A Bottle in the Smoke: A Tale of Anglo-Indian Life

by Janet Milne Rae

  CHAPTER XI.

  Mrs. Samptor divined rightly. The Collector's first impressions of hisnew Assistant were deeply favourable, and they arose partly from thevery point which Mrs. Goldring deemed would prove fatal--the disclosureof his alleged social disabilities. Mark Cheveril had not been in Madrasfor more than three days without hearing remarks concerning his futurechief which would have caused some natures to have assumed from theoutset a defensive attitude. But no sooner had he entered theCollector's bungalow than he felt drawn to the lonely man, careless indress and manner, hardly rising to greet his visitor from the long armedchair where he lounged, smoking a cheroot, surrounded by two faithfuldogs. In a few moments Mark was occupying a similar chair by his side,being introduced to his dogs and his cheroots, and feeling completely athome.

  Crotchety, querulous, quarrelsome, Felix Worsley might be, as alleged;but somehow the young man felt instinctively that whatever his faults ofmanner and circumstances, "in him there nothing common was or mean." Theman was a noble English gentleman to the core. Mistakes he might havemade in governing his allotted territory, but they would prove mistakesof head not of heart. Before his Trichy smouldered in ashes, Mark'sheart had already gone out to his chief with the liking of quickmagnetism meeting a response, and it brought a light into FelixWorsley's eyes seldom visible there in these later days.

  How different, for instance, had been Alfred Rayner's reception of hisavowal of mixed blood from that of the man by whose side he sat, tellinghim that his link with the country had already fostered sympathy withthe people of his native land!

  "Well, it begins to dawn on me now that I'm very near the end," was theCollector's slowly enunciated reply. "A downright enthusiast like you iswhat we need here. No doubt, Cheveril, I'll often be for your holdingthe reins tight, but I'll try to give you as much rope as I can, my boy.I'm weary and baffled--dead tired of the whole game of life long ago.But it must go on--even Mrs. Samptor's tea-party."

  With that he had risen from his chair, and on the way thither had sharedwith the new-comer kindly but illuminating comments on the littlecircle, so that when Mark stood on Mrs. Samptor's lawn he seemed to knowthem all.

  The game of croquet, which he had been playing with Mrs. Samptor aspartner, was triumphantly finished, much to the little lady'ssatisfaction; and Mark was now eager to avail himself of his freedom tolisten to the Judge's conversation. This was followed by theSuperintendent's annals of the jail, which he undertook to show him overone day before long.

  "We must get you interested in your nearest surroundings before theCollector carries you off on tour through his territory," he said, witha good-natured smile.

  "Yes, charity begins at home, as I try to remind the Collector sometimeswhen he turns a deaf ear to my petitions for the town," rejoined thedoctor, who stood by his side. He was a short man with broad shoulders,though hollow-chested, and with an eager face, deep set eyes, and highcheek-bones--a typical Celt, thought Mark, glancing at him, noting theair of feverish energy with which he spoke, and contrasting it withSamptor's Saxon calm.

  "I tell you what it is--our Collector is too fond of the far-away bitsof his district, and inclined to belittle his nearest plot--our teemingtown down there."

  "Is your work in the town, Dr. Campbell?" asked Mark.

  "He does plenty there, anyhow. Morning, noon, and night he's at workamong the Puranapore people," interrupted Mr. Samptor, looking down witha kindly smile upon the eager little man.

  "As District Surgeon my work is ostensibly among the English, but yousee, Mr. Cheveril, what a little flock we have here since they've takenour regiment away. Of course I'd be delighted to have the chance ofattending this big man here, but he never even sneezes; 'so what I do?'as the servants say. I try my hand at a little work among the Indians,and have got a dispensary in the heart of the town."

  "Ah, thereby hangs a tale, doesn't it, Dr. Campbell?" broke in Mrs.Samptor, always with ears alert.

  "I'll tell you how it is, Mr. Cheveril, this man spends his time, hismoney, and himself in fact, over these ungrateful black creatures. Camehere for an easy post because his health wasn't good, and does more workthan any other doctor on the plains of India!"

  "All Mrs. Samptor's embroidery, I hope you understand," said Dr.Campbell, smiling.

  "Well, if it were English folk he was helping I shouldn't so much mind,but these treacherous, seditious natives, I cannot away with! And thereare such swarms of them, I try to suggest to the doctor that his timewould be well occupied in helping to get rid of scores."

  "Hardly a doctor's point of view, Mrs. Samptor! Unfortunately there istoo much of that among the people themselves. The mortality is awful,even when there is no epidemic or plague, not to speak of their ownfeuds, which are decimating at times."

  "The balance of power seems always wavering between the Hindus andMahomedans in the most curious way," remarked Mr. Meakin, the youngengineer. "Which is uppermost just now? Which is your jail full of atthe present moment, Samptor?"

  "That's an official question the jailer may not be disposed to answer,"said the doctor. "However, I happen to know too well who has the upperhand--and why"; and the doctor began pulling his black moustachefuriously.

  "Come now, Campbell, we must not talk shop with the new Assistant on thevery evening of his arrival," returned Samptor.

  "If I thought the Collector would dose him well with it in office hoursI would forbear, but----" The doctor shook his head doubtfully.

  "All the same," said the big man with an air of decision. "Our Collectoris a great symbol of authority in countless villages through which hedrives or rides leisurely, smoking his eternal cheroot, halting todispense justice with unrivalled sagacity and kindliness. I'm often withhim, so I know. The people worship him, and he has a wonderfulbird's-eye view of the whole region, I assure you"; and the jailerglanced admiringly at the man he was defending as he strolled along thelawn, his arm linked in the little Judge's.

  "'A bird's-eye view'! Yes, I grant you he may possess that, but he has aterribly cavalier way of dealing with caste prejudices, for instance.And you know, Samptor, what a standing grievance that omsque is."

  "Ay, well, that perhaps was a pity," said the big man, looking down athis boots. "But everybody makes a mistake at times," he added, glancingat the doctor's face, on which a cloud rested.

  "The Collector should have known that trouble was bound to come when hegranted a site for that mosque so near the Hindu burning ground. Andnow, though the Mussulmans are the intruders, they, forsooth, arepetitioning to have the burning ground removed to another spot.Infamous plotting, I call it!"

  "Yes, there seems to be a good deal of bad feeling between the Hindusand the Mahomedans just now, I notice," said the engineer.

  "Fanned by Zynool and his crew," returned the doctor, with an impatientgesture. "Can't think how the Collector favours that Mussulman so much.They have his ear somehow, some say through that clever butler of his.As for the disturbance the Hindus make with their processions during thehours of prayer in the mosque, anyone who has listened to a Mahomedanyelling with a cracked voice. 'Allah eh-eh-eh,' must admit that hisoutward forms of worship are quite as disturbing as a tom-tom and theblowing of the conch."

  "Well, doctor, if you had stood at the door of the Mosque as I've doneon duty, and heard the Hindu population out with their goddessMariyamina and listened to the howling and tom-toming fit to break thedrum of your ear, and that when the place was filled with Mussulmans attheir prayers during the sacred feast of Ramazan, you would have feltthat they had good reason to complain. Why, though their lips weremoving in prayer, they were itching to be at the throats of the Hindus!If it had not been for the Collector's courage that day in standing atthe Mosque door all the time the procession was passing, there must havebeen bloodshed, and he did that in the interest of the Hindus even morethan for the other side. I can tell you, Campbell, there's many a Hinduin Puranapore remembers that day and knows what the Collector saved themfrom. It would have made a pictu
re to see him as he stood there," endedthe jailer, with a look of admiring recollection in his eyes; and MarkCheveril felt as if he, too, had seen that picture.

  "Well, they're warming up for riots again down there, sure enough," saidthe doctor, shaking his head. "No saying what you may come in for, Mr.Cheveril. See you keep an open mind, anyhow."

  "And don't, like the doctor, be wholly given over to a belief in themild Hindus _versus_ the Mussulmans," said Samptor with a laugh, as helaid his big palm on the doctor's shoulder.

  Mark had found the foregoing conversation a little enigmatical. Hishero--born of two hours ago--was not evidently quite without flaw, butas evidently he was able to inspire many of those nearest him with aliking and a loyalty which is not always the portion of the ruler of anIndian territory.

  As he walked by his side between the cactus hedges on the darkening roadand listened to his talk, Mark felt that whatever his faults might be,Felix Worsley, Collector of Puranapore, had become to him already afascinating personality.