Driftwood Spars
Page 4
Sec. 2. GENERAL MURGER.
In a temporary Grand Stand of matchboarding and canvas _tout Gungapur_greeted Mrs. Pat Dearman, who was quite At Home, ranged itself, andcritically inspected the horses, or the frocks, of its friends,according to its sex.
Around the great ring on to which the Grand Stand looked, Arab, Pathan,and other heathen raged furiously together and imagined many vainthings. Among them unobtrusively moved a Somali who listened carefullyto conversations, noted speakers, and appeared to be collectingimpressions as to the state of public opinion--and of private opinion.Particularly he sought opportunities of hearing reference to thewhereabouts and doings of one Ilderim the Weeper. In the ring were acourse of stiff jumps, lesser rings, the judges' office, a kind ofwatch-tower from which a strenuous fiend with a megaphone bawled thingsthat no living soul could understand, and a number of mosthorsily-arrayed gentlemen, whose individual status varied from Generaland cavalry-colonel to rough rider, troop sergeant-major and stud groom.
I regret to add that there was also a Lady, that she was garbed forriding in the style affected by mere man, and that she swaggeredloud-voiced, horsey, slapping a boot.
Let men thank the good God for womanly women while such be--andappreciate them.
Behind the Grand Stand were massed the motor-cars and carriages ofSociety, as well as the Steward of the Gungapur Club, who there spent abusy afternoon in eating ices and drinking Cup while his myrmidonshurried around, washed glasses, squeezed lemons, boiled water anddropped things. Anon he drank ices and ate Cup (with a spoon) and wastaken deviously back to his little bungalow behind the Club by the HeadBootlaire Saheb (or butler) who loved and admired him.
Beyond the big ring ran the river, full with the summer rains, giving afalse appearance of doing much to cool the air and render the afternoonsuitable to the stiff collars and "Europe" garments of the once sternersex.
A glorious sea-breeze did what the river pretended to do. Beneath theshade of a clump of palms, scores of more and less valuable horsesstamped, tossed heads, whisked tails and possibly wondered why God madeflies, while an equal number of _syces_ squatted, smoked pungent_bidis_, and told lies.
Outside a tent, near by, sat a pimply youth at a table bearing boxes ofbe-ribboned labels, number-inscribed, official, levelling.
These numbers corresponded with those attached to the names of thehorses in the programme of events, and riders must tie one round eacharm ere bringing a horse up for judgment when called on.
Certain wretched carping critics alleged that this arrangement was toprevent the possibility of error on the part of the Judges, who,otherwise, would never know whether a horse belonged to a General or aSubaltern, to a Member of Council or an Assistant Collector, to a Headof a Department or a wretched underling--in short to a personage or aperson.
You find this type of doubter everywhere--and especially in India whereofficial rank is but the guinea stamp and gold is brass without it.
Great, in the Grand Stand, was General Miltiades Murger. Beside Mrs.Dearman, most charming of hostesses, he sate, in the stage of avuncularaffection, and told her that if the Judges knew their business hishunter would win the Hunter-Class first prize and be "Best Horse in theShow" too.
As to his charger, his hack, his trapper, his suitable-for-polo ponies,his carriage-horses he did not worry; they might or might not "dosomething," but his big and beautiful hunter--well, he hoped the Judgesknew their business, that was all.
"Are you going to show him in the ring yourself, General?" asked Mrs.Dearman.
"And leave your side?" replied the great man in manner most avuncularand with little reassuring pats upon the lady's hand. "No, indeed. I amgoing to remain with you and watch Rissaldar-Major Shere Singh ride himfor me. Finest horseman in India. Good as myself. Yes, I _hope_ theJudges for Class XIX know their business. I imported that horse fromHome and he cost me over six thousand rupees."
Meanwhile, it may be mentioned, evil passions surged in the soul of Mr.John Robin Ross-Ellison as he watched the General, and witnessed hisavuncular pattings and confidential whisperings. Mr. Ross-Ellison hadlunched with the Dearmans, had brought Mrs. Dearman to the Horse Show,and was settling down, after she had welcomed her guests, to adelightful, entrancing, and thrillful afternoon with her--to be brokenbut while he showed his horse--when he had been early and utterly routedby the General. The heart of Mr. Ross-Ellison was sore within him, forhe loved Mrs. Dearman very devotedly and respectfully.
He was always devotedly in love with some one, and she was always a nicegood woman.
When she, or he, left the station, his heart died within him, life washollow, and his mouth filled with Dead Sea fruit. The world he loved somuch would turn to dust and ashes at his touch. After a week or so hisheart would resurrect, life would become solid, and his mouth filledwith merry song. He would fall in love afresh and the world went verywell then.
At present he loved Mrs. Dearman--and hated General Miltiades Murger,who had sent him for a programme and taken his seat beside Mrs. Dearman.There was none on the other side of her--Mr. Ross-Ellison had seen tothat--and his prudent foresight had turned and rent him, for he couldnot plant a chair in the narrow gangway.
He wandered disconsolately away and instinctively sought the object ofthe one permanent and unwavering love of his life--his mare "Zuleika,"late of Balkh.
Zuleika was more remarkable for excellences of physique than for thoseof mind and character. To one who knew her not, she was a wild beast,fitter for a cage in a Zoo than for human use, a wild-eyed, screamingman-eating she-devil; and none knew her save Mr. John RobinRoss-Ellison, who had bought her unborn. (He knew her parents.)
"If you see an ugly old cove with no hair and a blue nose come over herefor his number, just kick his foremost button, _hard_," said Mr.Ross-Ellison to her as he gathered up the reins and, dodging a kick,prepared to mount. This was wrong of him, for Zuleika had never sufferedany harm at the hands of General Miltiades Murger, "'eavy-sternedamateur old men" he quoted in a vicious grumble.
A wild gallop round the race-course did something to soothe the ruffledspirit of Mr. Ross-Ellison and nothing to improve Zuleika'sappearance--just before she entered the show-ring.
On returning, Mr. Ross-Ellison met the Notable Nut (Lieutenant NottingerNutt, an ornament of the Royal Horse Artillery), and they talked evil ofDignitaries and Institutions amounting to high treason if not blasphemy,while watching the class in progress, with young but gloomy eyes.
"I don't care what _any_body says," observed the Notable Nut. "You readthe lists of prize-winners of all the bally horse-shows ever held hereand you'll find 'em all in strict and decorous order of owner's rank.'Chargers. First Prize--_Lieutenant-General_ White's "Pink Eye". SecondPrize--_Brigadier-General_ Black's "Red Neck". Third Prize--_Colonel_Brown's "Ham Bone". Highly commended--_Major_ Green's "Prairie Oyster".Nowhere at all--_Second-Lieutenant_ Blue's "Cocktail,"'--and worth allthe rest put together. I tell you I've seen horse after horse changehands after winning a First Prize as a General's property and then winnothing at all as a common Officer's or junior civilian's, until boughtagain by a Big Pot. Then it sweeps the board. I don't for one seconddream of accusing Judges of favouritism or impropriety any kind, but I'mconvinced that the glory of a brass-bound owner casts a halo about hishorse that dazzles and blinds the average rough-rider, stud-groom andcavalry-sergeant, and don't improve the eyesight of some of theirbetters, when judging."
"You're right, Nutty," agreed Mr. Ross-Ellison. "Look at that horse'Runaway'. Last year it won the First Prize as a light-weight hunter,First Prize as a hack, and Highly Commended as a charger--disqualifiedfrom a prize on account of having no mane. It then belonged to a Colonelof Dragoons. This year, with a mane and in, if possible, bettercondition, against practically the same horses, it wins nothing at all.This year it belongs to a junior in the P.W.D. one notices."
"Just what I say," acquiesced the aggrieved Nut, whose rejected horsehad been beaten by another which it had itself beaten (und
er differentownership) the previous year. "Fact is, the judges should be absolutelyignorant as to who owns the horses. They mean well enough, but to themit stands to reason that the most exalted Pots own the most exaltedhorses. Besides, is it fair to ask a troop sergeant-major to order hisown Colonel's horse out of the ring, or the General's either? They oughtnot to get subordinates in at all. Army Veterinary Colonels from otherDivisions are the sort of chaps you want, and some really knowledgeableunofficial civilians--and, as I say, to be in complete ignorance as toownership. No man to ride his own horse--and none of these bally numbersto prevent the Judges from thinking a General's horse belongs to acommon man, and from getting the notion that a subaltern's horse belongsto a General."
"Yes" mused Mr. Ross-Ellison, "and another thing. If you want to get ahorse a win or a place in the Ladies' Hack class--get a pretty girl toride it. They go by the riders' faces and figures entirely.... Hullo!Class XIX wanted. That's me and Zuleika. Come and tie the labels on myarms like a good dog."
"Right O. But you haven't the ghost of a little look in," opined theNut. "Old Murger has got a real corking English hunter in. A Generalwill win as usual--but he'll win with by far the best horse, for once inthe history of horse-shows."
Dismounting and handing their reins to the syces, the two younggentlemen strolled over to the table where presided he of the pimplesand number-labels.
A burly Sikh was pointing to the name of General Miltiades Murger andasking for the number printed thereagainst.
The youth handed Rissaldar-Major Shere Singh two labels each bearing thenumber 99. These, the gallant Native Officer proceeded to tie upon hisarms--putting them upside down, as is the custom of the native of Indiawhen dealing with anything in any wise reversible.
Mr. Ross-Ellison approached the table, showed his name on the programmeand asked for his number--66.
"Tie these on," said he returning to his friend. "By Jove--there's oldMurger's horse," he added--"what a magnificent animal!"
Looking up, the Nut saw Rissaldar-Major Shere Singh mounting thebeautiful English hunter--and also saw that he bore the number 66.Therefore the labels handed to him were obviously 99, and as 99 he tiedon the 66 of Mr. Ross-Ellison--who observed the fact.
"I am afraid I'm all Pathan at this moment," silently remarked he untohis soul, and smiled an ugly smile.
"Not much good my entering Zuleika against _that_ mare," he said aloud."It must have cost just about ten times what I paid for her. Never mindthough! We'll show up--for the credit of civilians," and he rode intothe ring--where a score of horses solemnly walked round and round theJudges and in front of the Grand Stand....
General Murger brought Mrs. Dearman a cup of tea, and, having placed his_topi_[49] in his chair, went, for a brandy-and-soda and cheroot, to thebar behind the rows of seats.
[49] Sun-helmet.
On his return he beheld his superb and expensive hunter behavingsuperbly and expensively in the expert hands of Rissaldar-Major ShereSingh.
He feasted his eyes upon it.
Suddenly a voice, a voice he disliked intensely, the voice of Mr.Dearman croaked fiendishly in his ear: "Why, General, they've got yourhorse numbered wrongly!"
General Miltiades Murger looked again. Upon the arm of Rissaldar-MajorShere Singh was the number 66.
Opening his programme with trembling fingers he found his name, hishorse's name, and number 99!
He rose to his feet, stammering and gesticulating. As he did so thewords:--
"Take out number 66," were distinctly borne to the ears of the serriedranks of the fashionable in the Grand Stand. Certain military-lookingpersons at the back abandoned all dignity and fell upon each other'snecks, poured great libations, danced, called upon their gods, or fellprostrate upon settees.
Others, seated among the ladies, looked into their bats as though inchurch.
"Has Ross-Ellison faked it?" ran from mouth to mouth, and, "He'll behung for this".
A minute or so later the Secretary approached the Grand Stand andannounced in stentorian tones:
"First Prize--General Murger's _Darling_, Number 99".
While behind him upon Zuleika, chosen of the Judges, sat and smiled Mr.John Robin Ross-Ellison, who lifted his voice and said:"Thanks--No!--This horse is _mine_ and is named _Zuleika_." He lookedrather un-English, rather cunning, cruel and unpleasant--quite differentsomehow, from his ordinary cheery, bright English self.
* * * * *
"Old" Brigadier General Miltiades Murger was unique among BritishGenerals in that he sometimes resorted to alcoholic stimulants beyondreasonable necessity and had a roving and a lifting eye for a prettywoman. In one sense the General had never taken a wife--and, in another,he had taken several. Indeed it was said of him by jealous colleaguesthat the hottest actions in which he had ever been engaged were actionsfor divorce or breach of promise, and that this type of imminent deadlybreach was the kind with which he was best acquainted. Also that he wasbetter at storming the citadel of a woman's heart than at storminganything else.
No eminent man is without jealous detractors.
As to the stimulants, make no mistake and jump to no hasty conclusions.General Murger had never been seen drunk in the whole of hisdistinguished and famous (or as the aforesaid colleagues called it,egregious and notorious) career.
On the other hand, the voice of jealousy said he had never been seensober either. In the words of envy, hatred, malice and alluncharitableness it declared that he had been born fuddled, had livedfuddled, and would die fuddled. And there were ugly stories.
Also some funny ones--one of which concerns the, Gungapur FusilierVolunteer Corps and Colonel Dearman, their beloved but shortly retiring(and, as some said, their worthy) Commandant.
Mr. Dearman was a very wealthy (and therefore popular), very red hairedand very patriotic mill-owner who tried very hard to be proud of hisCorps, and, without trying, was immensely proud of his wife.
As to the Corps--well, it may at least be said that it would havefollowed its beloved Commandant anywhere (that was neither far nordangerous), for every one of its Officers, except Captain John RobinRoss-Ellison, and the bulk of its men, were his employees.
They loved him for his wealth and they trusted him absolutely--trustedhim not to march them far nor work them much. And they were justified oftheir faith.
Several of the Officers were almost English--though Greeks andGoa-Portuguese predominated, and there was undeniably a drop or two ofEnglish blood in the ranks, well diffused of course. Some folk said thateven Captain John Robin Ross-Ellison was not as Scotch as his name.
On guest-nights in the Annual Camp of Exercise (when the Officers' Messdid itself as well as any Mess in India--and only took a few hundredrupees of the Government Grant for the purpose) Colonel Dearman wouldlook upon the wine when it was bubbly, see his Corps through its goldenhaze, and wax so optimistic, so enthusiastic, so rash, as roundly tostate that if he had five hundred of the Gungapur Fusiliers, withmagazines charged and bayonets fixed, behind a stout entrenchment or ina fortified building, he would stake his life on their facing anyunarmed city mob you could bring against them. But these were butpost-prandial vapourings, and Colonel Dearman never talked nor thoughtany such folly when the Corps was present to the eye of flesh.
On parade he saw it for what it was--a mob of knock-kneed, snifflinglads with just enough strength to suck a cigarette; anaemic clerks, fatcooks, and loafers with just enough wind to last a furlong march; hugebeery old mechanics and ex-"Tommies," forced into this coloured galleyas a condition of their "job at the works "; and the non-native scum ofthe city of Gungapur--which joined for the sake of the ammunition-bootsand khaki suit.
There was not one Englishman who was a genuine volunteer and not half adozen Parsis. Englishmen prefer to join a corps which consists ofEnglishmen or at least has an English Company. When they have noopportunity of so doing, it is a little unfair to class them with thelazy, unpatriotic, degenerate young gentlemen who have the op
portunityand do not seize it. Captain Ross-Ellison was doing his utmost toprovide the opportunity--with disheartening results.
However--Colonel Dearman tried very hard to be proud of his Corps andnever forgave anyone who spoke slightingly of it.
As to his wife, there was, as stated, no necessity for any "trying". Hewas immensely and justly proud of her as one of the prettiest, mostaccomplished, and most attractive women in the Bendras Presidency.
Mrs. "Pat" Dearman, _nee_ Cleopatra Diamond Brighte, was, as has beensaid, consciously and most obviously a Good Woman. Brought up by acountry rector and his vilely virtuous sister, her girlhood had been astruggle to combine her two ambitions, that of being a Good Woman withthat of having a Good Time. In the village of Bishop's Overley theformer had been easier; in India the latter. But even in India, wherethe Good Time was of the very best, she forgot not the other ambition,went to church with unfailing regularity, read a portion of theScriptures daily; headed subscription lists for the myriad hospitals,schools, widows'-homes, work-houses, Christian associations, churches,charitable societies, shelters, orphanages, rescue-homes and otherdeserving causes that appeal to the European in India; did her duty byColonel Dearman, and showed him daily by a hundred little brightkindnesses that she had not married him for his great wealth but forhis--er--his--er--not exactly his beauty or cleverness or youthfulgaiety or learning or ability--no, for his Goodness, of course, andbecause she loved him--loved him for the said Goodness, no doubt. No,she never forgot the lessons of the Rectory, that it is the Whole Dutyof Man to Save his or her Soul, but remembered to be a Good Woman whilehaving the Good Time. Perhaps the most industriously pursued of all hergoodnesses was her unflagging zealous labour in Saving the Souls ofOthers as well as her own Soul--the "Others" being the young,presentable, gay, and well-placed men of Gungapur Society.
Yes, Mrs. Pat Dearman went beyond the Rectory teachings and was notcontent with personal salvation. A Good Woman of broad altruisticcharity, there was not a young Civilian, not a Subaltern, not ahandsome, interesting, smart, well-to-do, well-in-society, youngbachelor in whose spiritual welfare she did not take the deepestpersonal interest. And, perhaps, of all such eligible souls in Gungapur,the one whose Salvation she most deeply desired to work out (after shewearied of the posings and posturings of Augustus Grobble) was that ofCaptain John Robin Ross-Ellison of her husband's corps--an exceedinglyhandsome, interesting, smart, well-to-do, well-in-society youngbachelor. The owner of this eligible Soul forebore to tell Mrs. PatDearman that it was bespoke for Mohammed the Prophet of Allah--inasmuchas _almost_ the most entrancing, thrilling and delightful pursuit of hislife was the pursuit of soul-treatment at the hands, the beautiful tinywhite hands, of Mrs. Pat Dearman. Had her large soulful eyes penetratedthis subterfuge, he would have jettisoned Mohammed forthwith, since, tohim, the soul-treatment was of infinitely more interest and value thanthe soul, and, moreover, strange as it may seem, this Mussulman Englishgentleman had received real and true Christian teaching at his mother'sknee. When Mrs. Pat Dearman took him to Church, as she frequently did,on Sunday evenings, he was filled with great longings--and with aconviction of the eternal Truth and Beauty of Christianity and theessential nobility of its gentle, unselfish, lofty teachings. He wouldthink of his mother, of some splendid men and women he had known,especially missionaries, medical and other, at Bannu and Poona andelsewhere, and feel that he was really a Christian at heart; and thenagain in Khost and Mekran Kot, when carrying his life in his hand,across the border, in equal danger from the bullet of the Border Police,Guides, or Frontier Force cavalry-outposts and from the bullet ofcriminal tribesmen, when a devil in his soul surged up screaming forblood and fire and slaughter; during the long stealthy crawl as hestalked the stalker; during the wild, yelling, knife-brandishing rush;as he pressed the steady trigger or guided the slashing, stabbing Khyberknife, or as he instinctively _hallaled_ the victim of his _shikar_, heknew he was a Pathan and a Mussulman as were his fathers.
But whether circumstances brought his English blood to the surface orhis Pathan blood, whether the day were one of his most English days orone of his most Pathan days, whether it were a day of mingled andquickly alternating Englishry and Pathanity he now loved and supportedBritain and the British Empire for Mrs. Dearman's sake. Often as he(like most other non-officials) had occasion to detest and desire tokick the Imperial Englishman, championship of England and her Empirewas now his creed. And as there was probably not another England-loverin all India who had his knowledge of under-currents, and forces withinand without, he was perhaps the most anxiously loving of all her lovers,and the most appalled at the criminal carelessness, blind ignorance,fatuous conceit, and folly of a proportion of her sons in India.
Knowing what he knew of Teutonic intrigue and influence in India,Ceylon, Afghanistan, Aden, Persia, Egypt, East Africa, the StraitsSettlements, and China, he was reminded of the men and women of Pompeiiwho ate, drank, and were merry, danced and sang, pursued pleasure andthe nimble denarius, while Vesuvius rumbled.
Constantly the comparison entered his mind.
He had sojourned with Indian "students" in India, England, Germany,Geneva, America and Japan, and had belonged to the most secret ofsocieties. He had himself been a well-paid agent of Germany in both Asiaand Africa; and he had been instrumental in supplying thousands ofrifles to Border raiders, Persian bandits, and other potential troublersof the _pax Britannica_. He now lived half his double life in Indiandress and moved on many planes; and to many places where even he couldnot penetrate unsuspected, his staunch and devoted slave, Moussa Isa,went observant. And all that he learnt and knew, within and without theconfines of Ind, _by itself_ disturbed him, as an England-lover, not atall. Taken in conjunction with the probabilities of a great European Warit disturbed him mightily. As mightily as unselfishly. To him thedripping weapon, the blazing roof, the shrieking woman, the mangledcorpse were but incidents, the unavoidable, unobjectionable concomitantsof the Great Game, the game he most loved (and played upon everypossible occasion)--War.
While, with one half of his soul, John Robin Ross-Ellison might fearinternal disruption, mutiny, rebellion and civil war for what it mightbring to the woman he loved, with the other half of his soul, MirIlderim Dost Mahommed Mir Hafiz Ullah Khan dwelt upon the joys ofbattle, of campaigning, the bivouac, the rattle of rifle-fire, thecharge, the circumventing and slaying of the enemy, as he circumventsthat he may slay. Thus, it was with no selfish thought, no personaldread, that he grew, as said, mightily disturbed at what he knew ofIndia whenever he saw signs of the extra imminence of the Great EuropeanArmageddon that looms upon the horizon, now near, now nearer still, nowless near, but inevitably there, plain to the eyes of all observant,informed and thoughtful men.[50]
[50] Written in 1912.--AUTHOR.
What really astounded and appalled him was the mental attitude, themental condition, of British "statesmen," who (while a mighty andever-growing neighbour, openly, methodically, implacably prepared forthe war that was to win her place in the sun) laboured to reap votes bysowing class-hatred and devoted to national "insurance" moneys sorelyneeded to insure national _existence_.
To him it was as though hens cackled of introducingtime-and-labour-saving incubators while the fox pressed against theunfastened door, smiling to think that their cackle smothered all othersounds ere they reached them or the watch-dog.
Yes--while England was at peace, all was well with India; but letEngland find herself at war, fighting for her very existence ... andIndia might, in certain parts, be an uncomfortable place for any but thestrong man armed, as soon as the British troops were withdrawn--as they,sooner or later, most certainly would be. Then, feared Captain JohnRobin Ross-Ellison of the Gungapur Fusiliers, the British Flag would,for a terrible breathless period of stress and horror, fly, assailed buttriumphant, wherever existed a staunch well-handled Volunteer Corps, andwould flutter down into smoke, flames, ruin and blood, where there didnot. He was convinced that, for a period, the lives of English women,chil
dren and men; English prosperity, prestige, law and order; Englishrule and supremacy, would in some parts of India depend for a time uponthe Volunteers of India. At times he was persuaded that the verycontinuance of the British Empire might depend upon the Volunteers ofIndia. If, during some Black Week (or Black Month or Year) of England'sdeath-struggle with her great rival she lost India (defenceless India,denuded of British troops), she would lose her Empire,--be the result ofher European war what it might. And knowing all that he knew, he fearedfor England, he feared for India, he feared for the Empire. Also hedetermined that, so far as it lay in the power of one war-trained man,the flag should be kept flying in Gungapur when the Great EuropeanArmageddon commenced, and should fly over a centre, and a shelter, forMrs. Dearman, and for all who were loyal and true.
That would be a work worthy of the English blood of him and of thePathan blood too. God! he would show some of these devious,subterranean, cowardly swine what war _is_, if they brought war toGungapur in the hour of India's danger and need, the hour of England andthe Empire's danger and need.
And Captain John Robin Ross-Ellison (and still more Mir Ilderim DostMahommed Mir Hafiz Ullah Khan), obsessed with the belief that adifferent and more terrible 1857 would dawn with the first big reversein England's final war with her systematic, slow, sure, and certainrival, her deliberate, scientific, implacable rival, gave all histhoughts, abilities and time to the enthralling, engrossing game ofGetting Ready.
Perfecting his local system of secret information, hearing and seeingall that he could with his own Pathan ears and eyes, and adding to hisknowledge by means of those of the Somali slave, he also learnt, atfirst hand, what certain men were saying in Cabul and on the Border--andwhat those men say in those places is worth knowing by the meteorologistof world-politics. The pulse of the heart of Europe can be felt very farfrom that heart, and as is the wrist to the pulse-feeling doctor, isAfghanistan and the Border to the head of India's Political Department;as is the doctor's sensitive thumb to the doctor's brain, is the tried,trusted and approven agent of the Secret Service to the Head of all thePoliticals.... What chiefly troubled Captain John Robin Ross-Ellison ofthe Gungapur Fusiliers was the shocking condition of those sameFusiliers and the blind smug apathy, the fatuous contentment, the shortmemories and shorter sight, of the British Pompeians who were perfectlywilling that the condition of the said Fusiliers should remain so.
Clearly the first step towards a decently reliable and efficient corpsin Gungapur was the abolition of the present one, and, with unformulatedintentions towards its abolition, Mr. Ross-Ellison, by the kindinfluence of Mrs. Dearman, joined as a Second Lieutenant and speedilyrose to the rank of Captain and the command of a Company. A year'sindefatigable work convinced him that he might as well endeavour tofashion sword-blades from leaden pipes as to make a fighting unit of hisgang of essentially cowardly, peaceful, unreliable, feeble nondescripts.That their bodies were contemptible he would have regarded as merelydeplorable, but there was no spirit, no soul, no tradition--nothing uponwhich he could work. "Broken-down tapsters and serving-men" indeed, inCromwell's bitter words, and to be replaced by "men of a spirit".
They must go--and make way for men--if indeed _men_ could be found, menwho realized that even an Englishman owes something to the communitywhen he goes abroad, in spite of his having grown up in a land wherehonourable and manly National Service is not, and those who keep himsafe are cheap hirelings, cheaply held....
On the arrival of General Miltiades Murger he sat at his feet as soonas, and whenever, possible; only to discover that he was not onlyuninterested in, but obviously contemptuous of, volunteers andvolunteering. When, at the Dearmans' dinner-table, he endeavoured totalk with the General on the subject he was profoundly discouraged, andon his asking what was to happen when the white troops went home andthe Indian troops went to the Border, or even to Europe, as soon asEngland's inevitable and final war broke out, he was also profoundlysnubbed.
When, after that dinner, General Miltiades Murger made love to Mrs.Dearman on the verandah, he also made an enemy, a bitter, cruel, andvindictive enemy of Mr. Ross-Ellison (or rather of Mir Ilderim DostMahommed Mir Hafiz Ullah Khan).
Nor did his subsequent victory at the Horse Show lessen the enmity,inasmuch as Mrs. Dearman (whom Ross-Ellison loved with the respectfulplatonic devotion of an English gentleman and the fierce intensity of aPathan) took General Miltiades Murger at his own valuation, when thathero described himself and his career to her by the hour. For theGeneral had succumbed at a glance, and confided to his Brigade-Majorthat Mrs. Dearman was a dooced fine woman and the Brigade-Major mightsay that he said so, damme.
As the General's infatuation increased he told everybody elsealso--everybody except Colonel Dearman--who, of course, knew it already.
He even told Jobler, his soldier-servant, promoted butler, as thatsympathetic and admiring functionary endeavoured to induce him to go tobed without his uniform.
At last he told Mrs. Dearman herself, as he saw her in the rosy lightthat emanated from the fine old Madeira that fittingly capped a nobleluncheon given by him in her honour.
He also told her that he loved her as a father--and she besought him notto be absurd. Later he loved her as an uncle, later still as a cousin,later yet as a brother, and then as a man.
She had laughed deprecatingly at the paternal affection, doubtfully atthe avuncular, nervously at the cousinly, angrily at the brotherly,--andnot at all at the manly.
In fact--as the declaration of manly love had been accompanied by anendeavour to salute what the General had called her damask-cheek--shehad slapped the General's own cheek a resounding blow....
"Called you 'Mrs. Darlingwoman,' did he!" roared Mr. Dearman upon beinginformed of the episode. "Wished to salute your damask cheek, did he!The boozy old villain! Damask cheek! _Damned_ cheek! Where's mydog-whip?" ... but Mrs. Dearman had soothed and restrained her lord forthe time being, and prevented him from insulting and assaulting the"aged roue"--who was years younger, in point of fact, than theclean-living Mr. Dearman himself.
But he had shut his door to the unrepentant and unashamed General, hadcut him in the Club, had returned a rudely curt answer to an invitationto dinner, and had generally shown the offender that he trod ondangerous ground when poaching on the preserves of Mr. Dearman. Whereatthe General fumed.
Also the General swore that he would cut the comb of this insolentmoney-grubbing civilian.
Further, he intimated his desire to inspect the Gungapur Fusiliers "onSaturday next".
Not the great and terrible Annual Inspection, of course, but apreliminary canter in that direction.
Doubtless, the new General desired to arrive at a just estimate of thevalue of this unit of his Command, and to allot to it the place forwhich it was best fitted in the scheme of local defence and thingsmilitary at Gungapur.
Perhaps he desired to teach the presumptuous upstart, Dearman, a littlelesson....
The Brigade Major's demy-official letter, bearing the intimation of theimpending visitation--fell as a bolt from the blue and smote the Colonelof the Gungapur Fusiliers a blow that turned his heart to water andloosened the tendons of his knees.
The very slack Adjutant was at home on leave; the Sergeant-Major wasabsolutely new to the Corps; the Sergeant-Instructor was alcoholic andill; and there was not a company officer, except the admirable CaptainJohn Robin Ross-Ellison, competent to drill a company as a separateunit, much less to command one in a battalion. And Captain John RobinRoss-Ellison was away on an alleged _shikar_-trip across the distantBorder. Colonel Dearman knew his battalion-drill. He also knew hisGungapur Fusiliers and what they did when they received the orders ofthose feared and detested evolutions. They walked about, each man a lawunto himself, or stood fast until pushed in the desired direction byblasphemous drill-corporals.
Nor could any excuse be found wherewith to evade the General. It wasnear the end of the drill-season, the Corps was up to its full strength,all the Officers were in the station--except Ca
ptain Ross-Ellison andthe Adjutant. And the Adjutant's absence could not be made a just causeand impediment why the visit of the General should not be paid, forColonel Dearman had with some difficulty, procured the appointment ofone of his Managers as acting-adjutant.
To do so he had been moved to describe the man as an "exceedingly smartand keen Officer," and to state that the Corps would in no way suffer bythis temporary change from a military to a civilian adjutant, from aprofessional to an amateur.
Perhaps the Colonel was right--it would have taken more than that tomake the Gungapur Fusiliers "suffer".
And all had gone exceeding well up to the moment of the receipt of thisterrible demi-official, for the Acting-Adjutant had signed papers whenand where the Sergeant-Major told him, and had saluted the Colonelrespectfully every Saturday evening at five, as he came on parade, andsuggested that the Corps should form fours and march round and round theparade ground, prior to attempting one or two simple movements--asusual.
No. It would have to be--unless, of course, the General had a strokebefore Saturday, or was smitten with _delirium tremens_ in time. For itwas an article of faith with Colonel Dearman since the disgracefulepisode--that a "stroke" hung suspended by the thinnest of threads abovethe head of the "aged roue" and that, moreover, he trembled on the vergeof a terrible abyss of alcoholic diseases--a belief strengthened by theblue face, boiled eye, congested veins and shaking hand of the breakerof hearts. And Colonel Dearman knew that he must not announce the awfulfact until the Corps was actually present--or few men and fewer Officerswould find it possible to be on parade on that occasion.
Saturday evening came, and with it some five hundred men andOfficers--the latter as a body, much whiter-faced than usual, on receiptof the appalling news.
"Thank God I have nothing to do but sit around on my horse," murmuredMajor Pinto.
"Don't return thanks yet," snapped Colonel Dearman. "You'll very likelyhave to drill the battalion"--and the Major went as white as his naturaldisadvantages permitted.
Bitterly did Captain Trebizondi regret his constant insistence upon thefact that he was senior Captain--for he was given command of "A"Company, the post of honour and danger in front of all, and was imploredto "pull it through" and not to stand staring like an owl when theColonel said the battalion would advance; or turn to the left when heshouted "In succession advance in fours from the right of Companies".
And in the orderly-room was much hurried consulting of CaptainRoss-Ellison's well-trained subaltern and of drill-books; and a babel ofsuch questions as: "I say, what the devil do I do if I'm commandingNumber Two and he says 'Deploy outwards'? Go to the right or left?"
More than one gallant officer was seen scribbling for dear life upon hisshirt-cuff, while others, to the common danger, endeavoured to practisethe complicated sword-brandishment which is consequent upon the order"Fall out the Officers".
Colonel Dearman appealed to his brothers-in-arms to stand by him noblyin his travail, but was evidently troubled by the fear that some of themwould stand by him when they ought to march by him. CaptainPetropaulovski, the acting-adjutant, endeavoured to moisten his parchedlips with a dry tongue and sat down whenever opportunity offered.
Captain Euxino Spoophitophiles was seen to tear a page from a red manualdevoted to instruction in the art of drill and to secrete it as one"palms" a card--if one is given to the palming of cards. CaptainSchloggenboschenheimer was heard to promise a substantial _trink-geld_,_pour-boire_, or vot-you-call-tip to Sergeant-Instructor Progg in theevent of the latter official remaining mit him and prompting him mitder-vord-to-say ven it was necessary for him der-ting-to-do.
Too late, Captain Da Costa bethought him of telephoning to his wife (totelephone back to himself imploring him to return at once as she wasparlous ill and sinking fast), for even as he stepped quietly toward thetelephone-closet the Sergeant-Major bustled in with a salute and thefatal words:--
"'Ere's the General, Sir!"
"For God's sake get on parade and play the man this day," cried ColonelDearman, as he hurried out to meet the General, scoring his right bootwith his left spur and tripping over his sword _en route_.
* * * * *
The General greeted the Colonel as a total stranger, addressed him as"Colonel," and said he anticipated great pleasure from this his firstvisit to the well-known Gungapur Fusiliers. He did, and he got it.
Dismounting slowly and heavily from his horse (almost as though "bynumbers") the General, followed by his smart and dapper Brigade-Majorand the perspiring Colonel Dearman, strode with clank of steel andcreak of leather, through the Headquarters building and emerged upon theparade-ground where steadfast stood seven companies of the GungapurFusilier Volunteers in quarter column--more or less at "attention".
"'Shun!" bawled Colonel Dearman, and those who were "at ease" 'shunned,and those who were already 'shunning took their ease.
"'_Shun_!" again roared the Colonel, and those who were now in thatmilitary position relinquished it--while those who were not, assumed itin their own good time.
As the trio drew nigh unto the leading company, Captain Trebizondi,coyly lurking behind its rear rank, shrilly screamed, "'A' Gompany!Royal Salutes! Present Arrrrms!" while a volunteer, late a private ofthe Loyal Whitechapel Regiment, and now an unwilling member of thiscorps of auxiliary troops, audibly ejaculated through one corner of hismobile mouth:--
"Don't you do nothink o' the sort!" and added a brief orison inprejudice of his eyesight.
Certain of "A's" stalwarts obeyed their Captain, while others took theadvice of the volunteer--who was known to have been a man of war in thelurid past, and to understand these matters.
Lieutenant Toddywallah tugged valiantly at his sword for a space, butfinding that weapon coy and unwilling to leave its sheath, he raised hishelmet gracefully and respectfully to the General. His manner was alwayspolished.
"What the devil are they doing?" inquired the General.
"B," "C," "D," "E," "F," and "G" Companies breathed hard and protrudedtheir stomachs, while Sergeant-Instructor Progg deserved well of CaptainSchloggenboschenheimer by sharply tugging his tunic-tail as he was inthe act of roaring:--
"_Gomm_--!" the first syllable of the word "Company," with a view tobestowing a royal salute likewise. Instead, the Captain extended thehand of friendship to the General as he approached. The look of _niladmirari_ boredom slowly faded from the face of the smart and dapperBrigade-Major, and for a while it displayed quite human emotions.
Up and down and between the ranks strode the trio, the General makinginstructive and interesting comments from time to time, such as:--
"Are your buttons of metal or bone, my man? Polish them and find out."
"What did you cook in that helmet?"
"Take your belt in seven holes, and put it where your waist was."
"Are _you_ fourteen years old yet?"
"Personally I don't care to see brown boots, patent shoes nor carpetslippers with uniform."
"And when were you ninety, my poor fellow?"
"Get your belly out of my way."
"Put this unclean person under arrest or under a pump, please, Colonel."
"Can you load a rifle unaided?" and so forth.
The last-mentioned query "Can you load a rifle unaided?" addressed to aweedy youth of seventeen who stood like a living mark-of-interrogation,elicited the reply:--
"Nossir".
"Oh, really! And what _can_ you do?" replied the General sweetly.
"Load a rifle Lee-Metford," was the prompt answer.
The General smiled wintrily, and, at the conclusion of hisperegrination, remarked to Colonel Dearman:--
"Well, Colonel, I can safely say that I have never inspected acorps quite like yours"--an observation capable of variousinterpretations--and intimated a desire to witness some company drillere testing the abilities of the regiment in battalion drill.
"Let the rear company march out and go through some movements," said he.
/> "Why the devil couldn't he have chosen Ross-Ellison's company," thoughtColonel Dearman, as he saluted and lifted up his voice and criedaloud:--
"Captain Rozario! March 'G' Company out for some company-drill.Remainder--stand _easy_."
Captain Rozario paled beneath the bronze imparted to his well-nourishedface by the suns of Portugal (or Goa), drew his sword, dropped it,picked it up, saluted with his left hand and backed into LieutenantXenophontis of "F" Company, who asked him vare the devil he was goingto--hein?...
To the first cold stroke of fright succeeded the hot flush of rage asCaptain Rozario saw the absurdity of ordering him to march his companyout for company drill. How in the name of all the Holy Saints could hemarch his company out with six companies planted in front of him? Letthem be cleared away first. To his men he ejaculated:--
"Compannee----!" and they accepted the remark in silence.
The silence growing tense he further ejaculated "Ahem!" very loudly,without visible result or consequence. The silence growing tenser,Colonel Dearman said encouragingly but firmly:--
"_Do_ something, Captain Rozario".
Captain Rozario did something. He drew his whistle. He blew it. Hereplaced it in his pocket.
Nothing happening, he took his handkerchief from his sleeve, blew hisnose therewith and dropped it (the handkerchief) upon the ground. Sevenobliging volunteers darted forward to retrieve it.
"May we expect the evolutions this evening, Colonel?" inquired GeneralMurger politely.
"We are waiting for you to move off, Captain Rozario," stated ColonelDearman.
"Sir, how can I move off with _oll_ the rest in my front?" inquiredCaptain Rozario reasonably.
"Form fours, right, and quick march," prompted the Sergeant-Major, andCaptain Rozario shrilled forth:
"Form right fours and march quick," at the top of his voice.
Many members of "G" Company turned to their right and marched towardsthe setting-sun, while some turned to their left and marched in thedirection of China.
These latter, discovering in good time that they had erred, hurried torejoin their companions--and "G" Company was soon in full swing if notin fours....
There is a limit to all enterprise and the march of "G" Company wasstayed by a high wall.
Then Captain Rozario had an inspiration.
"About turn," he shrieked--and "G" Company about turned as one man, ifnot in one direction.
The march of "G" Company was stayed this time by the battalion intowhich it comfortably nuzzled.
Again Captain Rozario seized the situation and acted promptly andresourcefully.
"Halt!" he squeaked, and "G" Company halted--in form an oblate spheroid.
Some of its members removed their helmets and the sweat of their brows,some re-fastened bootlaces and putties or unfastened restraining hooksand buttons. One gracefully succumbed to his exertions and faintingfell, with an eye upon the General.
"Interestin' evolution," remarked that Officer. "Demmed interestin'. Maywe have some more?"
"Get on, Captain Rozario," implored Colonel Dearman. "Let's see somecompany-drill."
"One hundred and twenty-five paces backward march," cried CaptainRozario after a brief calculation, and "G" Company reluctantly detacheditself from the battalion, backwards.
"Turn round this away and face to me," continued the gallant Captain,"and then on the left form good companee."
The oblate spheroid assumed an archipelagic formation, melting intoirregularly-placed military islands upon a sea of dust.
"_Oll_ get together and left dress, please," besought Captain Rozario,and many of the little islands amalgamated with that on their extremeright while the remainder gravitated to their left--the result beingtwo continents of unequal dimensions.
As Captain Rozario besought these disunited masses to conjoin, the voiceof the General was heard in the land--
"Kindly order that mob to disperse before it is fired on, will you,Colonel? They can go home and stay there," said he.
Captain Rozario was a man of sensibility and he openly wept.
No one could call this a good beginning--nor could they have called theensuing battalion-drill a good ending.
"Put the remainder of the battalion through some simple movements ifthey know any," requested the General.
Determined to retrieve the day yet, Colonel Dearman saluted, cleared histhroat terrifically and shouted: '"Tallish, 'shun!" with such force thata nervous man in the front rank of "A" Company dropped his rifle andseveral "presented" arms.
Only one came to the "slope," two to the "trail" and four to the"shoulder".
Men already at attention again stood at ease, while men already at easeagain stood at attention.
Disregarding these minor _contretemps_, Colonel Dearman clearly andemphatically bellowed:--
"The battalion will advance. In succession, advance in fours from theleft of companies--"
"Why not tell off the battalion--just for luck?" suggested GeneralMurger.
"Tell off the battalion," said Colonel Dearman in his natural voice andan unnaturally crestfallen manner.
Captain Trebizondi of "A" Company glared to his front, and instead ofreplying "Number One" in a loud voice, held his peace--tight.
But his lips moved constantly, and apparently Captain Trebizondi wasengaged in silent prayer.
"Tell off the battalion," bawled the Colonel again.
Captain Trebizondi's lips moved constantly.
"_Will_ you tell off the dam battalion, Sir?" shouted the Colonel at theenrapt supplicant.
Whether Captain Trebizondi is a Mohammedan I am not certain, but, if so,he may have remembered words of the Prophet to the effect that it isessential to trust in Allah absolutely, and expedient to tie up yourcamel yourself, none the less. Captain Trebizondi was trusting in Allahperchance--but he had not tied up his camel; he had not learnt hisdrill.
And when Colonel Dearman personally and pointedly appealed to him in thematter of the battalion's telling-off, he turned round and faced it andsaid--
"Ah--battalion--er--" in a very friendly and persuasive voice.
Then a drill corporal took it upon him to bawl _Number One_ as CaptainTrebizondi should have done, some one shouted _Number Two_ from "B"Company, the colour-sergeant of "C" bawled _Number Three_ and then, withready wit, the Captains of "D," "E," and "F" caught up the idea, and thething was done.
So far so good.
And the Colonel returned to his first venture and again announced to thebattalion that it would advance in succession and in fours from the leftof companies.
It bore the news with equanimity and Captain Trebizondi visiblybrightened at the idea of leaving the spot on which he had suffered andsweated--but he took no steps in the matter personally.
He tried to scratch his leg through his gaiter.
"'A' Company going this evening?" inquired the General. "Wouldn't hurryyou, y'know, but--I dine at nine."
Captain Trebizondi remembered his parade-manners and threw a chestinstead of a stomach.
The jerk caused his helmet to tilt forward over his eyes and settle downslowly and firmly upon his face as a fallen cliff upon the beachbeneath.
"The Officer commanding the leading company appears to be trying tohide," commented General Murger.
Captain Trebizondi uncovered his face--a face of great promise but noperformance.
"_Will_ you march your company off, sir," shouted Colonel Dearman, "thebattalion is waiting for you."
With a look of reproachful surprise and an air of "Why couldn't you sayso?" the harassed Captain agitated his sword violently as a salute,turned to his company and boomed finely:--
"March off!"
The Company obeyed its Commander.
Seeing the thing so easy of accomplishment Captains Allessandropoulos,Schloggenboschenheimer, Da Costa, Euxino, Spoophitophiles and Jose gavethe same order and the battalion was in motion--marching to its front inquarter-column instead of wheeling off in fours.
Unsteadily shoulder from shoulder, Unsteadily blade from blade, Unsteady and wrong, slouching along, Went the boys of the old brigade.
"Halt," roared Colonel Dearman.
"Oh, don't halt 'em," begged General Murger, "it's the most entertainin'show I have ever seen."
The smart and dapper Brigade-Major's mouth was open.
Major Pinto and Captain-and-Acting-Adjutant Petropaulovski forgot tocling to their horses with hand and heel and so endangered their lives.
The non-commissioned officers of the permanent staff commended theirsouls to God and marched as men in a dream.
On hearing the Colonel's cry of "Halt" many of the men halted. Nothearing the Colonel's cry of "Halt" many of the men did not halt.
In two minutes the battalion was without form and void.
In ten minutes the permanent staff had largely re-sorted it and, to agreat extent, re-formed the original companies.
Captain Jose offered his subaltern, Lieutenant Bylegharicontractor, ahundred rupees to change places with him.
Offer refused, with genuine and deep regret, but firmly.
"Shall we have another try, Colonel," inquired General Murger silkily."Any amount of real initiative and originality about this Corps. But Iam old-fashioned enough to prefer drill-book evolutions on thebarrack-square, I confess. Er--let the Major carry on as it is gettinglate."
Colonel Dearman's face flushed a rich dark purple. His eyes protrudedtill they resembled those of a crab. His red hair appeared to flamelike very fire. His lips twitched and he gasped for breath. Could hebelieve his ears. "_Let the Major carry on as it is getting late_!" Lethim step into the breach "as it is getting late!" Let the morecompetent, though junior, officer take over the command "as it isgetting late". Ho!--likewise Ha! This aged roue, this miserablewine-bibbing co-respondent, with his tremulous hand and boiled eye,thought that Colonel Dearman did not know his drill, did he? Wanted thewretched and incompetent Pinto to carry on, did he?--as it was gettinglate.
Good! Ha! Likewise Ho! "Let Pinto carry on as it was getting late!"
Very well! _If it cost Colonel Dearman every penny he had in the worldhe would have his revenge on the insolent scoundrel_. He might think hecould insult Colonel Dearman's wife with impunity, he might thinkhimself entitled to cast ridicule on Colonel Dearman's Corps--but "letthe Major carry on as it is getting late!" By God that was toomuch!--That was the last straw that breaks the camel's heart--andColonel Dearman would have his revenge or lose life, honour, and wealthin the attempt.
_Ha_! and, moreover, _Ho_!
The Colonel knew his battalion-drill by heart and backwards. Was it_his_ fault that his officers were fools and his men damn-fools?
Major Pinto swallowed hard, blinked hard, and breathed hard. Like theLady of Shallott he felt that the curse had come upon him.
"Battalion will advance. Quick march," he shouted, as a safe beginning.But the Sergeant-Major had by this time fully explained to the sweatingCaptain Trebizondi that he should have given the order "Form fours.Left. Right wheel. Quick march," when the Colonel had announced that thebattalion would advance "in succession from the left of companies".
Like lightning he now hurled forth the orders. "Form fours. Left. Rightwheel. Quick march.", and the battalion was soon under way with onecompany in column of fours and the remaining five companies in line....
Time cures all troubles, and in time "A" Company was pushed and pulledback into line again.
The incident pleased Major Pinto as it wasted the fleeting minutes andgave him a chance to give the only other order of which he was sure.
"That was _oll_ wrong," said he. "We will now, however, oll advance as'A' Company did. The arder will be 'Battalion will advance. Insuccession, advance in fours from the right of companees.' Thenn eachofficer commanding companees will give the arder 'Form fours. Right.Left wheel. Quick march' one after _thee_ other."
And the Major gave the order.
To the surprise of every living soul upon the parade-ground themanoeuvre was correctly executed and the battalion moved off in columnof fours. And it kept on moving. And moving. For Major Pinto had come tothe end of his tether.
"_Do_ something, man," said Colonel Dearman with haughty scorn, aftersome five minutes of strenuous tramping had told severely on the_morale_ of the regiment.
And Major Pinto, hoping for the best and fearing the worst, lifted uphis voice and screamed:--
"On the right _form battalion_!"
Let us draw a veil.
The adjective that General Murger used with the noun he called theGungapur Fusiliers is not to be printed.
The address he made to that Corps after it had once more found itselfwould have led a French or Japanese regiment to commit suicide bycompanies, taking the time from the right. A Colonel of Romance Racewould have fallen on his sword at once (and borrowed something morelethal had it failed to penetrate).
But the corps, though not particularly British, was neither French norJapanese and was very glad of the rest while the General talked. AndColonel Dearman, instead of falling on his sword, fell on General Murger(in spirit) and swore to be revenged tenfold.
He would have his own back, cost what it might, or his name was notDearman--and he was going Home on leave immediately after the VolunteerAnnual Camp of Exercise, just before General Murger retired....
"I shall inspect your corps in camp," General Murger had said, "and thequestion of its disbandment may wait until I have done so."
_Disbandment_! The question of the _disbandment_ of the fine andfar-famed Fusiliers of Gungapur could wait till then, could it? Well_and_ good! Ha! and likewise Ho!
On Captain John Robin Ross-Ellison's return from leave, Colonel Dearmantold that officer of General Murger's twofold insult--to ColonelDearman's wife and to Colonel Dearman's Corps. On hearing of the first,Captain Ross-Ellison showed his teeth in a wolfish and ugly manner, and,on hearing of the second, propounded a scheme of vengeance that madeColonel Dearman grin and then burst into a roar of laughter. He badeCaptain Ross-Ellison dine with him and elaborate details of the scheme.
* * * * *
To rumours of General Murger's failing health and growing alcoholismColonel Dearman listened with interest--nay, satisfaction. Stories ofseizures, strokes and "goes" of _delirium tremens_ met with no rebukenor contradiction from him--and an air of leisured ease and unanxiouspeacefulness pervaded the Gungapur Fusiliers. If any member had thoughtthat the sad performance of the fatal Saturday night and the wingedwords of General Murger were to be the prelude to period of fierceactivity and frantic preparation, he was mistaken. It was almost asthough Colonel Dearman believed that General Murger would not live tocarry out his threat.
The corps paraded week by week, fell in, marched round the ground andfell out again. There was no change of routine, no increase of work, nostress, no strain.
All was peace, the corps was happy, and in the fullness of time (and theabsence of the Adjutant) it went to Annual Camp of Exercise a few milesfrom Gungapur. And there the activities of Captain John RobinRoss-Ellison and a large band of chosen men were peculiar. While theremainder, with whom went Colonel Dearman, the officers, and thepermanent staff, marched about in the usual manner and enjoyed thepicnic, these others appeared to be privately and secretly rehearsing amore specialized part--to the mystification and wonder of the saidremainder. Even on the great day, the day of the Annual Inspection, thisdivision was maintained and the "remainder" were marched off to theother side of the wood adjacent to the Camp, some couple of hours beforethe expected arrival of the General, who would come out by train.
The arrangement was that the horses of the General and the Brigade-Majorshould await those officers at the camp station, and that, on arrival,they would be mounted by their owners who would then ride to the camp, afurlong distant. Near the camp a mounted orderly would meet the Generaland escort him to the spot where the battalion, with Colonel Dearman atits head, would be drawn up for his inspection.
A large bungalow, used as the Officers' Mess, a copse, and a hillockcompletely screened the spot used as the battalion parade-ground, fromthe view of one approaching the Camp, and the magnificent sight of theGungapur Fusiliers under arms would burst upon him only when he roundedthe corner of a wall of palms, cactus, and bamboos, and entered by anarrow gap between it and a clump of dense jungle.
* * * * *
General Murger was feeling distinctly bad as he sat on the edge of hisbed and viewed with the eye of disfavour the _choti hazri_[51] set forthfor his delectation.
[51] "Little presence," early breakfast, _petit dejeuner_.
As he intended to inspect the Volunteers in the early morning andreturn to a mid-day breakfast, the _choti hazri_ was substantial, thoughserved on a tray in his bedroom.
The General yawned, rubbed his eyes and grunted.
"Eggs be demmed," said he.
"Toast be demmed," he said.
"Tea be demmed," he shouted.
"_Pate de fois gras_ be demmed," shouted he.
"Jobler! Bring me a bottle of beer," he roared.
"No, bring me a brandy-cocktail," roared he.
For the brandy-cocktail the General felt better for a time but hewished, first, that his hand would not shake in such a way thathair-brushing was difficult and shaving impossible; secondly, that theprevailing colour of everything was not blue; thirdly, that he did notfeel giddy when he stood up; fourthly, that his head did not ache;fifthly, that his mouth would provide some other flavour than that of aglue-coated copper coin; sixthly, that things would keep still and hisboots cease to smile at him from the corner; seventhly, that he had notgone to the St. Andrew's dinner last night, begun on _punch a laRomaine_, continued on neat whisky in _quaichs_ and finished on port,liqueurs, champagne and haphazard brandy-and-sodas, whisky-and-sodas,and any old thing that was handy; and eighthly, that he had had a quartof beer instead of the brandy-cocktail for _choti hazri_.
But that could easily be remedied by having the beer now. The Generalhad the beer and soon wished that he hadn't, for it made him feel verybad indeed.
However, a man must do his dooty, ill or well, and when theBrigade-Major sent up to remind the General that the train went atseven, he was answered by the General himself and a hint that he wasofficious. During the brief train-journey the General slumbered.
On mounting his horse, the General was compelled to work out a littlesum.
If one has four fingers there must be three inter-finger spaces, eh?Granted. Then how the devil are four reins to go into three placesbetween four fingers, eh? Absurd idea, an' damsilly. However, till thematter was referred to the War Office and finally settled, one could puttwo reins between two fingers or pass one outside the lill' finger,what? But the General hated compromises.... The mounted orderly met theGeneral, saluted and directed him to the entrance to the tree-encircledcamp and parade-ground.
At the entrance, the General, leading, reined in so sharply as to throwhis horse on its haunches--his mouth fell open, his mottled face wentputty-coloured, and each hair that he possessed appeared to bristle.
He uttered a deep groan, rubbed his eyes, emitted a yell, wheeled roundand galloped for dear life, with a cry, nay a scream, of "_I've got 'emat last_," followed by his utterly bewildered but ever-faithfulBrigade-Major, who had seen nothing but foliage, scrub, and cactus. ToGungapur the General galloped without drawing rein, took to his bed,sent for surgeon and priest--and became a teetotaller.
And what had he seen?
The affair is wrapped in mystery.
The Brigade-Major says nothing because he knows nothing, as it happens,and the Corps declared it was never inspected. Father Ignatius knowswhat the General saw, or thinks he saw, and so does the Surgeon-General,but neither is in the habit of repeating confessions and confidences.What Jobler, at the keyhole, understood him to say he had seen, orthought he had seen, is not to be believed.
Judge of it.
"I rode into the dem place and what did I behold? A dem pandemonium,Sir, a pantomime--a lunatic asylum, Sir--all Hell out for a BankHoliday, I tell you. There was a battalion of Red Indians, Negroes,Esquimaux, Ballet Girls, Angels, Sweeps, Romans, Sailors, Pierrots,Savages, Bogeymen, Ancient Britons, Bishops, Zulus, Pantaloons,Beef-eaters, Tramps, Life-Guards, Washerwomen, Ghosts, Clowns andGod-knows-what, armed with jezails, umbrellas, brooms, catapults, pikes,brickbats, _kukeries_,[52] pokers, clubs, axes, horse-pistols, bottles,dead fowls, polo-sticks, assegais and bombs. They were commanded by aHighlander in a bum-bee tartan kilt, top-hat and one sock, with a rednose a foot long, riding on a rocking horse and brandishing a dem greatcucumber and a tea-tray made into a shield. There was a thundering greatdrain-pipe mounted on a bullock-cart and a naked man, painted blue, in acocked-hat, laying an aim and firing a penny-pistol down the middle ofit and yelling 'Pip!'
[52] Ghurka knives.
"There was a chauffeur in smart livery on an elephant, twirling asteering-wheel on its neck for dear life, and tooting a big motor-horn..There was a fat man in a fireman's helmet and pyjamas, armed with apeashooter, riding a donkey backwards--and the moke wore two pairs oftrousers!... As I rubbed my poor old eyes, the devil in command howled'General salaam. Pre_sent_-legs'--and every fiend there fell flat on hisface and raised his right leg up behind--I tell you, Sir, I fled for mylife, and--no more liquor for me." ...
When ex-Colonel Dearman heard any reference to this mystery he roaredwith laughter--but it was the Last Muster of the fine and far-famedGungapur Fusiliers, as such.
The Corps was disbanded forthwith and re-formed on a different basis (ofquality instead of quantity) with Lieutenant-Colonel John RobinRoss-Ellison, promoted, in command--he having caught the keen eye ofthat splendid soldier and gentleman Lieutenant-General Sir ArthurBarnet, K.C.V.O., K.C.S.I. (G.O.C., XVIth Division), as being the veryman for the job of re-organizing the Corps, and making it worth itscapitation-grant.
"If I could get Captain Malet-Marsac as Adjutant and a Sergeant-Major ofwhom I know (used to be at Duri--man named Lawrence-Smith) I'd undertaketo show you something, Sir, in a year or two," said Lieutenant-ColonelRoss-Ellison.
"Malet-Marsac you can certainly have," replied Sir Arthur Barnet. "I'llspeak to your new Brigadier. If you can find your Lawrence-Smith we'llsee what can be done." ...
And Lieutenant-Colonel Ross-Ellison wrote to Sergeant-MajorLawrence-Smith of the Duri Volunteer Rifles to know if he would like atransfer upon advantageous terms, and got no reply.
As it happened, Lieutenant-Colonel Ross-Ellison, in very differentguise, had seen Sergeant Lawrence-Smith extricate and withdraw hisofficerless company from the tightest of tight places (on the Border) ina manner that moved him to large admiration. It had been a case of "andeven the ranks of Tuscany" on the part of Mir Jan Rah-bin-Ras el-IsanIlderim Dost Mahommed.... Later he had encountered him and CaptainMalet-Marsac at Duri.