he turned away, an' I saw him walkin' off wid Slimmy's wife; she thryin'
to wipe off the powther-black on the front av his jackut wid her
handkerchief. 'A brave man you are,' thinks I--'a brave man an' a bad
woman.'
"No wan said a word for a time. They was all ashamed, past spache,
"'Fwhat d'you think he will do?' sez wan av thim at last. 'He knows we're
all in ut.'
"'Are we so?' sez I from my cot. 'The man that sez that to me will be
hurt. I do not know,' sez I, 'fwhat onderhand divilmint you have
conthrived, but by what I've seen I know that you cannot commit murdher
wid another man's rifle--such shakin' cowards you are. I'm goin' to
slape,' I sez, 'an' you can blow my head off whoile I lay.' I did not
slape, though, for a long time. Can ye wonder?
"Next morn the news was through all the rig'mint, an' there was nothin'
that the men did not tell. O'Hara reports, fair an' easy, that Vulmea was
come to grief through tamperin' wid his rifle in barricks, all for to show
the mechanism. An' by my sowl, he had the impart'nince to say that he was
on the sphot at the time an' cud certify that ut was an accidint! You
might ha' knocked my roomful down wid a straw whin they heard that. 'Twas
lucky for thim that the bhoys were always thryin' to find out how the new
rifle was made, an' a lot av thim had come up for easin' the pull by
shtickin' bits av grass an' such in the part av the lock that showed near
the thrigger. The first issues of the 'Tinis was not covered in, an' I
mesilf have eased the pull av mine time an' agin. A light pull is ten
points on the range to me.
"'I will not have this foolishness!' sez the Colonel, 'I will twist the
tail off Vulmea!' sez he; but whin he saw him, all tied up an' groanin' in
hospital, he changed his will. 'Make him an early convalescint' sez he to
the Doctor, an' Vulmea was made so for a warnin'. His big bloody bandages
an' face puckered up to wan side did more to kape the bhoys from messin'
wid the insides av their rifles than any punishmint.
"O'Hara gave no reason for fwhat he'd said, an' all my roomful were too
glad to inquire, tho' he put his spite upon thim more wearin' than before.
Wan day, howiver, he tuk me apart very polite, for he cud be that at the
choosin'.
"'You're a good sodger, tho' you're a damned insolint man,' sez he.
"'Fair words, Sargint,' sez I, 'or I may be insolint again,'
"'Tis not like you,' sez he, 'to lave your rifle in the rack widout the
breech-pin, for widout the breech-pin she was whin Vulmea fired. I should
ha' found the break av ut in the eyes av the holes, else,' he sez.
"'Sargint,' sez I, 'fwhat wud your life ha' been worth av the breech-pin
had been in place, for, on my sowl, my life wud be worth just as much to
me av I tould you whether ut was or was not. Be thankful the bullet was
not there,' I sez.
"'That's thrue,' sez he, pulling his moustache; 'but I do not believe that
you, for all your lip, was in that business.'
"'Sargint,' sez I, 'I cud hammer the life out av a man in ten minuts wid
my fistes if that man dishpleased me; for I am a good sodger, an' I will
be threated as such, an' whoile my fistes are my own they're strong enough
for all work I have to do. They do not fly back toward me!' sez I, lookin'
him betune the eyes.
"'You're a good man,' sez he, lookin' me betune the eyes--an' oh he was a
gran'-built man to see!--'you're a good man,' he sez, 'an' I cud wish, for
the pure frolic av ut, that I was not a Sargint, or that you were not a
Privit; an' you will think me no coward whin I say this thing.'
"'I do not,' sez I. 'I saw you whin Vulmea mishandled the rifle. But,
Sargint,' I sez, 'take the wurrd from me now, spakin' as man to man wid
the shtripes off, tho' 'tis little right I have to talk, me being fwhat I
am by natur'. This time ye tuk no harm, an' next time ye may not, but, in
the ind, so sure as Slimmy's wife came into the veranda, so sure will ye
take harm--an' bad harm. Have thought, Sargint,' sez I. 'Is ut worth ut?'
"'Ye're a bould man,' sez he, breathin' harrd. 'A very bould man. But I am
a bould man tu. Do you go your way, Privit Mulvaney, an' I will go mine.'
"We had no further spache thin or afther, but, wan by another, he drafted
the twelve av my room out into other rooms an' got thim spread among the
Comp'nies, for they was not a good breed to live together, an' the Comp'ny
orf'cers saw ut. They wud ha' shot me in the night av they had known fwhat
I knew; but that they did not.
"An', in the ind, as I said, O'Hara met his death from Rafferty for
foolin' wid his wife. He wint his own way too well--Eyah, too well!
Shtraight to that affair, widout turnin' to the right or to the lef', he
wint, an' may the Lord have mercy on his sowl. Amin!"
"'Ear! 'Ear!" said Ortheris, pointing the moral with a wave of his pipe,
"An' this is 'im 'oo would be a bloomin' Vulmea all for the sake of
Mullins an' a bloomin' button! Mullins never went after a woman in his
life. Mrs. Mullins, she saw 'im one day"--
"Ortheris," I said, hastily, for the romances of Private Ortheris are all
too daring for publication, "look at the sun. It's quarter past six!"
"O Lord! Three quarters of an hour for five an' a 'arf miles! We'll 'ave
to run like Jimmy-O."
The Three Musketeers clambered on to the bridge, and departed hastily in
the direction of the cantonment road. When I overtook them I offered them
two stirrups and a tail, which they accepted enthusiastically. Ortheris
held the tail, and in this manner we trotted steadily through the shadows
by an unfrequented road.
At the turn into the cantonments we heard carriage wheels. It was the
Colonel's barouche, and in it sat the Colonel's wife and daughter. I
caught a suppressed chuckle, and my beast sprang forward with a lighter
step.
The Three Musketeers had vanished into the night.
THE TAKING OF LUNGTUNGPEN
So we loosed a bloomin' volley,
An' we made the beggars cut,
An' when our pouch was emptied out.
We used the bloomin' butt,
Ho! My!
Don't yer come anigh,
When Tommy is a playin' with the baynit an' the butt.
_--Barrack Room Ballad_.
My friend Private Mulvaney told me this, sitting on the parapet of the
road to Dagshai, when we were hunting butterflies together. He had
theories about the Army, and colored clay pipes perfectly. He said that
the young soldier is the best to work with, "on account av the surpassing
innocinse av the child."
"Now, listen!" said Mulvaney, throwing himself full length on the wall in
the sun. "I'm a born scutt av the barrick-room! The Army's mate an' dhrink
to me, bekaze I'm wan av the few that can't quit ut. I've put in sivinteen
years, an' the pipeclay's in the marrow av me. Av I cud have kept out av
wan big dhrink a month, I wud have been a Hon'ry Lift'nint by this time--a
nuisince to my betthers, a laughin'-shtock to my equils, an' a curse to
meself. Bein' fwhat I am, I'm Privit Mulvaney, wid no good-conduc' pay an'
a devourin' thirst. Always barrin' me little frind Bobs Bahadur, I know as
much about the Army as most men."
I said something here.
"Wolseley be shot! Betune you an' me an' that butterfly net, he's a
ramblin', incoherint sort av a divil, wid wan oi on the Quane an' the
Coort, an' the other on his blessed silf--everlastin'ly playing Saysar an'
Alexandrier rowled into a lump. Now Bobs is a sinsible little man. Wid
Bobs an' a few three-year-olds, I'd swape any army av the earth into a
towel, an' throw it away aftherward. Faith, I'm not jokin'! Tis the
bhoys--the raw bhoys--that don't know fwhat a bullut manes, an' wudn't
care av they did--that dhu the work. They're crammed wid bull-mate till
they fairly _ramps_ wid good livin'; and thin, av they don't fight, they
blow each other's hids off. 'Tis the trut' I'm tellin' you. They shud be
kept on water an' rice in the hot weather; but there'd be a mut'ny av
'twas done.
"Did ye iver hear how Privit Mulvaney tuk the town av Lungtungpen? I
thought not! 'Twas the Lift'nint got the credit; but 'twas me planned the
schame. A little before I was inviladed from Burma, me an' four-an'-twenty
young wans undher a Lift'nint Brazenose, was ruinin' our dijeshins thryin'
to catch dacoits. An' such double-ended divils I niver knew! Tis only a
_dah_ an' a Snider that makes a dacoit, Widout thim, he's a paceful
cultivator, an' felony for to shoot. We hunted, an' we hunted, an' tuk
fever an' elephints now an' again; but no dacoits, Evenshually, we
_puckarowed_ wan man, 'Trate him tinderly,' sez the Lift'nint. So I tuk
him away into the jungle, wid the Burmese Interprut'r an' my clanin'-rod.
Sez I to the man, 'My paceful squireen,' sez I, 'you shquot on your
hunkers an' dimonstrate to _my_ frind here, where _your_ frinds are whin
they're at home?' Wid that I introjuced him to the clanin'-rod, an' he
comminst to jabber; the Interprut'r interprutin' in betweens, an' me
helpin' the Intilligince Departmint wid my clanin'-rod whin the man
misremimbered.
"Prisintly, I learn that, acrost the river, about nine miles away, was a
town just dhrippin' wid dahs, an' bohs an' arrows, an' dacoits, and
elephints, an' _jingles_. 'Good!' sez I; 'this office will now close!'
"That night, I went to the Lift'nint an' communicates my information. I
never thought much of Lift'nint Brazenose till that night. He was shtiff
wid books an' theouries, an' all manner av thrimmin's no manner av use.
'Town did ye say?' sez he. 'Accordin' to the theouries av War, we shud
wait for reinforcemints.'--'Faith!' thinks I, 'we'd betther dig our graves
thin;' for the nearest throops was up to their shtocks in the marshes out
Mimbu way. 'But,' says the Lift'nint, 'since 'tis a speshil case, I'll
make an excepshin. We'll visit this Lungtungpen to-night.'
"The bhoys was fairly woild wid deloight whin I tould 'em; an', by this
an' that, they wint through the jungle like buck-rabbits. About midnight
we come to the shtrame which I had clane forgot to minshin to my orficer.
I was on, ahead, wid four bhoys, an' I thought that the Lift'nint might
want to theourise. 'Shtrip boys!' sez I. 'Shtrip to the buff, an' shwim in
where glory waits!'--'But I _can't_ shwim!' sez two av thim. 'To think I
should live to hear that from a bhoy wid a board-school edukashin!' sez I.
'Take a lump av timber, an' me an' Conolly here will ferry ye over, ye
young ladies!'
"We got an ould tree-trunk, an' pushed off wid the kits an' the rifles on
it. The night was chokin' dhark, an' just as we was fairly embarked, I
heard the Lift'nint behind av me callin' out. 'There's a bit av a _nullah_
here, sorr,' sez I, 'but I can feel the bottom already.' So I cud, for I
was not a yard from the bank.
"'Bit av a _nullah!_ Bit av an eshtuary!' sez the Lift'nint. 'Go on, ye
mad Irishman! Shtrip bhoys!' I heard him laugh; an' the bhoys begun
shtrippin' an' rollin' a log into the wather to put their kits on. So me
an' Conolly shtruck out through the warm wather wid our log, an' the rest
come on behind.
"That shtrame was miles woide! Orth'ris, on the rear-rank log, whispers we
had got into the Thames below Sheerness by mistake. 'Kape on shwimmin', ye
little blayguard,' sez I, 'an' don't go pokin' your dirty jokes at the
Irriwaddy,'--'Silince, men!' sings out the Lift'nint. So we shwum on into
the black dhark, wid our chests on the logs, trustin' in the Saints an'
the luck av the British Army.
"Evenshually, we hit ground--a bit av sand--an' a man. I put my heel on
the back av him. He skreeched an' ran.
"'_Now_ we've done it!' sez Lift'nint Brazenose. 'Where the Divil _is_
Lungtungpen?' There was about a minute and a half to wait. The bhoys laid
a hould av their rifles an' some thried to put their belts on; we was
marchin' wid fixed baynits av coorse. Thin we knew where Lungtungpen was;
for we had hit the river-wall av it in the dhark, an' the whole town
blazed wid thim messin' _jingles_ an' Sniders like a cat's back on a
frosty night. They was firin' all ways at wanst, but over our hids into
the shtrame.
"'Have you got your rifles?' sez Brazenose. 'Got 'em!' sez Orth'ris. 'I've
got that thief Mulvaney's for all my back-pay, an' she'll kick my heart
sick wid that blunderin' long shtock av hers.'--'Go on!' yells Brazenose,
whippin' his sword out. 'Go on an' take the town! An' the Lord have mercy
on our sowls!'
"Thin the bhoys gave wan divastatin' howl, an' pranced into the dhark,
feelin' for the town, an' blindin' an' stiffin' like Cavalry Ridin'
Masters whin the grass pricked their bare legs. I hammered wid the butt at
some bamboo-thing that felt wake, an' the rest come an' hammered
contagious, while the _jingles_ was jingling, an' feroshus yells from
inside was shplittin' our ears. We was too close under the wall for thim
to hurt us.
"Evenshually, the thing, whatever ut was, bruk; an' the six-and-twinty av
us tumbled, wan after the other, naked as we was borrun, into the town of
Lungtungpen. There was a _melly_ av a sumpshus kind for a whoile; but
whether they tuk us, all white an' wet, for a new breed av divil, or a new
kind av dacoit, I don't know. They ran as though we was both, an' we wint
into thim, baynit an' butt, shriekin' wid laughin'. There was torches in
the shtreets, an' I saw little Orth'ris rubbin' his showlther ivry time he
loosed my long-shtock Martini; an' Brazenose walkin' into the gang wid his
sword, like Diarmid av the Gowlden Collar--barring he hadn't a stitch av
clothin' on him. We diskivered elephints wid dacoits under their bellies,
an', what wid wan thing an' another, we was busy till mornin' takin'
possession av the town of Lungtungpen.
"Thin we halted an' formed up, the wimmen howlin' in the houses an'
Lift'nint Brazenose blushin' pink in the light av the mornin' sun. 'Twas
the most ondasint p'rade I iver tuk a hand in. Foive-and-twenty privits
an' a orficer av the Line in review ordher, an' not as much as wud dust a
fife betune 'em all in the way of clothin'! Eight av us had their belts
an' pouches on; but the rest had gone in wid a handful av cartridges an'
the skin God gave thim. _They_ was as nakid as Vanus.
"'Number off from the right!' sez the Lift'nint. 'Odd numbers fall out to
dress; even numbers pathrol the town till relieved by the dressing party.'
Let me tell you, pathrollin' a town wid nothing on is an ex_pay_rience. I
pathrolled for tin minutes, an' begad, before 'twas over, I blushed. The
women laughed so. I niver blushed before or since; but I blushed all over
my carkiss thin. Orth'ris didn't pathrol. He sez only, 'Portsmith Barricks
an' the 'Ard av a Sunday! Thin he lay down an' rowled any ways wid
laughin'.
"Whin we was all dhressed, we counted the dead--sivinty-foive dacoits
besides wounded. We tuk five elephints, a hunder' an' sivinty Sniders, two
hunder' dahs, and a lot av other burglarious thruck. Not a man av us was
hurt--excep' maybe the Lift'nint, an' he from the shock to his dasincy.
"The Headman av Lungtungpen, who surrinder'd himself, asked the
Interprut'r--''Av the English fight like that wid their clo'es off, what
in the wurruld do they do wid their clo'es on?' Orth'ris began rowlin' his
eyes an' crackin' his fingers an' dancin' a step-dance for to impress the
Headman. He ran to his house; an' we spint the rest av the day carryin'
the Lift'nint on our showlthers round the town, an' playin' wid the
Burmese babies--fat, little, brown little divils, as pretty as picturs.
"Whin I was inviladed for the dysent'ry to India, I sez to the Lift'nint,
'Sorr,' sez I, 'you've the makin's in you av a great man; but, av you'll
let an ould sodger spake, you're too fond of the-ourisin'.' He shuk hands
wid me and sez, 'Hit high, hit low, there's no plasin' you, Mulvaney.
You've seen me waltzin' through Lungtungpen like a Red Injin widout the
warpaint, an' you say I'm too fond av the-ourisin'?'--'Sorr,' sez I, for I
loved the bhoy; 'I wud waltz wid you in that condishin through _Hell_, an'
so wud the rest av the men!' Thin I wint downshtrame in the flat an' left
him my blessin'. May the Saints carry ut where ut shud go, for he was a
fine upstandin' young orficer,
"To reshume. Fwhat I've said jist shows the use av three-year-olds. Wud
fifty seasoned sodgers have taken Lungtungpen in the dhark that way? No!
They'd know the risk av fever and chill. Let alone the shootin'. Two
hundher' might have done ut. But the three-year-olds know little an' care
less; an' where there's no fear, there's no danger. Catch thim young, feed
thim high, an' by the honor av that great, little man Bobs, behind a good
orficer 'tisn't only dacoits they'd smash wid their clo'es off--'tis
Con-ti-nental Ar-r-r-mies! They tuk Lungtungpen nakid; an' they'd take St.
Pethersburg in their dhrawers! Begad, they would that!
"Here's your pipe, sorr. Shmoke her tinderly wid honey-dew, afther letting
the reek av the Canteen plug die away. But 'tis no good, thanks to you all
the same, fillin' my pouch wid your chopped hay. Canteen baccy's like the
Army. It shpoils a man's taste for moilder things."
So saying, Mulvaney took up his butterfly-net, and returned to barracks.
THE PHANTOM RICKSHAW
May no ill dreams disturb my rest,
Nor Powers of Darkness me molest.
--Evening Hymn.
One of the few advantages that India has over England is a great
Knowability. After five years' service a man is directly or indirectly
acquainted with the two or three hundred Civilians in his Province, all
the Messes of ten or twelve Regiments and Batteries, and some fifteen
hundred other people of the non-official caste, in ten years his knowledge
should be doubled, and at the end of twenty he knows, or knows something
about, every Englishman in the Empire, and may travel anywhere and
everywhere without paying hotel-bills.
Globe-trotters who expect entertainment as a right, have, even within my
memory, blunted this open-heartedness, but none the less to-day, if you
belong to the Inner Circle and are neither a Bear nor a Black Sheep, all
houses are open to you, and our small world is very, very kind and
helpful.
Rickett of Kamartha stayed with Polder of Kumaon some fifteen years ago.
He meant to stay two nights, but was knocked down by rheumatic fever, and
for six weeks disorganized Polder's establishment, stopped Polder's work,
and nearly died in Polder's bedroom. Polder behaves as though he had been
placed under eternal obligation by Rickett, and yearly sends the little
Ricketts a box of presents and toys. It is the same everywhere. The men
who do not take the trouble to conceal from you their opinion that you are
an incompetent ass, and the women who blacken your character and
misunderstand your wife's amusements, will work themselves to the bone in
your behalf if you fall sick or into serious trouble,
Heatherlegh, the Doctor, kept, in addition to his regular practice, a
hospital on his private account--an arrangement of loose boxes for
Incurables, his friend called it--but it was really a sort of fitting-up
shed for craft that had been damaged by stress of weather. The weather in
India is often sultry, and since the tale of bricks is always a fixed
quantity, and the only liberty allowed is permission to work overtime and
get no thanks, men occasionally break down and become as mixed as the
metaphors in this sentence.
Heatherlegh is the dearest doctor that ever was, and his invariable
prescription to all his patients is, "lie low, go slow, and keep cool." He
says that more men are killed by overwork than the importance of this
world justifies. He maintains that overwork slew Pansay, who died under
his hands about three years ago. He has, of course, the right to speak
authoritatively, and he laughs at my theory that there was a crack in
Pansay's head and a little bit of the Dark World came through and pressed
him to death. "Pansay went off the handle," says Heatherlegh, "after the
stimulus of long leave at Home. He may or he may not have behaved like a
blackguard to Mrs. Keith-Wessington. My notion is that the work of the
Katabundi Settlement ran him off his legs, and that he took to brooding
and making much of an ordinary P. & O. flirtation. He certainly was
engaged to Miss Mannering, and she certainly broke off the engagement.
Then he took a feverish chill and all that nonsense about ghosts
developed. Overwork started his illness, kept it alight, and killed him,
poor devil. Write him off to the System--one man to take the work of two
and a half men."
I do not believe this. I used to sit up with Pansay sometimes when
Heatherlegh was called out to patients, and I happened to be within claim.
The man would make me most unhappy by describing in a low, even voice, the
procession that was always passing at the bottom of his bed. He had a sick
man's command of language. When he recovered I suggested that he should
write out the whole affair from beginning to end, knowing that ink might
assist him to ease his mind. When little boys have learned a new bad word
they are never happy till they have chalked it up on a door. And this also
is Literature.
He was in a high fever while he was writing, and the blood-and-thunder
Magazine diction he adopted did not calm him. Two months afterward he was
reported fit for duty, but, in spite of the fact that he was urgently
needed to help an undermanned Commission stagger through a deficit, he
preferred to die; vowing at the last that he was hag-ridden. I got his
manuscript before he died, and this is his version of the affair, dated
1885:
My doctor tells me that I need rest and change of air. It is not
improbable that I shall get both ere long--rest that neither the
red-coated messenger nor the midday gun can break, and change of air far
beyond that which any homeward-bound steamer can give me. In the meantime
I am resolved to stay where I am; and, in flat defiance of my doctor's
orders, to take all the world into my confidence. You shall learn for
yourselves the precise nature of my malady; and shall, too, judge for
yourselves whether any man born of woman on this weary earth was ever so
tormented as I.
Speaking now as a condemned criminal might speak ere the drop-bolts are
drawn, my story, wild and hideously improbable as it may appear, demands
at least attention. That it will ever receive credence I utterly
disbelieve. Two months ago I should have scouted as mad or drunk the man
who had dared tell me the like. Two months ago I was the happiest man in
India. To-day, from Peshawur to the sea, there is no one more wretched. My
doctor and I are the only two who know this. His explanation is, that my
brain, digestion, and eyesight are all slightly affected; giving rise to
my frequent and persistent "delusions." Delusions, indeed! I call him a
fool; but he attends me still with the same unwearied smile, the same
bland professional manner, the same neatly trimmed red whiskers, till I
begin to suspect that I am an ungrateful, evil-tempered invalid. But you
shall judge for yourselves.
Three years ago it was my fortune--my great misfortune--to sail from
Gravesend to Bombay, on return from long leave, with one Agnes
Keith-Wessington, wife of an officer on the Bombay side. It does not in
the least concern you to know what manner of woman she was. Be content
with the knowledge that, ere the voyage had ended, both she and I were
desperately and unreasoningly in love with one another. Heaven knows that
I can make the admission now without one particle of vanity. In matters of
this sort there is always one who gives and another who accepts. From the
first day of our ill-omened attachment, I was conscious that Agnes's
passion was a stronger, a more dominant, and--if I may use the
expression--a purer sentiment than mine. Whether she recognized the fact
then, I do not know. Afterward it was bitterly plain to both of as.
Arrived at Bombay in the spring of the year, we went our respective ways,
to meet no more for the next three or four months, when my leave and her
love took us both to Simla. There we spent the season together; and there
my fire of straw burned itself out to a pitiful end with the closing year.
I attempt no excuse. I make no apology. Mrs. Wessington had given up much
for my sake, and was prepared to give up all. From my own lips, in August,
1882, she learned that I was sick of her presence, tired of her company,
and weary of the sound of her voice. Ninety-nine women out of a hundred
would have wearied of me as I wearied of them; seventy-five of that number
would have promptly avenged themselves by active and obtrusive flirtation
with other men. Mrs. Wessington was the hundredth. On her neither my
openly expressed aversion nor the cutting brutalities with which I
garnished our interviews had the least effect.
"Jack, darling!" was her one eternal cuckoo cry: "I'm sure it's all a
mistake--a hideous mistake; and we'll be good friends again some day.
_Please_ forgive me, Jack, dear."
I was the offender, and I knew it. That knowledge transformed my pity into
passive endurance, and, eventually, into blind hate--the same instinct, I
suppose, which prompts a man to savagely stamp on the spider he has but
half killed. And with this hate in my bosom the season of 1882 came to an
end.
Next year we met again at Simla--she with her monotonous face and timid
attempts at reconciliation, and I with loathing of her in every fibre of
my frame. Several times I could not avoid meeting her alone; and on each
occasion her words were identically the same. Still the unreasoning wail
that it was all a "mistake"; and still the hope of eventually "making
friends." I might have seen had I cared to look, that that hope only was
keeping her alive. She grew more wan and thin month by month. You will
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