he was more of a God than old Daniel that was a man. Then they turned
him out on the snow, and told him to go home, and Peachey came home in
about a year, begging along the roads quite safe; for Daniel Dravot he
walked before and said: “Come along, Peachey. It’s a big thing we’re
doing.” The mountains they danced at night, and the mountains they tried
to fall on Peachey’s head, but Dan he held up his hand, and Peachey came
along bent double. He never let go of Dan’s hand, and he never let go of
Dan’s head. They gave it to him as a present in the temple, to remind
him not to come again, and though the crown was pure gold, and Peachey
was starving, never would Peachey sell the same. You knew Dravot, Sir!
You knew Right Worshipful Brother Dravot! Look at him now!’
He fumbled in the mass of rags round his bent waist; brought out a black
horsehair bag embroidered with silver thread, and shook therefrom on to
my table—the dried, withered head of Daniel Dravot! The morning sun that
had long been paling the lamps struck the red beard and blind sunken
eyes; struck, too, a heavy circlet of gold studded with raw turquoises,
that Carnehan placed tenderly on the battered temples.
‘You be’old now,’ said Carnehan, ‘the Emperor in his ’abit as he
lived—the King of Kafiristan with his crown upon his head. Poor old
Daniel that was a monarch once!’
I shuddered, for, in spite of defacements manifold, I recognised the
head of the man of Marwar Junction. Carnehan rose to go. I attempted to
stop him. He was not fit to walk abroad. ‘Let me take away the whisky,
and give me a little money,’ he gasped. ‘I was a King once. I’ll go to
the Deputy Commissioner and ask to set in the Poorhouse till I get my
health. No, thank you, I can’t wait till you get a carriage for me. I’ve
urgent private affairs—in the south—at Marwar.’
He shambled out of the office and departed in the direction of the
Deputy Commissioner’s house. That day at noon I had occasion to go down
the blinding hot Mall, and I saw a crooked man crawling along the white
dust of the roadside, his hat in his hand, quavering dolorously after
the fashion of street-singers at Home. There was not a soul in sight,
and he was out of all possible earshot of the houses. And he sang
through his nose, turning his head from right to left:—
‘The Son of Man goes forth to war,
A golden crown to gain;
His bloodied banner streams afar—
Who follows in his train?’
I waited to hear no more, but put the poor wretch into my carriage and
drove him off to the nearest missionary for eventual transfer to the
Asylum. He repeated the hymn twice while he was with me whom he did not
in the least recognise, and I left him singing it to the missionary.
Two days later I inquired after his welfare of the Superintendent of the
Asylum.
‘He was admitted suffering from sunstroke. He died early yesterday
morning,’ said the Superintendent. ‘Is it true that he was half an hour
bareheaded in the sun at mid-day?’
‘Yes,’ said I, ‘but do you happen to know if he had anything upon him by
any chance when he died?’
‘Not to my knowledge,’ said the Superintendent.
And there the matter rests.
WEE WILLIE WINKIE
AND OTHER STORIES
WEE WILLIE WINKIE
An officer and a gentleman
His full name was Percival William Williams, but he picked up the other
name in a nursery-book, and that was the end of the christened titles.
His mother’s _ayah_ called him Willie-_Baba_, but as he never paid the
faintest attention to anything that the _ayah_ said, her wisdom did not
help matters.
His father was the Colonel of the 195th, and as soon as Wee Willie
Winkie was old enough to understand what Military Discipline meant,
Colonel Williams put him under it. There was no other way of managing
the child. When he was good for a week, he drew good-conduct pay; and
when he was bad, he was deprived of his good-conduct stripe. Generally
he was bad, for India offers many chances of going wrong to little
six-year-olds.
Children resent familiarity from strangers, and Wee Willie Winkie was a
very particular child. Once he accepted an acquaintance, he was
graciously pleased to thaw. He accepted Brandis, a subaltern of the
195th, on sight. Brandis was having tea at the Colonel’s, and Wee Willie
Winkie entered strong in the possession of a good-conduct badge won for
not chasing the hens round the compound. He regarded Brandis with
gravity for at least ten minutes, and then delivered himself of his
opinion.
‘I like you,’ said he slowly, getting off his chair and coming over to
Brandis, ‘I like you. I shall call you Coppy, because of your hair. Do
you _mind_ being called Coppy? It is because of ve hair, you know.’
Here was one of the most embarrassing of Wee Willie Winkie’s
peculiarities. He would look at a stranger for some time, and then,
without warning or explanation, would give him a name. And the name
stuck. No regimental penalties could break Wee Willie Winkie of this
habit. He lost his good-conduct badge for christening the Commissioner’s
wife ‘Pobs’; but nothing that the Colonel could do made the Station
forego the nickname, and Mrs. Collen remained ‘Pobs’ till the end of her
stay. So Brandis was christened ‘Coppy,’ and rose, therefore, in the
estimation of the regiment.
If Wee Willie Winkie took an interest in any one, the fortunate man was
envied alike by the mess and the rank and file. And in their envy lay no
suspicion of self-interest. ‘The Colonel’s son’ was idolised on his own
merits entirely. Yet Wee Willie Winkie was not lovely. His face was
permanently freckled, as his legs were permanently scratched, and in
spite of his mother’s almost tearful remonstrances he had insisted upon
having his long yellow locks cut short in the military fashion. ‘I want
my hair like Sergeant Tummil’s,’ said Wee Willie Winkie, and, his father
abetting, the sacrifice was accomplished.
Three weeks after the bestowal of his youthful affections on Lieutenant
Brandis—henceforward to be called ‘Coppy’ for the sake of brevity—Wee
Willie Winkie was destined to behold strange things and far beyond his
comprehension.
Coppy returned his liking with interest. Coppy had let him wear for five
rapturous minutes his own big sword—just as tall as Wee Willie Winkie.
Coppy had promised him a terrier puppy; and Coppy had permitted him to
witness the miraculous operation of shaving. Nay, more—Coppy had said
that even he, Wee Willie Winkie, would rise in time to the ownership of
a box of shiny knives, a silver soap-box, and a silver-handled
‘sputter-brush,’ as Wee Willie Winkie called it. Decidedly, there was no
one except his father, who could give or take away good-conduct badges
at pleasure, half so wise, strong, and valiant as Coppy with the Afghan
and Egyptian medals on his breast. Why, then, should Coppy be guilty of
the unmanly weakness of kissing—vehemently kissing—a ‘big girl,’ Miss
Allardyce to wit? In the course of a morning ride Wee Willie Winkie had
seen Coppy so doing, and, like the gentleman he was, had promptly
wheeled round and cantered back to his groom, lest the groom should also
see.
Under ordinary circumstances he would have spoken to his father, but he
felt instinctively that this was a matter on which Coppy ought first to
be consulted.
‘Coppy,’ shouted Wee Willie Winkie, reining up outside that subaltern’s
bungalow early one morning—‘I want to see you, Coppy!’
‘Come in, young ’un,’ returned Coppy, who was at early breakfast in the
midst of his dogs. ‘What mischief have you been getting into now?’
Wee Willie Winkie had done nothing notoriously bad for three days, and
so stood on a pinnacle of virtue.
‘_I’ve_ been doing nothing bad,’ said he, curling himself into a long
chair with a studious affectation of the Colonel’s languor after a hot
parade. He buried his freckled nose in a tea-cup and, with eyes staring
roundly over the rim, asked: ‘I say, Coppy, is it pwoper to kiss big
girls?’
‘By Jove! You’re beginning early. Who do you want to kiss?’
‘No one. My muvver’s always kissing me if I don’t stop her. If it isn’t
pwoper, how was you kissing Major Allardyce’s big girl last morning, by
ve canal?’
Coppy’s brow wrinkled. He and Miss Allardyce had with great craft
managed to keep their engagement secret for a fortnight. There were
urgent and imperative reasons why Major Allardyce should not know how
matters stood for at least another month, and this small marplot had
discovered a great deal too much.
‘I saw you,’ said Wee Willie Winkie calmly. ‘But ve _sais_ didn’t see. I
said, “_Hut jao!_”’
‘Oh, you had that much sense, you young Rip,’ groaned poor Coppy, half
amused and half angry. ‘And how many people may you have told about it?’
‘Only me myself. You didn’t tell when I twied to wide ve buffalo ven my
pony was lame; and I fought you wouldn’t like.’
‘Winkie,’ said Coppy enthusiastically, shaking the small hand, ‘you’re
the best of good fellows. Look here, you can’t understand all these
things. One of these days—hang it, how can I make you see it!—I’m going
to marry Miss Allardyce, and then she’ll be Mrs. Coppy, as you say. If
your young mind is so scandalised at the idea of kissing big girls, go
and tell your father.’
‘What will happen?’ said Wee Willie Winkie, who firmly believed that his
father was omnipotent.
‘I shall get into trouble,’ said Coppy, playing his trump card with an
appealing look at the holder of the ace.
‘Ven I won’t,’ said Wee Willie Winkie briefly. ‘But my faver says it’s
un-man-ly to be always kissing, and I didn’t fink _you’d_ do vat,
Coppy.’
‘I’m not always kissing, old chap. It’s only now and then, and when
you’re bigger you’ll do it too. Your father meant it’s not good for
little boys.’
‘Ah!’ said Wee Willie Winkie, now fully enlightened. ‘It’s like ve
sputter-brush?’
‘Exactly,’ said Coppy gravely.
‘But I don’t fink I’ll ever want to kiss big girls, nor no one, ’cept my
muvver. And I _must_ vat, you know.’
There was a long pause, broken by Wee Willie Winkie.
‘Are you fond of vis big girl, Coppy?’
‘Awfully!’ said Coppy.
‘Fonder van you are of Bell or ve Butcha—or me?’
‘It’s in a different way,’ said Coppy. ‘You see, one of these days Miss
Allardyce will belong to me, but you’ll grow up and command the Regiment
and—all sorts of things. It’s quite different, you see.’
‘Very well,’ said Wee Willie Winkie, rising. ‘If you’re fond of ve big
girl I won’t tell any one. I must go now.’
Coppy rose and escorted his small guest to the door, adding—‘You’re the
best of little fellows, Winkie. I tell you what. In thirty days from now
you can tell if you like—tell any one you like.’
Thus the secret of the Brandis-Allardyce engagement was dependent on a
little child’s word. Coppy, who knew Wee Willie Winkie’s idea of truth,
was at ease, for he felt that he would not break promises. Wee Willie
Winkie betrayed a special and unusual interest in Miss Allardyce, and,
slowly revolving round that embarrassed young lady, was used to regard
her gravely with unwinking eye. He was trying to discover why Coppy
should have kissed her. She was not half so nice as his own mother. On
the other hand, she was Coppy’s property, and would in time belong to
him. Therefore it behoved him to treat her with as much respect as
Coppy’s big sword or shiny pistol.
The idea that he shared a great secret in common with Coppy kept Wee
Willie Winkie unusually virtuous for three weeks. Then the Old Adam
broke out, and he made what he called a ‘campfire’ at the bottom of the
garden. How could he have foreseen that the flying sparks would have
lighted the Colonel’s little hay-rick and consumed a week’s store for
the horses? Sudden and swift was the punishment—deprivation of the
good-conduct badge and, most sorrowful of all, two days’ confinement to
barracks—the house and veranda—coupled with the withdrawal of the light
of his father’s countenance.
He took the sentence like the man he strove to be, drew himself up with
a quivering under-lip, saluted, and, once clear of the room, ran to weep
bitterly in his nursery—called by him ‘my quarters.’ Coppy came in the
afternoon and attempted to console the culprit.
‘I’m under awwest,’ said Wee Willie Winkie mournfully, ‘and I didn’t
ought to speak to you.’
Very early the next morning he climbed on to the roof of the house—that
was not forbidden—and beheld Miss Allardyce going for a ride.
‘Where are you going?’ cried Wee Willie Winkie.
‘Across the river,’ she answered, and trotted forward.
Now the cantonment in which the 195th lay was bounded on the north by a
river—dry in the winter. From his earliest years, Wee Willie Winkie had
been forbidden to go across the river, and had noted that even Coppy—the
almost almighty Coppy—had never set foot beyond it. Wee Willie Winkie
had once been read to, out of a big blue book, the history of the
Princess and the Goblins—a most wonderful tale of a land where the
Goblins were always warring with the children of men until they were
defeated by one Curdie. Ever since that date it seemed to him that the
bare black and purple hills across the river were inhabited by Goblins,
and, in truth, every one had said that there lived the Bad Men. Even in
his own house the lower halves of the windows were covered with green
paper on account of the Bad Men who might, if allowed clear view, fire
into peaceful drawing-rooms and comfortable bedrooms. Certainly, beyond
the river, which was the end of all the Earth, lived the Bad Men. And
here was Major Allardyce’s big girl, Coppy’s property, preparing to
venture into their borders! What would Coppy say if anything happened to
her? If the Goblins ran off with her as they did with Curdie’s Princess?
She must at all hazards be turned back.
The house was still. Wee Willie Winkie reflected for a moment on the
very terrible wrath of his father; and then—broke his arrest! It was a
crime unspeakable. The low sun threw his shadow, very large and very
black, on the trim garden-paths, as he went down to the stables and
ordered his pony. It seemed to him in the hush of the dawn that all the
big world had been bidden to stand still and look at Wee Willie Winkie
guilty of mutiny. The drowsy _sais_ gave him his mount, and, since the
one great sin made all others insignificant, Wee Willie Winkie said that
he was going to ride over to Coppy Sahib, and went out at a foot-pace,
stepping on the soft mould of the flower-borders.
The devastating track of the pony’s feet was the last misdeed that cut
him off from all sympathy of Humanity. He turned into the road, leaned
forward, and rode as fast as the pony could put foot to the ground in
the direction of the river.
But the liveliest of twelve-two ponies can do little against the long
canter of a Waler. Miss Allardyce was far ahead, had passed through the
crops, beyond the Police-posts, when all the guards were asleep, and her
mount was scattering the pebbles of the river-bed as Wee Willie Winkie
left the cantonment and British India behind him. Bowed forward and
still flogging, Wee Willie Winkie shot into Afghan territory, and could
just see Miss Allardyce, a black speck, flickering across the stony
plain. The reason of her wandering was simple enough. Coppy, in a tone
of too-hastily-assumed authority, had told her overnight that she must
not ride out by the river. And she had gone to prove her own spirit and
teach Coppy a lesson.
Almost at the foot of the inhospitable hills, Wee Willie Winkie saw the
Waler blunder and come down heavily. Miss Allardyce struggled clear, but
her ankle had been severely twisted, and she could not stand. Having
fully shown her spirit, she wept, and was surprised by the apparition of
a white, wide-eyed child in khaki, on a nearly spent pony.
‘Are you badly, badly hurted?’ shouted Wee Willie Winkie, as soon as he
was within range. ‘You didn’t ought to be here,’
‘I don’t know,’ said Miss Allardyce ruefully, ignoring the reproof.
‘Good gracious, child, what are _you_ doing here?’
‘You said you was going acwoss ve wiver,’ panted Wee Willie Winkie,
throwing himself off his pony. ‘And nobody—not even Coppy—must go acwoss
ve wiver, and I came after you ever so hard, but you wouldn’t stop, and
now you’ve hurted yourself, and Coppy will be angwy wiv me, and—I’ve
bwoken my awwest! I’ve bwoken my awwest!’
The future Colonel of the 195th sat down and sobbed. In spite of the
pain in her ankle the girl was moved.
‘Have you ridden all the way from cantonments, little man? What for?’
‘You belonged to Coppy. Coppy told me so!’ wailed Wee Willie Winkie
disconsolately. ‘I saw him kissing you, and he said he was fonder of you
van Bell or ve Butcha or me. And so I came. You must get up and come
back. You didn’t ought to be here. Vis is a bad place, and I’ve bwoken
my awwest.’
‘I can’t move, Winkie,’ said Miss Allardyce, with a groan. ‘I’ve hurt my
foot. What shall I do?’
She showed a readiness to weep anew, which steadied Wee Willie Winkie,
who had been brought up to believe that tears were the depth of
unmanliness. Still, when one is as great a sinner as Wee Willie Winkie,
even a man may be permitted to break down.
‘Winkie,’ said Miss Allardyce, ‘when you’ve rested a little, ride back
and tell them to send out something to carry me back in. It hurts
fearfully.’
The child sat still for a little time and Miss Allardyce closed her
eyes; the pain was nearly making her faint. She was roused by Wee Willie
Winkie tying up the reins on his pony’s neck and setting it free with a
vicious cut of his whip that made it whicker. The little animal headed
towards the cantonments.
‘Oh, Winkie, what are you doing?’
‘Hush!’ said Wee Willie Winkie. ‘Vere’s a man coming—one of ve Bad Men.
I must stay wiv you. My faver says a man must _always_ look after a
girl. Jack will go home, and ven vey’ll come and look for us. Vat’s why
I let him go.’
Not one man but two or three had appeared from behind the rocks of the
hills, and the heart of Wee Willie Winkie sank within him, for just in
this manner were the Goblins wont to steal out and vex Curdie’s soul.
Thus had they played in Curdie’s garden—he had seen the picture—and thus
had they frightened the Princess’s nurse. He heard them talking to each
other, and recognised with joy the bastard Pushto that he had picked up
from one of his father’s grooms lately dismissed. People who spoke that
tongue could not be the Bad Men. They were only natives after all.
They came up to the boulders on which Miss Allardyce’s horse had
blundered.
Then rose from the rock Wee Willie Winkie, child of the Dominant Race,
aged six and three-quarters, and said briefly and emphatically ‘_Jao!_’
The pony had crossed the river-bed.
The men laughed, and laughter from natives was the one thing Wee Willie
Winkie could not tolerate. He asked them what they wanted and why they
did not depart. Other men with most evil faces and crooked-stocked guns
crept out of the shadows of the hills, till, soon, Wee Willie Winkie was
face to face with an audience some twenty strong. Miss Allardyce
screamed.
‘Who are you?’ said one of the men.
‘I am the Colonel Sahib’s son, and my order is that you go at once. You
black men are frightening the Miss Sahib. One of you must run into
cantonments and take the news that the Miss Sahib has hurt herself, and
that the Colonel’s son is here with her.’
‘Put our feet into the trap?’ was the laughing reply. ‘Hear this boy’s
speech!’
‘Say that I sent you—I, the Colonel’s son. They will give you money.’
‘What is the use of this talk? Take up the child and the girl, and we
can at least ask for the ransom. Ours are the villages on the heights,’
said a voice in the background.
These _were_ the Bad Men—worse than Goblins—and it needed all Wee Willie
Winkie’s training to prevent him from bursting into tears. But he felt
that to cry before a native, excepting only his mother’s _ayah_, would
be an infamy greater than any mutiny. Moreover, he, as future Colonel of
the 195th, had that grim regiment at his back.
‘Are you going to carry us away?’ said Wee Willie Winkie, very blanched
and uncomfortable.
‘Yes, my little _Sahib Bahadur_,’ said the tallest of the men, ‘and eat
you afterwards.’
‘That is child’s talk,’ said Wee Willie Winkie. ‘Men do not eat men.’
A yell of laughter interrupted him, but he went on firmly—‘And if you do
carry us away, I tell you that all my regiment will come up in a day and
kill you all without leaving one. Who will take my message to the
Colonel Sahib?’
Speech in any vernacular—and Wee Willie Winkie had a colloquial
acquaintance with three—was easy to the boy who could not yet manage his
‘r’s’ and ‘th’s’ aright.
Another man joined the conference, crying: ‘O foolish men! What this
babe says is true. He is the heart’s heart of those white troops. For
the sake of peace let them go both, for if he be taken, the regiment
will break loose and gut the valley. _Our_ villages are in the valley,
and we shall not escape. That regiment are devils. They broke Khoda
Yar’s breastbone with kicks when he tried to take the rifles; and if we
touch this child they will fire and rape and plunder for a month, till
nothing remains. Better to send a man back to take the message and get a
reward. I say that this child is their God, and that they will spare
none of us, nor our women, if we harm him.’
It was Din Mahommed, the dismissed groom of the Colonel, who made the
diversion, and an angry and heated discussion followed. Wee Willie
Winkie, standing over Miss Allardyce, waited the upshot. Surely his
‘wegiment,’ his own ‘wegiment,’ would not desert him if they knew of his
extremity.
* * * * *
The riderless pony brought the news to the 195th, though there had been
consternation in the Colonel’s household for an hour before. The little
beast came in through the parade-ground in front of the main barracks,
where the men were settling down to play Spoil-five till the afternoon.
Devlin, the Colour-Sergeant of E Company, glanced at the empty saddle
and tumbled through the barrack-rooms, kicking up each Room Corporal as
he passed. ‘Up, ye beggars! There’s something happened to the Colonel’s
son,’ he shouted.
‘He couldn’t fall off! S’elp me, ’e _couldn’t_ fall off,’ blubbered a
drummer-boy. ‘Go an’ hunt acrost the river. He’s over there if he’s
anywhere, an’ maybe those Pathans have got ’im. For the love o’ Gawd
don’t look for ’im in the nullahs! Let’s go over the river.’
‘There’s sense in Mott yet,’ said Devlin. ‘E Company, double out to the
river—sharp!’
So E Company, in its shirt-sleeves mainly, doubled for the dear life,
and in the rear toiled the perspiring Sergeant, adjuring it to double
yet faster. The cantonment was alive with the men of the 195th hunting
for Wee Willie Winkie, and the Colonel finally overtook E Company, far
too exhausted to swear, struggling in the pebbles of the river-bed.
Up the hill under which Wee Willie Winkie’s Bad Men were discussing the
wisdom of carrying off the child and the girl, a look-out fired two
shots.
‘What have I said?’ shouted Din Mahommed. ‘There is the warning! The
_pulton_ are out already and are coming across the plain! Get away! Let
us not be seen with the boy.’
The men waited for an instant, and then, as another shot was fired,
withdrew into the hills, silently as they had appeared.
‘The wegiment is coming,’ said Wee Willie Winkie confidently to Miss
Allardyce, ‘and it’s all wight. Don’t cwy!’
He needed the advice himself, for ten minutes later, when his father
came up, he was weeping bitterly with his head in Miss Allardyce’s lap.
And the men of the 195th carried him home with shouts and rejoicings;
and Coppy, who had ridden a horse into a lather, met him, and, to his
intense disgust, kissed him openly in the presence of the men.
But there was balm for his dignity. His father assured him that not only
would the breaking of arrest be condoned, but that the good-conduct
badge would be restored as soon as his mother could sew it on his
blouse-sleeve. Miss Allardyce had told the Colonel a story that made him
proud of his son.
‘She belonged to you, Coppy,’ said Wee Willie Winkie, indicating Miss
Allardyce with a grimy forefinger. ‘I _knew_ she didn’t ought to go
acwoss ve wiver, and I knew ve wegiment would come to me if I sent Jack
home.’
‘You’re a hero, Winkie,’ said Coppy—‘a _pukka_ hero!’
‘I don’t know what vat means,’ said Wee Willie Winkie, ‘but you mustn’t
call me Winkie any no more. I’m Percival Will’am Will’ams.’
And in this manner did Wee Willie Winkie enter into his manhood.
BAA BAA, BLACK SHEEP
Baa Baa, Black Sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yes, Sir, yes, Sir, three bags full.
One for the Master, one for the Dame—
None for the Little Boy that cries down the lane.
_Nursery Rhyme._
THE FIRST BAG
When I was in my father’s house, I was in a better place.