COLIN AS AMBASSADOR.
“The curious thing was that we had no fighting,” said Major Keeling.
They were seated at the luncheon-table, and Lady Haigh had imperiously
demanded an account of the doings of the force since its departure.
“No fighting!” she cried reproachfully. “And you have kept us in agony
two whole days while you went out for a picnic!”
“It was more than a picnic,” said her guest seriously. “It is one of
the most mysterious things I have ever come across--a complete
success, and yet not a matchlock fired, though every one and
everything was ready for a big fight.”
“I must get to the bottom of this,” said Lady Haigh, with the little
air of importance to which Major Keeling always yielded indulgently.
“Let me hear about it from the beginning. Dugald, you don’t mean to
say that you started out under false pretences when you told me you
were going after a band of raiders?”
“Not at all,” answered Sir Dugald, with imperturbable good-humour. “We
found the raiders, sure enough, at the village which gave the alarm.
They had plundered the granaries, got the cattle together ready to
drive off, and were just going to fire the place when we came up. It
was rather fine when they realised it was the Khemistan Horse they had
to deal with, and not a scratch lot of villagers, for they left the
cattle and decamped promptly. Our only casualty was a trooper who came
upon two laggards at bay in a corner, and tried to take them both
prisoners. Of course we went after them, and several of the villagers,
who had appeared miraculously from their hiding-places, came too. It
was a long chase, and we stuck to them right up to the frontier. Well,
we guessed that this was the band which has made its headquarters at
Khudâdad Khan’s fortress, Dera Gul. The Amir of Nalapur has always
protested his inability to catch and punish them, so, as we had caught
them red-handed on our ground, I thought we would run them to earth.
The raiding must be stopped somehow, and if the Amir can’t do it, he
ought to be grateful to us for doing it for him.”
Major Keeling nodded emphatically. “If he doesn’t show proper
gratitude, I’ll teach it him,” he said.
“They rode, and we rode,” Sir Dugald went on; “and as they had the
start and travelled lighter, we had the pleasure of seeing them ride
into Dera Gul and shut the door in our faces. When we summoned
Khudâdad Khan to give them up, he told us to come and take them, and
they jeered at us from the walls and bade us be thankful they let us
go home safe. The place is abominably strong, and they had several
cannon ready mounted, and plenty of men, so I thought the best thing I
could do was to take up a position of observation, and send for
reinforcements and the guns. But as I was writing my message, one of
our friendly ryots advised me to send for Kīlin Sahib, and not
trouble about the guns. ‘You will see that they’ll surrender to him,’
he said. I didn’t believe it, but he stuck to his text, and my
ressaldar, Bakr Ali, agreed with him, though neither of them would
give me any reason; so I added to my _chit_ an entreaty that the Major
would accompany the reinforcements if possible. And he came, saw, and
conquered.”
“No thanks to myself,” said Major Keeling. “I summoned Khudâdad Khan
to surrender, and he did so at once, with the worst possible grace,
merely stipulating that he and his men should be considered our
prisoners, and not handed over to Nalapur. I knew the Amir would be
precious glad to get rid of them, so I consented. And after
that--Haigh, you will agree with me that it was a queer sensation--we
rode up into the fortress between the rows of scowling outlaws, spiked
the five guns, took stock of the provisions, and left Harris and a
squadron in charge of the place until we can hand it over to the Amir.
The outlaws we brought back with us, and I mean to plant them out on
the newly irrigated land to the west after they have served their
sentences. ‘It was a famous victory.’”
“Yes, but how?--why?” cried Lady Haigh. “What made them surrender when
they saw you?”
“If you could tell me that I should be much obliged. There’s a mystery
somewhere, which is always cropping up, and this is part of it. Why,
almost wherever I go, the Maliks and elders meet me as an old
friend--no, not quite that, as a sort of superior being--and inform me
with unction that all my orders are fulfilled already, and that they
are ready to join me with all their fighting men as soon as I want
them. It’s the same with the wild tribes, even those from over the
frontier. Sometimes I have thought there must be a mistake somewhere,
and asked them if they know who I am, and they say, ‘Oh yes, you are
Sinjāj Kīlin Sahib, the ruler of the border for the Honourable
Company,’ with a sort of foolish smirk, as if they expected me to be
pleased. I can’t help thinking they are mistaking me for some one
else.”
“Or some one supernatural--some one of whom they have heard
prophecies,” suggested Lady Haigh breathlessly.
“But you can’t very well ask them that--whether they take you for
Rustam come to life again--lest they should say they never thought of
comparing you to any one of the kind,” said Ferrers. The tone, rather
than the words, was offensive, but Major Keeling ignored it.
“But they do think something of the sort, I believe,” he said. “At
least, when I was present at a tribal _jirgah_ the other day, an old
Malik from a distance remarked that as he had not seen me before, it
would be very consoling to him if I would give a slight exhibition of
my powers. He would not ask for anything elaborate--if I would just
breathe fire for a minute or two, or something of that kind, it would
be enough. I told him I wasn’t a mountebank, and the rest hustled and
scolded him into silence. But after that very meeting another old
fellow, who had been most forward in nudging the first one, and had
looked tremendously knowing as he told him that fire-breathing was not
a custom of the English, got hold of me alone, and whispered, ‘You
won’t forget, Highness, that on the night of which I may not speak you
promised I should ride at your right hand when the time comes?’
Without thinking, I said, ‘If the night is not to be spoken of, why do
you speak of it?’ and the old fellow stammered, ‘Between you and me, I
thought it was no harm, Heaven-born,’ and after that I could get no
more out of him. Whatever I asked him, he thought I was trying to test
him, and took a pride in keeping his mouth shut.”
“It really is most mysterious,” said Lady Haigh, “and might be most
embarrassing. Do you think you go about paying visits to Maliks in
your sleep, Major Keeling? Because, you see, you might do all sorts of
queer things as well.”
“I know nothing whatever about it--it is totally inexplicable,” said
Major Keeling shortly, rising as he spoke. “I am sorry to break up
your party, Lady Haigh, but Captain Ferrers and I have some business
together, and he ought to be on the way back to his station before
very long.”
Seeing that he was not to escape, Ferrers followed the Commandant, and
passed a highly unpleasant half-hour in his company. From a scathing
rebuke of the criminal carelessness which had led to the late
regrettable incident, Major Keeling passed to personalities.
“What have you been doing to yourself?” he asked sharply. “You ought
to be as hard as nails with the life you lead at Shah Nawaz. But
perhaps you don’t lead it. You look like a Bengal writer.”
“With this examination in view----” began Ferrers with dignity.
“Hang these examinations! They spoil the good men and make the bad
ones worse. I’ll have no one up here who would sacrifice his real work
to them. If you can’t keep your studies to the hot hours, when you
young fellows think it’ll kill you to go out, better give them up.
Your munshi must be a queer sort if he’s willing to work all day with
you. Who is he, by the bye? Fazl-ul-Hacq?--not one of the regular
Bab-us-Sahel munshis, surely? Next time you come in, make some excuse
to bring him with you, and I’ll have a look at him. He never seems to
be forthcoming when I hunt you up at Shah Nawaz, and when a man keeps
out of sight in that way it doesn’t look well. You think he’s all
right, I suppose?”
Now was Ferrers’ chance. With one effort he might break with his old
life and throw off the Mirza’s yoke, exchanging his solitary indolence
at Shah Nawaz for the incessant activity which was the portion of all
who worked under Major Keeling’s own eye. But to do this he must
confess to the man he disliked that he felt himself unfit for
responsibility, and that he had practically betrayed the trust reposed
in him. Moreover, not a man in the province but would believe he had
been deprived of his command as a punishment. This thought was
decisive, and he answered quickly--
“Yes, sir; I believe he is an excellent teacher, and he makes himself
useful as a clerk when I want one.”
“Well, don’t let him become indispensable. That plays the very
mischief with these fellows. They think they’ve got the Sahib under
their thumb, and can do as they like, and very often, when it’s too
late, the Sahib finds out that it’s true. Give your man his _rukhsat_
[leave to depart] in double quick time if you see that he’s inclined
to presume.”
Wondering savagely what Major Keeling would think of the actual terms
which prevailed between Fazl-ul-Hacq and his employer, Ferrers
acquiesced with outward meekness, and took his leave. Colin Ross had
promised to accompany him part of the way back, and with a couple of
troopers as escort they rode out into the desert. As they passed the
hospital, Dr Tarleton appeared on the verandah, and shook his fist at
Ferrers.
“You rascal!” he cried. “Those words of command you gave me were all
humbug. Just wait until I get you in hospital!”
“What does he mean?” asked Colin, as Ferrers rode on laughing.
“Oh, he was trying to drill a lot of non-combatants this morning, and
asked me how to get them out of a corner. Of course I favoured him
with a few directions, with the result that his squad got more
gloriously mixed up than ever. Only wish I had seen them!”
“Tarleton is a good fellow,” said Colin, with apparent irrelevance.
“Don’t be a prig, young ’un. Must have a bit of fun sometimes. What is
a man to do, stuck down in a desert under a commandant who’s either a
scoundrel or silly?”
“You mean what the Major was telling us at tiffin? But it’s perfectly
true: they did surrender the moment they saw him.”
“I daresay. He has carefully circulated all these rumours about his
miraculous powers, and then pretends to be surprised that the niggers
believe them. He’s a blatant theatrical egotist--a regular old
Crummles. ‘I can’t think who puts these things in the papers. _I_
don’t.’ Oh no, of course not!”
“If you mean that Major Keeling is a hypocrite, I don’t agree with
you.”
“Now don’t get white-hot. If he isn’t, then he has read Scott till his
brain is turned. You’re such an innocent that you don’t see the man
does everything for effect. His appearance, his perpetual squabbles
with headquarters, his popularity-hunting up here, the idiotic things
he does--they’re all calculated to produce an impression, to make the
unsophisticated stare, in fact. Why, one of my patrols came across him
riding alone at midnight not long ago, miles away from here. The man
must be either mad or a fool.”
“I think you are wrong,” said Colin seriously. “I believe him to be
sincere, though mistaken on some points.”
“What! he’s in your black books too? How has he managed that?”
“He has forbidden me to preach publicly to the men,” was the answer,
given in a low voice, but with strong feeling--“said it would lead
either to religious persecution or the suspicion of it, and that I
must be satisfied with showing them a Christian life, and teaching any
one who might come to me privately of his own accord. But that isn’t
enough. They don’t come, and how can I reach them?”
“Poor old Colin!” said Ferrers, much amused. “What a Crusader you are,
far too good to live nowadays. Fancy finding you in rebellion against
constituted authority! I’ll back you to get more and more stubborn the
worse he bullies you.”
Colin’s face flushed. “No, I was wrong to speak as I did,” he said.
“It is possible the Major may be right, though I cannot see it. In any
case, it is my duty to submit for the present.”
“Which means that you won’t accept my sympathy against the great
Keeling. You always were a staunch little chap, Colin. Bet anything
you stick up for me behind my back just as you do for him.”
“Of course,” said Colin simply; “you are our oldest friend.”
“That’s all very well, but your sister doesn’t feel as you do. It was
pretty clearly intimated to me to-day that I was not to call her
Penelope, by the bye. She’s done with me, I see. She scarcely spoke a
word to me the whole time I was there.”
“No, no; indeed you are wrong,” said Colin eagerly. “She is ill, and
can’t talk much. She knows your wishes perfectly. Why, you can’t think
I would ever let her disappoint you?”
“You wouldn’t, perhaps, but Lady Haigh would be precious glad to see
her do it. Look here, Colin, give your sister a message from me. Put
it properly--that while I accept her ruling, and won’t venture to
address her at present--you know the sort of thing?--yet I fully
intend to claim her promise some day, and I regard her as belonging to
me, and I trust she does the same. Make it as strong as you like.”
“I will. I didn’t know you took it to heart so much, and Penelope will
be glad to know it too. I’m sure she has an idea that you don’t--well,
care for her as you once did. But now I can put that right. You know
that there’s no one I would sooner have as a brother-in-law if--if all
was well with you.”
“Yes, yes, all in good time. There is one of my patrols over there, so
you had better turn back now. All right!”
Colin turned back with the escort, and Ferrers pursued his way, fuming
inwardly. He did not wish to deceive his friend. Was it his fault if
Colin was so ridiculously easy to deceive, and persisted in believing
the best of him in spite of all evidence to the contrary? Ferrers knew
what his last sentence had meant. There were certain books with which
Colin had provided him, entreating him to read them, when he went to
Shah Nawaz, and which he was always anxious to discuss with him when
they met. Since the only form of religious study to which Ferrers had
given any attention of late was the convenient philosophy expounded by
the Mirza, which proved right and wrong to be much the same thing, and
man to be equally irresponsible for either, he congratulated himself
on having so skilfully evaded cross-examination.
As for Colin, he rode back to Alibad with a serious face, and, instead
of stopping at his quarters, went on to the fort to find Penelope. He
was full of generous indignation over the treatment Ferrers had
received, and he was glad Lady Haigh was out of the way. Penelope
raised her tired head from her cushions in surprise as he entered.
“Why, Colin! Is there anything the matter, dear?”
“I am disappointed in you, Pen,” he returned gently, sitting down
beside her. “You have treated poor George very unkindly to-day.”
Reproof from Colin, though he was only her own age, was very grievous
to Penelope. “Oh no,” she cried, trying to defend herself; “I scarcely
spoke to him, and I’m sure I said nothing unkind.”
“That was just it. You said nothing to him, and he is deeply hurt.”
“But he was so rough and noisy, Colin, and talked so loud. I could
scarcely bear him to be in the room.”
“It is not like you to be selfish. He wants a helping hand just now,
and you think only of his voice and manners. It is a terrible
responsibility to push a man back when he is trying to climb up.”
“If that was all,” said Penelope, rather warmly, “I would give him any
help I could. But you know you said he wanted more than that.”
“Of course he does.” Colin drew back and looked at her in
astonishment. “Why, Pen, he has your promise.”
“No, no,” she said restlessly, “not quite a promise. I--I don’t like
him, Colin. He is quite different from what he used to be. Even his
face has changed.”
“Your promise,” he repeated. “I know you took advantage of his
generosity to withdraw it for a moment, but you renewed it again
immediately when I pointed out to you what you had done. Penelope, is
it possible that you--my sister--wish to break a solemn promise? What
reason can you possibly have for such a thing?”
Penelope writhed. She had no reason to give, even to herself. All she
knew was that she had felt to-day as never before the incubus of
George Ferrers’ presence, the utter lack of sympathy between herself
and him. If she contrasted him with any one else, it was done
unconsciously.
“I don’t believe he wishes it himself,” she said. “He doesn’t care for
me. He doesn’t behave as if he did.”
“He told me himself,” returned Colin’s solemn, accusing voice, “that
while he would not venture to appeal to you at present, it was his
dearest hope to claim your promise some day. It is your privilege to
help him to raise himself again to the position he has lost. What can
be a more noble task for a woman?”
Penelope could not say. Alone with Lady Haigh, it was easy to agree
that woman was an independent being, with a life and rights of her
own; but she would never have dreamt of asserting this to Colin, to
whom a woman was a more or less necessary complement to a man. Ferrers
needed her, therefore she would naturally accept the charge--that was
his view.
“Would you wish me to marry him as he is now?” she asked desperately.
“No,” he answered, after a moment’s consideration: “I am not quite
happy about him, and that is why I am most anxious you should be kind
to him. With your sympathy to help him on, and the hope of claiming
you at last, he will find the path much easier to climb. Surely this
is not too much to ask?”
It sounded eminently fair and reasonable, but Penelope felt that it
was not. There was a flaw somewhere which Colin did not see, and she
could not point out to him, even if she could be sure that she saw it
herself. Ferrers did not care for her, she was convinced, even in the
careless, patronising style of his early days, and yet he insisted on
keeping her bound. But perhaps he loved her in some strange fashion of
his own, of which she could have no experience or conception. And
Colin thought that the sacrifice was called for. She turned to him.
“I--I will try to like him, and help him--and do as he wishes,” she
said, finding a strange difficulty in speaking.
“Of course. I knew you couldn’t do anything else,” said Colin, with
such utter unconsciousness of the mental struggle she had just gone
through that Penelope found his calm acquiescence almost maddening.
She was glad to be saved the necessity of answering by the sudden
entrance of Lady Haigh, who turned back to rebuke a servant for not
having drawn up the blinds, and then discovered Colin.
“You here?” she cried. “Why, an orderly came up ten minutes ago to ask
if you had come back, and I said you hadn’t. That old wretch Gobind
Chand, the Nalapur Vizier, is to come here to-morrow instead of next
week, and every one is as busy as possible. And you have been making
Penelope cry! Well, I hope Major Keeling will give you the worst
scolding you ever had in your life--for being so late, I mean, of
course.”