AFTER TOIL--TOIL STILL.
Nearly three years after Penelope’s death, Sir Dugald rode into
Alibad as a stranger. The long illness which followed on Lady Haigh’s
exertions on behalf of her friend so exhausted her strength that she
was ordered a voyage to the Cape as the only hope of saving her life,
and despite her frantic protests, her husband applied for two years’
leave and took her there, much as an unrelenting warder might convey a
reluctant prisoner to his doom. He was rewarded by an opportunity of
seeing service in one of the perennial Kaffir Wars of the period as
galloper to the general commanding, which served also to mitigate his
disappointment at being absent when a little war, outside the borders
of Khemistan, gave to Colonel Keeling the local rank of
Brigadier-General, and to the Khemistan Horse the chance of
distinguishing themselves beyond the bounds of their own district. Mr
Crayne had retired, and his successor proved to be that rare being, a
civilian who could make himself liked and trusted by his military
subordinates--one, moreover, who knew and appreciated the work which
had been done on the Khemistan frontier, and was anxious for its
continuance. The development of the resources of the country, at which
Major Keeling had so long laboured single-handed, was now pressed
forward in every possible way; and Sir Dugald, as he rode, noted the
handsome bazars which had replaced some, at least, of the old rows of
mud huts, and the growth of the cantonments, which testified to an
increase in the European population. The trees which he had seen
planted were now full grown, the public gardens were worthy of their
name, and there was nothing warlike in the aspect of the
weather-beaten old fort, which seemed as if the passage of years would
reduce it by slow degrees to a heap of mud grown over with bushes.
Fronting the fort, but almost hidden by the trees with which it was
surrounded, stood General Keeling’s house, and Sir Dugald rode into
the compound, to be saluted with evident pleasure by several of the
servants, who came to ask after the Memsahib. As he entered the
well-known office, he had a momentary glimpse of a grey-haired man in
shirt-sleeves, writing as if for dear life, and then General Keeling
jumped up and welcomed him joyfully.
“How are you, Haigh? Delighted to see you, but never thought of
expecting you till to-morrow. You haven’t dragged Lady Haigh
up-country at this pace, I hope?”
“No, sir; I left her at the river. The fact is, Mr Pater wants me to
go on with the steamer.”
“And not come here at all? Why, man, your house is all ready for you.”
The bright look of welcome had gone from General Keeling’s face,
leaving it painfully old and worn. “But I know what it is. King
John”--alluding to the imperious ruler of a neighbouring
province--“wants more men.”
“He does, and he asks specially for gunners. It’s by no wish of mine,
General; but the Commissioner is anxious to send every man we can
spare. The news doesn’t improve.”
“No, of course not. How could it? Haven’t I been telling them for
thirty years that we should have to reconquer India if they didn’t
mend their ways, and they only called me croaker and prophet of evil?
Well, time brings about its revenges. For the last ten years John
would cheerfully have seen me hanged on the nearest tree of my own
planting, and now he steals my officers to keep his province quiet.
Go, Haigh, certainly; and every man I can spare shall go, as Pater
says. We have got lazy and luxurious up here of late. It’ll do some of
these youngsters good to go back to the old days, when a man’s life
and the fate of the province depended on his eye and his sword. Not
but that I have a fine set of young fellows just now. They all want to
come up here--flattering, isn’t it?--and I have to thin ’em out.” He
laughed, and so did Sir Dugald, who had heard strange tales of the
General’s methods of weeding out the recruits who offered themselves
to him. “But how long can you stay, Haigh? Only to-night? Oh,
nonsense! Where are your things?”
“I left them at Porter’s, sir.”
“How dare you? I’ll have them fetched away at once. Send a _chit_ to
Porter, and say I’ll break him if he tries to detain them. But tell
him to come to dinner, and we’ll have Tarleton and Harris and Jones,
and yarn about the old times--all of us that are left of the old lot.”
He broke off with an involuntary sigh, and Sir Dugald wrote his note.
Presently General Keeling turned to him with a twinkle in his eye.
“Don’t tell Lady Haigh on any account, but I can’t help feeling
relieved that she isn’t coming up just yet. I know she’ll want to give
me good advice about my little Missy there, and Tarleton and I are so
sinfully proud of the way we have brought her up that we won’t stand
any advice on the subject.”
Surprised, Sir Dugald followed the direction of his eyes, to see in a
corner, almost hidden by a huge despatch-box, a small girl with a
curious pink-and-white frock and a shock of dark hair.
“She would play there quietly all day, never coming out unless I call
her,” said General Keeling. “If she isn’t with me, she’s with
Tarleton, watching him at his work. He gives her an old
medicine-bottle or two, and some sand and water, and she’s as happy as
possible, pretending to make up pills and mixtures. Or she begs a bit
of paper from me, and writes for ever so long, and brings it to me to
be sealed up in an official envelope--making up returns, you see.
Missy,” raising his voice, “come here and speak to Captain Haigh. He
held you in his arms when you were only two or three days old, and you
have often heard about him in your Godmamma’s letters.”
The child obeyed at once, disclosing the fact that her embroidered
muslin frock (which Sir Dugald had a vague recollection had been sent
her by his wife) had been lengthened and adorned by the tailor at his
own discretion by the addition of three flounces of common pink
English print. She held out a little brown hand to the stranger in
silence.
“Does us credit, doesn’t she?” asked her father, smoothing back the
elf-locks from her forehead. Sir Dugald’s domestic instincts were in
revolt at the idea of the child’s being brought up by two men, without
a woman at hand even to give advice; but there was such anxiety in
General Keeling’s voice that he crushed down his feelings and ventured
on the remark that Missy was a very fine girl for her age.
“We are not very successful with her hair,” the father went on. “The
ayah tries to curl it, but either Missy is too restless, or Dulya
doesn’t know quite the right way to set about it. It never looks
smooth and shiny like children’s hair in pictures.”
Sir Dugald wisely waived the question, feeling that he was not an
authority on the subject. “Can she--isn’t she--er--old enough to
talk?” he asked, with becoming diffidence.
“Talk! you should hear her chattering to Tarleton and me, or to her
favourites in the regiment. But she doesn’t wear her heart upon her
sleeve with strangers. If she takes a liking to you, it’ll be
different presently.”
“Do you let her run about among the men?”
“She runs nowhere out of my sight or Tarleton’s or Dulya’s. But the
whole regiment are her humble slaves, and the man she deigns to favour
is set up for life, in his own opinion. What would happen if she took
a dislike to a man I don’t know, but I hardly think his skin would be
safe. Commendation from me is nothing compared with the honour
conferred by the Missy Baba when she allows a stiff-necked old
Ressaldar to take her up in his arms, and is good enough to pull his
beard.”
“She is absurdly like you, General,” said Sir Dugald, disapproval of
what he had just heard making itself felt in his tone, in spite of
himself, while Missy rubbed her rough head against her father’s sleeve
like a young colt.
“Horribly like me,” returned General Keeling emphatically. “Run away
and play, Missy. I can scarcely see a trace of her mother in her,” he
went on, with something of apology in his voice. “You know what my
wife was--that she couldn’t bear me out of her sight. I changed the
arrangement of this room, you remember, because she liked to be able
to see me through the open doors from where she sat, so that I could
look up and nod to her now and then. But Missy is almost like a doll,
that you can put away when you don’t want it, she’s so quiet in that
corner of hers. No; there is one thing in which she is like her
mother. If you say a hasty word to her, she will go away and break her
heart over it in her corner, instead of flaring up as I should do----”
“Or writing furious letters?” suggested Sir Dugald slily.
General Keeling smiled, but refused to be turned from his own train of
thought. “Haigh,” he said earnestly, “take care of your wife while you
have her. Mine took half my life with her when she went. If you could
imagine for one moment the difference--the awful difference--it makes,
you would go down on your knees and implore your wife’s pardon for
everything you had ever done or said that could possibly have hurt
her, and beg her not to leave you.”
“Oh, we rub along all right,” said Sir Dugald hastily, in mortal fear
that the Chief was going to be sentimental. “Elma takes everything in
good part. She understands things almost as well as a man.”
General Keeling smiled again, rather pityingly. Perhaps he had some
idea of the lofty tolerance with which Lady Haigh would have heard the
utterance of this handsome testimony. “My little Missy and I
understand one another better than that,” he said.
“Do you think of taking her home soon?” asked Sir Dugald.
“Not of taking her home. My home is here. I suppose I must send her
home some day--not yet, happily. If there was only her present
happiness and mine to consider, I would never part from her, but dress
her in boy’s clothes and take her about with me wherever I went.”
“Heaven forbid!” said Sir Dugald devoutly.
“Don’t be an old woman, Haigh,” was the crushing rejoinder. “What harm
could come to her where I was--and when the whole regiment would die
before a hair of her head should be touched? But Tarleton thinks it
would tell against the girl when she grew up, and I remember my own
youth too well to subject her to the same sort of thing. No, I shall
get your wife or some other good woman to take her home and hand her
over to her mother’s friend, Miss Marian Arbuthnot. You must have
heard Lady Haigh speak of her? They all studied together at that
College of theirs, and now Miss Arbuthnot has a school or seminary, or
whatever they call it, of her own.”
“Surely her views are very advanced?” Sir Dugald ventured to suggest.
“I am glad they are. I hope they are. If it should turn out, when
Missy grows up, that she has a turn for doctoring, I shall beg Miss
Arbuthnot to cultivate it, if it can be done. There’s a lady doctor in
America, you know, and I hope there’ll be another here.”
Sir Dugald looked the dismay he felt. “So unwomanly--so unbefitting a
lady!” he murmured.
“Do you mean to tell me that her mother’s daughter could be anything
but a perfect lady?”
“Considering that she will have been brought up by Tarleton and
yourself, sir, I should say she would be more likely to turn out a
perfect gentleman,” said Sir Dugald gravely, and General Keeling
laughed aloud.
“Well,” he said, “there’s no need to settle Missy’s future as yet, and
she will choose for herself, of course. After all, my motives are
purely selfish. Do you know that our only trustworthy friend in
Nalapur is that excellent woman, the Moti-ul-Nissa, young Ashraf Ali’s
sister? Well, you remember what a little spitfire she was as a girl,
when you and I saw her. Her friendliness dates entirely from the time
when your wife and mine took refuge at Sheikhgarh, and my wife won the
young lady’s heart by showing her what to do for her sick brother.
Think what a prop it would be to our influence here if there was a
properly trained lady who could win the hearts of other women in the
same way!”
“You want to see Missy a female politician, then?”
“I want to see her able to get at these unfortunate secluded women and
find out what their real views and wishes are. The Moti-ul-Nissa has
about the wisest head in Nalapur, but her wisdom might as well be in
the moon for all I hear of it until after the event. Her brother is
altogether under the influence of the Sheikh-ul-Jabal, and the old man
can’t forgive me because I pointed out to him that the same person
could not be head of his sect and Amir of Nalapur. He has had to adopt
the younger brother as his spiritual successor instead of the elder,
and he would like to pay me out; but the Moti-ul-Nissa does all she
can for us. That rascal Hasrat Ali leads her a life. Her children have
died one after the other, and the brute would divorce her if he dared.
The poor woman always sends to inquire after Missy when I am at
Nalapur, and I should like to send her to see her, but I daren’t. You
never know whose agents may be among the crowds of women in those big
zenanas, and I can’t run any risks with Missy. But think what it will
be when she grows up, if she cares enough for the poor creatures to do
what she can to help them!”
“I shall think more of her if she does what she can to help you, sir,”
said Sir Dugald obstinately. “But I suppose this grudge of the
Sheikh-ul-Jabal’s means that there is no hope of a treaty with Nalapur
for the present?”
“None, so far as I can see, which is a bore, just when our authorities
have been wrought up to the proper pitch. Pater will back me at the
right moment, and we can offer the Amir a handsome subsidy if he will
keep the passes open and let caravans pass freely, and allow us to
station a resident at his capital. Of course that means practically
that we guarantee his frontiers, but have power to move troops through
his territory in case of a land invasion; and the increased stability
it would give to his throne would make it well worth his while. The
Sheikh and I are trying to tire each other out; but I mean to have
that treaty if I live long enough, and the Moti-ul-Nissa will throw
her influence on my side. When one has served one’s apprenticeship one
begins to understand the ins and outs of these Asian mysteries.”
“Talking of mysteries,” said Sir Dugald, “have you ever heard anything
more as to Ferrers’ fate after--the night you saw him?”
General Keeling’s face changed. “Strangely enough, I have,” he said;
“but whether the story is true we shall probably never know for
certain. I had it from a Gamari Jew who came to me in secret, and was
divided between fear of his life if it ever became known what he had
done, and anxiety to wring the uttermost _pie_ out of me for his
information. I took down the account from his own lips, and have it
here.” He unlocked a drawer and took out a paper, glanced across at
the corner to make sure that Missy was engrossed in her own affairs,
and leaning towards Sir Dugald, began to read in a low voice:--
“‘I was in the city of Gamara a year ago, when there was much talk
concerning Firoz Khan, the Farangi chief of his Highness’s bodyguard,
who had disappeared. Some said he had been secretly slain, others that
he had been sent on a private errand by his Highness. One day there
was proclamation made throughout the city that two men were to be put
to death in the palace square,--one a Christian, the other one who had
embraced Islam and relapsed into his idolatry. Many desired to see the
sight, and among those that found standing-room in the square was I.
Now when the prisoners were led forth there was much astonishment
among the people, for one of them was Firoz Khan; and those that
looked upon him said that he bore the marks of torture. And the other
was an old man and bent, blind also, and walking with difficulty, who
they said had dwelt in the dungeons for many years. It was noticed
that no offer of life was made to these prisoners, nor were any
questions put to them; moreover, his Highness’s face was black towards
every one on whom his eye lighted. But the prisoners spoke to one
another in English,--which tongue I understand, having studied it in
India,--and the one said, “I am a Christian, and a Christian I die,”
and the other, kissing him upon the forehead, said, “George, we shall
meet in Paradise, in the presence of God,” and turning to the people
he cried, in a voice of extraordinary strength: “Tell the English that
this man, who for his life’s sake gave up Christ, now for Christ’s
sake gives up his life.” And when his voice was heard there fell a
terror on the people, for they said it was a young Farangi that had
long ago disappeared, whom they counted to be inspired of God, and
there arose murmurings, so that his Highness commanded the
executioners to do their duty at once; and the heads of the two men
were struck off with a great sword, and their bodies foully dealt
with, as is the wont in Gamara. I know no more concerning them.’”
General Keeling ceased reading, and his eyes and Sir Dugald’s met. For
a moment neither spoke.
“I suppose there can’t be much doubt that it’s true?” said Sir Dugald
at last.
“None, I should say; but we can’t expect positive proof.”
“It’s a curious thing,” said Sir Dugald, with some hesitation, “but
when I told my wife, on the voyage to the Cape, what you had told me
about Ferrers’ turning up again, she said at once that she believed
poor Ross was alive still. She meant to tell you herself--it didn’t
seem quite the sort of thing to write about--but when she was watching
beside Mrs Keeling the day she died, she saw her smile when they
thought she was insensible, and heard her say quite strongly, ‘They
are all there, my father and mother, and my little sister who
died--all waiting for me, but not Colin. Elma, where is Colin?’ My
wife said something--you know the sort of thing women would say in
answer to a thing of the kind--but when she thought it over, it
occurred to her that it must mean Ross was not dead. That again is no
proof, of course, but it’s curious.”
“Very strange,” agreed General Keeling. “Haigh, the more I think of
it, the more I feel certain the Jew’s story was true. What conceivable
motive could the man have for inventing it? He didn’t know that I had
any particular interest in the poor fellows. Poor fellows! it’s
blasphemy to call them that. Colin was a true martyr, if ever man was,
and as for Ferrers----”
“Nothing in his life became him like the leaving of it,” supplied Sir
Dugald.
“Nothing; but what a miracle it seems that he was able to seize the
chance! I sometimes ask myself whether I could have done what either
of them did--lived out those years of martyrdom like Colin, or gone
back to certain torture and death like Ferrers. We are poor creatures,
Haigh, the best of us, and those of whom we expect least sometimes
shame us by what they do. Well, they have seen the end of it now, I
suppose--‘in Paradise, in the presence of God.’ As for me,” he added
with a half-laugh, as he turned to lock up the paper again, “I’m
afraid I shouldn’t be happy, even in Paradise, if I couldn’t take a
look at the frontier now and then, and make sure it was getting on all
right. Why, Missy, what do you want?”
The little girl had crept up to them as they talked, and was standing
with something clasped to her breast, looking in wonder at their moved
faces. As her father spoke, she held out shyly to Sir Dugald a large
octagonal tile, covered with a beautiful iridescent glaze, in a
peculiarly delicate shade of turquoise. “For Godmamma,” she said, and
retreated promptly.
“Why, Missy, isn’t that the slab on which you mix your medicines?”
asked her father, capturing her. A nod was the only answer. “It’s one
of her greatest treasures,” he explained to Sir Dugald. “The men find
them sometimes in the ruined forts round here, but it’s very seldom
they come on one unbroken, and the man who found this one brought it
to her. You really want your Godmamma to have it, Missy?” Another nod.
“Well, Haigh, I wouldn’t burden you with it if I didn’t think Lady
Haigh would really like it. These things are thought a good deal of.”
“Certainly I will take it to her,” answered Sir Dugald. “I am sure she
will like it because Missy sent it.”
The response was unexpected, for Missy wriggled away from her father’s
arm, and held up her face to Sir Dugald to be kissed.
“That ought to be gratifying,” said General Keeling, laughing. Both
men were perhaps not ungrateful to the child for diverting their
thoughts from the tragedy with which they had been busied.
“Gratifying, sir? It’s better than millions of the brightest diamonds
to be kissed by Miss Georgia Keeling.”
“As fond of Dickens as ever, I see. What should we do without him? But
you and Missy certainly ought to be friends, for she knew all about
Paul Dombey long ago. The doll your wife sent her is called Little
Paul, and drags out a harrowing existence of all kinds of diseases
complicated with gunshot-wounds, according to the cases Tarleton has
in hospital. Sometimes I am cheered by hearing that he ‘ought to pull
through,’ but generally he is following his namesake to an early
grave. But I see your things have come, and you will like to see your
quarters. This visit is a great pleasure, believe me, and I only wish
it was going to be longer.”
There was no further word of regret, but Sir Dugald realised keenly
the disappointment that his friend was feeling. When they were
breakfasting together the next day, just before his departure, he
essayed a word of comfort.
“If things get much worse, General, we shall have you fetched down
with the regiment to help in putting them right.”
General Keeling’s eye kindled, but he shook his head. “No, Haigh, my
work lies up here. It would be too much to ride with the regiment
through a mob of those cowardly, pampered Bengalis--too much luck for
me, I mean. I have made out a list for Pater of the men I can afford
to send on by the next steamer, and I must stay and do their work. I’m
glad you will get your chance at last. John is a just man--like most
of us when our prejudices don’t stand in the way--and his
recommendations will be attended to. His is the show province, not
left out in the cold like poor Khemistan. I only wish you and all the
rest could have got your steps for the work you have done here; but at
least I can keep the frontier quiet while you have the chance of
getting them elsewhere.”
He stood on the verandah a little later, tall and bronzed and
grey-headed, as Sir Dugald rode out at the gate. Beside him Missy,
raised high on the shoulder of Ismail Bakhsh, with one hand clenched
firmly in his beard, waved the other frantically in farewell. Reduced
in numbers, the Advanced-Guard held the frontier still.
[The End]
FOOTNOTES.
[1]
_Syads_ are descendants of the Khalif Ali by the daughter of Mohammed,
_Khojas_ his descendants by other wives.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.
Sydney C. Grier was the pseudonym of Hilda Caroline Gregg.
This book is part of the author’s “Modern East” series. The full
series, in order, being:
The Flag of the Adventurer
Two Strong Men
The Advanced-Guard
His Excellency’s English Governess
Peace With Honour
The Warden of the Marches
Alterations to the text:
A few minor punctuation corrections--mostly involving the pairing of
quotation marks.
Note: minor spelling and hyphenization inconsistencies have been left
as is.
[Title Page]
Add brief note indicating this novel’s position in the series. See
above.
[Footnotes]
Relabel the footnote marker, relocate to end of text, and add entry to
TOC. Note: the author has placed the shorter footnotes in square
brackets inline with the text.
[Chapter XXI]
“to be sweeping over it, Underfoot were the...” change comma to
period.
[Chapter XXII]
Change “I bid the _Mensahibs_ welcome in her name.” to _Memsahibs_.
[Chapter XXIII]
“it was necessary to _rid_ in single file” to _ride_.
[End of Text]