Tangi openin’ out ahead of us, an’ I sez: “The door’s open, boys.
’Oo’ll git to the gall’ry fust?” I sez. Then I saw Dewcy screwin’ ’is
bloomin’ eyeglass in ’is eye an’ lookin’ straight on. “Propped,--_ther_
beggar!” he sez; an’ the be’ind end o’ that bloomin’ old ’uttee was
shinin’ through the dust like a bloomin’ old moon made ’o tarpaulin.
Then we ’alted, all chock-a-block, one atop o’ the other, an’ right at
the back o’ the guns there sails in a lot o’ silly grinnin’ camels,
what the commissariat was in charge of--sailin’ away as if they was at
the Zoological Gardens an’ squeezin’ our men most awful. The dust was
that up you couldn’t see your ’and; an’ the more we ’it ’em on the ’ead
the more their drivers sez, “Accha! Accha!” an’ by Gawd it was “at yer”
before you knew where you was. An’ that ’uttee’s be’ind end stuck in
the Pass good an’ tight, an’ no one knew wot for.
‘Fust thing we ’ad to do was to fight they bloomin’ camels. I wasn’t
goin’ to be eat by no bull-_oont_; so I ’eld up my trousies with one
’and, standin’ on a rock, an’ ’it away with my belt at every nose I saw
bobbin’ above me. Then the camels fell back, an’ they ’ad to fight
to keep the rear-guard an’ the native followers from crushin’ into
them; an’ the rear-guard ’ad to send down the Tangi to warn the other
reg’ment that we was blocked. I ’eard the mahouts shoutin’ in front
that the ’uttee wouldn’t cross the bridge; an’ I saw Dewcy skippin’
about through the dust like a musquito worm in a tank. Then our
comp’nies got tired o’ waitin’ an’ begun to mark time, an’ some goat
struck up _Tommy, make room for your Uncle_. After _that_, you couldn’t
neither see nor breathe nor ’ear; an’ there we was, singin’ bloomin’
serenades to the end of a’ elephant that don’t care for tunes! I sung
too; I couldn’t do nothin’ else. They was strengthenin’ the bridge in
front, all for the sake of the ’uttee. By an’ by a’ orf’cer caught me
by the throat an’ choked the sing out of me. So I caught the next man I
could see by the throat an’ choked the sing out of _’im_.’
‘What’s the difference between being choked by an officer and being
hit?’ I asked, remembering a little affair in which Ortheris’s honour
had been injured by his lieutenant.
‘One’s a bloomin’ lark, an’ one’s a bloomin’ insult!’ said Ortheris.
‘Besides, we was on service, an’ no one cares what an orf’cer does
then, s’long as ’e gets our rations an’ don’t get us unusual cut up.
After that we got quiet, an’ I ’eard Dewcy say that ’e’d court-martial
the lot of us soon as we was out of the Tangi. Then we give three
cheers for Dewcy an’ three more for the Tangi; an’ the ’uttee’s be’ind
end was stickin’ in the Pass, so we cheered _that_. Then they said
the bridge had been strengthened, an’ we give three cheers for the
bridge; but the ’uttee wouldn’t move a bloomin’ hinch. Not ’im! Then
we cheered ’im again, an’ Kite Dawson, that was corner-man at all the
sing-songs (’e died on the way down) began to give a nigger lecture
on the be’ind ends of elephants, an’ Dewcy, ’e tried to keep ’is face
for a minute, but, Lord, you couldn’t do such when Kite was playin’
the fool an’ askin’ whether ’e mightn’t ’ave leave to rent a villa
an’ raise ’is orphan children in the Tangi, ’cos ’e couldn’t get ’ome
no more. Then up come a orf’cer (mounted, like a fool, too) from the
reg’mint at the back with some more of his colonel’s pretty little
compliments, an’ what was this delay, please. We sung ’im _There’s
another bloomin’ row downstairs_ till ’is ’orse bolted, an’ then we
give ’im three cheers; an’ Kite Dawson sez ’e was goin’ to write to
_The Times_ about the awful state of the streets in Afghanistan. The
’uttee’s be’ind end was stickin’ in the Pass all the time. At last one
o’ the mahouts came to Dewcy an’ sez something. “Oh Lord!” sez Dewcy,
“_I_ don’t know the beggar’s visiting-list! I’ll give ’im another ten
minutes an’ then I’ll shoot ’im.” Things was gettin’ pretty dusty in
the Tangi, so we all listened. “’E wants to see a friend,” sez Dewcy
out loud to the men, an’ ’e mopped ’is forehead an’ sat down on a
gun-tail.
‘I leave it to you to judge ’ow the reg’ment shouted. “That’s all
right,” we sez. “Three cheers for Mister Winterbottom’s friend,”
sez we. “Why didn’t you say so at first? Pass the word for old
Swizzletail’s wife,”--and such like. Some o’ the men they didn’t laugh.
They took it same as if it might have been a’ introduction like, ’cos
they knew about ’uttees. Then we all run forward over the guns an’ in
an’ out among the elephants’ legs,--Lord, I wonder ’arf the comp’nies
wasn’t squashed--an’ the next thing I saw was Terence ’ere, lookin’
like a sheet o’ wet paper, comin’ down the ’illside wid a sergeant.
“’Strewth,” I sez. “I might ha’ knowed ’e’d be at the bottom of any
cat’s trick,” sez I. Now you tell wot ’appened your end?’
‘I lay be the same as you did, little man, listenin’ to the noises an’
the bhoys singin’. Presintly I heard whisperin’ an’ the doctor sayin’,
“Get out av this, wakin’ my sick wid your jokes about elephints.” An’
another man sez, all angry: “’Tis a joke that is stoppin’ two thousand
men in the Tangi. That son av sin av a haybag av an elephint sez, or
the mahouts sez for him, that he wants to see a friend, an’ he’ll not
lift hand or fut till he finds him. I’m wore out wid inthrojucin’
sweepers an’ coolies to him, an’ his hide’s as full o’ bay’net pricks
as a musquito-net av holes, an’ I’m here undher ordhers, docther dear,
to ask if any one, sick or well, or alive or dead, knows an elephint.
I’m not mad,” he sez, settin’ on a box av medical comforts. “’Tis my
ordhers, an’ ’tis my mother,” he sez, “that would laugh at me for the
father av all fools to-day. Does any wan here know an elephint?” We
sick was all quiet.
‘“Now you’ve had your answer,” sez the doctor. “Go away.”
‘“Hould on,” I sez, thinkin’ mistiways in my cot, an’ I did not know my
own voice. “I’m by way av bein’ acquainted wid an elephant, myself,” I
sez.
‘“That’s delirium,” sez the doctor. “See what you’ve done, sergeant.
Lie down, man,” he sez, seein’ me thryin’ to get up.
‘“’Tis not,” I sez. “I rode him round Cawnpore barricks. He will not
ha’ forgotten. I bruk his head wid a rifle.”
‘“Mad as a coot,” sez the doctor, an’ thin he felt my head. “It’s
quare,” sez he. “Man,” he sez, “if you go, d’you know ’twill either
kill or cure?”
‘“What do I care?” sez I. “If I’m mad, ’tis better dead.”
‘“Faith, that’s sound enough,” sez the doctor. “You’ve no fever on you
now.”
‘“Come on,” sez the sergeant. “We’re all mad to-day, an’ the throops
are wantin’ their dinner.” He put his arm round av me an’ I came
into the sun, the hills an’ the rocks skippin’ big giddy-go-rounds.
“Seventeen years have I been in the army,” sez the sergeant, “an’ the
days av mericles are not done. They’ll be givin’ us more pay next.
Begad,” he sez, “the brute knows you!”
‘Ould Obstructionist was screamin’ like all possist whin I came up, an’
I heard forty million men up the Tangi shoutin’, “He knows him!” Thin
the big thrunk came round me an’ I was nigh fainting wid weakness. “Are
you well, Malachi?” I sez, givin’ him the name he answered to in the
lines. “Malachi, my son, are you well?” sez I, “for I am not.” At that
he thrumpeted again till the Pass rang to ut, an’ the other elephints
tuk it up. Thin I got a little strength back. “Down, Malachi,” I sez,
“an’ put me up, but touch me tendher for I am not good.” He was on
his knees in a minut an’ he slung me up as gentle as a girl. “Go on
now, my son,” I sez. “You’re blockin’ the road.” He fetched wan more
joyous toot, an’ swung grand out av the head av the Tangi, his gun-gear
clankin’ on his back; an’ at the back av him there wint the most
amazin’ shout I iver heard. An’ thin I felt my head shpin, an’ a mighty
sweat bruk out on me, an’ Malachi was growin’ taller an’ taller to me
settin’ on his back, an’ I sez, foolish like an’ weak, smilin’ all
round an’ about, “Take me down,” I sez, “or I’ll fall.”
‘The next I remimber was lyin’ in my cot again, limp as a chewed rag
but cured av the fever, an’ the Tangi as empty as the back av my hand.
They’d all gone up to the front, an’ ten days later I wint up too,
havin’ blocked an’ unblocked an entire army corps. What do you think av
ut, sorr?’
‘I’ll wait till I see Learoyd,’ I repeated.
‘Ah’m here,’ said a shadow from among the shadows. ‘Ah’ve heard t’ tale
too.’
‘Is it true, Jock?’
‘Ay; true as t’owd bitch has getten t’mange. Orth’ris, yo’ maun’t let
t’dawgs hev owt to do wi’ her.’
ONE VIEW OF THE QUESTION.
_From Shafiz Ullah Khan, son of Hyat Ullah Khan, in the honoured
service of His Highness the Rao Sahib of Jagesur, which is in the
northern borders of Hindustan, and Orderly to his Highness, this to
Kazi Jamal-ud-Din, son of Kazi Ferisht-ud-Din Khan, in the service of
the Rao Sahib, a minister much honoured. From that place which they
call the Northbrook Club, in the town of London, under the shadow of
the Empress, it is written:_
Between brother and chosen brother be no long protestations of Love
and Sincerity. Heart speaks naked to Heart, and the Head answers for
all. Glory and Honour on thy house till the ending of the years and a
tent in the borders of Paradise.
MY BROTHER,--In regard to that for which I was despatched follows the
account. I have purchased for the Rao Sahib, and paid sixty pounds
in every hundred, the things he most desired. Thus; two of the great
fawn-coloured tiger-dogs, male and female, their pedigree being written
upon paper, and silver collars adorning their necks. For the Rao
Sahib’s greater pleasure I send them at once by the steamer, in charge
of a man who will render account of them at Bombay to the bankers
there. They are the best of all dogs in this place. Of guns I have
bought five--two silver-sprigged in the stock, with gold scroll-work
about the hammer, both double-barrelled, hard-striking, cased in
velvet and red leather; three of unequalled workmanship, but lacking
adornment; a pump-gun that fires fourteen times--this when the Rao
Sahib drives pig; a double-barrelled shell-gun for tiger, and that is a
miracle of workmanship; and a fowling-piece no lighter than a feather,
with green and blue cartridges by the thousand. Also a very small rifle
for blackbuck, that yet would slay a man at four hundred paces. The
harness with the golden crests for the Rao Sahib’s coach is not yet
complete, by reason of the difficulty of lining the red velvet into
leather; but the two-horse harness and the great saddle with the golden
holsters that is for state use have been put with camphor into a tin
box, and I have signed it with my ring. Of the grained leather case of
women’s tools and tweezers for the hair and beard, of the perfumes and
the silks, and all that was wanted by the women behind the curtains, I
have no knowledge. They are matters of long coming, and the hawk-bells,
hoods, and jesses with the golden lettering are as much delayed as
they. Read this in the Rao Sahib’s ear, and speak of my diligence
and zeal, that favour may not be abated by absence, and keep the eye
of constraint upon that jesting dog without teeth--Bahadur Shah--for
by thy aid and voice, and what I have done in regard to the guns, I
look, as thou knowest, for the headship of the army of Jagesur. That
conscienceless one desires it also, and I have heard that the Rao Sahib
leans thatward. Have ye done, then, with the drinking of wine in your
house, my brother, or has Bahadur Shah become a forswearer of brandy? I
would not that drink should end him; but the well-mixed draught leads
to madness. Consider.
And now in regard to this land of the Sahibs, follows that thou hast
demanded. God is my witness that I have striven to understand all that
I saw and a little of what I heard. My words and intention are those of
truth, yet it may be that I write of nothing but lies.
Since the first wonder and bewilderment of my beholding is gone--we
note the jewels in the ceiling-dome, but later the filth on the
floor--I see clearly that this town, London, which is as large as
all Jagesur, is accursed, being dark and unclean, devoid of sun, and
full of low-born, who are perpetually drunk, and howl in the streets
like jackals, men and women together. At nightfall it is the custom
of countless thousands of women to descend into the streets and sweep
them, roaring, making jests, and demanding liquor. At the hour of this
attack it is the custom of the householders to take their wives and
children to the playhouses and the places of entertainment; evil and
good thus returning home together as do kine from the pools at sundown.
I have never seen any sight like this sight in all the world, and I
doubt that a double is to be found on the hither side of the gates of
Hell. Touching the mystery of their craft, it is an ancient one, but
the householders assemble in herds, being men and women, and cry aloud
to their God that it is not there; the said women pounding at the doors
without. Moreover, upon the day when they go to prayer the drink-places
are only opened when the mosques are shut; as who should dam the
Jumna river for Friday only. Therefore the men and women, being
forced to accomplish their desires in the shorter space, become the
more furiously drunk, and roll in the gutter together. They are there
regarded by those going to pray. Further, and for visible sign that
the place is forgotten of God, there falls upon certain days, without
warning, a cold darkness, whereby the sun’s light is altogether cut off
from all the city, and the people, male and female, and the drivers of
the vehicles grope and howl in this Pit at high noon, none seeing the
other. The air being filled with the smoke of Hell--sulphur and pitch
as it is written--they die speedily with gaspings, and so are buried in
the dark. This is a terror beyond the pen, but, by my head, I write of
what I have seen!
It is not true that the Sahibs worship one God, as do we of the Faith,
or that the differences in their creed be like those now running
between Shiah and Sunni. I am but a fighting man, and no darvesh,
caring, as thou knowest, as much for Shiah as Sunni. But I have spoken
to many people of the nature of their Gods. One there is who is the
head of the Mukht-i-Fauj,[1] and he is worshipped by men in blood-red
clothes, who shout and become without sense. Another is an image,
before whom they burn candles and incense in just such a place as I
have seen when I went to Rangoon to buy Burma ponies for the Rao.
Yet a third has naked altars facing a great assembly of dead. To
him they sing chiefly; and for others there is a woman who was the
mother of the great prophet that was before Mahommed. The common folk
have no God, but worship those who may speak to them hanging from
the lamps in the street. The most wise people worship themselves and
such things as they have made with their mouths and their hands, and
this is to be found notably among the barren women, of whom there are
many. It is the custom of men and women to make for themselves such
God as they desire; pinching and patting the very soft clay of their
thought into the acceptable mould of their lusts. So each is furnished
with a Godling after his own heart; and this Godling is changed in a
little, as the stomach turns or the health is altered. Thou wilt not
believe this tale, my brother. Nor did I when I was first told, but
now it is nothing to me; so greatly has the foot of travel let out the
stirrup-holes of belief.
But thou wilt say, ‘What matter to us whether Ahmed’s beard or Mahmud’s
be the longer! Speak what thou canst of the Accomplishment of Desire.’
Would that thou wert here to talk face to face and walk abroad with me
and learn.
To this people it is a matter of Heaven and Hell whether Ahmed’s beard
and Mahmud’s tally or differ but by a hair. Thou knowest the system of
their statecraft? It is this. Certain men, appointing themselves, go
about and speak to the low-born, the peasants, the leather-workers,
and the cloth-dealers, and the women, saying: ‘Give us leave by your
favour to speak for you in the council.’ Securing that permission by
large promises, they return to the council-place, and, sitting unarmed,
some six hundred together, speak at random each for himself and his own
ball of low-born. The viziers and dewans of the Empress must ever beg
money at their hands, for unless more than a half of the six hundred
be of one heart towards the spending of the revenues, neither horse can
be shod, rifle loaded, nor man clothed throughout the land. Remember
this very continually. The six hundred are above the Empress, above the
Viceroy of India, above the Head of the Army and every other power that
thou hast ever known. _Because they hold the revenues._
They are divided into two hordes--the one perpetually hurling abuse at
the other, and bidding the low-born hamper and rebel against all that
the other may devise for government. Except that they are unarmed, and
so call each other liar, dog, and bastard without fear, even under the
shadow of the Empress’s throne, they are at bitter war which is without
any end. They pit lie against lie, till the low-born and common folk
grow drunk with lies, and in their turn begin to lie and refuse to pay
the revenues. Further, they divide their women into bands, and send
them into this fight with yellow flowers in their hands, and since the
belief of a woman is but her lover’s belief stripped of judgment, very
many wild words are added. Well said the slave-girl to Mámún in the
delectable pages of the Son of Abdullah:--
‘Oppression and the sword slay fast--
Thy breath kills slowly but at last.’
If they desire a thing they declare that it is true. If they desire
it not, though that were Death itself, they cry aloud, ‘It has never
been.’ Thus their talk is the talk of children, and like children they
snatch at what they covet, not considering whether it is their own or
another’s. And in their councils, when the army of unreason has come
to the defile of dispute, and there is no more talk left on either
side, they, dividing, count heads, and the will of that side which has
the larger number of heads makes that law. But the outnumbered side run
speedily among the common people and bid them trample on that law, and
slay the officers thereof. Follows slaughter by night of men unarmed,
and the slaughter of cattle and insults to women. They do not cut off
the noses of women, but they crop their hair and scrape the flesh with
pins. Then those shameless ones of the council stand up before the
judges wiping their mouths and making oath. They say: ‘Before God we
are free from blame. Did we say “Heave that stone out of that road and
kill that one and no other”?’ So they are not made shorter by the head
because they said only: ‘Here are stones and yonder is such a fellow
obeying the Law which is no law because we do not desire it.’
Read this in the Rao Sahib’s ear, and ask him if he remembers that
season when the Manglôt headmen refused revenue, not because they could
not pay, but because they judged the cess extreme. I and thou went out
with the troopers all one day and the black lances raised the thatch,
so that there was hardly any need of firing; and no man was slain.
But this land is at secret war and veiled killing. In five years of
peace they have slain within their own borders and of their own kin
more men than would have fallen had the ball of dissension been left
to the mallet of the army. And yet there is no hope of peace, for soon
the sides again divide, and then they will cause to be slain more men
unarmed and in the fields. And so much for that matter, which is to our
advantage. There is a better thing to be told, and one tending to the
Accomplishment of Desire. Read here with a fresh mind after sleep. I
write as I understand.
Above all this war without honour lies that which I find hard to put
into writing, and thou knowest I am unhandy of the pen. I will ride
the steed of Inability sideways at the wall of Expression. The earth
under foot is sick and sour with the much handling of man, as a grazing
ground sours under cattle; and the air is sick too. Upon the ground
they have laid in this town, as it were, the stinking boards of a
stable, and through these boards, between a thousand thousand houses,
the rank humours of the earth sweat through to the overburdened air
that returns them to their breeding-place; for the smoke of their
cooking fires keeps all in as the cover the juices of the sheep. And in
like manner there is a green-sickness among the people, and especially
among the six hundred men who talk. Neither winter nor autumn abates
that malady of the soul. I have seen it among women in our own country,
and in boys not yet blooded to the sword; but I have never seen so
much thereof before. Through the peculiar operation of this thing the
people, abandoning honour and steadfastness, question all authority,
not as men question, but as girls, whimperingly, with pinching in the
back when the back is turned and mowing. If one cries in the streets,
‘There has been an injustice,’ they take him not to make complaint to
those appointed, but all who pass, drinking his words, fly clamorously
to the house of the accused and write evil things of him, his wives and
his daughters; for they take no thought to the weighing of evidence,
but are as women. And with one hand they beat their constables who
guard the streets, and with the other beat the constables for resenting
that beating, and fine them. When they have in all things made light of
the State they cry to the State for help, and it is given, so that the
next time they will cry more. Such as are oppressed riot through the
streets, bearing banners that hold four days’ labour and a week’s bread
in cost and toil; and when neither horse nor foot can pass by they
are satisfied. Others, receiving wages, refuse to work till they get
more, and the priests help them, and also men of the six hundred--for
where rebellion is, one of those men will come as a kite to a dead
bullock--and priests, talker, and men together declare that it is right
because these will not work that no others may attempt. In this manner
they have so confused the loading and the unloading of the ships that
come to this town that, in sending the Rao Sahib’s guns and harness,
I saw fit to send the cases by the train to another ship that sailed
from another place. There is now no certainty in any sending. But who
injures the merchants shuts the door of well-being on the city and the
army. And ye know what Sa’adi saith:--
‘How may the merchant westward fare
When he hears the tale of the tumults there?’
No man can keep faith because he cannot tell how his underlings will
go. They have made the servant greater than the master, for that he
is the servant; not reckoning that each is equal under God to the
appointed task. That is a thing to be put aside in the cupboard of the
mind.
Further, the misery and outcry of the common folk of whom the earth’s
bosom is weary, has so wrought upon the minds of certain people who
have never slept under fear nor seen the flat edge of the sword on the
heads of a mob, that they cry out: ‘Let us abate everything that is,
and altogether labour with our bare hands.’ Their hands in that employ
would fester at the second stroke; and I have seen, for all their
unrest at the agonies of others, they abandon no whit of soft living.
Unknowing the common folk, or indeed the minds of men, they offer
strong drink of words, such as they themselves use, to empty bellies;
and that wine breeds drunkenness of soul. The distressful persons stand
all day long at the door of the drink-places to the number of very many
thousands. The well-wishing people of small discernment give them words
or pitifully attempt in schools to turn them into craftsmen, weavers,
or builders, of whom there be more than enough. Yet they have not
the wisdom to look at the hands of the taught, whereon a man’s craft
and that of his father is written by God and Necessity. They believe
that the son of a drunkard shall drive a straight chisel and the
charioteer do plaster-work. They take no thought in the dispensation of
generosity, which is as the closed fingers of a water-scooping palm.
Therefore the rough timber of a very great army drifts unhewn through
the slime of their streets. If the Government, which is to-day and
to-morrow changes, spent on these hopeless ones some money to clothe
and equip, I should not write what I write. But these people despise
the trade of arms, and rest content with the memory of old battles; the
women and the talking men aiding them.