Selected Stories (65 page)

‘For two nights, Heaven-born, he was
pagal
,'
³¹
said Faiz Ullah. ‘Look at my nose, and consider the eye of the policeman. He beat us with his bound hands; but we sat upon him, Heaven-born, and though his words were
tez
,
³²
we sweated him. Heaven-born, never has been such a sweat! He is weaker now than a child; but the fever has gone out of him, by the grace of God. There remains only my nose and the eye of the constabeel. Sahib, shall I ask for my dismissal because my Sahib has beaten me?' And Faiz Ullah laid his long thin hand carefully on Scott's chest to be sure that the fever was all gone, ere he went out to open tinned soups and discourage such as laughed at his swelled nose.

‘The district's all right,' Scott whispered. ‘It doesn't make any difference. You got my wire? I shall be fit in a week. Can't understand how it happened. I shall be fit in a few days.'

‘You're coming into camp with us,' said Hawkins.

‘But look here – but –'

‘It's all over except the shouting. We sha'n't need you Punjabis any more. On my honour, we sha'n't. Martyn goes back in a few weeks; Arbuthnot's returned already; Ellis and Clay are putting the last touches to a new feeder-line the Government's built as relief-work. Morten's dead – he was a Bengal man, though; you wouldn't know him. 'Pon my word, you and Will – Miss Martyn – seem to have come through it as well as anybody.'

‘Oh, how is she?' The voice went up and down as he spoke.

‘She was in great form when I left her. The Roman Catholic Missions are adopting the unclaimed babies to turn them into little priests; the Basil Mission is taking some, and the mothers are taking the rest. You should hear the little beggars howl when they're sent away from William. She's pulled down a bit, but so are we all. Now, when do you suppose you'll be able to move?'

‘I can't come into camp in this state. I won't,' he replied pettishly.

‘Well, you
are
rather a sight, but from what I gathered there it seemed to me they'd be glad to see you under any conditions. I'll look over your work here, if you like, for a couple of days, and you can pull yourself together while Faiz Ullah feeds you up.'

Scott could walk dizzily by the time Hawkins's inspection was ended, and he flushed all over when Jim said of his work in the district that it
was ‘not half bad', and volunteered, further, that he had considered Scott his right-hand man through the famine, and would feel it his duty to say as much officially.

So they came back by rail to the old camp; but there were no crowds near it, the long fires in the trenches were dead and black, and the famine-sheds stood almost empty.

‘You see!' said Jim. ‘There isn't much more for us to do. Better ride up and see the wife. They've pitched a tent for you. Dinner's at seven. I'll see you then.'

Riding at a foot-pace, Faiz Ullah by his stirrup, Scott came to William in the brown-calico riding-habit, sitting at the dining-tent door, her hands in her lap, white as ashes, thin and worn, with no lustre in her hair. There did not seem to be any Mrs Jim on the horizon, and all that William could say was: ‘My word, how pulled down you look!'

‘I've had a touch of fever. You don't look very well yourself.'

‘Oh, I'm fit enough. We've stamped it out. I suppose you know?'

Scott nodded. ‘We shall all be returned in a few weeks. Hawkins told me.'

‘Before Christmas, Mrs Jim says. Sha'n't you be glad to go back? I can smell the wood-smoke already'; William sniffed. ‘We shall be in time for all the Christmas doings. I don't suppose even the Punjab Government would be base enough to transfer Jack till the new year?'

‘It seems hundreds of years ago – the Punjab and all that – doesn't it? Are you glad you came?'

‘Now it's all over, yes. It has been ghastly here. You know we had to sit still and do nothing, and Sir Jim was away so much.'

‘Do nothing! How did you get on with the milking?'

‘I managed it somehow – after you taught me.'

Then the talk stopped with an almost audible jar. Still no Mrs Jim.

‘That reminds me I owe you fifty rupees for the condensed milk. I thought perhaps you'd be coming here when you were transferred to the Khanda district, and I could pay you then; but you didn't.'

‘I passed within five miles of the camp. It was in the middle of a march, you see, and the carts were breaking down every few minutes, and I couldn't get 'em over the ground till ten o'clock that night. But I wanted to come awfully. You knew I did, didn't you?'

‘I – believe – I – did,' said William, facing him with level eyes. She was no longer white.

‘Did you understand?'

‘Why you didn't ride in? Of course I did.'

‘Why?'

‘Because you couldn't, of course. I knew that.'

‘Did you care?'

‘If you had come in – but I knew you wouldn't – but if you
had
, I should have cared a great deal. You know I should.'

‘Thank God I didn't! Oh, but I wanted to! I couldn't trust myself to ride in front of the carts, because I kept edging 'em over here, don't you know?'

‘I knew, you wouldn't,' said William, contentedly. ‘Here's your fifty.'

Scott bent forward and kissed the hand that held the greasy notes. Its fellow patted him awkwardly but very tenderly on the head.

‘And
you
knew, too, didn't you?' said William, in a new voice.

‘No, on my honour, I didn't. I hadn't the – the cheek to expect anything of the kind, except… I say, were you out riding anywhere the day I passed by to Khanda?'

William nodded, and smiled after the manner of an angel surprised in a good deed.

‘Then it was just a speck I saw of your habit in the –'

‘Palm-grove on the Southern cart-road. I saw your helmet when you came up from the nullah
³³
by the temple – just enough to be sure that you were all right. D'you care?'

This time Scott did not kiss her hand, for they were in the dusk of the dining-tent, and, because William's knees were trembling under her, she had to sit down in the nearest chair, where she wept long and happily, her head on her arms; and when Scott imagined that it would be well to comfort her, she needed nothing of the kind; she ran to her own tent; and Scott went out into the world, and smiled upon it largely and idiotically. But when Faiz Ullah brought him a drink, he found it necessary to support one hand with the other, or the good whisky and soda would have been spilled abroad. There are fevers and fevers.

But it was worse – much worse – the strained, eye-shirking talk at dinner till the servants had withdrawn, and worst of all when Mrs Jim, who had been on the edge of weeping from the soup down, kissed Scott and William, and they drank one whole bottle of champagne, hot, because there was no ice, and Scott and William sat outside the tent in the starlight till Mrs Jim drove them in for fear of more fever.

Apropos of these things and some others William said: ‘Being engaged is abominable, because, you see, one has no official position. We must be thankful that we've lots of things to do.'

‘Things to do!' said Jim, when that was reported to him. ‘They're neither of them any good any more. I can't get five hours' work a day out of Scott. He's in the clouds half the time.'

‘Oh, but they're so beautiful to watch, Jimmy. It will break my heart when they go. Can't you do anything for him?'

‘I've given the Government the impression – at least, I hope I have – that he personally conducted the entire famine. But all he wants is to get on to the Luni Canal Works, and William's just as bad. Have you ever heard 'em talking of barrage and aprons and wastewater? It's their style of spooning, I suppose.'

Mrs Jim smiled tenderly. ‘Ah, that's in the intervals – bless 'em.'

And so Love ran about the camp unrebuked in broad daylight, while men picked up the pieces and put them neatly away of the Famine in the Eight Districts.

Morning brought the penetrating chill of the Northern December, the layers of wood-smoke, the dusty grey blue of the tamarisks, the domes of ruined tombs, and all the smell of the white Northern plains, as the mail-train ran on to the mile-long Sutlej Bridge. William, wrapped in a
poshteen
– silk-embroidered sheepskin jacket trimmed with rough astrakhan – looked out with moist eyes and nostrils that dilated joyously. The South of pagodas and palm-trees, the over-populated Hindu South, was done with. Here was the land she knew and loved, and before her lay the good life she understood, among folk of her own caste and mind.

They were picking them up at almost every station now – men and women coming in for the Christmas Week, with racquets, with bundles of polo-sticks, with dear and bruised cricket-bats, with fox-terriers and saddles. The greater part of them wore jackets like William's, for the Northern cold is as little to be trifled with as the Northern heat. And William was among them and of them, her hands deep in her pockets, her collar turned up over her ears, stamping her feet on the platforms as she walked up and down to get warm, visiting from carriage to carriage, and everywhere being congratulated. Scott was with the bachelors at the far end of the train, where they chaffed him mercilessly about feeding babies and milking goats; but from time to time he would stroll up to William's window, and murmur: ‘Good enough, isn't it?' and William would answer with sighs of pure delight: ‘Good enough, indeed.' The large open names of the home towns were good to listen to. Umballa, Ludianah, Phillour, Jullundur, they rang like the coming marriage-bells in her ears, and William felt deeply and truly sorry for all strangers and outsiders – visitors, tourists, and those fresh-caught for the service of the country.

It was a glorious return, and when the bachelors gave the Christmas ball, William was, unofficially, you might say, the chief and honoured
guest among the stewards, who could make things very pleasant for their friends. She and Scott danced nearly all the dances together, and sat out the rest in the big dark gallery overlooking the superb teak floor, where the uniforms blazed, and the spurs clinked, and the new frocks and four hundred dancers went round and round till the draped flags on the pillars flapped and bellied to the whirl of it.

About midnight half a dozen men who did not care for dancing came over from the Club to play ‘Waits', and – that was a surprise the stewards had arranged – before anyone knew what had happened, the band stopped, and hidden voices broke into ‘Good King Wenceslaus', and William in the gallery hummed and beat time with her foot:

Mark my footsteps well, my page,

Tread thou in them boldly.

Thou shalt feel the winter's rage

Freeze thy blood less coldly!

‘Oh, I hope they are going to give us another! Isn't it pretty, coming out of the dark in that way? Look – look down. There's Mrs Gregory wiping her eyes!'

‘It's like home, rather,' said Scott. ‘I remember –'

‘H'sh! Listen! – dear.' And it began again:

When shepherds watched their flocks by night –

‘A-h-h!' said William, drawing closer to Scott.

All seated on the ground,
The Angel of the Lord came down,
And glory shone around.
‘Fear not,' said he (for mighty dread
Had seized their troubled mind);
‘Glad tidings of great joy I bring
To you and all mankind.'

This time it was William that wiped her eyes.

The Devil and the Deep Sea
¹

‘All supplies very bad and dear, and there are no facilities for even the smallest repairs.'

Sailing Directions
.

Her nationality was British, but you will not find her house-flag in the list of our mercantile marine. She was a nine-hundred ton, iron, schooner-rigged, screw cargo-boat, differing externally in no way from any other tramp of the sea. But it is with steamers as it is with men. There are those who will for a consideration sail extremely close to the wind; and, in the present state of a fallen world, such people and such steamers have their use. From the hour that the
Aglaia
first entered the Clyde – new, shiny, and innocent, with a quart of cheap champagne trickling down her cutwater – Fate and her owner, who was also her captain, decreed that she should deal with embarrassed crowned heads, fleeing Presidents, financiers of over-extended ability, women to whom change of air was imperative, and the lesser law-breaking Powers. Her career led her sometimes into the Admiralty Courts, where the sworn statements of her skipper filled his brethren with envy. The mariner cannot tell or act a lie in the face of the sea, or mislead a tempest; but, as lawyers have discovered, he makes up for chances withheld when he returns to shore, an affidavit in either hand.