TOO CLEVER BY HALF.
“/For/ the last time!” said Colonel Bayard, with a comical glance of
self-pity at Richard, as they rode out the next morning preceded by
the chobdars with their silver sticks and followed by the barbaric
escort.
“Not a bit of it! You’ll never be left mud-crawling with a black
regiment. The G.-G. will find out his mistake in no time, and send for
you back.”
“It would take a good deal to make him do that. I was promised the
Agency for the down-river states when he sent Lennox here, but there’s
no word of it now. Don’t look so shockingly cut up, Richard. I tell
you it’s a release from bondage for me, after the _lacquey_ way I have
been treated this summer by his lordship--bandied about like a
racquet-ball! Old Lennox would have kept me on as his personal
assistant--doing the deed first and getting permission afterwards--if
I would have stayed; but I asked for furlough instead, and he put the
_Asteroid_ at my disposal to take me down the river in the handsomest
way. A singular character, that old chap, but a thorough good fellow.”
“I hear he spoke very properly of you at the dinner they gave you
before starting.”
“Properly? Nay, I assure you I didn’t know where to look. I might have
been Scipio Africanus and Sir Philip Sidney rolled into one, instead
of a failed Political going back to his regiment a poorer man than
when he left it twenty years ago. By the bye, I don’t know whether I
am in order in taking the _sowari_ [retinue] with me to-day. Merely a
private individual now, I suppose.”
“Not till you have left Khemistan, surely! If Sir Henry’s attitude is
as generous as you say, he couldn’t grudge you the ordinary marks of
respect.”
“Ay, but to him they ain’t ordinary, and he means to put an end to
’em. He has no chobdars himself, and he’s going to abolish these. An
escort he can tolerate--but only on state occasions, of
course--because it can follow him at a gallop, but fellows walking in
front of him and making him ride slow--never!”
“How does he ever expect to impress these people?” said Richard
bitterly. “They won’t have an atom of respect for him.”
“Oh, you should hear him on the subject. He thinks we can’t compete
with the Indians in matters of show and state, so he won’t try. They
will be more impressed by seeing we can do without every single thing
they care about, so he says. And I’m bound to say he lives up to his
theories. I thought so when I dined with him--privately, I mean; not
the _burra khana_--and found everything camp-fashion. The plates and
dishes and so on came out of his canteens--he takes a couple about
with him so as to be able to give dinner-parties, he told me--and what
d’ye think was the principal thing on the table? Why, pork chops and
common bazar stuff at that--and the old chap tucking into them with
real gusto and pressing ’em on me!”
“Well, if he can survive that sort of thing, he ought certainly to
impress the Khans,” said Richard drily. “But it’s a pity he don’t stay
here under their eye, for they ain’t impressed a bit at present.”
But in this he was wrong, as appeared speedily. Due notice had been
sent to the Fort of Colonel Bayard’s desire to pay a farewell visit to
their Highnesses, and the proper message of welcome received in
return. But the message was couched in terms more flowery and formal
than quite suited the intimate relations which had prevailed between
the Resident and his charges, and there was no sign on the road of the
messengers who should have met the procession at stated points and
implored the visitor to hasten, since he alone could pour the
snow-cooled sherbet of delight into the parched mouth of expectation.
The reason for this lapse from good manners appeared on the visitors’
arrival at the Fort, for it seemed that a sudden illness had
prostrated the ruling family at one blow. One Khan after another for
whom Colonel Bayard enquired was declared to be sick, the attendants
adding intimate and distressing details on a scale that did credit to
their memories--or possibly their imaginations.
“Oh, let them alone!” said Richard, in a hasty whisper. “They funk
meeting you.”
“But why should they funk meeting me? Nay”--to the embarrassed
attendants,--“if their Highnesses are indeed so ill, I must postpone
my journey, for I could not dream of leaving Khemistan while those who
have been to me as sons are lying between life and death. I will send
my own physician to visit them, and I myself will spend each day at
the Palace, that I may be at hand the moment they call for me.”
Hurried consultations ensued, messengers came and went, and at last
the chief spokesman advanced again. “Let the Resident Sahib be pleased
to enter. Rather than force him to delay his departure, and incur the
wrath of his lord the General Sahib”--Colonel Bayard stiffened
perceptibly,--“their Highnesses will bedew the blossoms of affection
with the tears of regret even at the risk of their health.”
He paused for a moment to see whether the visitor would take the hint,
then sighed and led the way in. Apparently the Khans thought it safer
to receive their fallen friend in a body, for the official disregarded
Colonel Bayard’s request to be allowed to pay his respects to them
separately, which would have seemed more natural. If they did not
appear to be sick, at any rate they all looked very sorry for
themselves when he and his assistant faced at last the row of seated
figures on their cushions. Long wadded coats concealed their pleated
muslin tunics and wide silk trousers, and the only touch of brightness
was given by the gay kincob which covered their flowerpot-shaped caps.
As politeness demanded, one and all declared that the mere sight of
the fortunate face of the Resident Sahib had instantly banished all
traces of illness, and then hurried on to enquire whether he also was
well and prosperous. The formalities of salutation, perfunctory though
they might be, took some time when each Khan had to be addressed and
to reply separately, and it was beginning to look as though the whole
interview would be occupied with such matters, when Sir Henry Lennox’s
health and prosperity came under discussion as well. The example was
set by Gul Ali Khan, the venerable white-bearded head of the family,
whose memory went back to the days of conquest, when the wild band of
Arabit chieftains had swooped down from their fastnesses upon
Khemistan, and dispossessing the native rulers, reigned in their
stead. He was the last survivor of the conquerors, and wore with
dignity the turban which proclaimed him Chief of his house--the
coveted emblem which would not descend to the son for whom he would
fain have secured it, but to an interloper, the son of his father’s
old age. This interloper, Shahbaz Khan, a handsome dapper
man--absurdly young-looking to be the brother of the aged Gul Ali--sat
beside him, and took up the strain of affectionate enquiry. For the
Khans positively overflowed with anxiety for the General’s health, and
their enquiries were couched in such terms of affection that even
Colonel Bayard--loath as he was to believe it--could not mistake their
drift. His day was over and done with; Sir Henry Lennox was the rising
sun.
It was a bitter pill, but Colonel Bayard would not have been himself
had he not done his best to take advantage of this new loyalty to
influence his faithless charges for their good. When all the questions
all the Khans could think of on Sir Henry’s affairs had been asked and
answered, and before they could start on those of the
Governor-General, he interposed a courteous hope that their admiration
for the General’s character would make it easy for them to satisfy him
on the subject of the breaches of treaty. Instantly a change that
might be felt passed over them, as though each face had withdrawn
itself behind a veil. Gul Ali answered with dignity--
“The Resident Sahib need not fear. The treaties we have made we shall
keep, provided the English keep theirs.”
This did not sound very hopeful to the man who had been trying in vain
for so long to get them to keep those very treaties, but Colonel
Bayard answered politely--
“Of that your Highnesses need have no fear while matters are in the
hands of the General. I rejoice to be able to leave Khemistan with all
difficulties so happily arranged.”
Gul Ali’s expression was a little fatuous, as he said like an
automaton, “The treaties we have made we shall keep, but we will sign
no new treaty.”
Since it was known to Colonel Bayard that Lord Maryport intended to
impose new and stricter obligations on the Khans, owing to their
persistent breaches of former treaties, he did not feel able to say
more than--“It is not for me to anticipate what the General may have
to say to your Highnesses, but if the old treaties are kept there will
certainly be no need for a new one.”
Khair Husain Khan, a clever-looking man with rather Jewish features,
interposed. “The English pledged themselves not to interfere in any
way with our rights over our own subjects. To that we hold!”
triumphantly.
“Yet is it well for your Highnesses so to treat your subjects that
they flee to the protection of the English?”
“If they do, we will have them back!” put in young Kamal-ud-din
arrogantly. “Yes, even if they have to be torn from the hem of the
General Sahib’s skirts!”
This, or something like it, was the Khans’ latest exploit, since their
officials had invaded the boundaries of the Sahar Cantonment, and
dragged away a number of unfortunates who had sought refuge there from
their oppressors. But it seemed to be recognised that this was going
rather far, for Khair Husain said hastily, with a soothing wave of the
hand--
“The wretches had failed to pay their taxes, as the Resident Sahib
knows. If they were allowed to escape, all Khemistan would seek an
asylum with the British.”
“But why did they fail to pay?” asked Colonel Bayard boldly. “Was it
not because it was known they had amassed riches, and their taxes were
so much increased as to strip them of all?”
Gul Ali laughed complacently. “True--quite true. It is not well for
subjects to grow rich, for they become troublesome. If they heap up
wealth, it must be for their masters.”
“Since this is the last time I shall see the face of your Highnesses,
let me beg once more that you will look at this matter differently. It
is all of a piece with your imposing tolls designed to kill the
traffic on the river. A wealthy people is an honour and a strong
support to princes, and the making of money by honest means should be
encouraged, not hindered.” The black looks bent on Colonel Bayard made
him pause, and he added, with some emotion, “Your Highnesses will not
hear me, I see. But let me entreat you to listen to the General,
though his tongue be strange, and he neglect the forms of ceremony I
have always been careful to use. Should he propose an interview, speak
to him plainly of what is in your hearts. He will do this in any case,
for it is not his custom to disguise his meaning.”
Gul Ali rode off hastily upon a side-issue. “It is not well to meet
the envoys of the Farangis in consultation nowadays,” he said. “There
was a certain Ethiopian Sardar who did so.”
The taunt was a bitter one--and worse, deserved,--for at the outset of
the Ethiopian disasters the British Envoy, struggling desperately in
the toils cast about him, had stooped to invite the foremost of his
assailants to a conference, with the intention of making him a
prisoner. In the remotest corners of Asia stray Englishmen were to rue
the attempt for many a day, though the Envoy had paid with his life
for trying to use the weapons of men better acquainted with them than
he. But it had been cast in Colonel Bayard’s teeth before, and he met
it with a bold counter-attack.
“True, Khan Sahib, and it was not the Sardar who suffered. Had the
treachery been his, would it have surprised you?”
“Nay, but it was the Elchi Sahib’s!” came in chorus.
“And he paid the penalty. But has such treachery never been known in
Khemistan?”
“Never on the part of a Farangi!” promptly.
“I thank your Highnesses in the name of my country. Has it ever been
known of any Farangi anywhere?”
“Never until now. But what one Farangi has done, another may do.”
“I think not. The Elchi’s deed has been condemned by every Farangi who
heard of it. I know of none who would imitate it--least of all the
General.”
“He had better not!” cried Kamal-ud-din rudely. “He comes to Khemistan
with a few hundred white soldiers, who are even now dying fast of
sicknesses great and small, while our armies are numbered by
thousands, and they are growing every day. Should he seek to defy or
betray us, death such as the Elchi met with will be the least thing he
has to fear.”
Astonished and displeased, Colonel Bayard made as if to rise from his
chair. “I must ask leave of your Highnesses to retire----” he was
beginning, but Shahbaz Khan interposed hastily.
“Nay, this is shameful talk! O my brother, is it to go forth to the
world that the Khans of Khemistan permitted such things to be said in
their hearing concerning their father and protector, the Bahadar
Jang?”
“Nay, nay!” said Gul Ali timorously. “Youth speaks with the tongue of
youth, which is headstrong and foolish. The General Sahib will know
how to regard the folly.”
The mildness of the rebuke gave Kamal-ud-din fresh courage. “The
General Sahib has nothing to fear if he comes to us in peace and
openness of mind,” he said sullenly, “But who is he that we must guard
our tongues when speaking of his greatness? He may call himself
Bahadar Jang” [_valiant in fight_]--this was one of the polite
epithets employed by the Khans in his interview with them which Sir
Harry, who was not a conspicuously modest man, save in the presence of
the fair sex or the Duke of Wellington, had accepted with some
complacency as merely appropriate,--“but in all his years of warfare
he has not taken spoil enough to put a single diamond in his
sword-hilt!”
“Farangi Generals don’t go to war for the sake of loot,” said Colonel
Bayard. “Any spoil the General Sahib might take he would present to
his and my august mistress, the Queen of England.” He turned slightly
to bow towards the large engraving of the young Queen which hung
crookedly on the wall--suggesting that it had been put there hurriedly
when the interview was found inevitable--very sleek of hair, very
lofty of brow, sweetly simpering as to expression, and obviously
overburdened with a headgear recalling the mural crown of antiquity.
Richard followed his example, and the Khans salamed perfunctorily. The
words seemed to have given them a new idea.
“Then the rulers of Farangistan also do not like their subjects to be
too rich,” chuckled Gul Ali.
“To strip a conqueror of his booty is poor policy,” said Kamal-ud-din
with a fine air of detachment. “My Sardars will always be allowed to
keep what they win.”
“Lest, being robbed of their due by their own master, they should seek
it at the hands of his enemies,” said his cousin Karimdâd, going a
step further. The prudent Khair Husain pulled them up hastily.
“Nay, nay; what foolish talk is this? Did not the General Sahib refuse
at our hands the great gift we offered him, though the Lât Sahibs who
visited us before accepted a lesser one?”
This was another of Colonel Bayard’s troubles--the simplicity with
which two Generals fresh from home had accepted the large sums of
money ceremonially offered them on their way up the river towards
Ethiopia. Apparently no one who knew the interpretation that would be
placed upon their action had liked to warn them of it, with the result
that the two wholly innocent soldiers were regarded by the Khans as
their pensioners for the future. He took refuge in sententious
generalities.
“It was taught me in my youth that the richest man is he who has
fewest wants. May we not then say that the enemy most to be dreaded is
the man who needs nothing for himself?”
For once the Khans appeared impressed, and before the effect could
wear off he asked permission to depart, leaving them to digest his
words. Each and all overwhelmed him with demands that he would assure
the General of their affectionate interest in his welfare, and thus
reminded afresh of his own eclipse, he escaped at last. It was in one
way a relief to be offered no more substantial parting gifts than the
wreaths of strongly-scented yellow flowers with which he and Richard
were invested with due ceremony, but there was a sting in the
omission. A robe of honour and a jewelled sword would not have cost
the Khans much--even if he had kept them, like the Generals, instead
of refusing them.
“Queer set of chaps those,” growled Richard, as they rode away
decorated with their floral boas. “Every time I see ’em I feel it more
strongly.”
“I fear they are hopeless,” responded Colonel Bayard, with unusual
depression. “If they won’t take Lennox seriously, they’re done for. He
ain’t going to stand any nonsense.”
“Is the country to be annexed, then?”
“I believe not. But he is very strong on getting rid of the family’s
collective authority, and setting up a single Khan with full
responsibility. And that will mean the end of all things to the rest.”
“But very good for Khemistan, and our relations with it.”
“True. You look at the matter in a common-sense light, but it’s a
positive pain to me to think of the extinction of this benevolent
patriarchal rule.”
Richard wondered a little at his leader’s idea of benevolence, but
still sought to comfort him. “Perhaps they’ll all refuse to accept the
change.”
“You say that, knowing how sadly ready they always are to intrigue
against one another? D’ye know that Khair Husain sent to the General
secretly the one night he was here, to try to curry favour with him?”
“No, indeed. Khair Husain? But he ain’t in the running for the
succession, even.”
“He meant to be. He offered to declare for us if we would make him
Chief Khan and back him up against the rest. The spies should have
told you. Not that there’s anything to complain of in old Harry’s
action in the matter. He told the Vakil that he couldn’t deal with
Khair Husain unless he spoke in the name of the rest--which of course
he couldn’t. Then the fellow was idiot enough to say that if he
appeared to take part against us, we were kindly to understand his
heart was in the right place nevertheless, to which the General simply
replied that he wasn’t going to help him to deceive the other Khans.
If he wanted to take our side, he must come out and do it openly. Exit
the Vakil highly disgusted.”
“Serve the rascal right! But we shall have plenty of that sort of
thing if Sir Harry presses ’em hard.”
“I believe you--particularly if it occurs to Gul Ali to try to square
him in the matter of the succession. Has the old man been trying any
fresh tricks to get the turban for Karimdâd, d’ye know?”
“Oh, he’s always at it--trying to make a party in his favour among the
other Khans, and he has been uncommonly busy lately.”
“I thought so--from the extra special affection in Shahbaz Khan’s
manner to him. That chap is a deep one.”
“Shahbaz Khan? I suppose so. But after all, he is the rightful heir,
and he has to sit by and look on while his brother tries to steal his
inheritance away. Gul Ali has a good deal to offer, and poor Shahbaz
can only give promises at present. You haven’t turned against him,
have you?”
“I? No, certainly not. But I have always a weak spot for Gul Ali, and
to see Shahbaz fawning upon him----”
“But what can the fellow do? There’s no open war. He can only keep the
peace--and keep his eyes open. They’re a nice set--all the lot of ’em.
I dare be bound Kamal-ud-din’s the only one that wouldn’t sell the
rest to the General for the promise of the turban, and that’s because
he don’t care about it. So long as he has Umarganj to retire to, and a
caravan to plunder now and then, he’s happy.”
“He seemed precious full of fight, I noticed. What’s that new
decoration he sports so conspicuously? They can hardly have got back
that Luck--what was it called?--which was stolen years ago.”
“I’m afraid they have--and I’m afraid it’s my fault.” Richard told the
story of the Seal of Solomon, and Colonel Bayard laughed.
“Well, I don’t suppose it will make much difference, though they may
think it will. Mrs Ambrose is the only sufferer so far, it seems to
me.”
“I was going to ask you if you would get me something in the way of
jewellery in Bombay--to give her. Fact is, I’m in a precious awkward
position. I think I told you she had spent a lot of money in paying
the debts of that brother of hers--the General’s A.D.C.? Well, if
you’ll believe me, the fellow’s begun to pay it back!”
“You couldn’t well sound more disgusted if he had begun borrowing
afresh! But I see your difficulty. You feel bound to lay it out on
something for her personal use? By all means--I quite agree with you.
Give me some idea what you want, and I shall be honoured with the
commission.” He glanced across approvingly at the younger man. He had
not looked for such delicacy of feeling from Richard Ambrose, who
might have been expected to welcome the return of the money too
eagerly to think of the circumstances, and he stretched out a hand and
laid it kindly on his shoulder. “You feel you ought not to have
brought your wife to Khemistan? But cheer up, my dear fellow! Her
health and spirits have stood it amazingly so far. If only my own dear
wife---- But I shall soon be with her at home now, so I must not
repine. You ain’t afraid of Sahar for Mrs Ambrose? Don’t let them
frighten her by calling it ‘the Graveyard.’ It’s not that it’s
unhealthy, simply that the desert round is packed with graves--a
burial-place for thousands of years, I dare say.”
“She ain’t frightened--not she! Haven’t you observed that ladies never
are frightened or miserable about the things they ought to be--that
you expect them to be? They go through ’em as cool as a cucumber. And
then some ridiculous little thing, that no man in his senses would
ever think of again, they go and break their hearts about!”
“Indeed I had not noticed. I fear I have always taken it for granted
Mrs Bayard would be alarmed, and she has indulged me by letting me
think so. Very kind of her, ’pon my word! But I trust the other half
of your observation ain’t true. I should be sorry to think I had made
my wife unhappy--however innocently.”
His tone was so anxious and grieved that Richard administered comfort
hastily. “Oh, don’t be afraid. If you ever did such a thing, Mrs
Bayard would know it was unintentional, trust her! I wish Mrs Ambrose
enjoyed that consolation.”
“Tell her so--and she will,” suggested Colonel Bayard.
“But I’m hanged if it would be true. Tell you what--a cross-grained
fellow who has lived all his life alone has no business to marry. It’s
no happiness for either of ’em.”
“Ask Mrs Ambrose,” said Colonel Bayard again.
Mrs Ambrose’s husband smiled reluctantly. “You know as well as I do
that whether the answer I received was that she was happy or
miserable, it would be liable to be reversed the next moment, for no
reason that anybody could perceive!”
“The very wife for you, Richard, my good fellow!” Colonel Bayard shook
his head wisely. “You ain’t allowed to presume on your happiness, nor
yet to persist in your misery, for if you ain’t in a new mood a
quarter of an hour later, Mrs Ambrose will be! Be thankful for your
good fortune, I tell you. Most men would give their ears for such a
wife as yours--and a brother-in-law a friend at court to boot!”
“I never thought I should have to be grateful for being related to
that young rip Brian!” growled Richard.
“Well, if you ain’t grateful, I am for you. The General may pride
himself on never taking a suggestion, but he can’t be altogether
uninfluenced by the members of his own family. And if you can make use
of that influence in favour of my poor foolish Khans, they and I will
bless you yet.”
Not even the chilliness of that last interview could lessen Colonel
Bayard’s sense of responsibility for the wayward charges he had
watched over so long. Despite all his admiration for him, Richard
waxed a little impatient when he thought of it. It would be uncommonly
good for the Khans to come in contact with some one who did not mind
letting them know that he saw through their foolish stratagems, and
would brush away their subterfuges--however roughly. Colonel Bayard,
with the kindest intentions, had left them in a fool’s paradise too
long; they thought the length of their tether was infinite. But unless
he was much mistaken, the old warrior now at Sahar would bring them up
resolutely with a round turn before very long. Even now, from certain
enquiries which had been addressed to him, Richard judged he was
preparing to do this.
There was nothing shilly-shally about Sir Henry Lennox’s methods. He
had been ordered to disband the Political Establishment, and that
unlucky body faded like the baseless fabric of a vision. The
_Asteroid_, in bringing Colonel Bayard, brought also orders, addressed
to Richard, dealing with the Qadirabad Agency and its staff. The place
was to be closed and left in charge of a reduced guard with one
European officer, to prevent plundering, and a few servants. Though
there was to be no Resident in future, it would no doubt be necessary
to send frequent envoys to the Khans, and a European-built house in
healthy surroundings was a prize not lightly to be let go. The rest of
the inmates went various ways. Some were summoned to Sahar--the
Ambroses, that part of the Khemistan Horse which was not already with
the General, Captain Crosse, Sir Dugald Haigh, and a few other
officers whose units were in the country. But most followed Colonel
Bayard by the next steamer down the river--first to Bab-us-Sahel and
thence to Bombay, where the outraged Services, already on bad terms
with Sir Harry, swore that even if Lord Maryport’s inspiration had not
come from him, the brutal haste with which the order had been carried
out was all his own, and vowed vengeance accordingly.