THE ENGLISH INVADE
The granddaughter of Jack Wyckholme, attended by two maids, her husband
and his valet, a clerk from the chambers of Bosworth, Newnes & Grapewin,
a red cocker, seventeen trunks and a cartload of late novels, which she
had been too busy to read at home, was the first of the bewildered
legatees to set foot upon the island of Japat. A rather sultry, boresome
voyage across the Arabian Sea in a most unhappy steamer which called at
Japat on its way to Sidney, depressed her spirits to some extent but not
irretrievably.
She was very pretty, very smart and delightfully arrogant after a manner
of her own. To begin with, Lady Agnes could see no sensible reason why
she should be compelled to abandon a very promising autumn and winter at
home, to say nothing of the following season, for the sake of protecting
what was rightfully her own against the impudent claims of an unheard-of
American.
She complacently informed her solicitors that it was all rubbish; they
could arrange, if they would, without forcing her to take this
abominable step. Upon reflection, however, and after Mr. Bosworth had
pointed out the risk to her, she was ready enough to take the step,
although still insisting that it was abominable.
Mr. Saunders was the polite but excessively middle-class clerk who went
out to keep the legal strings untangled for them. He was soon to
discover that his duties were even more comprehensive.
It was he who saw to it that the luggage was transferred to the lighter
which came out to the steamer when she dropped anchor off the town of
Aratat; it was he who counted the pieces and haggled with the boatmen;
it was he who carried off the hand luggage when the native dock boys
refused to engage in the work; it was he who unfortunately dropped a
suitcase upon the hallowed tail of the red cocker, an accident which
ever afterward gave him a tenacity of grip that no man could understand;
it was he who made all of the inquiries, did all of the necessary
swearing, and came last in the procession which wended its indignant way
up the long slope to the château on the mountain side.
If Lady Deppingham expected a royal welcome from the inhabitants of
Japat, she was soon to discover her error. Not only was the pictured
scene of welcome missing on the afternoon of her arrival, but an
overpowering air of antipathy smote her in the face as she stepped from
the lighter--conquest in her smile of conciliation. The attitude of the
brown-faced Mohammedans who looked coldly upon the fair visitor was far
from amiable. They did not fall down and bob their heads; they did not
even incline them in response to her overtures. What was more trying,
they glared at the newcomers in a most expressive manner. Lady
Deppingham's chin was interrupted in its tilt of defiance by the shudder
of alarm which raced through her slender figure. She glanced from right
to left down the lines of swarthy islanders, and saw nothing in their
faces but surly, bitter unfriendliness. They stood stolidly, stonily at
a distance, white-robed lines of resentment personified.
Not a hand was lifted in assistance to the bewildered visitors; not a
word, not a smile of encouragement escaped the lips of the silent
throng.
Lady Agnes looked about eagerly in search of a white man's face, but
there was none to be seen except in her own party. A moment of panic
came to her as she stood there on the pier, almost alone, while Saunders
and her husband were engaged in the effort to secure help with the
boxes. Behind her lay the friendly ocean; ahead the gorgeous landscape,
smiling down upon her with the green glow of poison in its sunny face,
dark treachery in its heart. On the instant she realised that these
people were her enemies, and that they were the real masters of the
island, after all. She found herself wondering whether they meant to
settle the question of ownership then and there, before she could so
much as set her foot upon the coveted soil at the end of the pier. A
hundred knives might hack her to pieces, but even as she shuddered a
rush of true British doggedness warmed her blood; after all, she was
there to fight for her rights and she would stand her ground. Almost
before she realised, the dominant air of superiority which characterises
her nation, no matter whither its subjects may roam, crept out above her
brief touch of timidity, and she found that she could stare defiantly
into the swarthy ranks.
"Is there no British agent here?" she demanded imperatively, perhaps a
little more shrilly than usual.
No one deigned to answer; glances of indifference, even scorn, passed
among the silent lookers-on, but that was all. It was more than her
pride could endure. Her smooth cheeks turned a deeper pink and her blue
eyes flashed.
"Does no one here understand the English language?" she demanded. "I
don't mean you, Mr. Saunders," she added sharply, as the little clerk
set the suitcase down abruptly and stepped forward, again fumbling his
much-fumbled straw hat. This was the moment when the red cocker's tail
came to grief. The dog arose with an astonished yelp and fled to his
mistress; he had never been so outrageously set upon before in all his
pampered life. Seizing the opportunity to vent her feelings upon one who
could understand, even as she poured soothings upon the insulted Pong,
whom she clasped in her arms, Lady Agnes transformed the unlucky
Saunders into a target for a most ably directed volley of wrath. The
shadow of a smile swept down the threatening row of dark faces.
Lord Deppingham, a slow and cumbersome young man, stood by nervously
fingering his eyeglass. For the first time he felt that the clerk was
better than a confounded dog, after all. He surprised every one, his
wife most of all, by coolly interfering, not particularly in defence of
the clerk but in behalf of the Deppingham dignity.
"My dear," he said, waving Saunders into the background, "I think it was
an accident. The dog had no business going to sleep--" he paused and
inserted his monocle for the purpose of looking up the precise spot
where the accident had occurred.
"He wasn't asleep," cried his wife.
"Then, my dear, he has positively no excuse to offer for getting his
tail in the way of the bag. If he was awake and didn't have sense
enough--"
"Oh, rubbish!" exclaimed her ladyship. "I suppose you expect the poor
darling to apologise."
"All this has nothing to do with the case. We're more interested in
learning where we are and where we are to go. Permit me to have a look
about."
His wife stared after him in amazement as he walked over to the canvas
awning in front of the low dock building, actually elbowing his way
through a group of natives. Presently he came back, twisting his left
mustache.
"The fellow in there says that the English agent is employed in the
bank. It's straight up this street--by Jove, he called it a street,
don't you know," he exclaimed, disdainfully eyeing the narrow, dusty
passage ahead. Here and there a rude house or shop stood directly ahead
in the middle of the thoroughfare, with happy disregard for effect or
convenience.
"There's the British flag, my lord, just ahead. See the building to the
right, sir?" said Mr. Saunders, more respectfully than ever and with
real gratitude in his heart.
"So it is! That's where he is. I wonder why he isn't down here to meet
us."
"Very likely he didn't know we were coming," said his wife icily.
"Well, we'll look him up. Come along, everybody--Oh, I say, we can't
leave this luggage unguarded. They say these fellows are the worst
robbers east of London."
It was finally decided, after a rather subdued discussion, that Mr.
Saunders should proceed to the bank and rout out the dilatory
representative of the British Government. Saunders looked down the
sullen line of faces, and blanched to his toes. He hemmed and hawed and
said something about his mother, which was wholly lost upon the barren
waste that temporarily stood for a heart in Lord Deppingham's torso.
"Tell him we'll wait here for him," pursued his lordship. "But remind
him, damn him, that it's inexpressibly hot down here in the sun."
They stood and watched the miserable Saunders tread gingerly up the
filthy street, his knees crooking outwardly from time to time, his toes
always touching the ground first, very much as if he were contemplating
an instantaneous sprint in any direction but the one he was taking. Even
the placid Deppingham was somewhat disturbed by the significant glances
that followed their emissary as he passed by each separate knot of
natives. He was distinctly dismayed when a dozen or more of the
dark-faced watchers wandered slowly off after Mr. Saunders. It was
clearly observed that Mr. Saunders stepped more nimbly after he became
aware of this fact.
"I do hope Mr. Saunders will come back alive," murmured Bromley, her
ladyship's maid. The others started, for she had voiced the general
thought.
"He won't come back at all, Bromley, unless he comes back alive," said
his lordship with a smile. It was a well-known fact that he never smiled
except when his mind was troubled.
"Goodness, Deppy," said his wife, recognising the symptom, "do you
really think there is danger?"
"My dear Aggy, who said there was any danger?" he exclaimed, and quickly
looked out to sea. "I rather think we'll enjoy it here," he added after
a moment's pause, in which he saw that the steamer was getting under
way. The Japat company's tug was returning to the pier. Lord Deppingham
sighed and then drew forth his cigarette case. "There!" he went on,
peering intently up the street. "Saunders is gone."
"Gone?" half shrieked her ladyship.
"Into the bank," he added, scratching a match.
"Deppy," she said after a moment, "I hope I was not too hard on the poor
fellow."
"Perhaps you won't be so nervous if you sit down and look at the sea,"
he said gently, and she immediately knew that he suggested it because he
expected a tragedy in the opposite direction. She dropped Pong without
another word, and, her face quite serious, seated herself upon the big
trunk which he selected. He sat down beside her, and together they
watched the long line of smoke far out at sea.
They expected every minute to hear the shouts of assassins and the
screams of the brave Mr. Saunders. Their apprehensions were sensibly
increased by the mysterious actions of the half-naked loiterers. They
seemed to consult among themselves for some time after the departure of
the clerk, and then, to the horror of the servants, made off in various
directions, more than one of them handling his ugly kris in an ominous
manner. Bromley was not slow to acquaint his lordship with these
movements. Deppingham felt a cold chill shoot up his spine, and he
cleared his throat as if to shout after the disappearing steamer. But he
maintained a brave front, or, more correctly, a brave back, for he
refused to encourage the maid's fears by turning around.
It was broiling hot in the sun, but no one thought of the white
umbrellas. Saunders was the epitome of every thought.
"Here he comes!" shouted the valet, joyously forgetting his station. His
lordship still stared at the sea. Lady Deppingham's little jaws were
shut tight and her fingers were clenched desperately in the effort to
maintain the proper dignity before her servants.
"Your lordship," said Mr. Saunders, three minutes later, "this is Mr.
Bowles, his Majesty's agent here. He is come with me to--"
It was then and not until then that his lordship turned his stare from
the sea to the clerk and his companion.
"Aw," he interrupted, "glad to see you, I'm sure. Would you be good
enough to tell us how we are to reach the--er--château, and why the
devil we can't get anybody to move our luggage?"
Mr. Bowles, who had lived in Japat for sixteen years, was a tortuously
slow Englishman with the curse of the clime still growing upon him. He
was half asleep quite a good bit of the time, and wholly asleep during
the remainder. A middle-aged man was he, yet he looked sixty. He
afterward told Saunders that it seemed to take two days to make one in
the beastly climate; that was why he was misled into putting off
everything until the second day. The department had sent him out long
ago at the request of Mr. Wyckholme; he had lost the energy to give up
the post.
"Mr.--er--Mr. Saunders, my lord, has told me that you have been unable
to secure assistance in removing your belongings--" he began politely,
but Deppingham interrupted him.
"Where is the château? Are there no vans to be had?"
"Everything is transferred by hand, my lord, and the château is two
miles farther up the side of the mountain. It's quite a walk, sir."
"Do you mean to say we are to walk?"
"Yes, my lord, if you expect to go there."
"Of course, we expect to go there. Are there no horses on the beastly
island?"
"Hundreds, my lord, but they belong to the people and no one but their
owners ride them. One can't take them by the hour, you know. The
servants at the château turned Mr. Skaggs's horses out to pasture before
they left."
"Before who left?"
"The servants, my lord."
Lady Deppingham's eyes grew wide with understanding.
"You don't mean to say that the servants have left the place?" she
cried.
"Yes, my lady. They were natives, you know."
"What's that got to do with it?" demanded Deppingham.
"I'm afraid you don't understand the situation," said Mr. Bowles
patiently. "You see, it's really a triangular controversy, if I may be
so bold as to say so. Lady Deppingham is one of the angles; Mr. Browne,
the American gentleman, is another; the native population is the last.
Each wants to be the hypothenuse. While the interests of all three are
merged in the real issue, there is, nevertheless, a decided disposition
all around to make it an entirely one-sided affair."
"I don't believe I grasp--" muttered Deppingham blankly.
"I see perfectly," exclaimed his wife. "The natives are allied against
us, just as we are, in a way, against them and Mr. Browne. Really, it
seems quite natural, doesn't it, dear?" turning to her husband.
"Very likely, but very unfortunate. It leaves us to broil our brains out
down here on this pier. I say, Mr.--er--old chap, can't you possibly
engage some sort of transportation for us? Really, you know, we can't
stand here all day."
"I've no doubt I can arrange it, my lord. If you will just wait here
until I run back to the bank, I daresay I'll find a way. Perhaps you'd
prefer standing under the awning until I return."
The new arrivals glowered after him as he started off toward the bank.
Then they moved over to the shelter of the awning.
"Did he say he was going to run?" groaned his lordship. The progress of
Bowles rivalled that of the historic tortoise.
It was fully half an hour before he was seen coming down the street,
followed by a score or more of natives, their dirty white robes flapping
about their brown legs. At first they could not believe it was Bowles.
Lord Deppingham had a sharp thrill of joy, but it was shortlived. Bowles
had changed at least a portion of his garb; he now wore the tight red
jacket of the British trooper, while an ancient army cap was strapped
jauntily over his ear.
"It's all right, my lord," he said, saluting as he came Up. "They will
do anything I tell 'em to do when I represent the British army. This is
the only uniform on the island, but they've been taught that there are
more where this one came from. These fellows will carry your boxes up to
the château, sixpence to the man, if you please, sir; and I've sent for
two carts to draw your party up the slope. They'll be here in a jiffy,
my lady. You'll find the drive a beautiful if not a comfortable one."
Then turning majestically to the huddled natives, he waved his slender
stick over the boxes, big and little, and said: "Lively, now! No
loafing! Lively!"
Whereupon the entire collection of boxes, bags and bundles figuratively
picked itself up and walked off in the direction of the château. Bowles
triumphantly saluted Lord and Lady Deppingham. The former had a longing
look in his eye as he stared at Bowles and remarked:
"I wish I had a troop of real Tommy Atkinses out here, by Jove."