After the discussion on a certain story told by the grey man had
reached dissolution point from sheer want of coherence, I observed
that the Major--though still standing in his usual place by the
fire--was looking into the embers instead of warming his coat-tails at
them. This fact, and the expression of his face, convinced me that he
had forgotten the present in some past experience.
"The Major remembers a story," I remarked aloud. He looked up with a
smile.
"I must have a very transparent face," he said, "but it is quite true.
I have been wondering if I ought not to tell you something that
happened to some one--to me, in fact--a great many years ago. It seems
to me that I ought. You see most of you are inclined to scoff at the
story we have just heard; unwilling to allow anything but a rational
explanation of the mysterious summons. I am not, simply because I
happen to have had certain experiences which most of you have not had.
The question therefore arises as to whether I am not bound to give my
evidence, and so, perhaps, prevent you from forming a hasty judgment?"
He looked inquiringly round the room, but no one spoke. We were so
much accustomed to accept the Major's decisions as, above all things,
equitable, that we were content to let him arrive at one unbiassed by
our views. During the pause which followed, I found myself thinking
that weight for weight, inches for inches, brains for brains, I knew
no man who had made a better use of life than our Major. Not over
clever, certainly not handsome, handicapped heavily by having to start
at scratch in worldly matters, he had a distinct personality of his
own which influenced every society he entered. You felt somehow that
your estimate of that society rose from his presence, and that he
brought an element of sound, healthy strength of heart and mind into
the _melee_ which you would not willingly spare from the struggle for
existence. It came to this. Had he not been there the world would have
been the worse for his absence; high praise, indeed, for any man.
"Yes!" continued the Major, after a pause, "I'll have to tell my tale
like the Ancient Mariner; and if in so doing I bore you with a few
uninteresting confidences about myself, I can't help it. You shall
have as little of them as possible."
He was so long settling himself in a chair, pulling up his trousers in
his careful, economical way, and poking the fire, that our attention
had begun to waver, when his opening words startled us into renewed
curiosity.
"I don't suppose," he began, "that any of you know I am a widower; but
I am. My wife died a year after our marriage; and the child too--a
girl. If you search the whole wide world through you won't find a more
desolate creature than a boy of two-and-twenty coming back alone in a
strange country from the grave of his wife and child. Perhaps, as
Rudyard Kipling says, he has no business to have a wife and child.
Anyhow he feels a mistake somewhere in the universe when he tries to
behave like a man in the little drawing-room she made so pretty. The
twopenny-halfpenny fans put up to hide the bare walls--the little
dodges to make the sticks of furniture look nice which seemed to you
so clever, and over which you have both laughed so often--the unused
basket thing done up with lace and frills over which she was so happy
that last evening, while you sate by wondering if it could be true,
and that your child would lie amongst the dainty furbelows. Well! I
suppose it has to be sometimes, but it drove me mad. I was like the
boy in another of Kipling's tales, and could think of nothing but
death to end it all; just to creep away and die by myself somewhere. I
did not want so much to be dead, but to be quite alone--by myself. You
see I had lost everything--for ever--and the rest of the stupid world
drove me wild with impatience.
"So I went out on leave to the old Salt Road, which ran right across
the loneliest part of the district. Perhaps some of you don't know
what a Salt Road is? Simply the Customs line which in old days used to
be patrolled day and night in order to prevent smuggling. The cactus
hedge had been cut down when the protection system was given up, but
the road behind it was still passable, and the patrol houses, more or
less dilapidated, stood at intervals of ten or twelve miles. I had
seen some of them when out on shooting expeditions, and the
remembrance of their desolation came back on me now with a new sort of
fascination.
"After I settled to go I used to lie awake wondering which of them
would be the place. Not the first. That was within hail of other
people and help; besides, I could not so soon get rid of the servant
whom I had to take with me in order to avoid suspicion. My plan was to
send the man on early with orders to do two stages, and have
everything ready for me at night in bungalow Number Three; then I
should have all the day to myself. Would it be bungalow Number Two, at
noon, I wondered? As there were five patrol houses in all, it would
most likely be Two or Four; but if I liked any of the others better I
could easily find some excuse for getting rid of the servant.
"This may seem unnatural, but I was really quite mad with a sort of
rage and spite against everything and everybody; so utterly absorbed
in myself that I felt as if I were taking a revenge on life by
quitting it. My own pain being the axis of the universe, the world
must surely be the loser by its removal. In fact, my mental position
at this time might be fairly represented by that of a man quitting a
pleasant society because some one has been rude to him. I had no hopes
of bettering my condition; I simply wanted to show my resentment.
"I don't believe I ever slept sounder in my life than on the first
night after leaving cantonments. Perhaps it was the change; but I
remember being disappointed and disgusted with myself when I woke to
find broad daylight streaming in through the broken windows of Number
One. My servant, according to his orders, had started at dawn, for the
weather was still hot enough to make early marching necessary. He had,
however, left me a bottle of cold tea and some provisions, which I ate
with appetite. And now comes a curious thing. Though I had quite made
up my mind to face death, and all the dangers it might bring, I
positively hesitated about starting for a ten-mile walk in the sun
from fear of heat apoplexy. It was very unreasonable, but it shows the
force of habit. After I had decided on remaining where I was till the
evening, I walked round the tumble-down mud building, wondering if it
would do for the final tableau. It did not please me, so I lay down
and slept, feeling that I ought really to have remained awake and
brooded over my grief. But an unconquerable drowsiness was upon me,
making me sleep like a child. How well I remember the ten-mile walk to
the next bungalow! The afternoon shadows lengthened across the
half-effaced road as I tramped along in solitary silence. I had
nothing with me save my revolver and a small writing-case with which
to inscribe my last words of defiance. My thoughts were full of what
these should be, for I had now quite made up my mind that bungalow
Number Two was to be the place, and that a very short time would rid
me of all my foes. I felt distinctly easier than I had done before,
and being, as it were, wound up to tragedy pitch, the cheerful
appearance of Number Two as I came up to it in the sunset disappointed
me. In cutting down the thorn and cactus hedge they had, as usual,
left the _kikar_ bushes, and these had grown into trees, forming an
avenue, while a few more shaded the house itself. This was also far
less dilapidated than Number One; not only were the doors and windows
intact, but at a few of them still hung the usual reed blinds or
_chicks_. As I wandered round the house before entering it, I noticed
what one might call the graves of a garden. Broken mounds of earth
giving a reminiscence of walks and beds, with here and there a globe
amaranth doing chief mourner. Evidently bungalow Number Two had been
the permanent residence of a patrol. It annoyed me to find myself
wondering if he had had a wife and child, so I hastily entered the
centre room, determined to put an end to all useless sympathies
without delay. To my surprise it contained a few half-broken sticks of
furniture; but telling myself that it would make my last task easier I
laid my revolver on the table and, taking out my case, sat down to
write. Again I felt curiously drowsy; more than once I rested my head
on my hands and rubbed my eyes in the endeavour to collect my
thoughts.
"A sudden increase of light in the room, visible even through my
shading fingers, made me look up. The _chick_ was turned aside, and
holding it back with one chubby hand stood a little child about three
years old. I think, without exception, the loveliest little girl I
ever saw. Great mischievous brown eyes, and fluffy curls of that pale
gold which turns black in after years. She raised her hand from the
door-jamb, and placed her finger to her lips, brimming over with
laughter.
"'_Hush!! Ma-ma's a-teep. Dot's 'un away_.'
"Such a ripple of a voice, musical with happiness. I was always fond of
children, and this one was of the sort any man would notice--perhaps
covet. I laid down my pen, forgetful of interruption.
"'Dot has run away, has she? That's very naughty of Dot, isn't it? But
as she has run away she had better come in here. You are not afraid of
me, are you?'
"She was already in the room; then I noticed for the first time that
she was in her nightgown--a straight white thing like they put the
angels into, and her small bare feet made no noise on the floor.
"'Dot's not af'aid. Dot's never af'aid. Dot's a b'aave girl. Dada says
so.'
"She spoke more to herself than to me, and the words were evidently a
formula well known and often repeated.
"'Who is Dada?' I asked, feeling the first curiosity that had had
power to touch me for many days.
"Dot had raised herself to the level of the table with her tiny hands,
and now stood on tiptoe opposite me. Her fair curls framed her face,
as her laughing brown eyes fixed themselves on my revolver.
"'Dada's?' she said coaxingly. 'Dot wants to make a _puff-puff-boom!_'
"The childish words evoked a quick horror, why, I cannot tell; but a
sudden vision of myself as I should be in that lonely room after the
dull report rose up and blinded me. Somehow the coaxing babyish phrase
filled me with an awful revulsion of feeling. My head sank into my
hands; when I raised it the child had gone.
"I went into the verandah uncertain what to do. The room next mine had
a _chick_ also, so that I could not see in from the outside, but from
within came a low crooning song like a lullaby. Every now and again
little bursts of a child's voice. Dot, no doubt, recaptured and
soothed to sleep. It was evident that the bungalow was occupied by
others beside myself, for in the gathering dusk I thought I saw some
white forms flitting about the servants' quarters. I wondered faintly
at the latter, for I had a half recollection of noticing that the huts
were entirely in ruins. My mind, however, had now reverted to its
original purpose with increased strength, and I returned to the room
considering what had best be done. The child's words, '_Dot's not
af'aid! Dot wants to make a puff-puff-boom_,' would not keep out of
my head. After all, was it not only another way of phrasing my own
desire? I was not afraid. Not afraid of what? Amid these questionings
one thing was certain. It could not be bungalow Number Two-- I would
not frighten the child Ah, no! I could not frighten Dot for ever with
the awful _puff-puff-boom_ I had set myself to make.
"It must therefore be Number Four, so I packed up my writing things
and set off to rejoin my servant at Number Three. How childish we are!
As I trudged along I caught myself smiling more than once over the
recollection of Dot's mischievous face at the door. My servant was
patiently awaiting my arrival beside the dinner he had cooked for me.
Supposing I had not turned up--according to my original plan--he would
have waited calmly all night long, keeping his '_clear soup, chikhun
cutlet, custel pudden_' hot for a dead man. I must have been less mad,
for the humour of the idea struck me at the time, and I laughed. He
gravely asked why I had not brought on my pillow and sheets, and I
laughed again as I told him I meant to do without them in the future.
Everything was clear now. Fate had settled on Number Four, so there
was nothing to worry or hustle about. I bade him call me early,
determined this time to have all the day to myself. Then I fell asleep
to dream the night long of Dot and the revolver. Indeed my thoughts
were so full of her, that even when I woke I fancied, more than once,
that I heard her voice in the verandah, though I knew it could only be
a trick of fancy, for the bungalow was a perfect wreck, and even the
room I occupied had but half a roof.
"It must have been about eleven o'clock ere I reached Number Four,
which stood off the road a little and was much smaller than any of the
other bungalows. Indeed it consisted of but two rooms opening the one
into the other. It looked the very picture of desolation, planted
square in the open with a single _kikar_ tree struggling for life in
one corner of the enclosure. Yet it was the best preserved of all the
patrol-houses; perhaps because of its smaller size and greater
compactness. Anyhow it needed little to fit it for habitation, and as
I found out afterwards it was constantly used by the civil officers
when on their tours of inspection. At the time, however, I was
surprised to find signs of recent occupation about it in the shape of
earthen pots and half-burnt sticks in a mud fireplace. Going into the
outer room I found it contained, like Number Two, a few bits of
furniture, and feeling weary I sat down by the table without looking
into the other room, only a portion of which was visible through the
half-closed door.
"Once more I laid my revolver beside me, and took out my writing
materials. I had just begun my task when a deadly disgust at the whole
business came over me, and I resolved to end everything without
further delay. My hand sought the revolver, and fingered it
mechanically to see if it were loaded. A sense of strangeness made me
look at it, when, to my intense surprise, I found it was not my own
weapon. This was an old-fashioned heavy revolver, and one of the
chambers had evidently been recently fired. As I laid it down,
astonished beyond measure, I saw my own on the table beside it!
"Whose then was the other? Did it belong to some one else in the
bungalow? Was I once more to be disturbed? I rose instinctively and
pushed open the door leading into the inner room. To my still greater
surprise I found it littered with half-open boxes and various things
lying about in great confusion. A few common toys were on the floor;
on the bare string bed a bundle of bedding; on the table a heap of
towels, and a basin of water ominously tinged with red. The fireplace
was on the other side of the room beyond the table, and crouched
beside it on the floor was a woman closely huddled up in a common grey
shawl. She held something under its folds on her knee; something that
drew breath in long gasping sighs, with a fatal pause between them.
"'I beg your pardon,' I stammered, intending to retire. Just then the
woman looking up, showed me a young face, so wild with grief and
terror that I paused irresolute.
"' Will no one come!' she wailed, seeming to look past me with eyes
blind with grief. 'O God--dear God! will no one ever come?' Then, as
her face fell again over the burden on her lap, she moaned like an
animal in mortal agony. But above the moan I could still hear that
curious gasping sigh. 'Can I not help?' I asked. She gave no reply, so
I went up and stood beside her. Still she seemed unconscious of my
presence, for once more came the wail. 'Will nobody come? O my God!
will nobody come to help?' 'I have come,' I answered, touching her on
the arm. She looked at me then, and a curious thrill made me feel
quite dizzy for a moment. Perhaps that was the reason why both face
and voice seemed to me changed and altered. Her eyes met mine
doubtfully.
"'You did not come before,' she said. 'No one ever came--no one, no
one.'
"As I removed my hand she bent once more over her burden with the same
piteous moan.
"Evidently she was stupefied by horror and suspense, so I gently
raised her shawl to see what was the matter.
"Great heavens! What a sight! After all these years I seem to see it
now. Fair silky curls dabbled in blood that welled up from under the
handkerchief which the woman held convulsively to the little white
breast. One chubby hand thrown out stiff and clenched; great brown
eyes glazed and dim; grey lips where each gasping sigh sent a tinge of
red.
"'Dot!' I exclaimed, dropping on my knees the better to assure myself
of the awful truth.
"The familiar name seemed to rouse the wavering life.
"'_Dots not af'aid. Dot--only--wanted to make--a puff-puff-boom_.'
"The words seemed to float in the air. I heard them as in a dream; and
as in a dream also came an insight into what had happened. Dada's
revolver within reach of those tiny hands. O Dot! poor little brave
Dot! I felt helpless before the awful tragedy. Once I tried to take
the child, but the woman resisted silently, nor could I get her to
listen to my entreaties that she should at least move to an easier
position. At last, seeing I could do nothing, and acknowledging
sorrowfully that nothing I could do was likely to be of any avail, I
contented myself with waiting beside her in silence, until the end.
And as I waited a coherent story grew out of what I knew, and what I
guessed. They had come on early that morning, the father on his way
further afield, the mother and child to remain in the little bungalow
till his return. Then all in a minute the accident; and then the only
servant had been sent forth wildly for help whilst the wretched woman
waited alone. Yes! that must have been it. So clear, so simple, so
awful in its very simplicity.
"There was not a sound in the house save at intervals the woman's
moan. 'Will no one ever come! O God; will no one ever come!' and
always distinct above it the child's gasping sigh with a soft rattle
in it.
"How long this lasted I cannot say. It was like some hideous
nightmare, until suddenly the sighing ceased, and I became conscious
of an immeasurable relief. Yet I knew the silence meant death.
"The woman did not move or notice me in any way, so once more I
touched her on the arm.
"'There is no need to watch longer,' I said; 'Dot is asleep at last.
It is your turn to rest. Give me the child, and believe me there is
nothing to be done now.'
"As before, she raised her face to mine, and the same thrill came over
me as I recognised an unmistakable change in features and voice; a
deadening of expression, a hardening of the tone into a certain
fretfulness.
"'But there is a great deal to be done,' she replied rapidly. 'Oh! so
much. How can you know? We must dig the grave under the _kikar_ tree
and bury her in the sand--for it is sand below, and it creeps and
creeps into the grave and will not leave room for Dot. And the night
must fall--oh, so dark!--before her father gets home. There will
hardly be time to dig the little grave before sunrise; and it must be
dug--you know it must--'
"Her words seemed to me wild and distraught. To soothe her I repeated
that there was plenty of time.
"She frowned, closed her eyes with one hand, and again replied in a
curiously rapid, even tone.
"'No! no! there never has been time. It is always a hurry. Out in the
dark digging the grave, and the sand slipping, slipping, slipping till
there is no room. I have done it,--oh! so many times.'
"I was puzzled what to do or say. The wisest course seemed to leave
her to herself until help arrived. So after one or two ineffectual
attempts at consolation I went outside in despair to see if the
assistance so sorely needed was not in sight. Surely it could not be
delayed much longer. I was surprised to find how late it was: noon had
long passed, and cool shadows were stretching themselves athwart the
parched ground. One, darker and cooler than the rest, lay eastward of
the solitary _kikar_ tree. Here it was that the little grave was to be
dug if the mother's wish were fulfilled. Quite mechanically I strolled
to the spot, impelled by sad curiosity.
"As I approached, the fragments of a low railing, half standing, half
lying, in a small oblong, made me wonder if the enclosure had already
been a resting-place. That might account for the mother's wish. Yes!
there was a grave; a tiny grave no bigger than little Dot's would be,
with a roughly-hewn cross as a headstone.
"I bent to read the inscription:--