THE Brownes had left the sunset behind them red upon the heights when
they reached Futtehpore, but there was still light enough for them to
descry a white horse from afar, browsing in the compound, and they
looked at each other in unaffected melancholy, saying, “They’re here.”
If they wanted further evidence they had it in the person of the
khansamah, who ran forth wagging his beard, and exclaiming that there
was no room—how should there be any room for these Presences from
without, when two Engineer-sahibs had already come! Among his other
duties one Engineer-sahib had to report the shortcomings of this
khansamah. Should it be written among them that the Engineer-sahib was
rendered uncomfortable in his own house! Ah, that the Presence could be
persuaded that there was another bungalow five miles further on, which
the Presence knew perfectly well there was not.
“Khansamah,” replied young Browne, “two sahibs do not require four
apartments and all the beds. Go and make it right; and, look you, bring
a long chair for the memsahib that thy back be not smitten,” for by this
time the heart of George Browne, of Macintyre and Macintyre’s, Calcutta,
had waxed hot within him by reason of Royal Engineers.
The khansamah returned presently and announced that the Presences might
have beds, but a long chair—here the khansamah held his back well behind
him that it should not be smitten—he could not give, for the burra
Engineer-sahib sat upon the one, and the chota Engineer-sahib sat upon
the other. Yes, they could have something to eat, when the
Engineer-sahibs had dined; but there would not be time to prepare it
before—the Engineer-sahibs had commanded dinner in one hour. He would
see if a fire was possible—it might be that the Engineer-sahibs required
all the dry wood. It was presently obvious that they did, and as young
Browne and Kasi struggled unavailingly with an armful of green sari and
a year-old copy of the _Overland Mail_, that gentleman might have been
overheard to remark roundly in the smoke and the gloom, “_Damn_ the
Engineer-sahibs!”
Next morning the white horse was still in the stable when young Browne
stepped out upon the veranda, and the Royal Engineer stood there smoking
with his hands in his pockets, his legs describing a Royal Engineering
angle. He said “Morning!” with a certain affability to young Browne, who
made a lukewarm response.
“Think of getting on to-day?” inquired the R. E.
“Oh, yes,” Mr. Browne replied. “We must. We’re due at Saharanpore
Friday.”
“Aw! same with us. Bagshiabag to-day, Kalsia to-morrow, Saharanpore
Friday.”
“Exactly our programme,” said young Browne with firmness.
“Aw! Hown’ for’tchnit!”
“Is it?”
“Well, yes, rather. Y’see it was all right at Saia, and it’s all right
here, but at Kalsia there’ll be Mrs. Prinny of the 97th, and Mrs.
Prinny’s got baby, and baby’s got nurse. That’ll be rather tight,
_waoun’t_ it?” and the Royal Engineer removed a cigar ash from his
pyjamas.
“Now if either of us should push on to Kalsia to-day,” he continued
insinuatingly.
There was a pause.
“It’s awkward for _us_, y’see,” continued the R. E., “because we’re
fishing.”
“How far is it?”
“’Bout twenty-six miles.”
“H’m! Rather long march for a lady.”
“Oh, yes—it would be _long_,” responded the Royal Engineer with an
irresponsible air, “but then think of that awful nurse an’ baby.”
A quarter of an hour later the Brownes were off again. Crossing a bridge
they passed the two Royal Engineers sitting upon one of the buttresses
examining their fishing tackle. “We’re going to see if we can manage
it,” remarked young Browne. “Good morning.”
The larger and finer of the Royal Engineers looked up. “Aw,” said he,
“mustn’t over-do it, y’know.”
“We won’t,” returned young Browne.
As a matter of fact they didn’t. Arrived at Bagshiabag, Mrs. Browne
declared herself very nearly dead, the Diagram had been more
diagrammatic than usual. She would rest, and “see” if she felt equal to
going on.
“I’m blowed if you shall,” said her lord, “not for all the R. E.’s in
Asia.” So they peacefully put up in their choice of ends this time, and
made an impartial division of the furniture, and after tea went for a
walk. It was the very last station on the edge of the hills; the plains
began at their very feet to roll away into unbroken, illimitable misty
distances. Bagshiabag—the King’s garden—the palm-fringed plains that
were doubtless fair in the King’s sight. The Brownes looked at them
sorrowing; it requires an Oriental imagination to admire the King’s
garden from an inside point of view.
“We must start early to-morrow,” said young Browne regretfully. “It will
be hot.”
Returning they found the two Royal Engineers refreshing themselves under
a mango-tree in the compound, surrounded by everything that appertained
to the establishment, and wearing an expression of god-like injury. “We
didn’t get on, after all,” said young Browne, as he passed them with
what countenance he could. The Royal Engineers looked at him and smiled
a rectilinear smile. “No,” they said. It was not much to say, but there
was a compulsion in it that awoke the Brownes before daylight next
morning and put them in their saddles at sunrise. By ten o’clock the
last blue ridge had faded out of the sky-line, by eleven they were in
Kalsia—not Kalsi of the Doon—in the midst of a great flatness. The ekka
with the tiffin-basket was behind upon the road. They would wait there
till it came, and then make up their minds about pushing on to
Saharanpore. The lady with the nurse and baby was no fiction; she was
coming by dâk-gharry at three o’clock, the khansamah said. And could the
Presence give him any tidings of the Engineer-sahibs who were on the
way? He had been in readiness for the Engineer-sahibs these three days.
The Presence could give him no tidings whatever of the Engineer-sahibs.
He thought very likely they were dead. Numbers of people had died in
India in the last three days, and the Presence assuredly did not wish
any talk of the Engineer-sahibs. “What is there to eat?” asked the
Presence. And if there was only milk and eggs and chupatties—the sahibs
generally bringing their own food to this place—then let it be served
instantly, to be in readiness when the ekka should appear. And it was
served. But the khansamah had lived a great many years upon the earth,
and, moreover, he had privately questioned the syce-boys, so that he
knew of the coming of the Engineer-sahibs. He knew, too, that it would
not be good, either for his temporal or his eternal happiness, that the
Engineer-sahibs should find four people and a baby in their house when
they arrived. Therefore the khansamah, being full of guile as of years,
sent an open-faced one privily to the turning of the lane into the road,
who gave word to Kasi and to the ekka-wallah that the sahibs—the Browne
sahibs—had gone on to Saharanpore, and they were by no means to tarry at
Kalsia, but to hasten on after. Believing this word, Kasi and the
ekka-wallah, while the Brownes famished upon the veranda, were drawing
ever nearer to Saharanpore.
It is difficult to make a meal of eggs and milk and chupatties, but the
Brownes found that it could be done, even when because of anger it is
the more indigestible. They found an unexpected and delightful solace,
however, afterward in Saharanpore. The place was full of the southward
bound, a regiment was on the move, all Mussoorie had emptied itself in
dâk-gharries upon the station. Nevertheless, Kasi the invaluable had
intrigued for a room for them, a room that opened upon a veranda, with a
lamp in it, and a smoking dinner. Kasi was the more invaluable for being
conscience-stricken at having swallowed false talk. And there is no
Military Works bungalow in Saharanpore, which is a station built
primarily and almost wholly for the use of the general public. The joy
of these unregenerate Brownes, therefore, upon seeing a white horse
vainly walk up to this veranda and hearing a hungry voice, the voice of
the Royal Engineer, vainly inquire for rooms and dinner, was keen and
excessive.
“They’ve funked the baby after all!” said young Browne, “thinking we
wouldn’t. Now they’ll become acquainted with the emotions of the
ordinary travelling public in a congested district. Hope they’ll enjoy
’em as much as we did, Nellie. I’m going to have a bottle of beer.”
And if the Royal Engineer outside in the dark, where it was getting
chilly, could be susceptible to a note of triumph, he heard it in the
pop of the Pilsener with which on this occasion Mr. George Browne
fortified his opinion of Royal Engineers at large.
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