you lie?” + </p> + <p> + “You know best,” I answered. “It's my profession.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Once I said: “What's the blazing hurry, Major?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + This uneasiness spread itself to me, and I helped to beat the pony. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he's out shooting,” said I. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I read all that he had written, and passed over each sheet to the Major as + I finished it. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + They would have broken his Father's heart and killed his Mother after + killing her belief in her son. + </p> + <p> + At last the Major dried his eyes openly, and said: “Nice sort of thing to + spring on an English family! What shall we do?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Lastly, the Major said: “We must send a lock of hair too. A woman values + that.” + </p> + <p> + But there were reasons why we could not find a lock fit to send. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Then the Major said: “For God's sake let's get outside—away from the + room—and think!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I said: “Then why didn't we bring the body back to the cantonments?” + </p> + <p> + The Major thought for a minute:—“Because the people bolted when they + heard of the cholera. And the ekka has gone!” + </p> + <p> + That was strictly true. We had forgotten all about the ekka-pony, and he + had gone home. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + All things considered, she WAS under an obligation; but not exactly as she + meant. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0089" id="link2H_4_0089"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MISS YOUGHAL'S SAIS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When Man and Woman are agreed, what can the Kazi do? —Mahomedan + Proverb. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes more. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The Youghals went up to Simla in April. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Here all trace of him was lost, until a sais met me on the Simla Mall with + this extraordinary note: + </p> + <p> + “Dear old man, + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Yours, + </p> + <h3> + “E. STRICKLAND.” + </h3> + <p> + I ordered two boxes, and handed them over to the sais with my love. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He also says that, if he chose to write all he saw, his head would be + broken in several places. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?”......... + </p> + <p> + About seven minutes later, there was a wild hurroosh at the Club. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The General, arrayed in purple and fine linen, was before him. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + But he fills in his Departmental returns beautifully. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0090" id="link2H_4_0090"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + YOKED WITH AN UNBELIEVER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I am dying for you, and you are dying for another. —Punjabi + Proverb. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + It was the last flicker before the light went out. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.......... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Worst of all, Dunmaya is making a decent man of him; and he will be + ultimately saved from perdition through her training. + </p> + <p> + Which is manifestly unfair. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0091" id="link2H_4_0091"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FALSE DAWN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The social atmosphere was heavily charged and wanted clearing. + </p> + <p> + We met at the parade-ground at ten: the night was fearfully hot. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + “You have got to come back with me, Miss Copleigh. Saumarez has something + to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I felt tired and limp, and a good deal ashamed of myself as I went in for + a bath and some sleep. + </p> + <p> + There is a woman's version of this story, but it will never be written. + ... unless Maud Copleigh cares to try. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0092" id="link2H_4_0092"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE RESCUE OF PLUFFLES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing good about Mrs. Reiver, unless it was her dress. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + She spent her life in proving that rule. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + She said she knew the signs of these things. If she did not, no one else + could. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee had seen an earlier generation of his stamp bud and blossom, + and decay into fat Captains and tubby Majors. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee wanted to keep him under her wing to the last. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee gave a sigh of relief when both the “I wills” had been said, + and went her way. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + For these reasons if any one says anything more than usually nasty about + Mrs. Hauksbee, tell him the story of the Rescue of Pluffles. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0093" id="link2H_4_0093"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CUPID'S ARROWS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Her Mamma was very anxious about her daughter's future, as all good Mammas + should be. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Departmentally, he was one of the best men the Government of India owned. + Socially, he was like a blandishing gorilla. + </p> + <p> + When he turned his attentions to Miss Beighton, I believe that Mrs. + </p> + <p> + Beighton wept with delight at the reward Providence had sent her in her + old age. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Beighton held his tongue. He was an easy-going man. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Young Cubbon on the left turned white, and his Devil prompted Barr-Saggott + to smile. Now horses used to shy when Barr-Saggott smiled. + </p> + <p> + Kitty saw that smile. She looked to her left-front, gave an almost + imperceptible nod to Cubbon, and went on shooting. + </p> + <p> + 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:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Gold. Red. Blue. Black. White. Total Hits. Total Score Miss Beighton + 1 1 0 0 5 7 21 +</pre> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + But Cubbon took her away instead, and—the rest isn't worth printing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0094" id="link2H_4_0094"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HIS CHANCE IN LIFE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Very few mistresses admit this sort of reasoning. Miss Vezzis was as black + as a boot, and to our standard of taste, hideously ugly. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Next week Michele was transferred, and Miss Vezzis dropped tears upon the + window-sash of the “Intermediate” compartment as he left the Station. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + When he had been at Tibasu for nearly three weeks his chance came. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + [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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The two exceptions must have suffered from sunstroke. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0095" id="link2H_4_0095"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WATCHES OF THE NIGHT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + This began in a practical joke; but it has gone far enough now, and is + getting serious. + </p> + <p> + Platte, the Subaltern, being poor, had a Waterbury watch and a plain + leather guard. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel had a Waterbury watch also, and for guard, the lip-strap of a + curb-chain. Lip-straps make the best watch guards. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Platte stuffed his handkerchief under the pad, put the cart straight, and + went home. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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..... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0096" id="link2H_4_0096"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE OTHER MAN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + This showed itself later on. + </p> + <p> + Then many months passed, and Mrs. Schreiderling took to being ill. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + He left her at Simla one August, and went down to his regiment. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Then she fell face down in the dirt as I came up. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0097" id="link2H_4_0097"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CONSEQUENCES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Which I believe was true, or nearly so. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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.......... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0098" id="link2H_4_0098"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CONVERSION OF AURELIAN McGOGGIN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + This is not a tale exactly. It is a Tract; and I am immensely proud of it. + Making a Tract is a Feat. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said the doctor, “you'll break down because you are + over-engined for your beam.” McGoggin was a little chap. + </p> + <p> + One day, the collapse came—as dramatically as if it had been meant + to embellish a Tract. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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—” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “As I was saying,” he went on slowly and with an effort—“due to + perfectly natural causes—perfectly natural causes. I mean—” + </p> + <p> + “Hi! Blastoderm, you've given me the Calcutta Mercantile Advertiser.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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:— + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly conceivable—dictionary—red oak—amenable—cause—retaining—shuttlecock—alone.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Then—with a scream:— + </p> + <p> + “What is it?—Can't—reserve—attainable—market—obscure—” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Two days later, the Blastoderm found his tongue again. The first question + he asked was: “What was it?” The Doctor enlightened him. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Go up into the Hills for three months, and don't think about it,” said + the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “But I can't understand it,” repeated the Blastoderm. “It was my OWN mind + and memory.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Don't blame me if he throws a glass at your head! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0099" id="link2H_4_0099"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A GERM DESTROYER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + This tale is a justifiable exception. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “J-j-judge for yourself, Sir,” said Mellish. “Y' Excellency shall judge + for yourself! Absolutely infallible, on my honor.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Glorious! Glorious!” sobbed his Excellency. “Not a germ, as you justly + observe, could exist! I can swear it. A magnificent success!” + </p> + <p> + 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.”......... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0100" id="link2H_4_0100"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + KIDNAPPED. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + That was Peythroppe's ultimatum, and any remonstrance drove him frantic. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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....... ... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + After that I don't know what happened. This much is certain. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hauksbee said that Mr. Peythroppe was shooting in Rajputana with the + Three Men; so we were compelled to believe her. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + One of the Three Men had a cut on his nose, cause by the kick of a gun. + Twelve-bores kick rather curiously. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0101" id="link2H_4_0101"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ARREST OF LIEUTENANT GOLIGHTLY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The men were going to run him up to Fort Govindghar. And “running up” is a + performance almost as undignified as the Frog March. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He yielded to his luck, and at that point the down-train from Lahore came + in carrying one of Golightly's Majors. + </p> + <p> + This is the Major's evidence in full:— + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0102" id="link2H_4_0102"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HOUSE OF SUDDHOO + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And here the story begins. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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....... ... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0103" id="link2H_4_0103"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HIS WEDDED WIFE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Where's my husband?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Besides being dangerous. There is no sort of use in playing with fire, + even for fun. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0104" id="link2H_4_0104"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BROKEN LINK HANDICAPPED. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + There are more ways of running a horse to suit your book than pulling his + head off in the straight. Some men forget this. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + It was a broken-link Handicap with a vengeance. It broke nearly all the + men concerned, and nearly broke the heart of Shackles' owner. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0105" id="link2H_4_0105"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BEYOND THE PALE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Love heeds not caste nor sleep a broken bed. I went in search of + love and lost myself.” Hindu Proverb. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Then, whatever trouble falls is in the ordinary course of things—neither + sudden, alien, nor unexpected. + </p> + <p> + This is the story of a man who wilfully stepped beyond the safe limits of + decent every-day society, and paid for it heavily. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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— +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + As the song stopped, Trejago stepped up under the grating and whispered:—“I + am here.” + </p> + <p> + Bisesa was good to look upon. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + A week, and then three weeks, passed without a sign from Bisesa. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + But Trejago pays his calls regularly, and is reckoned a very decent sort + of man. + </p> + <p> + There is nothing peculiar about him, except a slight stiffness, caused by + a riding-strain, in the right leg. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0106" id="link2H_4_0106"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN ERROR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + This is a rule; so there must be an exception to prove it. + </p> + <p> + Moriarty's case was that exception. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.......... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + But the question is, what claim will Mrs. Reiver have to the credit of + Moriarty's salvation, when her day of reckoning comes? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0107" id="link2H_4_0107"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A BANK FRAUD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + As he said himself, and as many men found out rather to their surprise, + there were two Burkes, both very much at your service. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Further, he was delicate, suffered from some trouble in his chest, and was + short in his temper. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Reggie's face changed at once into the face of “Mr. Reginald Burke,” and + he answered:—“What can I do?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor went away, and Reggie sat down to open the evening mail. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Reggie was humble. And he had letters in his desk from the Directors that + a Gilbarte or a Hardie might have been proud of! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Reggie listened patiently when the office work was over, and encouraged + him. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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....” + </p> + <p> + Here his voice died down, and Reggie stooped over him. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Then he turned his face to the wall and died. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “If I'd been only ten minutes earlier,” thought Reggie, “I might have + heartened him up to pull through another day.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0108" id="link2H_4_0108"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TODS' AMENDMENT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + Now Tods' Mamma was a singularly charming woman, and every one in Simla + knew Tods. Most men had saved him from death on occasions. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Tods was the idol of some eighty jhampanis, and half as many saises. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “How much?” said the Legal Member. + </p> + <p> + “Murramutted—mended.—Put theek, you know—made nice to + please Ditta Mull!” + </p> + <p> + The Legal Member left his place and moved up next to Tods. + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about Ryotwari, little man?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they do—do they? What do they say, Tods?” + </p> + <p> + Tods tucked his feet under his red flannel dressing-gown and said:—“I + must fink.” + </p> + <p> + The Legal Member waited patiently. Then Tods, with infinite compassion: + </p> + <p> + “You don't speak my talk, do you, Councillor Sahib?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I am sorry to say I do not,” said the Legal' Member. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Tods. “I must fink in English.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Here Tods stopped short, for the whole table were listening. The Legal + Member said to Tods: “Is that all?” + </p> + <p> + “All I can remember,” said Tods. “But you should see Ditta Mull's big + monkey. It's just like a Councillor Sahib.” + </p> + <p> + “Tods! Go to bed,” said his father. + </p> + <p> + Tods gathered up his dressing-gown tail and departed. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0109" id="link2H_4_0109"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN THE PRIDE OF HIS YOUTH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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. +</pre> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “If a youth would be distinguished in his art, art, art, + He must keep the girls away from his heart, heart, heart.” + </pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “The boy's mad!” said the Head. + </p> + <p> + I think he was right; but Dicky Hatt never reappeared to settle the + question. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0110" id="link2H_4_0110"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PIG. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Nafferton cast about for a peg whereon to hang his earnestness, and for a + string that would communicate with Pinecoffin. He found both. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Nafferton went back to the second section of his fifth question. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + There was a new man at the head of the Department of Castigation. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Pinecoffin answered insanely that he had written everything that could be + written about Pig, and that some furlough was due to him. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Nafferton was very sympathetic. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I've given you a good deal of trouble, haven't I?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Pinecoffin found nothing to say save bad words; and Nafferton smiled ever + so sweetly, and asked him to dinner. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0111" id="link2H_4_0111"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ROUT OF THE WHITE HUSSARS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + When the Colonel cast the Drum-horse of the White Hussars, there was + nearly a mutiny. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The White Hussars have one great and peculiar privilege. They won it at + Fontenoy, I think. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + After the “dismiss” was sounded, the officers rode off home to prepare for + stables; and the men filed into the lines, riding easy. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The band stopped playing, and, for a moment, there was a hush. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Said the Second-in-Command to the Colonel, unofficially:—“These + little things ensure popularity, and do not the least affect discipline.” + </p> + <p> + “But I went back on my word,” said the Colonel. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who the deuce is this lunatic who trades in bones?” said Hogan-Yale. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Hogan-Yale smiled and handed two rupees to the Band-Sergeant, saying:—“Write + the date on the skull, will you?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0112" id="link2H_4_0112"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BRONCKHORST DIVORCE-CASE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Now lend me fifty rupees,” said Strickland, “and give me your Words of + Honor that you won't tell my Wife.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.......... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.. ........ + </p> + <p> + What Biel wants to know is:—“Why didn't I press home the charge + against the Bronckhorst-brute, and have him run in?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “What I want to know is:—How do women like Mrs. Bronckhorst come to + marry men like Bronckhorst?” + </p> + <p> + And my conundrum is the most unanswerable of the three. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0113" id="link2H_4_0113"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VENUS ANNODOMINI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Among the worshippers of the Venus Annodomini was young Gayerson. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “My daughter is coming out in a fortnight, Mr. Gayerson,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Your WHAT?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“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. +</pre> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Presently, he heard the Venus Annodomini saying:—“Do you know that + your son is one of my most devoted admirers?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Very Young” Gayerson said nothing. His conversation with the daughter of + the Venus Annodomini was, through the rest of the call, fragmentary and + disjointed.......... + </p> + <p> + “At five, tomorrow then,” said the Venus Annodomini. “And mind you are + punctual.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said “Very Young” Gayerson. “I am going down tomorrow + morning. My ponies are at your service, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Goodbye, Tom,” whispered the Venus Annodomini. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0114" id="link2H_4_0114"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BISARA OF POOREE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + [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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + In a good man it would have been grand. He being what he was, it was only + a nuisance. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + A week later, Pack got his definite dismissal from Miss Hollis. + </p> + <p> + There had been a mistake in the placing of her affections, she said. + </p> + <p> + So he went away to Madras, where he can do no great harm even if he lives + to be a Colonel. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Better still, steal it as Pack did, and you will be sorry that you had not + killed yourself in the beginning. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0115" id="link2H_4_0115"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE GATE OF A HUNDRED SORROWS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “If I can attain Heaven for a pice, why should you be envious?” + —Opium Smoker's Proverb. +</pre> + <p> + 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:— + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + But he wouldn't give us credit for a pipeful—not for anything. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + Well, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters much to me—only I wished + Tsin-ling wouldn't put bran into the Black Smoke. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0116" id="link2H_4_0116"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STORY OF MUHAMMAD DIN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Does the Heaven-born want this ball?” said Imam Din, deferentially. + </p> + <p> + The Heaven-born set no particular store by it; but of what use was a + polo-ball to a khitmatgar? + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “They have no stamina, these brats,” said the Doctor, as he left Imam + Din's quarters. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0117" id="link2H_4_0117"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE STRENGTH OF A LIKENESS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If your mirror be broken, look into still water; but have a care + that you do not fall in. + —Hindu Proverb. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He would take any amount of trouble—he was a selfish man habitually—to + meet and forestall, if possible, her wishes. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Anything outside that, reminding him of another personality jarred, and he + showed that it did. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Only—only no woman likes being made love through instead of to—specially + on behalf of a musty divinity of four years' standing. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.......... + </p> + <p> + He got understanding a month later. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Hannasyde shook hands, and said very earnestly and adoringly:—“I + hope to Heaven I shall never see your face again!” + </p> + <p> + And Mrs. Haggert understood. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0118" id="link2H_4_0118"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WRESSLEY OF THE FOREIGN OFFICE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Then Simla laughed, for Wressley in love was slightly ridiculous. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Ruskin writes something like this somewhere, I think; but in ordinary life + a few kisses are better and save time. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Men often do their best work blind, for some one else's sake. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I give her review verbatim:—“Oh, your book? It's all about those + how-wid Wajahs. I didn't understand it.”......... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0119" id="link2H_4_0119"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BY WORD OF MOUTH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” said Dumoise. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Dumoise threw the telegram across the table and said:—“Well?” + </p> + <p> + The other Doctor said nothing. It was all that he could say. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Where is the Sahib going?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “To Nuddea,” said Dumoise, softly. + </p> + <p> + Ram Dass clawed Dumoise's knees and boots and begged him not to go. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0120" id="link2H_4_0120"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO BE HELD FOR REFERENCE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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—” + </pre> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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:— + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + I was admitted to the McIntosh household—I and my good tobacco. + </p> + <p> + But nothing else. Unluckily, one cannot visit a loafer in the Serai by + day. Friends buying horses would not understand it. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'I the Trinity illustrate, + Drinking watered orange-pulp— + In three sips the Aryan frustrate, + While he drains his at one gulp.—' +</pre> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + The native woman dipped her hand in the dish with us. This was wrong. The + wife should always wait until the husband has eaten. + </p> + <p> + McIntosh Jellaludin apologized, saying:— + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He patted the woman's head as he spoke, and she cooed softly. She was not + pretty to look at. + </p> + <p> + McIntosh never told me what position he had held before his fall. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You were abominably drunk if that's what you mean,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He turned round on the blanket, put his head between his fists and + continued:— + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “For pity's sake, don't say that! I tell you, it IS good and most + enviable. Think of my consolations!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you so many, then, McIntosh?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped here, and crawled across the room for a drink of water. + </p> + <p> + He was very shaky and sick. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I said, “thank you,” as the native woman put the bundle into my arms. + </p> + <p> + “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:— + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The papers were in a hopeless muddle. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The bundle needed much expurgation and was full of Greek nonsense, at the + head of the chapters, which has all been cut out. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I don't want the Giant's Robe to come true in my case. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0121" id="link2H_4_0121"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VOLUME VI THE LIGHT THAT FAILED + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0122" id="link2H_4_0122"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LIGHT THAT FAILED + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + “WHAT do you think she'd do if she caught us? We oughtn't to have it, you + know,” said Maisie. + </p> + <p> + “Beat me, and lock you up in your bedroom,” Dick answered, without + hesitation. “Have you got the cartridges?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; they're in my pocket, but they are joggling horribly. Do pin-fire + cartridges go off of their own accord?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know. Take the revolver, if you are afraid, and let me carry them.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Where he had looked for love, she gave him first aversion and then hate. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Mf!” said Maisie, sniffing the air. “I wonder what makes the sea so + smelly? I don'tlike it!” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. I know how to load. I'll fire at the breakwater out there.” + </p> + <p> + He fired, and Amomma ran away bleating. The bullet threw up a spurt of mud + to the right of the wood-wreathed piles. + </p> + <p> + “Throws high and to the right. You try, Maisie. Mind, it's loaded all + round.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I think it hit the post,” she said, shading her eyes and looking out + across the sailless sea. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he's eaten two.” + </p> + <p> + “Horrid little beast! Then they'll joggle about inside him and blow up, + and serve him right.... Oh, Dick! have I killed you?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Don't,” said Dick, jumping to his feet and shaking himself. “I'm not a + bit hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I might have killed you,” protested Maisie, the corners of her + mouth drooping. “What should I have done then?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Let me try,” said Maisie, imperiously. “I'm all right now.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “There won't be any next holidays for me,” said Maisie. “I'm going away.” + </p> + <p> + “Where to?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” she said, after a pause, “that I could see you again sometime. + You wish that, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but it would have been better if—if—you had—shot + straight over there—down by the breakwater.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? Because you're going away from Mrs. Jennett?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “From me, then?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” she said. “I suppose it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Maisie, you must know. I'm not supposing.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's go home,” said Maisie, weakly. + </p> + <p> + But Dick was not minded to retreat. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn't. I did tell. Oh, Dick, what's the use of worrying?” + </p> + <p> + “There isn't any; but we've been together years and years, and I didn't + know how much I cared.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe you ever did care.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn't; but I do,—I care awfully now, Maisie,” he gulped,—“Maisie, + darling, say you care too, please.” + </p> + <p> + “I do, indeed I do; but it won't be any use.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I am going away.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I promise,” she said solemnly; “but if I care there is no need for + promising.” + </p> + <p> + “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.... + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You can't forget now,” said Dick, at last. There was that on his cheek + that stung more than gunpowder. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “We shall be awfully late for tea,” said Maisie. “Let's go home.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “It's very pretty,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Be an artist, then,” said Maisie. “You're always laughing at my trying to + draw; and it will do you good.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll never laugh at anything you do,” he answered. “I'll be an artist, + and I'll do things.” + </p> + <p> + “Artists always want money, don'tthey?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You belong to me,” said Dick, “for ever and ever.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “If you aren't a gentleman you might try to behave like one,” said Mrs. + Jennett, spitefully. “You've been quarrelling with Maisie again.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll lend you a packing-needle for six square inches of it then. Both my + knees are worn through.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Sugar-bags, indeed! Hi! you pilot man there! lend me all the sails for + that whale-boat.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What are you for?” said Torpenhow. The greeting of the correspondent is + that of the commercial traveller on the road. + </p> + <p> + “My own hand,” said the young man, without looking up. “Have you any + tobacco?” + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow waited till the sketch was finished, and when he had looked at + it said, “What's your business here?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You've cheek enough to build a redoubt with,” said Torpenhow, and took + stock of the new acquaintance. “Do you always draw like that?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I'm amusing myself here.” + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow looked at the sketches again, and nodded. “Yes, you're right to + take your first chance when you can get it.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Heldar. Do they give me a free hand?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Now they were sitting on the sand-bank, and the whale-boats were bringing + up the remainder of the column. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Torpenhow, as he put the last rude stitches into his + over-long-neglected gear, “it has been a beautiful business.” + </p> + <p> + “The patch or the campaign?” said Dick. “Don't think much of either, + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “It's very pretty. Specially the lettering on the sack. G.B.T. Government + Bullock Train. That's a sack from India.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + A bugle blew furiously, and the men on the bank hurried to their arms and + accoutrements. + </p> + <p> + “'Pisan soldiery surprised while bathing,'” remarked Dick, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “D'you remember the picture? It's by Michael Angelo; all beginners copy + it. That scrub's alive with enemy.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the Mahdi's taken another town,” said Dick, “and set all these + yelping devils free to show us up. Lend us your glass.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Maisie,” said Dick. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You must come to the dance, too,” said Dick; “I shall want you.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur has paid for all,” said Madame. “To the pleasure of seeing + Monsieur again.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + A thin gray fog hung over the city, and the streets were very cold; for + summer was in England. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “How much?” said Dick, as one who habitually dealt in millions. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “But you're looking tucked up,” he concluded. + </p> + <p> + “Got anything to eat?” said Dick, his eye roaming round the room. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be having breakfast in a minute. What do you say to sausages?” + </p> + <p> + “No, anything but sausages! Torp, I've been starving on that accursed + horse-flesh for thirty days and thirty nights.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, what lunacy has been your latest?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Ouf!” said he. “That's heavenly! Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Why in the world didn't you come to me?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Dick grunted scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “They're a remarkably sensible people.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Do they give you a free hand here?” said Dick, cautiously. He was Ishmael + enough to know the value of liberty. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “You're a great deal too kind, old man.” + </pre> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Weak heart,” said Dick to himself, and, as he shook hands, “very weak + heart. His pulse is shaking his fingers.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Dick glanced at Torpenhow, whose left eyelid lay for a moment dead on his + cheek. + </p> + <p> + “I shan't forget,” said Dick, every instinct of defence roused in him. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that you are going to keep them?” + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow watched Dick's face and whistled. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, sir, but you have no—no younger man who can arrange + this business with me?” + </p> + <p> + “I speak for the syndicate. I see no reason for a third party to——” + </p> + <p> + “You will in a minute. Be good enough to give back my sketches.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Considering what services the syndicate have done you in putting your + name before the world——” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; one hundred and forty-seven of them. Well, I must say, Dick, you've + begun well.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The afternoon was well advanced when Torpenhow came to the door and saw + Dick dancing a wild saraband under the skylight. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And then—oh, then,” said Dick, still capering, “we will spoil the + Egyptians!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + “WELL, and how does success taste?” said Torpenhow, some three months + later. He had just returned to chambers after a holiday in the country. + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said Dick, as he sat licking his lips before the easel in the + studio. + </p> + <p> + “I want more,—heaps more. The lean years have passed, and I approve + of these fat ones.” + </p> + <p> + “Be careful, old man. That way lies bad work.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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'?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “When were you under Kami, man of extraordinary beginnings?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Recollect some of those views in the Soudan?” said Torpenhow, with a + provoking drawl. + </p> + <p> + 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——” + </p> + <p> + “Modest man! Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “This comes of my leaving town for a month. Dickie, you've been + promenading among the toy-shops and hearing people talk.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “A man might have gone to a pub, and got decently drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It won't. It has taught me what Art—holy sacred Art—means.” + </p> + <p> + “You've learnt something while I've been away. What is Art?” + </p> + <p> + “Give 'em what they know, and when you've done it once do it again.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Once more, modest child!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you suppose you're going to give that thing out as your work?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? I did it. Alone I did it, in the interests of sacred, home-bred + Art and Dickenson's Weekly.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + The canvas ripped as Torpenhow's booted foot shot through it, and the + terrier jumped down, thinking rats were about. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why the Dickenson do you want to work on a weekly paper? It's slow + bleeding of power.” + </p> + <p> + “It brings in the very desirable dollars,” said Dick, his hands in his + pockets. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow watched him with large contempt. “Why, I thought it was a man!” + said he. “It's a child.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely.” And Dick departed, to take counsel with himself in the rapidly + gathering London fog. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind the trouble in the Balkans. Those little states are always + screeching. You've heard about Dick's luck?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He does. He's beginning to take liberties with what he thinks is his + reputation.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “So I told him. I don't think he believes it.” + </p> + <p> + “They never do when they first start off. What's that wreck on the ground + there?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How should he know? He thinks he is his own master.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he? I could undeceive him for his good, if there's any virtue in + print. He wants the whiplash.” + </p> + <p> + “Lay it on with science, then. I'd flay him myself, but I like him too + much.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he cut you out?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “He died, Dick. Not cartridges; over-eating. He was always greedy. Isn't + it funny?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. No. Do you mean Amomma?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye—es. No. This. Where have you come from?” + </p> + <p> + “Over there,” He pointed eastward through the fog. “And you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm in the north,—the black north, across all the Park. I am + very busy.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I paint a great deal. That's all I have to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what's happened? You had three hundred a year.” + </p> + <p> + “I have that still. I am painting; that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you alone, then?” + </p> + <p> + “There's a girl living with me. Don't walk so fast, Dick; you're out of + step.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you noticed it too?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I did. You're always out of step.” + </p> + <p> + “So I am. I'm sorry. You went on with the painting?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But Kami is in Paris surely?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you sell much?” + </p> + <p> + “Now and again, but not often. There is my 'bus. I must take it or lose + half an hour. Goodbye, Dick.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Well—I—am—damned!” exclaimed Dick, and returned to the + chambers. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow and the Nilghai found him sitting on the steps to the studio + door, repeating the phrase with an awful gravity. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Halloo, Nilghai. Back again? How are the Balkans and all the little + Balkans? One side of your face is out of drawing, as usual.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + “That's 'His Last Shot,' second edition. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “——'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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + The Nilghai winced. He had not thought of this. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it isn't seven yet!” said Torpenhow, with amazement. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The door shut and was locked. + </p> + <p> + “What can you do with a man like that?” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “Leave him alone. He's as mad as a hatter.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. Come out and have supper. You're smoking on an empty stomach.” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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 +</pre> + <p> + Next morning Torpenhow found Dick sunk in deepest repose of tobacco. + </p> + <p> + “Well, madman, how d'you feel?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I'm trying to find out.” + </p> + <p> + “You had much better do some work.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe; but I'm in no hurry. I've made a discovery. Torp, there's too much + Ego in my Cosmos.” + </p> + <p> + “Not really! Is this revelation due to my lectures, or the Nilghai's?” + </p> + <p> + “It came to me suddenly, all on my own account. Much too much Ego; and now + I'm going to work.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Beeton, did Mr. Heldar dine out at all while I was out of town?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course! of course! I'm afraid the top floor isn't the quietest in the + house.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing out of your studio at this hour?” said Dick, as one + who was entitled to ask. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I know what palette-knifing means. What was the piccy?” + </p> + <p> + “A fancy head that wouldn't come right,—horrid thing!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like working over scraped paint when I'm doing flesh. The grain + comes up woolly as the paint dries.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “You're as untidy as ever.” + </p> + <p> + “That comes well from you. Look at your own cuff.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “No, there's nothing changed. How good it is! D'you remember when I + fastened your hair into the snap of a hand-bag?” + </p> + <p> + Maisie nodded, with a twinkle in her eyes, and turned her full face to + Dick. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute,” said he. “That mouth is down at the corners a little. + Who's been worrying you, Maisie?” + </p> + <p> + “No one but myself. I never seem to get on with my work, and yet I try + hard enough, and Kami says——” + </p> + <p> + “'Continuez, mesdemoiselles. Continuez toujours, mes enfants.' Kami is + depressing. I beg your pardon.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's what he says. He told me last summer that I was doing better + and he'd let me exhibit this year.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in this place, surely?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not. The Salon.” + </p> + <p> + “You fly high.” + </p> + <p> + “I've been beating my wings long enough. Where do you exhibit, Dick?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't exhibit. I sell.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your line, then?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + A small knot of people stood round a print-shop that Dick knew well. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Number Three'll be off the limber, next jolt,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “No, 'e won't. See 'ow 'is foot's braced against the iron? 'E's all + right.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + That was something that she could understand. + </p> + <p> + “And I wanted it so! Oh, I did want it so!” she said at last, under her + breath. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I see. Oh, what a thing to have come to one!” + </p> + <p> + “Come to one, indeed! I had to go out and look for it. What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “I call it success. Tell me how you got it.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Then he checked himself abruptly. “And so I took all I wanted,” he said, + “and I had to fight for it. Now you tell.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Maisie flushed a little. “It's all very well for you to talk, but you've + had the success and I haven't.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Maisie poked the gravel with her parasol. They were sitting on a bench. + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” she said slowly. “But I've got my work to do, and I must + do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do it with me, then, dear. I won't interrupt.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Dick, I don't want you to—go—out of—my life, now + you've just come back.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally. We belong.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Again there was triumph in Dick's eye. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! You're only Dick,—and a print-shop.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Maisie looked up for a moment and dropped her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “So do ours, I think. Never mind. Three months from today we shall be + laughing at this together.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Half-way to the studio, Dick was smitten with a terrible thought. The + figure of a solitary woman in the fog suggested it. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “You! No. How could you?” + </p> + <p> + “Liver out of order?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “The truly healthy man doesn't know he has a soul. What business have you + with luxuries of that kind?” + </p> + <p> + “It came of itself. Who's the man that says that we're all islands + shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding?” + </p> + <p> + “He's right, whoever he is,—except about the misunderstanding. I + don't think we could misunderstand each other.” + </p> + <p> + The blue smoke curled back from the ceiling in clouds. Then Torpenhow, + insinuatingly—“Dick, is it a woman?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Dick shivered. “All right,” said he. “When this island is disintegrated, + it will call for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall come round the corner and help to disintegrate it some more. + We're talking nonsense. Come along to a theatre.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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. +</pre> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + “Not till I get something better,” said Maisie, shutting the book. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “That's childish,” said Maisie, “and I didn't think it of you. It must be + my work. Mine,—mine,—mine!” + </p> + <p> + “Go and design decorative medallions for rich brewers' houses. You are + thoroughly good at that.” Dick was sick and savage. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow's hair would have stood on end had he heard the fluency with + which Dick preached his own gospel of Art. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Maisie protested; she did not care for the pure line. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But other people——” began Maisie. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I'll buy it,” said Dick, promptly, “at your own price.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's all spoiled!” said Maisie. “And I never saw it. Was it like?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Dick under his breath to the red-haired girl, and he + removed himself swiftly. + </p> + <p> + “How that man hates me!” said the girl. “And how he loves you, Maisie!” + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense? I knew Dick's very fond of me, but he had his work to do, + and I have mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is fond of you, and I think he knows there is something in + impressionism, after all. Maisie, can't you see?” + </p> + <p> + “See? See what?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Your things smell of tobacco and blood,” she said once. “Can't you do + anything except soldiers?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't that bad enough?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I wish he were. He is such an aggressive, cocksure, you-be-damned + fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That trouble is long coming. I wonder if we could drag Dick out there + when it comes off?” + </p> + <p> + Dick entered the room soon afterwards, and the question was put to him. + </p> + <p> + “Not good enough,” he said shortly. “I'm too comf'y where I am.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Here, in England.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Um!” said Dick, pulling at his pipe. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that as well as you do. Give me credit for a little gumption.” + </p> + <p> + “Be hanged if I do!” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “That's a bad sign,” said the Nilghai, in an undertone. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Shouldn't wonder if that has made him a trifle mad.” + </p> + <p> + “I should. He's a most businesslike madman.” + </p> + <p> + Then Dick began to snore furiously. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” said Maisie, wearily. She had been standing before her easel too + long, and was very tired. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “If there's a good working light tomorrow, I lose a day.” Maisie balanced + the heavy white chestnut palette irresolutely. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely you are going to ask——” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Dick went away delighted, and by consequence did no work whatever. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “He deserves it. I shall have the studio floor thoroughly scrubbed while + you're away. It's very dirty.” + </p> + <p> + Maisie had enjoyed no sort of holiday for months and looked forward to the + little excitement, but not without misgivings. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Are you quite warm enough! Are you sure you wouldn't like some more + breakfast? Put the cloak over your knees.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm quite comf'y, thanks. Where are we going, Dick? Oh, do stop singing + like that. People will think we're mad.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It will be lovely weather in the country,” said Dick. + </p> + <p> + “But where are we going?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait and see.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I knew where we are going,” she repeated for the twentieth time. + </p> + <p> + The name of a well-remembered station flashed by, towards the end of the + run, and Maisie was delighted. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Dick, you villain!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I thought you might like to see the place again. You haven't been + here since the old times, have you?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I never cared to see Mrs. Jennett again; and she was all that was + ever there.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. How she beat you for it! I never told it was you.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose she should come out now, what would you do?” said Dick, with mock + terror. + </p> + <p> + “I should make a face.” + </p> + <p> + “Show, then,” said Dick, dropping into the speech of childhood. + </p> + <p> + Maisie made that face in the direction of the mean little villa, and Dick + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “'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...'” + </p> + <p> + The sentence ended abruptly. Maisie remembered when it had last been used. + </p> + <p> + “'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?” + </p> + <p> + “We must walk, out of respect to the place. How little changed it all is!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Dick, have you any pennies?” said Maisie, half to herself. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She looked round cautiously, and with a laugh set off, swiftly as the + ulster allowed, till she was out of breath. + </p> + <p> + “We used to run miles,” she panted. “It's absurd that we can't run now.” + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + “Dick, I never got you a beating on purpose in my life.” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course you never did. Good heavens! look at the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's the same as ever!” said Maisie. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It's worse than anything I imagined,” said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't a woman. It's one woman; and it's a girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's your proof?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It looks odd; but maybe he's decided to buy a horse at last. He might get + up for that, mightn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “Buy a blazing wheelbarrow! He'd have told us if there was a horse in the + wind. It's a girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be certain. Perhaps it's only a married woman.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Let it be a girl, then. She may teach him that there's somebody else in + the world besides himself.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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——” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see the old breakwater,” said Maisie, under her breath. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Now, if Ammoma were only here!” said Maisie. + </p> + <p> + For a long time both were silent. Then Dick took Maisie's hand and called + her by her name. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head and looked out to sea. + </p> + <p> + “Maisie, darling, doesn't it make any difference?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” between clenched teeth. “I'd—I'd tell you if it did; but it + doesn't. Oh, Dick, please be sensible.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think that it ever will?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm sure it won't.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that true, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What in the world for?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have, and talking only makes it worse.” + </p> + <p> + “Then don't talk about it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No. It does not.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd tell me if it did?” + </p> + <p> + “I should let you know, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Maisie did not consider the last question worth answering, and Dick was + forced to repeat it. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you listen?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't like being laughed at, Maisie, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “'Honest, honest, and honest over!'” quoted Dick from a catchword of long + ago. “Tell me what Kami always says.” + </p> + <p> + Maisie hesitated. “He—he says that there is feeling in them.” + </p> + <p> + “How dare you tell me a fib like that? Remember, I was under Kami for two + years. I know exactly what he says.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't a fib.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is what he says; and I'm beginning to think that he is right.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly he is.” Dick admitted that two people in the world could do and + say no wrong. Kami was the man. + </p> + <p> + “And now you say the same thing. It's so disheartening.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You're going the wrong way to get it, then. Hasn't Kami ever told you + so?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't quote Kami to me. I want to know what you think. My work's bad, to + begin with.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say that, and I don't think it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's amateurish, then.” + </p> + <p> + “That it most certainly is not. You're a work-woman, darling, to your + boot-heels, and I respect you for that.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't laugh at me behind my back?” + </p> + <p> + “No, dear. You see, you are more to me than any one else. Put this cloak + thing round you, or you'll get chilled.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Well? Why am I wrong in trying to get a little success?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But how does that affect——” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand that.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “It's so easy for you to talk in that way. People like what you do. Don't + you ever think about the gallery?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't treat my work lightly. You know that it's everything to me.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely one can do that sometimes?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is afraid?—you, or the sun?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Can one work there?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't quite like that place. It sounds lazy. Tell me another.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all true?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” said Maisie. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” said Maisie, quickly. “It sounds like a heart beating. + Where is it?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it a wreck?” said Maisie, to whom these words were as Greek. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “What does that mean?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Not as a brother, though. You said you didn't—in the Park.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you honestly believe that?” + </p> + <p> + “I have a hazy sort of idea that I do. Has it never struck you in that + light?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye—es. I feel so wicked about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Wickeder than usual?” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know all I think. It's almost too awful to tell.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. You promised to tell me the truth—at least.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “My poor little darling! I know that state of mind. It doesn't lead to + good work.” + </p> + <p> + “You aren't angry? Remember, I do despise myself.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you believe all that?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it nice to get credit even for bad work?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How ghastly!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Dick, that's disgraceful!” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute. I said, strictly speaking. Unfortunately, everybody must + be either a man or a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you allow that much.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And when he doesn't say pretty things?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Maisie laughed at the idea of Dick as an angel. + </p> + <p> + “But you seem to think,” she said, “that everything nice spoils your + hand.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like the view.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I. But—have got orders: what can do? Are you strong enough to + face it alone?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I must.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think we should get on together. We should be two of a trade, so + we should never agree.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “A great deal—if you had it too.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The tide had nearly covered the mud-banks and twenty little ripples broke + on the beach before Maisie chose to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Dick,” she said slowly, “I believe very much that you are better than I + am.” + </p> + <p> + “This doesn't seem to bear on the argument—but in what way?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do. I wonder if you can realise how utterly lonely I am!” + </p> + <p> + “Darling, I think I can.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “It's some time since I tried. What was the trouble? Overwork?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. Is your three hundred a year safe?” + </p> + <p> + “It's in Consols.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't scold me so! I'm not likely to be foolish.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Maisie watched the face working in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + “You've plenty of pennies now,” she said soothingly. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never have enough,” he began, with vicious emphasis. Then, + laughing, “I shall always be three-pence short in my accounts.” + </p> + <p> + “Why threepence?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “There it is,” she said. “I'll pay you, Dickie; and don't worry any more; + it isn't worth while. Are you paid?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It hasn't changed much,” he said. “Do they still steal colours at + lunch-time?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to attract some of your colours, Dick. Perhaps I might + catch your success with them.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Dick, but——” + </p> + <p> + “You're much more interested in that than you are in me.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, I don't think I am.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,—only once, really.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You're making fun of me!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Dick, you're the most awful boy to talk to—really! How do you + suppose I managed when you were away?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Your success too?” + </p> + <p> + This time it cost Dick a severe struggle to refrain from bad words. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Maisie!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But you said on the beach——” persisted Maisie, with a certain + fear. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “That's absurd,” said she. “It wouldn't be proper.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, who in all London tonight would have sufficient interest or audacity + to call us two to account for anything we chose to do?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + This was turning the tables with a vengeance. There remained only to put + Maisie into her hansom. + </p> + <p> + “Goodbye,” she said simply. “You'll come on Sunday. It has been a + beautiful day, Dick. Why can't it be like this always?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And these two, as I have told you, + Were the friends of Hiawatha, + Chibiabos, the musician, + And the very strong man, Kwasind. + —Hiawatha +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + '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!'” + </pre> + <p> + Dick entered, self-conscious and a little defiant, but in the best of + tempers with all the world. + </p> + <p> + “Back at last?” said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + “More or less. What have you been doing?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “If you weren't so big and fat,” said Dick, looking round for a weapon, + “I'd——” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Binkie had jumped down from the sofa and was fawning round Dick's knee, + and scratching at his boots. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you go?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you see anything you knew?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Wherefore put on one's best trousers to see the Barralong?” said + Torpenhow, pointing. + </p> + <p> + “Because I've nothing except these things and my painting duds. Besides, I + wanted to do honour to the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Did She make you feel restless?” asked the Nilghai, keenly. + </p> + <p> + “Crazy. Don't speak of it. I'm sorry I went.” + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow and the Nilghai exchanged a look as Dick, stooping, busied + himself among the former's boots and trees. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “They're my own pet pair,” Torpenhow said. “I was just going to put them + on myself.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Good for you that Dick can't wear your clothes, Torp. You two live + communistically,” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “Dick never has anything that I can wear. He's only useful to sponge + upon.” + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + Here the Nilghai began to laugh, and Torpenhow joined him. + </p> + <p> + “Hid a sovereign yesterday! You're no sort of financier. You lent me a + fiver about a month back. Do you remember?” Torpenhow said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember that I paid it you ten days later, and you put it at the + bottom of the tobacco?” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, did I? I thought it was in one of my colour-boxes.” + </p> + <p> + “You thought! About a week ago I went into your studio to get some 'baccy + and found it.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Took the Nilghai to a theatre and fed him.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Put our boots on,—and dress,—and wash?” The Nilghai spoke + very lazily. + </p> + <p> + “I withdraw the motion.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow spoke pointedly, but Dick only wriggled his toes inside the soft + leather moccasins. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Binkie-dog, he's a lazy hog, isn't he?” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you worrying him a little too much?” asked the Nilghai, when Dick + had left the room. + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + “By Kismet and our own powers, more's the pity. I have dreamed of a good + deal.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And when all's said and done, you will be put aside—quite rightly—for + a female girl.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder... Where do you think he has been today?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but did he go alone?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It might be his salvation,” Torpenhow said. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—if you care to take the responsibility of being a saviour.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “It was very nearly my last bath, you irreverent dauber. Has Binkie come + into the Saga yet?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Hasn't got any.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a scandalous waste of time,” said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Give him some clothes this time.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly—a veil and an orange-wreath, because he's been married.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I only gave him his riding-orders to—to lambast you on general + principles for not producing work that will last.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “It just depends on where you put 'em. If Maclagan had know that much + about his business he might have done better.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What! any stuff you have in stock your best work?” said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + “Anything you've sold?” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “You may as well explain,” said Torpenhow, and Dick lifted his head from + the paper. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be an idiot. You can't pose with us here,” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you a steward or a stoker in those days?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But what has this to do with the picture?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “The passengers must have thought you mad.” + </p> + <p> + “There was only one, and it was a woman; but it gave me the notion of my + picture.” + </p> + <p> + “What was she like?” said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. That must have been cheerful.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the notion?” + </p> + <p> + “Two lines in Poe— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + '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.' +</pre> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Did the woman inspire you much?” said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “What happened after all?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And the woman?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you try something of the same kind now?” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't find them here,” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Nilghai to the two pairs of shoulders, “have you never + seen this place before?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Good place to bank in—bad place to bunk in, Dickie, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + 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!'” + </p> + <p> + Binkie found the night air tickling his whiskers and sneezed plaintively. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “You'll find that wardrobe-case very much out of tune,” Torpenhow said to + the Nilghai. “It's never touched except by you.” + </p> + <p> + “A piece of gross extravagance,” Dick grunted. “The Nilghai only comes + when I'm out.” + </p> + <p> + “That's because you're always out. Howl, Nilghai, and let him hear.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Dick quoted from Torpenhow's letterpress in the Nungapunga Book. + </p> + <p> + “How do they call moose in Canada, Nilghai?” + </p> + <p> + The man laughed. Singing was his one polite accomplishment, as many + Press-tents in far-off lands had known. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I sing?” said he, turning in the chair. + </p> + <p> + “'Moll Roe in the Morning,'” said Torpenhow, at a venture. + </p> + <p> + “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— + </p> + <p> + “Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies, Farewell and adieu to you, + ladies of Spain.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Then came the chorus— + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thirty-five-thirty-five,” said Dick, petulantly. “Don't tamper with Holy + Writ. Go on, Nilghai.” + </p> + <p> + “The first land we made it was called the Deadman,” and they sang to the + end very vigourously. + </p> + <p> + “That would be a better song if her head were turned the other way—to + the Ushant light, for instance,” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “Flinging his arms about like a mad windmill,” said Torpenhow. “Give us + something else, Nilghai. You're in fine fog-horn form tonight.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “They are buying your work, not your insurance policies, dear child,” said + the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “On a tombstone,” said the Nilghai. “On a tombstone in a distant land. I + made it an accompaniment with heaps of base chords.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Vanity! Begin.” And the Nilghai began— + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Young Joe (you're nearing sixty), why is your hide so dark? Katie has + soft fair blue eyes, who blackened yours?—Why, hark!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Now what is there in that nonsense to make a man restless?” said Dick, + hauling Binkie from his feet to his chest. + </p> + <p> + “It depends on the man,” said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + “The man who has been down to look at the sea,” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know she was going to upset me in this fashion.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But a woman can be——” began Dick, unguardedly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “The sea isn't sending you five notes a day,” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Hear him blaspheming his first love! Why in the world shouldn't you + listen to her?” said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “'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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “'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.” + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, our fathers in the churchyard, She is older than ye, And our graves + will be the greener,' Said The Men of the Sea.” + </p> + <p> + “What is there to hinder?” said Torpenhow, in the long hush that followed + the song. + </p> + <p> + “You said a little time since that you wouldn't come for a walk round the + world, Torp.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. You go away on a ship. Go to Lima again, or to Brazil. + There's always trouble in South America.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's something at any rate. Where will you go?” said Torpenhow. “It + would do you all the good in the world, old man.” + </p> + <p> + The Nilghai saw the twinkle in Dick's eye, and refrained from speech. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” Dick had barely time to throw up his arm and ward off the cushion + that the disgusted Torpenhow heaved at his head. + </p> + <p> + “Air and exercise indeed,” said the Nilghai, sitting down heavily on Dick. + </p> + <p> + “Let's give him a little of both. Get the bellows, Torp.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “A prophet has no honour in his own country,” said Dick, ruefully, dusting + his knees. “This filthy fluff will never brush off my legs.” + </p> + <p> + “It was all for your own good,” said the Nilghai. “Nothing like air and + exercise.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Before God I do no such thing,” said Dick, quickly and earnestly. “You + don't know me if you think that.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think it,” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear, hear,” from the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” he said very gravely. “I was always glad that you left it out.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Tempe ist richtung. You've learned your lesson well,” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “He must go alone. He speaks truth, Torp.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Torpenhow said blandly, “What did + the Governor of North Carolina say to the Governor of South Carolina?” + </p> + <p> + “Excellent notion. It is a long time between drinks. There are the makings + of a very fine prig in you, Dick,” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He went out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “That's distinctly one for you,” said the Nilghai. “I told you it was + hopeless to meddle with him. He's not pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The mood had come and gone with the rising and the falling of the tide by + Fort Keeling. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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 +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What's the good of suggesting anything?” he said pointedly. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose not. But you won't have time for the Salon.” + </p> + <p> + Maisie hesitated a little. She even felt uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + There was no possibility of arguing, for the red-haired girl was in the + studio. Dick could only look unutterable reproach. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” he said, “and I think you make a mistake. But what's the idea + of your new picture?” + </p> + <p> + “I took it from a book.” + </p> + <p> + “That's bad, to begin with. Books aren't the places for pictures. And——” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “A little. I am sorry I spoke. There are pictures in it. What has taken + her fancy?” + </p> + <p> + “The description of the Melancolia— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Her folded wings as of a mighty eagle, + But all too impotent to lift the regal + Robustness of her earth-born strength and pride. +</pre> + <p> + And here again. (Maisie, get the tea, dear.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + '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.” + </pre> + <p> + There was no attempt to conceal the scorn of the lazy voice. Dick winced. + </p> + <p> + “But that has been done already by an obscure artist by the name of + Durer,” said he. “How does the poem run?— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Three centuries and threescore years ago, + With phantasies of his peculiar thought.' +</pre> + <p> + You might as well try to rewrite Hamlet. It will be a waste of time.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “You don't understand,” said Maisie. “I think I can do it.” + </p> + <p> + Again the voice of the girl behind him— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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—— +</pre> + <p> + I fancy Maisie means to embody herself in the picture.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The red-haired girl rose up and left the room, laughing. + </p> + <p> + Dick looked at Maisie humbly and hopelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind about the picture,” he said. “Are you really going back to + Kami's for a month before your time?” + </p> + <p> + “I must, if I want to get the picture done.” + </p> + <p> + “And that's all you want?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. Don't be stupid, Dick.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I must do my work.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't you even stay for tea?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Maisie stood by the studio window, thinking, till the red-haired girl + returned, a little white at the corners of her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Dick's gone off,” said Maisie. “Just when I wanted to talk about the + picture. Isn't it selfish of him?” + </p> + <p> + Her companion opened her lips as if to speak, shut them again, and went on + reading The City of Dreadful Night. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for that, dear. It hasn't made any difference, has it?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell a fib. It hasn't—in that way. But don't think I'm not + grateful.” + </p> + <p> + “Damn the gratitude!” said Dick, huskily, to the paddle-box. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No, love. I want you unbroken—all to myself.” + </p> + <p> + Maisie shook her head. “My poor Dick, what can I say!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Maisie put her cheek forward, and Dick took his reward in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He lifted up his voice like the bears in the fairy-tale, and Torpenhow + entered, looking guilty. + </p> + <p> + “H'sh!” said he. “Don't make such a noise. I took it. Come into my rooms, + and I'll show you why.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, old man, this is too bad! You mustn't bring this sort up here. + They steal things from the rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I can give her money, which she would probably spend in drinks. Is she + going to sleep for ever?” + </p> + <p> + The girl opened her eyes and glared at the men between terror and + effrontery. + </p> + <p> + “Feeling better?” said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Thank you. There aren't many gentlemen that are as kind as you are. + Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you leave service?” said Dick, who had been watching the scarred + and chapped hands. + </p> + <p> + “How did you know I was in service? I was. General servant. I didn't like + it.” + </p> + <p> + “And how do you like being your own mistress?” + </p> + <p> + “Do I look as if I liked it?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose not. One moment. Would you be good enough to turn your face to + the window?” + </p> + <p> + The girl obeyed, and Dick watched her face keenly,—so keenly that + she made as if to hide behind Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Gently, old man, gently. You're scaring somebody out of her wits,” said + Torpenhow, who could see the girl trembling. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The girl sobbed convulsively for a few minutes, and then tried to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “They draw the things in red and black ink on the pop-shop labels.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say. I haven't risen to pop-shop labels yet. Those are done by the + Academicians. I want to draw your head.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Only ugly girls do that. Try and remember this place. And, by the + way, what's your name?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Dick consulted Torpenhow with his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “My name's Heldar, and my friend's called Torpenhow; and you must be sure + to come here. Where do you live?” + </p> + <p> + “South-the-water,—one room,—five and sixpence a week. Aren't + you making fun of me about that three quid?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Bessie withdrew, scrubbing her cheek with a ragged pocket-handkerchief. + The two men looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “You're a man,” said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she won't come back.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “The idea! She's a dissolute little scarecrow,—a gutter-snippet and + nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely you're not taking her out of charity?—to please me?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Never heard a word about the lady before.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It sounds mad enough. You'd better stick to your soldiers, Dick, instead + of maundering about heads and eyes and experiences.” + </p> + <p> + “Think so?” Dick began to dance on his heels, singing— + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I buy things to wear, and wear 'em till they go to pieces. I don't know + what Torpenhow does.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends on how you behave.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Until—I—go, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Torp,” said Dick, across the landing. He could hardly steady his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Come here a minute, old man. I'm in trouble”— + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil right have you to interfere?” he said, at last. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't. I wish I did.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you're right. Where shall I go?” + </p> + <p> + “And you call yourself a special correspondent! Pack first and inquire + afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + An hour later Torpenhow was despatched into the night for a hansom. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He returned to the studio, and lighted more candles, for he found the room + very dark. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you Jezebel! you futile little Jezebel! Won't you hate me tomorrow!—Binkie, + come here.” + </p> + <p> + Binkie turned over on his back on the hearth-rug, and Dick stirred him + with a meditative foot. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “He is. That's why he went away. I should have stayed and made love to + you.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “That's idolatrous bad Art,” he said, drawing the book towards himself. + </p> + <p> + “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— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Verdict?” he said faintly. “My business is painting, and I daren't waste + time. What do you make of it?” + </p> + <p> + Again the whirl of words, but this time they conveyed a meaning. + </p> + <p> + “Can you give me anything to drink?” + </p> + <p> + Many sentences were pronounced in that darkened room, and the prisoners + often needed cheering. Dick found a glass of liqueur brandy in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps one year.” + </p> + <p> + “My God! And if I don't take care of myself?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Dick went into the street, and was rapturously received by Binkie. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Little dorglums, we aren't at all well. Let's go home. If only Torp were + back, now!” + </p> + <p> + But Torpenhow was in the south of England, inspecting dockyards in the + company of the Nilghai. His letters were brief and full of mystery. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Binkie smiled from ear to ear, as a well-bred terrier should, but made no + suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “'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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + The little dog yelped because Dick nearly squeezed the bark out of him. + </p> + <p> + 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.' + </p> + <p> + “'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.” + </p> + <p> + Binkie swung head downward for a moment without speaking. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You're pleased today,” said Bessie. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Dick showed Bessie the letter, and she abused him for that he had ever + sent Torpenhow away and ruined her life. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “What d'you mean?” said Dick. + </p> + <p> + “Mean! You'll see when Mr. Torpenhow comes back.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Drinking like a fish,” Bessie whispered. “He's been at it for nearly a + month.” She followed the men stealthily to hear judgment done. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is this you?” said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “You've done some of the worst work you've ever done in your life. Man + alive, you're——” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He rose, tried to straighten his shoulders, and spoke to the face he could + hardly see. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> + <p> + IT WAS the third day after Torpenhow's return, and his heart was heavy. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to tell me that you can't see to work without whiskey? It's + generally the other way about.” + </p> + <p> + “Can a drunkard swear on his honour?” said Dick. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if he has been as good a man as you.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, then. I give you three days; but you're nearly breaking my heart.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How the Arab who cut his head open would grin if he knew!” + </p> + <p> + “He's at perfect liberty to grin if he can. He's dead. That's poor + consolation now.” + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon of the third day Torpenhow heard Dick calling for him. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you get the mouth and chin from? They don't belong to Bess.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + The girl was biting her lips. She loathed Torpenhow because he had taken + no notice of her. + </p> + <p> + “I think it's just the horridest, beastliest thing I ever saw,” she + answered, and turned away. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Amen! She is a beauty. I can feel it.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I reform tomorrow. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + It was then that Torpenhow heard his name called by a voice that he did + not know,—in the rattling accents of deadly fear. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Torp! Torp! where are you? For pity's sake, come to me!” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Steady does it.” Torpenhow put his arm round Dick and began to rock him + gently to and fro. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Can you stay like that a minute?” he said. “I'll get my dressing-gown and + some slippers.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Long chair,—horse-blanket,—pillow. Going to sleep by you. Lie + down now; you'll be better in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Dick threw his head from side to side and groaned. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Lie down. It's all over now.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Torpenhow. “This happened before. That night on the river.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Come out into the Park,” said Torpenhow. “You haven't stirred out since + the beginning of things.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Not if I'm with you. Proceed gingerly.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorised compliments. By Jove, there + are the Guards!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Let's get nearer. They're in column, aren't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. How did you know?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “They'll move off in a minute. Don't jump when the band begins.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Sticks crossed above his head,” whispered Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + “I know. I know! Who should know if I don't? H'sh!” + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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.” + </pre> + <p> + “What's the matter?” said Torpenhow, as he saw Dick's head fall when the + last of the regiment had departed. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. I feel a little bit out of the running,—that's all. Torp, + take me back. Why did you bring me out?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The Nilghai, fat, burly, and aggressive, was in Torpenhow's rooms. + </p> + <p> + Behind him sat the Keneu, the Great War Eagle, and between them lay a + large map embellished with black-and-white-headed pins. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Dick's was five times bigger than mine and yours put together.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oho!” said the Nilghai, who remembered an affair at Cairo. “I begin to + see,—Torp, I'm sorry.” + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow nodded forgiveness: “You were more sorry when he cut you out, + though.—Go on, Keneu.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “There would be some mighty quaint revelations. Let us be grateful things + are as they are,” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “Let us rather reverently consider whether Torp's three-cornered + ministrations are exactly what Dick needs just now.—What do you + think yourself, Torp?” + </p> + <p> + “I know they aren't. But what can I do?” + </p> + <p> + “Lay the matter before the board. We are all Dick's friends here. You've + been most in his life.” + </p> + <p> + “But I picked it up when he was off his head.” + </p> + <p> + “The greater chance of its being true. I thought we should arrive. Who is + she?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible that a man can come back across the years to his + calf-love?” + </p> + <p> + said the Keneu. “Is it possible?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Speak to him,” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + “And they have four hundred and twenty pounds a year between 'em.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow looked very uncomfortable. “But it's absurd and impossible. I + can't drag her back by the hair.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He will,—worse luck! I can but go and try. I can't conceive a woman + in her senses refusing Dick.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Dick,” said Torpenhow, next morning, “can I do anything for you?” + </p> + <p> + “No! Leave me alone. How often must I remind you that I'm blind?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing I could go for to fetch for to carry for to bring?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Take those infernal creaking boots of yours away.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you? You'll have to do without me in a little time, and you'll be + glad I'm gone.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + The Nilghai knew nothing. “We're staying in his rooms till he comes back. + Can we do anything for you?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to be left alone, please. Don't think I'm ungrateful; but I'm + best alone.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + A voice on the staircase began to sing joyfully— + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “We thought you wouldn't be interested,” said the Nilghai, shamefacedly. + </p> + <p> + “It's in the Soudan, as usual.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + A roar of laughter interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down,” said the Nilghai. “The lists aren't even made out in the War + Office.” + </p> + <p> + “Will there be any force at Suakin?” said a voice. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “But what becomes of Torpenhow?” said Dick, in the silence that followed. + </p> + <p> + “Torp's in abeyance just now. He's off love-making somewhere, I suppose,” + said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “He said he was going to stay at home,” said the Keneu. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “But I forgot. I wish I were going with you.” + </p> + <p> + “So do we all, Dickie,” said the Keneu. + </p> + <p> + “And I most of all,” said the new artist of the Central Southern + Syndicate. + </p> + <p> + “Could you tell me——” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “There's grit in Dick,” said the Nilghai, an hour later, when the room was + emptied of all save the Keneu. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. You'll see him,” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> + <p> + “Maisie, come to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “It's so hot I can't sleep. Don't worry.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Faugh!” said Maisie, stepping back. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” said the red-haired girl, who was tossing uneasily outside + her bed. + </p> + <p> + “Only a conscript kissing the cook,” said Maisie. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + She would go back to her studio and prepare pictures that went, etc., etc. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Maisie, wake up. You'll catch a chill.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I am Maisie,” was the answer from the depths of a great sun-hat. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Blind!” said Maisie, stupidly. “He can't be blind.” + </p> + <p> + “He has been stone-blind for nearly two months.” + </p> + <p> + Maisie lifted up her face, and it was pearly white. “No! No! Not blind! I + won't have him blind!” + </p> + <p> + “Would you care to see for yourself?” said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + “Now,—at once?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! The Paris train doesn't go through this place till tonight. There + will be ample time.” + </p> + <p> + “Did Mr. Heldar send you to me?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Dick's blind!” said Maisie, taking her breath quickly as she steadied + herself against a chair-back. “My Dick's blind!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” The girl was on the sofa no longer. + </p> + <p> + “A man has come from England to tell me. He hasn't written to me for six + weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to him?” + </p> + <p> + “I must think.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow's neck was blistering, but he preserved a smile of infinite + patience as Maisie's appeared bareheaded in the sunshine. + </p> + <p> + “I am coming,” said she, her eyes on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “But what will you do,” she said to her companion. + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh, I shall stay here and—finish your Melancolia,” she said, + smiling pitifully. “Write to me afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + The conscript levied a contribution on both gifts; for he prided himself + on being a good soldier. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Dick thrust the letters into his pocket as he heard the sound. “Hullo, + Torp! Is that you? I've been so lonely.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Torp, is that you? They said you were coming.” Dick looked puzzled and a + little irritated at the silence. + </p> + <p> + “No; it's only me,” was the answer, in a strained little whisper. Maisie + could hardly move her lips. + </p> + <p> + “H'm!” said Dick, composedly, without moving. “This is a new phenomenon. + Darkness I'm getting used to; but I object to hearing voices.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It's Maisie!” said he, with a dry sob. “What are you doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “I came—I came—to see you, please.” + </p> + <p> + Dick's lips closed firmly. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you sit down, then? You see, I've had some bother with my eyes, and——” + </p> + <p> + “I know. I know. Why didn't you tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't write.” + </p> + <p> + “You might have told Mr. Torpenhow.” + </p> + <p> + “What has he to do with my affairs?” + </p> + <p> + “He—he brought me from Vitry-sur-Marne. He thought I ought to see + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what has happened? Can I do anything for you? No, I can't. I + forgot.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Dick, I'm so sorry! I've come to tell you, and——Let me + take you back to your chair.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + He groped back to his chair, his chest labouring as he sat down. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Dick, his face steadily turned away. “I never meant to worry + you any more. What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Dick's shoulders straightened again, for the words lashed like a whip. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I do despise myself—indeed I do. But I can't. Oh, Dickie, you + wouldn't ask me—would you?” wailed Maisie. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to come. I did indeed,” she protested. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Are you better now?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but—don't you hate me?” + </p> + <p> + “I hate you? My God! I?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He was conscious that he could not bear himself as a man if the strain + continued much longer. + </p> + <p> + “I don't deserve anything else. I'll go, Dick. Oh, I'm so miserable.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” said Torpenhow, entering the studio after Dick had enjoyed two + hours of thought. “I'm back. Are you feeling any better?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “What's the need for saying anything? Get up and tramp.” Torpenhow was + perfectly satisfied. + </p> + <p> + They walked up and down as of custom, Torpenhow's hand on Dick's shoulder, + and Dick buried in his own thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “How in the world did you find it all out?” said Dick, at last. + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't signed any contracts yet. I wanted to see how your business would + turn out.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you have stayed with me, then, if—things had gone wrong?” He + put his question cautiously. + </p> + <p> + “Don't ask me too much. I'm only a man.” + </p> + <p> + “You've tried to be an angel very successfully.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think I will, old man, if it's all the same to you. I'll stay + quiet here.” + </p> + <p> + “And meditate? I don't blame you. You observe a good time if ever a man + did.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Sitting in his own room a little perplexed by the noise across the + landing, Dick suddenly began to laugh to himself. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Somebody hammered at the studio door. + </p> + <p> + “Come out and frolic, Dickie,” said the Nilghai. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to, but I can't. I'm not feeling frolicsome.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, I'll tell the boys and they'll drag you like a badger.” + </p> + <p> + “Please not, old man. On my word, I'd sooner be left alone just now.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good. Can we send anything in to you? Fizz, for instance. Cassavetti + is beginning to sing songs of the Sunny South already.” + </p> + <p> + For one minute Dick considered the proposition seriously. + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks, I've a headache already.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Go to the devil—oh, send Binkie in here.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You aren't looking very happy for a newly accepted man,” said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind that—it's my own affair, and I'm all right. Do you + really go?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. With the old Central Southern as usual. They wired, and I accepted + on better terms than before.” + </p> + <p> + “When do you start?” + </p> + <p> + “The day after tomorrow—for Brindisi.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank God.” Dick spoke from the bottom of his heart. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean that. Will you get a hundred pounds cashed for me before + you leave?” + </p> + <p> + “That's a slender amount for housekeeping, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's only for—marriage expenses.” + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow brought him the money, counted it out in fives and tens, and + carefully put it away in the writing table. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You're a secretive animal, Dickie, and you consume your own smoke, don't + you?” he said on the last evening. + </p> + <p> + “I—I suppose so. By the way, how long do you think this war will + last?” + </p> + <p> + “Days, weeks, or months. One can never tell. It may go on for years.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I were going.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens! You're the most unaccountable creature! Hasn't it occurred + to you that you're going to be married—thanks to me?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “You might be going to be hanged by the look of you,” said Torpenhow. + </p> + <p> + And the next day Torpenhow bade him good-bye and left him to the + loneliness he had so much desired. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + “Beg your pardon, Mr. Heldar, but—but isn't nothin' going to + happen?” said Mr. Beeton. + </p> + <p> + “No!” Dick had just waked to another morning of blank despair and his + temper was of the shortest. + </p> + <p> + “'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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Even this entertainment wearies after a time; and all the times are very, + very long. + </p> + <p> + Dick was allowed to sort a tool-chest where Mr. Beeton kept hammers, taps + and nuts, lengths of gas-pipes, oil-bottles, and string. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll pay my rent and messing. Isn't that enough?” + </p> + <p> + “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.'” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so,” said Dick, absently. This particular nerve through long + battering had ceased to feel—much. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I should be very grateful,” said Dick. “Only let me make it worth his + while.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll hear him sing that too. Let him come this evening with the + newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “'E said 'e couldn't stand it no more,” he explained. + </p> + <p> + “He never said you read badly, Alf?” Mrs. Beeton spoke. + </p> + <p> + “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> + <p> + “P'raps he's lost some money in the Stocks. Were you readin' him about + Stocks, Alf?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “He's best left to hisself—gentlemen always are when they're + downhearted,” said Mr. Beeton. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Pussy left the room before the speech was ended, and Alf, as he entered, + found Dick addressing the empty hearth-rug. + </p> + <p> + “There's a letter for you, sir,” he said. “Perhaps you'd like me to read + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Lend it to me for a minute and I'll tell you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “What was in the letter?” asked Mrs. Beeton, when Alf returned. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I think it was a circular or a tract about not whistlin' at + everything when you're young.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Be damned if I do,” quoth Dick. “Keep to the streets and walk up and + down. I like to hear the people round me.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Stop her,” said Dick. “It's Bessie Broke. Tell her I'd like to speak to + her again. Quick, man!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” said Bessie, faintly. She remembered—indeed had never for + long forgotten—an affair connected with a newly finished picture. + </p> + <p> + “Because he has asked me to do so, and because he's most particular + blind.” + </p> + <p> + “Drunk?” + </p> + <p> + “No. 'Orspital blind. He can't see. That's him over there.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I was going for a walk,” said Bessie. + </p> + <p> + “Not the old business?” Dick spoke under his breath. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I've only seen it work. Mr. Beeton.” + </p> + <p> + “He's gone. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't taking you out of your way?” he said hesitatingly. “I can ask a + policeman if it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. I come on at seven and I'm off at four. That's easy hours.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!—but I'm on all the time. I wish I had some work to do + too. Let's go home, Bess.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “And where's—where's Mr. Torpenhow?” she inquired at last. + </p> + <p> + “He has gone away to the desert.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's that?” + </p> + <p> + Dick pointed to the right. “East—out of the mouth of the river,” + said he. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't think you'd want me any more,” she said, emboldened by his + ignorance. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't, as a matter of fact—but afterwards—At any rate I'm + glad you've come. You know the stairs.” + </p> + <p> + So Bessie led him home to his own place—there was no one to hinder—and + shut the door of the studio. + </p> + <p> + “What a mess!” was her first word. “All these things haven't been looked + after for months and months.” + </p> + <p> + “No, only weeks, Bess. You can't expect them to care.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't use it much now.” + </p> + <p> + “All over the pictures and the floor, and all over your coat. I'd like to + speak to them housemaids.” + </p> + <p> + “Ring for tea, then.” Dick felt his way to the one chair he used by + custom. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “How long have you been like this?” she said wrathfully, as though the + blindness were some fault of the housemaids. + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “As you are.” + </p> + <p> + “The day after you went away with the check, almost as soon as my picture + was finished; I hardly saw her alive.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they've been cheating you ever since, that's all. I know their nice + little ways.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The housemaid went away scandalised, and Dick chuckled. Then he began to + cough as Bessie banged up and down the studio disturbing the dust. + </p> + <p> + “What are you trying to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Put things straight. This is like unfurnished lodgings. How could you let + it go so?” + </p> + <p> + “How could I help it? Dust away.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Much too feelin'!” Mrs. Beeton slapped the muffins into the dish, and + thought of comely housemaids long since dismissed on suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a little better,” said Bessie, sitting down to the tea. “You + needn't wait, thank you, Mrs. Beeton.” + </p> + <p> + “I had no intention of doing such, I do assure you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Dick was too thankful for the sound of her voice to resent the tone of it. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know any gentlemen and ladies, then, while you was—well?” + </p> + <p> + “A few, but I don't care to have them looking at me.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that's why you've growed a beard. Take it off, it don't become + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious, child, do you imagine that I think of what becomes of me + these days?” + </p> + <p> + “You ought. Get that taken off before I come here again. I suppose I can + come, can't I?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Very angry, you did.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “A lot of trouble he's taking and she too.” This with a toss of the head. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heaps somewhere,” he said helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Do I look like a sweep, then?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing 'o that kind till you look more like a gentleman. It's quite easy + when you get shaved, and some clothes.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't have known you,” she said approvingly. “You look as you used + to look—a gentleman that was proud of himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think I deserve another kiss, then?” said Dick, flushing a + little. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “You'd better come and housekeep for me then, Bessie.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't do it in these chambers—you know that as well as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, but we might go somewhere else, if you thought it worth your + while.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd try to look after you, anyhow; but I shouldn't care to have to work + for both of us.” This was tentative. + </p> + <p> + Dick laughed. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It was generally under the tobacco-jar. Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Four thousand two hundred and ten pounds nine shillings and a penny! + Oh my!” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + The idleness and the pretty clothes were almost within her reach now, but + she must, by being housewifely, show that she deserved them. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” she said uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + She laughed nervously, and slipped out of his reach. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't worrit about that picture if I was you,” she began, in the + hope of turning his attention. + </p> + <p> + “It's at the back of all my canvases somewhere. Find it, Bess; you know it + as well as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “I know—but—” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I'm very sorry, but you remember I was—I was angry with you before + Mr. Torpenhow went away?” + </p> + <p> + “You were very angry, child; and on my word I think you had some right to + be.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I—but aren't you sure Mr. Torpenhow didn't tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what? Good gracious, what are you making such a fuss about when + you might just as well be giving me another kiss?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “What? Say that again.” The man's hand had closed on her wrist. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't there anything left of the thing?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Hit you! No! Let's think.” + </p> + <p> + He did not relax his hold upon her wrist but stood staring at the carpet. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I was that angry. I'm not angry now—I'm awful sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder.—It doesn't matter, anyhow. I'm to blame for making the + mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “What mistake?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly—because I'm blind. There's noting like tact in little + things.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Don't cry,” he said, and took her into his arms. “You only did what you + thought right.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I ain't a little piece of dirt, and if you say that I'll never + come to you again.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know what you've done to me. I'm not angry—indeed, I'm + not. Be quiet for a minute.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Not for nothing is a man permitted to ally himself to the wrong woman. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + These things and some others Dick considered while he was holding Bessie + to his heart. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me go,” said Bess, her face darkening. “Let me go.” + </p> + <p> + “All in good time. Did you ever attend Sunday school?” + </p> + <p> + “Never. Let me go, I tell you; you're making fun of me.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry; I'm awful sorry about the picture.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not. I'm grateful to you for spoiling it.... What were we talking + about before you mentioned the thing?” + </p> + <p> + “About getting away—and money. Me and you going away.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. We will get away—that is to say, I will.” + </p> + <p> + “And me?” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have fifty whole pounds for spoiling a picture.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you won't——?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid not, dear. Think of fifty pounds for pretty things all to + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “You said you couldn't do anything without me.” + </p> + <p> + “That was true a little while ago. I'm better now, thank you. Get me my + hat.” + </p> + <p> + “S'pose I don't?” + </p> + <p> + “Beeton will, and you'll lose fifty pounds. That's all. Get it.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Tuesday.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Port Said, single first; cabin as close to the baggage-hatch as possible. + What ship's going?” + </p> + <p> + “The Colgong,” said the clerk. + </p> + <p> + “She's a wet little hooker. Is it Tilbury and a tender, or Galleons and + the docks?” + </p> + <p> + “Galleons. Twelve-forty, Thursday.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. Change, please. I can't see very well—will you count it + into my hand?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Going away, of course. What should I stay for?” + </p> + <p> + “But you can't look after yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I sure?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper came. + </p> + <p> + “What are all the fittings of my rooms worth?” said Dick, imperiously. + </p> + <p> + “'Tisn't for me to say, sir. Some things is very pretty and some is wore + out dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm insured for two hundred and seventy.” + </p> + <p> + “Insurance policies is no criterion, though I don't say——” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Fifty,” said Mr. Beeton, without a moment's hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “Double it; or I'll break up half my sticks and burn the rest.” + </p> + <p> + He felt his way to a bookstand that supported a pile of sketch-books, and + wrenched out one of the mahogany pillars. + </p> + <p> + “That's sinful, sir,” said the housekeeper, alarmed. + </p> + <p> + “It's my own. One hundred or——” + </p> + <p> + “One hundred it is. It'll cost me three and six to get that there pilaster + mended.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so. What an out and out swindler you must have been to spring + that price at once!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope I've done nothing to dissatisfy any of the tenants, least of all + you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But the quarter's notice?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll pay forfeit. Look after the packing and leave me alone.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It's very sudden—but then he was always sudden in his ways. Listen + to him now!” + </p> + <p> + There was a sound of chanting from Dick's room. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Beeton! Mr. Beeton! Where the deuce is my pistol?” + </p> + <p> + “Quick, he's going to shoot himself 'avin' gone mad!” said Mrs. Beeton. + </p> + <p> + 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.' + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “He does. Is there anything more left?” Dick felt round the walls. + </p> + <p> + “Not a thing, and the stove's nigh red-hot.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Give Mr. Torpenhow my love if you see him, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who'll look after you on this ship?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Take me,” said Dick, to the doctor, “to Madame Binat's—if you know + where that is.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Not they. Take me there, and I can look after myself.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The war is good for trade, my friend; but what dost thou do here? We + have not forgotten thee.” + </p> + <p> + “I was over there in England and I went blind.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not poor—I shall pay you well.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to me. Thou hast paid for everything.” Under her breath, “Mon Dieu, + to be blind and so young! What horror!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “But at Suakin they are always fighting. That desert breeds men always—and + always more men. And they are so bold! Why to Suakin?” + </p> + <p> + “My friend is there. + </p> + <p> + “Thy friend! Chtt! Thy friend is death, then.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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——” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Tomorrow?” + </p> + <p> + “As soon as may be.” She was talking as though he were a child. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” He reached out sleepily for the cup. “You are much too kind, + Madame.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + He patted the revolver neatly hidden under the fulness of the blouse on + the right hip and fingered his collar. + </p> + <p> + “I can do no more,” Madame said, between laughing and crying. “Look at + thyself—but I forgot.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very content.” He stroked the creaseless spirals of his leggings. + </p> + <p> + “Now let us go and see the captain and George and the lighthouse boat. Be + quick, Madame.” + </p> + <p> + “But thou canst not be seen by the harbour walking with me in the + daylight. Figure to yourself if some English ladies——” + </p> + <p> + “There are no English ladies; and if there are, I have forgotten them. + Take me there.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “If you keep with me,” said George, “nobody will ask for passports or what + you do. They are all very busy.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Base camp. I see. That's a better business than fighting Fuzzies in + the open.” + </p> + <p> + “For this reason even the mules go up in the iron-train.” + </p> + <p> + “Iron what?” + </p> + <p> + “It is all covered with iron, because it is still being shot at.” + </p> + <p> + “An armoured train. Better and better! Go on, faithful George.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame has you well in hand. Would you stick a knife into me if you had + the chance?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no chance,” said the Greek. “She is there with that woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. It's a bad thing to be divided between love of woman and the + chance of loot. I sympathise with you, George.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certainly not. I beg your pardon. I'd no right to ask, but not seeing + your face before I——” + </p> + <p> + “I go out in the train tonight, I suppose,” said Dick, boldly. “There will + be no difficulty in loading up the mules, will there?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I say, have you got your mules ready?” It was the voice of the subaltern + over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “My man's looking after them. The—the fact is I've a touch of + ophthalmia and can't see very well. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “So I find it. When does this armoured train go?” + </p> + <p> + “At six o'clock. It takes an hour to cover the seven miles.” + </p> + <p> + “Are the Fuzzies on the rampage—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Big camp at Tanai, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty big. It has to feed our desert-column somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that far off?” + </p> + <p> + “Between thirty and forty miles—in an infernal thirsty country.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the country quiet between Tanai and our men?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “They always did.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you been here before, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I was through most of the trouble when it first broke out.” + </p> + <p> + “In the service and cashiered,” was the subaltern's first thought, so he + refrained from putting any questions. + </p> + <p> + “There's your man coming up with the mules. It seems rather queer——” + </p> + <p> + “That I should be mule-leading?” said Dick. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am a public school man.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. I am about as thoroughly and completely broke as a man need be.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose—I mean I'm a public school man myself. Couldn't I perhaps—take + it as a loan y'know and——” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. How d'you know?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The trucks together made one long iron-vaulted chamber in which a score of + artillerymen were rioting. + </p> + <p> + “Whitechapel—last train! Ah, I see yer kissin' in the first class + there!” somebody shouted, just as Dick was clamouring into the forward + truck. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “This is an immense improvement on shooting the unimpressionable Fuzzy in + the open,” said Dick, from his place in the corner. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Is it worth giving them half a hopper full?” the subaltern asked of the + engine, which was driven by a Lieutenant of Sappers. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Right O!” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “God is very good—I never thought I'd hear this again. Give 'em + hell, men. Oh, give 'em hell!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + George's hand on his arm pulled him back to the situation. + </p> + <p> + “And what now?” said George. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He must go up alone, and go immediately. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “A beast and a driver to go to the fighting line tonight,” said Dick. + </p> + <p> + “A Mulaid?” said a voice, scornfully naming the best baggage-breed that he + knew. + </p> + <p> + “A Bisharin,” returned Dick, with perfect gravity. “A Bisharin without + saddle-galls. Therefore no charge of thine, shock-head.” + </p> + <p> + Two or three minutes passed. Then—“We be knee-haltered for the + night. There is no going out from the camp.” + </p> + <p> + “Not for money?” + </p> + <p> + “H'm! Ah! English money?” + </p> + <p> + Another depressing interval of silence. + </p> + <p> + “How much?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + This was royal payment, and the sheik, who knew that he would get his + commission on this deposit, stirred in Dick's behalf. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “I,” said a voice. “I will go—but there is no going from the camp.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But where, in God's name, are the troops?” + </p> + <p> + “Unless thou knowest let another man ride. Dost thou know? Remember it + will be life or death to thee.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said the driver, sullenly. “Stand back from my beast. I am going + to slip him.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “That is well. Cut this one loose. Remember no blessing of God comes on + those who try to cheat the blind.” + </p> + <p> + The men chuckled by the fires at the camel-driver's discomfiture. He had + intended to substitute a slow, saddle-galled baggage-colt. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + George caught Dick's arm and hurried him stumbling and tripping past a + disgusted sentry who was used to stampeding camels. + </p> + <p> + “What's the row now?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Every stitch of my kit on that blasted dromedary,” Dick answered, after + the manner of a common soldier. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, and take care your throat's not cut outside—you and your + dromedary's.” + </p> + <p> + The outcries ceased when the camel had disappeared behind a hillock, and + his driver had called him back and made him kneel down. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “A good camel,” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + “He was never underfed. He is my own and clean bred,” the driver replied. + </p> + <p> + “Go on.” + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + When Israel of the Lord believed Out of the land of bondage came. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is there a moon?” he asked drowsily. + </p> + <p> + “She is near her setting.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish that I could see her. Halt the camel. At least let me hear the + desert talk.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Go on. The night is very cold.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The driver grunted, and Dick was conscious of a change in the air. + </p> + <p> + “I smell the dawn,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “It is here, and yonder are the troops. Have I done well?” + </p> + <p> + The camel stretched out its neck and roared as there came down wind the + pungent reek of camels in the square. + </p> + <p> + “Go on. We must get there swiftly. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “They are moving in their camp. There is so much dust that I cannot see + what they do.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I in better case? Go forward.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Two or three shots were fired. + </p> + <p> + “Is that at us? Surely they can see that I am English,” Dick spoke + angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, it is from the desert,” the driver answered, cowering in his saddle. + </p> + <p> + “Go forward, my child! Well it is that the dawn did not uncover us an hour + ago.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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...” + </p> + <p> + “Allahu! We are in,” said the man, as he drove into the rearguard and the + camel knelt. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + There was no time to ask any questions. + </p> + <p> + “Get down, man! Get down behind the camel!” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Come down, you damned fool! Dickie, come off!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Torpenhow knelt under the lee of the camel, with Dick's body in his arms. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE END +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0138" id="link2H_4_0138"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VOLUME VII THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Preface + </h2> + <h3> + To THE ADDRESS OF + </h3> + <h3> + CAPTAIN J. MAFFLIN, + </h3> + <p> + Duke of Derry's (Pink) Hussars. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Yours always, + </p> + <h3> + RUDYARD KIPLING. + </h3> + <p> + P. S.—On second thoughts I should recommend you to keep the book + away from Mrs. Mafflin. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0140" id="link2H_4_0140"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + POOR DEAR MAMMA + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Miss THREEGAN. (Extracting long lavender silk stocking from the rubbish.) + You know him better than I do. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + Miss T. As high up on the shoulder as possible. + </p> + <p> + Miss D. Am I quite tall enough? I know it makes May Older look lopsided. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. Yes, but May hasn't your shoulders. Hers are like a hock-bottle. + </p> + <p> + BEARER. (Rapping at door.) Captain Sahib aya. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Miss T. Oh, bother! (Aloud.) Very well, Mamma. + </p> + <p> + Exit, and reappears, after five minutes, flushed, and rubbing her fingers. + </p> + <p> + Miss D. You look pink. What has happened? + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + Miss D. Who is this Captain Gadsby? I don't think I've met him. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Miss D. (Abstractedly.) Does he wax that moustache? + </p> + <p> + Miss T. (Busy with Powder-puff.) Yes, I think so. Why? + </p> + <p> + Miss D. (Bending over the bodice and sewing furiously.) Oh, nothing—only— + </p> + <p> + Miss T. (Sternly.) Only what? Out with it, Emma. + </p> + <p> + Miss D. Well, May Olger—she's engaged to Mr. Charteris, you know—said—Promise + you won't repeat this? + </p> + <p> + Miss T. Yes, I promise. What did she say? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. 'Sure I don't care. I'm not afraid of Captain Gadsby. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + CAPTAIN GADSBY. (Aside.) The filly, by Jove! 'Must ha' picked up that + action from the sire. (Aloud, rising.) Good evening, Miss Threegan. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. No sugar, tha-anks, and very little milk. Ha-Hmmm. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. (Aside.) If he's going to do that, I'm lost. I shall laugh. I know + I shall! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. (Aside.) Oh, this is agonizing. I must say something. + </p> + <p> + Both Together. Have you Been— + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I beg your pardon. You were going to say— + </p> + <p> + Miss T. (Who has been watching the moustache with awed fascination.) Won't + you have some eggs? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Miss T. No, I made these myself. What are they like? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. These! De-licious. (Aside.) And that's a fact. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. (Aside.) Oh, bother! he'll think I'm fishing for compliments. + (Aloud.) No, Peliti's of course. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. He's so awf'ly stupid. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. (Folding her hands in her lap.) You should call him quietly and + say: 'O khansamah jee!' + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Getting interested.) Yes? (Aside.) Fancy that little + featherweight saying, 'O khansamah jee' to my bloodthirsty Mir Khan! + </p> + <p> + Miss T Then you should explain the dinner, dish by dish. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. But I can't speak the vernacular. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. (Patronizingly.) You should pass the Higher Standard and try. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I have, but I don't seem to be any the wiser. Are you? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Admiringly.) How do you know? + </p> + <p> + Miss T. I have tried both ways. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Do you ride much, then? I've never seen you on the Mall. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. (Aside.) I haven't passed him more than fifty times. (Aloud.) + Nearly every day. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. By Jove! I didn't know that. Ha-Hmmm (Pulls at his moustache and + is silent for forty seconds.) + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + VOICE PROM THE UNKNOWN. Tchk! Tchk! Tchk! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Good gracious! What's that? + </p> + <p> + Miss T. The dog, I think. (Aside.) Emma has been listening, and I'll never + forgive her! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Aside.) They don't keep dogs here. (Aloud.) Didn't sound like a + dog, did it? + </p> + <p> + Miss T. Then it must have been the cat. Let's go into the veranda. What a + lovely evening it is! + </p> + <p> + Steps into veranda and looks out across the hills into sunset. The CAPTAIN + follows. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. Then why do you always stand out after half a dozen turns? I + thought officers in the Army didn't tell fibs. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. It wasn't a fib, believe me. I really do want the pleasure of a + dance with you. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. (Wickedly.) Why? Won't Mamma dance with you any more? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (More earnestly than the necessity demands.) I wasn't thinking of + your Mother. (Aside.) You little vixen! + </p> + <p> + Miss T. (Still looking out of the window.) Eh? Oh, I beg your pardon. I + was thinking of something else. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. She says that no exercise tires her. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. But you won't like it one little bit. You'll be awfully sorry + afterward. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Miss T. Very well. You will have only yourself to thank if your toes are + trodden on. Shall we say Seven? + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + Miss T. They're beautifully shiny. I can almost see my face in them. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. Very likely. Why not change Eleven for a square? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. No, please! I want them both waltzes. Won't you write them down? + </p> + <p> + Miss T. I don't get so many dances that I shall confuse them. You will be + the offender. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Wait and see! (Aside.) She doesn't dance perfectly, perhaps, but— + </p> + <p> + Miss T. Your tea must have got cold by this time. Won't you have another + cup? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. Yes I It's a wonderful sunset, isn't it? (Bluntly.) But what do + you know about Dicksee's pictures? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Let me do it! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Captain Gadsby watches the interlude with undisguised admiration. + </p> + <p> + Poor Dear Mamma. (Tartly to Miss T.) You've forgotten your guest, I think, + dear. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. Good gracious! So I have! Goodbye. (Retreats indoors hastily.) + </p> + <p> + Poor Dear Mamma. (Bunching reins in fingers hampered by too tight + gauntlets.) CAPTAIN Gadsby! + </p> + <p> + CAPTAIN GADSBY stoops and makes the foot-rest. Poor Dear Mamma blunders, + halts too long, and breaks through it. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + They ride out of the garden. The Captain falls back. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Aside.) How that habit catches her under the arms! Ugh! + </p> + <p> + Poor Dear Mamma. (With the worn smile of sixteen seasons, the worse for + exchange.) You're dull this afternoon, Captain Gadsby. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Spurring up wearily.) Why did you keep me waiting so long? + </p> + <p> + Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. + </p> + <h3> + (AN INTERVAL OF THREE WEEKS.) + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (With withering emphasis.) You young cub! What the—does it + matter to you? + </p> + <p> + Proceeds to read GILDED YOUTH a lecture on discretion and deportment, + which crumbles latter like a Chinese Lantern. Departs fuming. + </p> + <p> + (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. + </p> + <p> + Miss D. (Level intonation.) Well? + </p> + <p> + Miss T. (Ascending intonation.) Well? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. (Demurely.) He—he—he only spoke yesterday afternoon. + </p> + <p> + Miss D. Bless you, dear! And I'm to be bridesmaid, aren't I? You know you + promised ever so long ago. + </p> + <p> + Miss T. Of course. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. (Gets into + 'rickshaw.) O Emma! + </p> + <p> + Miss D. (With intense interest.) Yes, dear? + </p> + <p> + Miss T. (Piano.) It's quite true—about-the-egg. + </p> + <p> + Miss D. What egg? + </p> + <p> + Miss T. (Pianissimo prestissimo.) The egg without the salt. (Forte.) Chalo + ghar ko jaldi, jhampani! (Go home, jhampani.) + </p> + <h3> + THE WORLD WITHOUT + </h3> + <p> + Certain people of importance. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + CURTISS. (Royal Artillery.) That's it, is it? What the deuce made you dine + at the Judge's? You know his bandobust. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + DOONE. (P.W.D.) Anthony was called out at dinner. Mingle had a pain in his + tummy. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + DOONE. Who's dead now? + </p> + <p> + Blayne. No one that I know of; but Gadsby's hooked at last! + </p> + <p> + DROPPING CHORUS. How much? The Devil! Markyn was pulling your leg. Not + GADSBY! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MACKESY. (Barrister-at-Law.) Huh! Women will give out anything. What does + accused say? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. Poor old Caddy! They all do it. Who's she? Let's hear the + details. + </p> + <p> + Blayne. She's a girl—daughter of a Colonel Somebody. + </p> + <p> + Doone. Simla's stiff with Colonels' daughters. Be more explicit. + </p> + <p> + Blayne. Wait a shake. What was her name? Thresomething. Three— + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. Stars, perhaps. Caddy knows that brand. + </p> + <p> + Blayne. Threegan—Minnie Threegan. + </p> + <p> + Mackesy. Threegan Isn't she a little bit of a girl with red hair? + </p> + <p> + Blayne. 'Bout that—from what from what Markyn said. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Mackesy. The Threegan girl's engaged, so Blayne says. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Mackesy. Gadsby of the Pink Hussars. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Blayne. Caddy has money—lucky devil. Place at Home, too. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Blayne. (Stiffly.) Not much, thaanks. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. And of the eternal mutton—chop in the morning. + </p> + <p> + Doone. It's a dead goat as a rule, but go on, Mackesy. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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'?” + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. Hang it all! Gadsby hasn't married beneath him. There's no + tar-brush in the family, I suppose. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Doone. Luxurious dogs, wallowing in— + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. Prickly heat between the shoulders. I'm covered with it. Let's + hope Beora will be cooler. + </p> + <p> + Blayne. Whew! Are you ordered into camp, too? I thought the Gunners had a + clean sheet. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Mackesy. Ask the Committee. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Doone. Small glass Kummel, please. Excellent carminative, these days. + Anthony told me so. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. Good, indeed! Here's Mrs. Cockley's health. To the only wife in + the Station and a damned brave woman! + </p> + <p> + OMNES. (Drinking.) A damned brave woman + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mackesy. He'll go Home after he's married, and send in his papers—see + if he doesn't. + </p> + <p> + Blayne. Why shouldn't he? Hasn't he money? Would any one of us be here if + we weren't paupers? + </p> + <p> + Doone. Poor old pauper! What has become of the six hundred you rooked from + our table last month? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. Gadsby never had dealings with a shroff in his life. + </p> + <p> + Doone. Virtuous Gadsby! If I had three thousand a month, paid from + England, I don't think I'd deal with a shroff either. + </p> + <p> + Mackesy. (Yawning.) Oh, it's a sweet life! I wonder whether matrimony + would make it sweeter. + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. Ask Cockley—with his wife dying by inches! + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. What's wrong with you? You haven't eighty rotting Tommies to take + into a running stream. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Blayne. Can't you take leave? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. You've passed the turn of life that Mackesy was speaking of. + </p> + <p> + Doone. Indeed I have, but I never yet had the brutality to ask a woman to + share my life out here. + </p> + <p> + Blayne. On my soul I believe you're right. I'm thinking of Mrs. Cockley. + The woman's an absolute wreck. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. Surely a third's loss enough. Who gains by the arrangement? + That's what I want to know. + </p> + <p> + Blayne. The Silver Question! I'm going to bed if you begin squabbling + Thank Goodness, here's Anthony—looking like a ghost. + </p> + <p> + Enter ANTHONY, Indian Medical Staff, very white and tired. + </p> + <p> + Anthony. 'Evening, Blayne. It's raining in sheets. Whiskey peg lao, + khitmatgar. The roads are something ghastly. + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. How's Mingle? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Blayne. He's a nervous little chap. What has he got, this time? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. Poor devil! The funk does half the business in a man of that + build. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + GENERAL CHORUS. Poor little devil! Why doesn't he get away? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mackesy. All the Station knows it. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Blayne. That's bad. That's very bad. Poor little Miggy. Good little chap, + too. I say— + </p> + <p> + Anthony. What do you say? + </p> + <p> + Blayne. Well, look here—anyhow. If it's like that—as you say—I + say fifty. + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. I say fifty. + </p> + <p> + Mackesy. I go twenty better. + </p> + <p> + Doone. Bloated Croesus of the Bar! I say fifty. Jervoise, what do you say? + Hi! Wake up! + </p> + <p> + Jervoise. Eh? What's that? What's that? + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. We want a hundred rupees from you. You're a bachelor drawing a + gigantic income, and there's a man in a hole. + </p> + <p> + Jervoise. What man? Any one dead? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Jervoise. (Signing.) One hundred, E. M. J. There you are (feebly). It + isn't one of your jokes, is it? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. You must engineer his taking the stuff, and of course you mustn't— + </p> + <p> + Anthony. Of course. It would never do. He'd weep with gratitude over his + evening drink. + </p> + <p> + Blayne. That's just what he would do, damn him. Oh! I say, Anthony, you + pretend to know everything. Have you heard about Gadsby? + </p> + <p> + Anthony. No. Divorce Court at last? + </p> + <p> + Blayne. Worse. He's engaged! + </p> + <p> + Anthony. How much? He can't be! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Anthony. You don't say so? Holy Moses! There'll be a shine in the tents of + Kedar. + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. 'Regiment cut up rough, think you? + </p> + <p> + Anthony. 'Don't know anything about the Regiment. + </p> + <p> + Mackesy. It is bigamy, then? + </p> + <p> + Anthony. Maybe. Do you mean to say that you men have forgotten, or is + there more charity in the world than I thought? + </p> + <p> + Doone. You don't look pretty when you are trying to keep a secret. You + bloat. Explain. + </p> + <p> + Anthony. Mrs. Herriott! + </p> + <p> + Blayne. (After a long pause, to the room generally.) It's my notion that + we are a set of fools. + </p> + <p> + Mackesy. Nonsense. That business was knocked on the head last season. Why, + young Mallard— + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Anthony. He had to go to Simla to look after a globe-trotter relative of + his—a person with a title. Uncle or aunt. + </p> + <p> + Blayne And there he got engaged. No law prevents a man growing tired of a + woman. + </p> + <p> + Anthony. Except that he mustn't do it till the woman is tired of him. And + the Herriott woman was not that. + </p> + <p> + Curtiss. She may be now. Two months of Naini Tal works wonders. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Anthony. Mrs. Herriott will make Gadsby afraid of something more than the + judgment of Providence, I fancy. + </p> + <p> + Blayne. Supposing things are as you say, he'll be a fool to face her. + He'll sit tight at Simla. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Doone. What makes you take her character away so confidently? + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0141" id="link2H_4_0141"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE TENTS OF KEDAR + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I didn't know— + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. It really was. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Anything about it, I mean. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Have you? + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (With an uneasy laugh). What will Mackler think if you neglect + him so? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. And it hasn't brought you nearer. You seem farther away than ever. + Are you sulking about something? I know your temper. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. No. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. Have I grown old in the last few months, then? (Reaches forward to + bank of flowers for menu-card.) + </p> + <p> + PARTNER ON LEFT. Allow me. (Hands menu-card. Mrs. H. keeps her arm at full + stretch for three seconds.) + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. (To partner.) Oh, thanks. I didn't see. (Turns right again.) Is + anything in me changed at all? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I haven't given the Vaynor man a thought. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. But how d'you know that I haven't? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Follows a pause, during which he crosses his left leg over his right and + continues his dinner. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (In answer to the thunderstorm in her eyes.) Corns—my + worst. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. Upon my word, you are the very rudest man in the world! I'll never + do it again. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. Well! Haven't you the grace to apologize, bad man? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. I'm waiting; or would you like me to dictate a form of apology? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Desperately.) By all means dictate. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. (Lightly.) Very well. Rehearse your several Christian names after + me and go on: “Profess my sincere repentance.” + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. “Sincere repentance.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. “For having behaved”— + </p> + <p> + 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!— + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. (Shaking a spoonful of potato chips into her plate.) That's not a + pretty joke. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. No. It's a reality. (Aside.) I wonder if smashes of this kind are + always so raw. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. Really, Pip, you're getting more absurd every day. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I don't think you quite understand me. Shall I repeat it? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. No! For pity's sake don't do that. It's too terrible, even in fur. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I'll let her think it over for a while. But I ought to be + horsewhipped. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. I want to know what you meant by what you said just now. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Exactly what I said. No less. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. But what have I done to deserve it? What have I done? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Fingering menu-card.) Well, it has. That's all. + </p> + <p> + A long pause, during which Mrs. H. bows her head and rolls the bread-twist + into little pellets; G. stares at the oleanders. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. (Throwing back her head and laughing naturally.) They train us + women well, don't they, Pip? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + PARTNER ON LEFT. Very close tonight, isn't it? 'You find it too much for + you? + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. It's all right. (Aside.) Here comes the storm! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I'm sure I don't know. (To Khitmatgar.) Ohe! Simpkin do. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I'm sure I don't know. Don't speak so loud! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Wouldn't it be rather impertinent of me to say that I'm sorry for + you? + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. Rather tame for a man of the world. Do you think that that + admission clears you? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. What can I do? I can only tell you what I think of myself. You + can't think worse than that? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. Oh, yes, I can! And now, will you tell me the reason of all this? + Remorse? Has Bayard been suddenly conscience-stricken? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Angrily, his eyes still lowered.) No! The thing has come to an + end on my side. That's all. Mafisch! + </p> + <p> + 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?— + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. For Heaven's sake don't bring that back! Call me anything you + like and I'll admit it— + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I've spoken the truth. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Since you insist upon my repeating it—Yes. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Yes. (Aside.) I think I deserve this. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. Lie number two. Before the next glass chokes you, tell me her + name. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Aside.) I'll make her pay for dragging Minnie into the business! + (Aloud.) Is it likely? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I wish I had. There would have been an end to this business. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Aside.) It only remains to pray for the end of the dinner. + (Aloud.) You know what I think of myself. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Thank Goodness it isn't. (Aside.) I expected a cyclone, but not + an earthquake. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Wiping his mouth to hide a smile.) Again? It's entirely a work + of charity on your part. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. Ahhh! But I have no right to resent it.—Is she + better-looking than I? Who was it said?— + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. No—not that! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. I'll be more merciful than you were. Don't you know that all women + are alike? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Aside.) Then this is the exception that proves the rule. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Spare him. (Aside.) I wonder what his version is. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. “But what imports the nomination of this gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Critically.) He doesn't look pretty. Why didn't you wait till + the spoon was out of his mouth? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Aside.) What a clever little woman it is! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. Well, what have you to say? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I feel better. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. It doesn't alter the situation. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Ssssteady! I've a notion that a friend of yours is looking at + you. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. He! I hate him. He introduced you to me. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. In common politeness I—We have got beyond that! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Aside.) Old ground means fresh trouble. (Aloud.) On my honor— + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. Your what? Ha, ha! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Dishonor, then. She's not what you imagine. I meant to— + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Insolently.) You couldn't while I am alive. (Aside.) If that + doesn't bring her pride to her rescue, nothing will. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. It doesn't hurt so much after your little lecture—with + demonstrations. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Under his eyebrows.) Are you certain of that? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. H. I shall have had mine in this life; and it will serve me right, + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. But the admiration that you insisted on so strongly a moment ago? + (Aside.) Oh, I am a brute! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Feebly.) Oh, come! I'm not so low as you think. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Very clearly.) False move, and you pay for it. It's a girl! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Goes out with an uncertain smile. He watches her through the door, and + settles into a chair as the men redistribute themselves. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0142" id="link2H_4_0142"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WITH ANY AMAZEMENT + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And are not afraid with any amazement. —Marriage Service. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE. bachelor's bedroom-toilet-table arranged with unnatural neatness. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Wake up, my sleeping beauty! (Roars.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Uprouse ye, then, my merry merry men! + It is our opening day! + It is our opening da-ay!” + </pre> + <p> + Gaddy, the little dicky-birds have been billing and cooing for ever so + long; and I'm here! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Eh! Wha-at? + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Overturning G.'s uniform.) Go and tub. Don't bother me. I'll + give you ten minutes to dress in. + </p> + <p> + INTERVAL, filled by the noise as of one splashing in the bath-room.. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Emerging from dressing-room.) What time is it? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Nearly eleven. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Five hours more. O Lord! + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Aside.) 'First sign of funk, that. 'Wonder if it's going to + spread. (Aloud.) Come along to breakfast. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I can't eat anything. I don't want any breakfast. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Leads G. downstairs and stands over him while he eats two chops. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Who has looked at his watch thrice in the last five minutes.) + What time is it? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Time to come for a walk. Light up. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Aside.) They're all alike in these stages. (Aloud.) No, my + Vestal. We're going along the quietest road we can find. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Any chance of seeing Her? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Innocent! No! Come along, and, if you want me for the final + obsequies, don't cut my eye out with your stick. + </p> + <p> + 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”? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Halting in the middle of the road.) I say, Jack. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Keep quiet for another ten minutes if you can, you lunatic; and + walk! + </p> + <p> + The two tramp at five miles an hour for fifteen minutes. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Invariably. The Padre leads off with his boots. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Confound your silly soul! Don't make fun of me. I can't stand it, + and I won't! + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Untroubled.) So-ooo, old horse You'll have to sleep for a couple + of hours this afternoon. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Spinning round.) I'm not going to be treated like a dashed + child, understand that. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Suffocating with suppressed laughter.) Yes. That's about the + gist of it. I'll prompt if you get into a hat. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Gravely.) Are you? I should never have noticed it. You don't + look like it. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Aside.) And this is old Gadsby! (Aloud.) Go on if it relieves + you. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. You can laugh! That's all you wild asses of bachelors are fit + for. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Drawling.) You never would wait for the troop to come up. You + aren't quite married yet, y'know. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. 'Wouldn't be in your shoes for anything that Asia has to offer. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (With a face like a wall.) Ya-as. Whose for choice? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. If you're going to be a blackguard, I'm going on—What's the + time? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. What on earth do I want to lie down for? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Give me a light from your cheroot and see. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Watching cheroot-butt quiver like a tuning-fork.) Sweet state + I'm in! + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. You are. I'll get you a peg and you'll go to sleep. + </p> + <p> + They return and M. compounds a four-finger peg. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. O bus! bus! It'll make me as drunk as an owl. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. 'Curious thing, 'twon't have the slightest effect on you. Drink + it off, chuck yourself down there, and go to bye-bye. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. It's absurd. I sha'n't sleep, I know I sha'n't! + </p> + <p> + Falls into heavy doze at end of seven minutes. Capt. M. watches him + tenderly. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Up with you! Get into your kit. + </p> + <p> + Capt. C. Already? Isn't it too soon? Hadn't I better have a shave? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. No! You're all right. (Aside.) He'd chip his chin to pieces. + </p> + <p> + Capt. C. What's the hurry? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. You've got to be there first. + </p> + <p> + Capt. C. To be stared at? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Exactly. You're part of the show. Where's the burnisher? Your + spurs are in a shameful state. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Gruffly.) Jack, I be damned if you shall do that for me. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (More gruffly.) Dry up and get dressed! If I choose to clean your + spurs, you're under my orders. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. dresses. M. follows suit. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Nervously.) It's much too soon. Let's light up! Let's have a + peg! Let's— + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Let's make bally asses of ourselves! + </p> + <p> + BELLS. (Without.)—“Good-peo-ple-all To prayers-we call.” + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. There go the bells! Come on—unless you'd rather not. (They + ride off.) + </p> + <p> + BELLS.—“We honor the King And Brides joy do bring—Good tidings + we tell, And ring the Dead's knell.” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Returning.) She's coming now. Look out when the music starts. + There's the organ beginning to clack. + </p> + <p> + Bride steps out of 'rickshaw at Church door. G. catches a glimpse of her + and takes heart. + </p> + <p> + ORGAN.—“The Voice that breathed o'er Eden, That earliest marriage + day, The primal marriage-blessing, It hath not passed away.” + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Watching G.) By Jove! He is looking well. 'Didn't think he had + it in him. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. How long does this hymn go on for? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. It will be over directly. (Anxiously.) (Beginning to bleach and + gulp.) Hold on, Gabby, and think 'o the Regiment. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Measuredly.) I say, there's a big brown lizard crawling up that + wall. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. My Sainted Mother! The last stage of collapse! + </p> + <p> + Bride comes up to left of altar, lifts her eyes once to G., who is + suddenly smitten mad. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (To himself again and again.) Little Featherweight's a woman—a + woman! And I thought she was a little girl. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (In a whisper.) Form the halt—inward wheel. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. obeys mechanically and the ceremony proceeds. + </p> + <p> + PADRE.... only unto her as ye both shall live? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (His throat useless.) Ha-hmmm! + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Say you will or you won't. There's no second deal here. + </p> + <p> + Bride gives response with perfect coolness, and is given away by the + father. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Thinking to show his learning.) Jack give me away now, quick! + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. You've given yourself away quite enough. Her right hand, man! + Repeat! Repeat! “Theodore Philip.” Have you forgotten your own name? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. stumbles through Affirmation, which Bride repeats without a + tremor. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Now the ring! Follow the Padre! Don't pull off my glove! Here it + is! Great Cupid, he's found his voice. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. repeats Troth in a voice to be heard to the end of the Church and + turns on his heel. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Desperately.) Rein back! Back to your troop! 'Tisn't half legal + yet. + </p> + <p> + PADRE.... joined together let no man put asunder. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. paralyzed with fear jibs after Blessing. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (In a piercing rattle meant to be a whisper.) Kneel, you + stiff-necked ruffian! Kneel! + </p> + <p> + PADRE... whose daughters are ye so long as ye do well and are not afraid + with any amazement. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Dismiss! Break off! Left wheel! + </p> + <p> + All troop to vestry. They sign. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Kiss Her, Gaddy. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Rubbing the ink into his glove.) Eh! Wha-at? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Taking one pace to Bride.) If you don't, I shall. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Interposing an arm.) Not this journey! + </p> + <p> + General kissing, in which Capt. G. is pursued by unknown female. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Faintly to M.) This is Hades! Can I wipe my face now? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. My responsibility has ended. Better ask Misses GADSBY. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. winces as though shot and procession is Mendelssohned out of + Church to house, where usual tortures take place over the wedding-cake. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (At table.) Up with you, Gaddy. They expect a speech. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (After three minutes' agony.) Ha-hmmm. (Thunders Of applause.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + AYAH. Missie Captain Sahib done gone band karo all the jutis. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + Where is the Bride? (To the company at large.) Be tender with that rice. + It's a heathen custom. Give me the big bag. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Bride slips out quietly into 'rickshaw and departs toward the sunset. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Furiously, seeing that the women are out of an earshot.) Where + the d——'s my Wife? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Half-way to Mahasu by this time. You'll have to ride like Young + Lochinvar. + </p> + <p> + Horse comes round on his hind legs; refuses to let G. handle him. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Oh you will, will you? Get 'round, you brute—you hog—you + beast! Get round! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. For your life and your love—ride, Gaddy—And God bless + you! + </p> + <p> + Throws half a pound of rice at G. who disappears, bowed forward on the + saddle, in a cloud of sunlit dust. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + Miss DEERCOURT. (From her horse.) Really, Captain Mafflin! You are more + plain spoken than polite! + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Aside.) They say marriage is like cholera. 'Wonder who'll be the + next victim. + </p> + <p> + White satin slipper slides from his sleeve and falls at his feet. Left + wondering. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0143" id="link2H_4_0143"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE GARDEN OF EDEN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And ye shall be as—Gods! +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. My husband! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Lazily, with intense enjoyment.) Eh, wha-at? Say that again. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. I've written to Mamma and told her that we shall be back on the + 17th. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Did you give her my love? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. No, I kept all that for myself. (Sitting down by his side.) I + thought you wouldn't mind. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (With mock sternness.) I object awf'ly. How did you know that it + was yours to keep? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. I guessed, Phil. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Rapturously.) Lit-tle Featherweight! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. I won' t be called those sporting pet names, bad boy. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. You'll be called anything I choose. Has it ever occurred to you, + Madam, that you are my Wife? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. It has. I haven't ceased wondering at it yet. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Nor I. It seems so strange; and yet, somehow, it doesn't. + (Confidently.) You see, it could have been no one else. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. How could I help it? You were you, you know. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Did you ever want to help it? Speak the truth! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Capt. C. I'd changed my mind then. And you weren't a little beast any + more. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Thank you, sir! And when was I ever? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Very meekly.) I apologize, but you're hurting me awf'ly. + (Interlude.) You're welcome to torture me again on those terms. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Oh, why did you let me do it? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Me! I'm not fit to put my arm around you. (Puts it round.) + </p> + <p> + Mrs. C. Yes, you are. But I—what have I ever done? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Given me a wee bit of your heart, haven't you, my Queen! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. That's nothing. Any one would do that. They cou—couldn'thelp + it. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Pussy, you'll make me horribly conceited. Just when I was + beginning to feel so humble, too. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Humble! I don't believe it's in your character. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. What do you know of my character, Impertinence? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Little witch! I believe you know me thoroughly already. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. I think I can guess. You're selfish? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Yes. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Foolish? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Very. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. And a dear? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. That is as my lady pleases. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Then your lady is pleased. (A pause.) D'you know that we're two + solemn, serious, grown-up people— + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Tilting her straw hat over her eyes.) You grown-up! Pooh! You're + a baby. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. And we're talking nonsense. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Then let's go on talking nonsense. I rather like it. Pussy, I'll + tell you a secret. Promise not to repeat? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Ye-es. Only to you. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I love you. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Re-ally! For how long? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Forever and ever. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. That's a long time. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. 'Think so? It's the shortest I can do with. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. You're getting quite clever. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I'm talking to you. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Prettily turned. Hold up your stupid old head and I'll pay you for + it. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Affecting supreme contempt.) Take it yourself if you want it. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. I've a great mind to—and I will! (Takes it and is repaid + with interest.) + </p> + <p> + Capt. G, Little Featherweight, it's my opinion that we are a couple of + idiots. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. We're the only two sensible people in the world. Ask the eagle. + He's coming by. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. How long? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. A hundred and twenty years. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. A hundred and twenty years! O-oh! And in a hundred and twenty + years where will these two sensible people be? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. What does it matter so long as we are together now? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. 'Can't say I've consulted 'em particularly. I care, and that's + enough for me. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Drawing nearer to him.) Yes, now—but afterward. What's that + little black blur on the Snows? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. And then it will be all gone. (Shivers.) + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Anxiously.) 'Not chilled, pet, are you? 'Better let me get your + cloak. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Very tenderly.) Have I? I am content whatever she is, so long as + she is mine. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Quickly.) Because she is yours or because she is me mineself? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Because she is both. (Piteously.) I'm not clever, dear, and I + don't think I can make myself understood properly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. I understand. Pip, will you tell me something? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Anything you like. (Aside.) I wonder what's coming now. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Innocently.) Why not? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Raising her eyes to his.) Because—because I was afraid of + losing you, my heart. But now—tell about it—please. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. There's nothing to tell. I was awf'ly old then—nearly two + and twenty—and she was quite that. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. That means she was older than you. I shouldn't like her to have + been younger. Well? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Well, I fancied myself in love and raved about a bit, and—oh, + yes, by Jove! I made up poetry. Ha! Ha! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. You never wrote any for me! What happened? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Did she care for you much? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. No. At least she didn't show it as far as I remember. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. As far as you remember! Do you remember her name? (Hears it and + bows her head.) Thank you, my husband. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Who but you had the right? Now, Little Featherweight, have you + ever been mixed up in any dark and dismal tragedy? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. If you call me Mrs. Gadsby, p'raps I'll tell. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Throwing Parade rasp into his voice.) Mrs. Gadsby, confess! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Good Heavens, Phil! I never knew that you could speak in that + terrible voice. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. No, you aren't, and I will tell—There was a man. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Lightly.) Was there? Lucky man! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (In a whisper.) And I thought I cared for him. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Still luckier man! Well? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Angry? Not in the least. (Aside.) Good Lord, what have I done to + deserve this angel? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Aside.) And he never asked for the name! How funny men are! But + perhaps it's as well. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Firmly.) 'Sha'n't go if you don't. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Yes. But it was a pincushion heaven, with hymn-books in all the + pews. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Wagging his head with intense conviction.) Never mind. There is + a pukka heaven. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Where do you bring that message from, my prophet? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Here! Because we care for each other. So it's all right. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (As a troop of langurs crash through the branches.) So it's all + right. But Darwin says that we came from those! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Folding her hands.) If it pleases my Lord the King to issue + proclamation. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Like your first engagement. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (With an immense calm.) That was a necessary evil and led to you. + Are you nothing? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Not so very much, am I? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. All this world and the next to me. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Very softly.) My boy of boys! Shall I tell you something? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Yes, if it's not dreadful—about other men. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. It's about my own bad little self. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Then it must be good. Go on, dear. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Snorting indignantly.) Don't try. “Marry again,” indeed! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. By Jove, how do you know that? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. So I have been led to believe. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. And I shall want to know every one of your secrets—to share + everything you know with you. (Stares round desperately.) + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. So you shall, dear, so you shall—but don't look like that. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I think so, child. Have I said anything yet that you disapprove + of? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Will you be very angry? That—that voice, and what you said + about the engagement— + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. But you asked to be told that, darling. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. There shall be no punishment. We'll start into life together from + here—you and I—and no one else. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. And no one else. (A pause.) Your eyelashes are all wet, Sweet? + Was there ever such a quaint little Absurdity? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Was there ever such nonsense talked before? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. The idea! No—only we ourselves, or people like ourselves—if + there are any people like us. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Magisterially.) All people, not like ourselves, are blind + idiots. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Wiping her eyes.) Do you think, then, that there are any people + as happy as we are? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. 'Must be—unless we've appropriated all the happiness in the + world. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Looking toward Simla.) Poor dears! Just fancy if we have! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. O Pip! Pip! How much of you is a solemn, married man and how much + a horrid slangy schoolboy? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Mind! It's not tuned. Ah! How that jars! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Turning pegs.) It's amazingly different to keep a banjo to + proper pitch. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. It's the same with all musical instruments, What shall it be? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + BOTH TOGETHER. (Con brio, to the horror of the monkeys who are settling + for the night.)— + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Defiantly to the grey of the evening sky.) “Vanity let it be!” + </p> + <p> + ECHO. (Prom the Fagoo spur.) Let it be! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0144" id="link2H_4_0144"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FATIMA + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Entering hastily, her hand bound in a cloth.) Oh, Pip, I've + scalded my hand over that horrid, horrid Tiparee jam! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Absently.) Eh! Wha-at? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. On the top of the little finger. There!—It's a most 'normous + big burn! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Kissing little finger.) Baby! Let Hyder look after the jam. You + know I don't care for sweets. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Indeed?—Pip! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Not of that kind, anyhow. And now run along, Minnie, and leave me + to my own base devices. I'm busy. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. To play with. Do you mind, dear? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Let me play too. I'd like it. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. I thought you said Hyder could attend to it. I left him in the + veranda, stirring—when I hurt myself so. + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. What's skittles? Pah! What is this leather cleaned with? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Cream and champagne and—Look here, dear, do you really want + to talk to me about anything important? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. No. I've done my accounts, and I thought I'd like to see what + you're doing. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Well, love, now you've seen and—Would you mind?—That + is to say—Minnie, I really am busy. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. You want me to go? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G, Yes, dear, for a little while. This tobacco will hang in your + dress, and saddlery doesn't interest you. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Everything you do interests me, Pip. + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. I'm to be turned out of the room like a troublesome child? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Can't I lift them about? Let me try. (Reaches forward to trooper's + saddle.) + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. I know it's a mark, but I've never seen it before. It runs all up + the arm. What is it? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. A cut—if you want to know. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Grimly.) No. 'Twasn't an accident. I got it—from a man—in + Afghanistan. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. In action? Oh, Pip, and you never told me! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I'd forgotten all about it. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Oh, don't, don't! That's enough!—Well, what happened? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I couldn't get to my holster, and Mafflin came round the corner + and stopped the performance. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. How? He's such a lazy man, I don't believe he did. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Don't you? I don't think the man had much doubt about it. Jack + cut his head off. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Cut-his-head-off! “With one blow,” as they say in the books? + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Darling, I'm always with you, aren't I? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Always in my pocket, you were going to say. I know you are; but + you are always thinking away from me. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Trying to hide a smile.) Am I? I wasn't aware of it. I'm awf'ly + sorry. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Prince Kraft a stable-boy—Oh, my Aunt! Never mind, dear. + You were going to say? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. My poor darling! I never thought of that. Why don't you ask some + nice people in to dinner? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. And you have me surely, Sweetheart? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. I have not! Pip why don't you take me into your life? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. More than I do? That would be difficult, dear. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Aren't you a little unreasonable, Pussy? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Stamping her foot.) I'm the most reasonable woman in the world—when + I'm treated properly. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. And since when have I been treating you improperly? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Always—and since the beginning. You know you have. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I don't; but I'm willing to be convinced. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Pointing to saddlery.) There! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. How do you mean? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. What does all that mean? Why am I not to be told? Is it so + precious? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I forget its exact Government value just at present. It means + that it is a great deal too heavy. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Then why do you touch it? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Why doesn't he pack them in a little trunk? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. But why need you bother about it? You're not a trooper. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. No; but I command a few score of him; and equipment is nearly + everything in these days. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. More than me? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. How? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. And that interests you? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Who's “us”? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Jack and I; only Jack's notions are too radical. What's that big + sigh for, Minnie? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Oh, nothing—and you've kept all this a secret from me! Why? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. And am I only made to be amused? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. No, of course. I merely mean that it couldn't interest you. + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. I'm so sorry. I thought I might help. Is there anything else that + I could be of use in? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Looking round the room.) I can't think of anything. You're + always helping me you know. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Am I? How? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. And that's why you wanted to send me away? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. That's only when I'm trying to do work—grubby work like + this. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Mafflin's better, then, isn't he? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (After a pause.) And that's all that you have away from me? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Crossing to writing-table.) Here you are, Bear. What a mess you + keep your table in! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Don' ttouch it. There's a method in my madness, though you + mightn't think of it. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (At table.) I want to look—Do you keep accounts, Pip? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Bending over saddlery.) Of a sort. Are you rummaging among the + Troop papers? Be careful. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Why will you always treat me like a child? I know I'm not + displacing the horrid things. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Her back to G.) What's that for? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Nothing. (Aside.) There's not much in it, but I wish I'd torn it + up. + </p> + <p> + 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”? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Hah! Would you really like to know? They aren't pretty things. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. This Journal of Veterinary Science says they are of “absorbing + interest.” Tell me. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Aside.) It may turn her attention. + </p> + <p> + Gives a long and designedly loathsome account of glanders and farcy. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Oh, that's enough. Don't go on! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. But you wanted to know—Then these things suppurate and + matterate and spread— + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Pin, you're making me sick! You're a horrid, disgusting schoolboy. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Why didn't you say No? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Good Heavens, child! Have you come in here simply to bully me? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. It seems to me that you're an irrational little baby. Are you + quite well? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Do I look ill? (Returning to table). Who is your lady friend with + the big grey envelope and the fat monogram outside? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Showing envelope.) This has nothing to do with them. I'm going to + open it. May I? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. You'd better not, Sir! (Takes letter from envelope.) Now, may I + look? If you say no, I shall cry. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. You've never cried in my knowledge of you, and I don't believe + you could. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Aside.) No, it's not Dear Captain Gadsby, or anything, now. How + funny! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Yes, I suppose so. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Still reading letter.) She seems to be a particular friend of + yours. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Some Colonel's wives are young—as young as me. I knew one + who was younger. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Then it couldn't have been Mrs. Herriott. She was old enough to + have been your mother, dear. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Aside.) Good old Jack! (Aloud.) Why, dear? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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”— + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. I don't care. She shouldn't write, and if she did, you ought to + have shown me her letter. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Can't you understand why I kept it to myself, or must I explain + at length—as I explained the farcybuds? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. It comes to the same thing. You took it yourself. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Bends lower, Mrs. G. slides right arm round his neck. Several interludes + and much sobbing. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Speak away, then. (Looking into her eyes.) Eh! Wha-at? Minnie! + Here, don't go away! You don't mean? + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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?”— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0145" id="link2H_4_0145"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW, KNOWING GOOD AND EVIL. + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. (Coming into veranda and touching G. on the shoulder.) You had + better go in and see her now. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (The color of good cigar-ash.) Eh, wha-at? Oh, yes, of course. + What did you say? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. (In half-lighted dining room.) Isn't there any?— + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. (Savagely.) Ha, you little fool! + </p> + <p> + JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. Let me do my work. Gadsby, stop a minute—I (Edges + after G.) + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + G. enters bedroom, which is lit by one night-lamp. Ayah on the floor + pretending to be asleep. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. (Mechanically.) It's me—it's Phil—it's your husband. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. She doesn't know me!—It's your own husband, darling. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. Your own husband, darling. + </p> + <p> + Ayah. (With an inspiration.) Memsahib understanding all I saying. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Make her understand me then—quick! + </p> + <p> + Ayah. (Hand on Mrs. G.'s fore-head.) Memsahib! Captain Sahib here. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. Salaem do. (Fretfully.) I know I'm not fit to be seen. + </p> + <p> + Ayah. (Aside to G.) Say “marneen” same as breakfash. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Good morning, little woman. How are we today? + </p> + <p> + VOICE. That's Phil. Poor old Phil. (Viciously.) Phil, you fool, I can't + see you. Come nearer. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Minnie! Minnie! It's me—you know me? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Yes, dear. Yes—of course, of course. But won't you speak to + him? He wants to speak to you so much. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. What am I to do? (Taking her in his arms.) Minnie! speak to me—to + Phil. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Say you know me! Only say you know me! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. All right! All right! Go away now; she'll recognize me; you're + bothering her. She must—mustn't she? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. She will before—Have I your leave to try?— + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Anything you please, so long as she'll know me. It's only a + question of hours, isn't it? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. (Professionally.) While there's life there's hope y'know. But + don't build on it. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I don't. Pull her together if it's possible. (Aside.) What have I + done to deserve this? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Voice. Medicines! Always more medicines! Can't you leave me alone? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Oh, leave her in peace, Doc! + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. What? Go on, man. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. (In a whisper.) Forcing the last rally. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Then leave us alone. + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Am I her husband or are you? Leave us alone for what time we have + together. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. She thinks of that Deercourt girl before she thinks of me. + (Aloud.) Minnie! + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + VOICE. (Very faintly.) Pip, Pip dear. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I'm here, darling. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. You—you aren't quite well. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. How funny! Have I been ill long? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Some days; but you'll be all right in a little time. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. Do you think so, Pip? I don't feel well and—Oh! what have + they done to my hair? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I d-d-on't know. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. They've cut it off. What a shame! + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. It must have been to make your head cooler. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. Just like a boy's wig. Don't I look horrid? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Never looked prettier in your life, dear. (Aside.) How am I to + ask her to say goodbye? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. You're a little feverish, Sweetheart—very feverish. + (Breaking down.) My love! my love! How can I let you go? + </p> + <p> + VOICE. I thought so. Why didn't you tell me that at first? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. What? + </p> + <p> + VOICE. That I am going to—die. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. But you aren't! You sha'n't. + </p> + <p> + Ayah to punkah-coolie. (Stepping into veranda after a glance at the bed. + ). Punkah chor do! (Stop pulling the punkah.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Hush, dear. You won't. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. No more death. There's enough already. Pip, don't you die too. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I wish I dared. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. No! Anything but that, Min! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. You never did, darling. On my soul and honor you never did. I + haven't a thing to forgive you. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. Say that you'll always love me—until the end. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. A little before the dawn, dear. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. I wonder where I shall be this time tomorrow? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Would you like to see the Padre? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Yes, dear. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Gravely.) No. I don't think he'd like that. Your head comfy, + Sweetheart? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I-I-I can't help it, dear. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. How funny! I couldn't cry now to save my life. (G. shivers.) I want + to sing. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Won't it tire you? 'Better not, perhaps. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. Why? I won't be bothered about. (Begins in a hoarse quaver) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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.” + </pre> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Catching up hands.) Ahh! Don't do that, Pussy, if you love me. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. Love you? Of course I do. Who else should it be? (A pause.) + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Rising.) Doctor Sahib ko salaam do. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The dawn breaks as G. stumbles into the garden. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Rehung up at the gate on his way to parade and very soberly.) + Old man, how goes? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Aside.) What am I let in for? Gaddy has aged ten years in the + night. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Slowly, fingering charger's headstall.) Your curb's too loose. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. So it is. Put it straight, will you? (Aside.) I shall be late for + parade. Poor Gaddy. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. links and unlinks curb-chain aimlessly, and finally stands + staring toward the veranda. The day brightens. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Slowly without reining back.) I beg your pardon—I'll + apologize. On paper if you like. + </p> + <p> + JUNIOR CHAPLAIN. (Flicking M.'s charger.) That'll do, thanks. Turn in, + Gadsby, and I'll bring Bingle back—ahem—“hell-for-leather.” + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <h3> + (INTERVAL OF FIVE WEEKS.) + </h3> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Iller than I liked. (Tenderly.) Oh, you bad little Pussy, what a + start you gave me! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. I'll never do it again. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. What? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. That last terrible night. + </p> + <p> + CAPT. G. Then just you forget all about it. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I gave her fifty dibs. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0146" id="link2H_4_0146"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SWELLING OF JORDAN + </h2> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + SCENE. The GADSBYS' bungalow in the Plains, on a January morning. Mrs. G. + arguing with bearer in back veranda. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. rides up. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. 'Mornin', Mrs. Gadsby. How's the Infant Phenomenon and the Proud + Proprietor? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. You'll find them in the front veranda; go through the house. I'm + Martha just now. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M, 'Cumbered about with cares of Khitmatgars? I fly. + </p> + <p> + Passes into front veranda, where GADSBV is watching GADSBY JUNIOR, aged + ten months, crawling about the matting. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Yes, he's a healthy little scoundrel. Don't you think his hair's + growing? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Let's have a look. Hi! Hst Come here, General Luck, and we'll + report on you. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Within.) What absurd name will you give him next? Why do you call + him that? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Oh, no. Don't let him flop, though, or he'll lick all the + blacking off your boots. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Within.) Who's destroying my son's character? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. You look awf'ly serious. Anything wrong? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Hwhatt? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Don't shout. I'm going to send in my papers. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. You! Are you mad? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. No—only married. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Does she say that she doesn't like India? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. That's the worst of it. She won't for fear of leaving me. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. What are the Hills made for? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Not for my wife, at any rate. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. You know too much, Gaddy, and—I don't like you any the + better for it! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Hang it, a man has some duties toward his family, I suppose. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Not lots, and they aren't some of Us. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. A man has a right to live his life as happily as he can. You + aren't married. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. No—praise be to Providence and the one or two women who + have had the good sense to jawab me. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Funk. That's the long and the short of it. Funk! + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. But what is there to funk? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Everything. It's ghastly. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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? +</pre> + <p> + Capt. G. I suppose that's it. But it's not for myself. It's because of + them. At least I think it is. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Perfectly. “Shelter-pit for the Off'cer's charger,” as they say + in the Line. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Hold on there! I don't wish to be told. Every man has his moods + and tenses sometimes. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Laughing bitterly.) Has he? What do you call craning over to see + where your near-fore lands? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Never—as long as he can see. But did they open out for poor + Errington? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Oh, this is childish! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. But, Gaddy, this is awful! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. You never did! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. I didn't care. It took the edge off him. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. “Took the edge off him”? Gaddy, you—you—you mustn't, + you know! Think of the men. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. That's another thing I am afraid of. D'you s'pose they know? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Ugly word, that. I should never have the courage to own up. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Of course not. (Half aloud.) The Pinks are paying dearly for + their Pride. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Eh! Wha-at? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Don't you know? The men have called Mrs. Gadsby the Pride of the + Pink Hussars ever since she came to us. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. 'Tisn't her fault. Don't think that. It's all mine. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. What does she say? + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. Never mind. Don't tell her what you told me. Go on the Peerage + and Landed-Gentry tack. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. She'd see through it. She's five times cleverer than I am. + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. (Aside.) Then she'll accept the sacrifice and think a little bit + worse of him for the rest of her days. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Absently.) I say, do you despise me? + </p> + <p> + Capt. M. 'Queer way of putting it. Have you ever been asked that question? + Think a minute. What answer used you to give? + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Thirty-three. I know it's— + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. (Limply.) This is rather more than a joke. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. (Coming down veranda.) What are you wagging your head over, Pip? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Well, why don't you? I dare say you would make some woman very + happy. + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. There's the Law and the Prophets, Jack. Never mind the Regiment. + Make a woman happy. (Aside.) O Lord! + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. Oh, Captain Mafflin, I am so sorry! Jack, you bad, bad little + villain. Ahhh! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + Capt. G. Regimental shop as usual. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. G. The Regiment! Always the Regiment. On my word, I sometimes feel + jealous of Mafflin. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <h3> + THIS IS THE END OF THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0147" id="link2H_4_0147"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VOLUME VIII from MINE OWN PEOPLE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Bimi + Namgay Doola + The Recrudescence Of Imray + Moti Guj—Mutineer +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0148" id="link2H_4_0148"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BIMI + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Too much Ego,” said he, peeling the fruit and offering it to the caged + devil, who was rending the silk to tatters. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “There's no tale in the wide world that I can't believe,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “'See now dere!' says Bertran, 'und you would shoot him while he is + cuddling you? Dot is der Teuton ingrate!' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.' + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.' + </p> + <p> + “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.' + </p> + <p> + “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.' + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + Hans paused to puff at his cigar. + </p> + <p> + “And then?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The infernal clamor in the cage recommenced. “Aha! Dot friend of ours haf + still too much Ego in his Cosmos, Be quiet, thou!” + </p> + <p> + Hans hissed long and venomously. We could hear the great beast quaking in + his cage. + </p> + <p> + “But why in the world didn't you help Bertran instead of letting him be + killed?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0149" id="link2H_4_0149"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NAMGAY DOOLA + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What be the man's crimes, Rajah Sahib?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Cast him into jail,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “But he worships strange gods,” said the prime minister, deferentially. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “The king has an army,” I suggested. “Has not the king burned the man's + house, and left him naked to the night dews?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “You have my leave to go,” said the king. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “That he is. That is the rebel!” said the king. “Now will the dam be + cleared.” + </p> + <p> + “But why has he red hair?” I asked, since red hair among hill-folk is as + uncommon as blue or green. + </p> + <p> + “He is an outlander,” said the king. “Well done! Oh, well done!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Whence comest thou?” I asked, wondering. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The standing army stood. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Is there any priest in the kingdom to whom he will listen?” said I, for a + light was beginning to break upon me. + </p> + <p> + “He worships his own god,” said the prime minister. “We can but starve him + out.” + </p> + <p> + “Let the white man approach,” said Namgay Doola from within. “All others I + will kill. Send me the white man.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “And what is this shame, Namgay Doola?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “And why at all, since it is the custom to pay revenue to the king? Why at + all?” + </p> + <p> + “By the god of my father, I cannot tell,” said Namgay Doola. + </p> + <p> + “And who was thy father?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “And thy father's name?” said I. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “May I see that god?” + </p> + <p> + “In a little while—at twilight time.” + </p> + <p> + “Rememberest thou aught of thy father's speech?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Even so. And what was thy mother?” + </p> + <p> + “A woman of the Hills. We be Lepchas of Darjiling, but me they call an + outlander because my hair is as thou seest.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Dir bane mard-i-yemen dir To weeree ala gee.” + </p> + <p> + 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”: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “They're hanging men and women, too, + For the wearing of the green,” + </pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And why?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + He picked the masks off the floor and looked in my face as simply as a + child. + </p> + <p> + “By what road didst thou attain knowledge to make those deviltries?” I + said, pointing. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell. I am but a Lepcha of Darjiling, and yet the stuff”— + </p> + <p> + “Which thou hast stolen,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “But the sin of maiming the cow—consider that.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said the king. “Why should I hurt the little children?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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”— + </p> + <p> + The state groaned unanimously. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + The king bowed his head, and I said: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I know that breed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0150" id="link2H_4_0150"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE RECRUDESCENCE OF IMRAY + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Has any one called?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “'Pon my soul, I don't wonder,” said Strickland, with his eyes on the + ceiling-cloth. “Look at that.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to get your thatch over-hauled,” I said. “Give me a masheer + rod, and we'll poke 'em down.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Snakes?” I said down below. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I handed up the rod. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It strikes me,” said he, pulling down the lamp, “our friend Imray has + come back. Oh! you would, would you?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Strickland meditated and helped himself to drinks liberally. The thing + under the cloth made no more signs of life. + </p> + <p> + “Is it Imray?” I said. + </p> + <p> + Strickland turned back the cloth for a moment and looked. “It is Imray,” + he said, “and his throat is cut from ear to ear.” + </p> + <p> + Then we spoke both together and to ourselves: + </p> + <p> + “That's why he whispered about the house.” + </p> + <p> + Tietjens, in the garden, began to bay furiously. A little later her great + nose heaved upon the dining-room door. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Then Tietjens came in and sat down, her teeth bared and her forepaws + planted. She looked at Strickland. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's think it out somewhere else,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Excellent idea! Turn the lamps out. We'll get into my room.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I agreed, though the heap under the cloth looked neither one thing nor the + other. + </p> + <p> + “If I call the servants they will stand fast in a crowd and lie like + Aryans. What do you suggest?” + </p> + <p> + “Call 'em in one by one,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “They'll run away and give the news to all their fellows,” said + Strickland. + </p> + <p> + “We must segregate 'em. Do you suppose your servant knows anything about + it?” + </p> + <p> + “He may, for aught I know, but I don't think it's likely. He has only been + here two or three days.” + </p> + <p> + “What's your notion?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I can't quite tell. How the dickens did the man get the wrong side of the + ceiling-cloth?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” said Strickland. “It is a very warm night, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “And Imray Sahib went to Europe?” + </p> + <p> + “It is so said among the servants.” + </p> + <p> + “And thou wilt take service with him when he returns?” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly, sahib. He was a good master and cherished his dependents.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “And Imray Sahib has gone to Europe secretly? That is very strange, + Bahadur Khan, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “What do I know of the ways of the white man, heaven-born?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Sahib!” + </p> + <p> + The lamp-light slid along the barrels of the rifle as they leveled + themselves against Bahadur Khan's broad breast. + </p> + <p> + “Go, then, and look!” said Strickland. “Take a lamp. Thy master is tired, + and he waits. Go!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Hast thou seen?” said Strickland, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen. I am clay in the white man's hands. What does the presence + do?” + </p> + <p> + “Hang thee within a month! What else?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “What said Imray Sahib?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Strickland looked at me above the rifle, and said, in the vernacular: + “Thou art witness to this saying. He has killed.” + </p> + <p> + Bahadur Khan stood ashen grey in the light of the one lamp. The need for + justification came upon him very swiftly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It was clever. But thou shouldst have lashed him to the beam with a rope. + Now, thou thyself wilt hang by a rope. Orderly!” + </p> + <p> + A drowsy policeman answered Strickland's call. He was followed by another, + and Tietjens sat still. + </p> + <p> + “Take him to the station,” said Strickland. “There is a case toward.” + </p> + <p> + “Do I hang, then?” said Bahadur Khan, making no attempt to escape and + keeping his eyes on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Go!” said Strickland. + </p> + <p> + “Nay; but I go very swiftly,” said Bahadur Khan. “Look! I am even now a + dead man.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “This,” said Strickland, very calmly, as he climbed into bed, “is called + the nineteenth century. Did you hear what that man said?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard,” I answered. “Imray made a mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “Simply and solely through not knowing the nature and coincidence of a + little seasonal fever. Bahadur Khan has been with him for four years.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What has befallen Bahadur Khan?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “He was bitten by a snake and died; the rest the sahib knows,” was the + answer. + </p> + <p> + “And how much of the matter hast thou known?” + </p> + <p> + “As much as might be gathered from one coming in the twilight to seek + satisfaction. Gently, sahib. Let me pull off those boots.” + </p> + <p> + I had just settled to the sleep of exhaustion when I heard Strickland + shouting from his side of the house: + </p> + <p> + “Tietjens has come back to her room!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0151" id="link2H_4_0151"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MOTI GUJ—MUTINEER + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He went to the planter, and “My mother's dead,” said he, weeping. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Who brought the news?” said the planter. + </p> + <p> + “The post,” said Deesa. + </p> + <p> + “There hasn't been a post here for the past week. Get back to your + lines!”, + </p> + <p> + “A devastating sickness has fallen on my village, and all my wives are + dying,” yelled Deesa, really in tears this time. + </p> + <p> + “Call Chihun, who comes from Deesa's village,” said the planter. “Chihun, + has this man got a wife?” + </p> + <p> + “He?” said Chihun. “No. Not a woman of our village would look at him. + They'd sooner marry the elephant!” + </p> + <p> + Chihun snorted. Deesa wept and bellowed. + </p> + <p> + “You will get into a difficulty in a minute,” said the planter. “Go back + to your work!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Light of my heart, protector of the drunken, mountain of might, give + ear!” said Deesa, standing in front of him. + </p> + <p> + Moti Guj gave ear, and saluted with his trunk. “I am going away,” said + Deesa. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “But you, you fussy old pig, must stay behind and work.” + </p> + <p> + The twinkle died out as Moti Guj tried to look delighted. He hated + stump-hauling on the plantation. It hurt his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + Chihun thumped Moti Guj's bald head as a paver thumps a curbstone. + </p> + <p> + Moti Guj trumpeted. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + Moti Guj lapped his trunk round Deesa and swung him into the air twice. + That was his way of bidding him goodbye. + </p> + <p> + “He'll work now,” said Deesa to the planter. “Have I leave to go?” + </p> + <p> + The planter nodded, and Deesa dived into the woods. Moti Guj went back to + haul stumps. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “None of your nonsense with me,” said he. “To your pickets, devil-son!” + </p> + <p> + “Hrrump!” said Moti Guj, and that was all—that and the forebent + ears. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Now we will get to work,” said Deesa. “Lift me up, my son and my joy!” + </p> + <p> + Moti Guj swung him up, and the two went to the coffee-clearing to look for + difficult stumps. + </p> + <p> + The planter was too astonished to be very angry. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +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-h.htm or 2334-h.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 and David Widger + +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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