Although Mallender sat with his writing case open before him, his
eyes wandered over the wide prospect commanded by the bungalow. What
a picture of tragic solitude! In the foreground a mass of overgrown
ruins, beyond these, the sun-baked plain, with its harsh orange
soil, and far-away range of dim blue hills,--the whole a scene of
ardent melancholy. His thoughts now turned to his own affairs, and
his reflections were gloomy; he realised that his impulsive desire
for results, had driven him to waste time and energies in hopeless
directions,--of which the present situation was a specimen! Why, why,
had fate singled him out for this adventure? He was not one inch
"forrader" than months ago when full of high hopes he had embarked in
Tilbury Docks. Well, he must pull himself together, decide upon a plan
of action, and get out of this God-forsaken place as soon as possible:
drawing the paper towards him, he began to write. Just at this moment,
a visitor appeared between the stone piers of entrance to the little
compound; a sturdy broad-shouldered man of thirty, dressed in kharki.
He had a pleasant clean-shaven face, a square chin, and resolute jaw;
as he took off his topee, he displayed a crop of thick brown hair, cut
"_en brosse_."
"I say," he began rather awkwardly, "you'll excuse me I hope, but my
father, General Beamish, heard of your arrival--of course everything
is known in this place," and he grinned, "and that you were a British
officer; so he sent me over to ask if you would be so good as to call
and see him?"
"I shall be delighted," declared Mallender, in his clear, high-bred
voice, "but I must not go under false pretences, I'm no longer in the
service."
"That does not matter a button--you've been in it, and the old man
craves for a talk with one of his own profession. Although he is
ninety-five, he is still drawing the pension of a Major-General. I
expect the authorities are pretty sick! Eh?"
"Won't you sit down?" said Mallender, bringing forward a chair. "No
doubt your father has seen a lot of service?"
"Oh, yes, volunteered for every campaign or scrap, that was going in
his day. He is feeble on his pins, and a bit deaf, but his mind is as
clear as ever. He likes to talk of old times, when he is in the humour,
and he loves anything to do with soldiers. He doesn't come across many
soldier-men here, as you may suppose, and he is mad keen on seeing
_you_."
"All right--when shall I go over?"
"About six, when he is rested after his drive, and my mother says, will
you stay to supper?"
"Thank you, I shall be delighted."
"You'll find Wellunga a mighty weird sort of billet," resumed the
visitor, "not much of a field for your camera. Your rum little _chokra_
told me you were a photographer."
"Yes, and he is my understudy, and very smart. How do you put in time
here?"
"I don't put in much, I'm a planter--I've an estate up in Mysore, and
manage another; but I run down to see the family, and this is the slack
season for coffee. My sisters come up for the hot weather, but the old
folks never stir, a couple of salamanders!"
"If it's not an impertinent question, what induced your father to
settle here?"
"Oh, lots of things; sentiment for one, and to get out of the reach of
his Europe relations, for another. You see he was married before, and
my half-brothers and sisters tormented him to go back to England. He
loves India, it's in his very bones, and this was the first place he
came to, after he landed in the country."
"It must be pretty deadly for your sisters."
"They don't mind. Jessie is mad about poultry and tennis, and Tara--she
is much younger than we are--has her books, and her horse, and is the
sort of girl that's happy anywhere. Well, I notice you are writing for
the dâk, it goes out at twelve, so I'll take myself off. See you this
evening?" and Tom Beamish rose, jammed his pith "mushroom" on his head,
and lumbered forth.
Some time after the carriage had returned, Mallender went over to
the General's quarters; a fine stone-built two-storeyed abode, and
well-preserved specimen of its time. It stood in a spacious compound
with two gateless entrances, which met in a sweep under a high-tiled
porch; many comfortable-looking buff fowls were pecking and promenading
round the premises,--which wore an air of solid ease and leisure. Two
gorgeous peons with scarlet belts, brass badges and enormous turbans,
were in waiting and salaamed profoundly. Having shouted the usual
summons "Boy!" a brisk servant appeared, salaamed, and said, "Please to
come this way," and led the visitor across a centre room into a wide
verandah, commanding an extensive view of river, bazaar, and distant
plain and hills. Here in a high-backed chair sat or hybernated, the
venerable survivor of other days; a still fine-looking old man with the
remnants of a magnificent physique; his noble head was now somewhat
sunken on his shoulders; attached to his white drill coat, he wore the
tarnished badge of his rank, and on his breast a row of war medals.
General Richard Beamish did not look his age, not by ten years--his
skin was wonderfully smooth, his blue eyes keen and bright; his limbs,
however, were shrunken, and his bony hands displayed the dark knotted
veins of age.
"I'm glad to see ye," he called out in a shaky and excited voice, a
voice unexpectedly strong, "a stranger is a great event here--what's
your name, young sir?"
"Geoffrey Mallender."
"God bless me! I knew a Geoffrey Mallender thirty years ago, he was
drowned--or something--there was a sort of mystery."
"He was my Uncle," announced the stranger, whose hopes were once more
kindled.
"Mallender, this is my wife, Sally," he called to someone who had
entered, "here is Captain Mallender; I knew his Uncle long ago."
The visitor turned and bowed, but Mrs. Beamish put out a large
useful-looking hand, and gave him a motherly smile. "Motherly" was the
adjective that best expressed Sally Beamish! a woman of over fifty,
with a pulpy corsetless figure, a kind sensible face, a little short
nose, a pair of sympathetic eyes, a drab complexion. Her abundant brown
hair was combed over her ears and gathered into a tight knot, she wore
a stuff skirt, a loose white jacket fastened by a magnificent diamond
brooch, and berlin wool slippers.
"You will take your supper with us," she said; her accent was common,
but her face radiated benevolence. "It is the Beauforts' evening, but
that's no matter: and you must come over to us whenever you find it
dull. It is dull alone. Now I am going to leave you, to have a chat
with the General." Then suddenly dropping her voice, "He was just crazy
to see you,--let the old man talk, it's so good for him, and mind, he
don't like to be interrupted."
"What's she saying? What's she saying?" demanded her husband,
suspiciously. His eyes had been watching her moving lips.
"That she is leaving me to have a good old talk with you, sir,"
explained Mallender, as the purdah swung behind a solid form.
"A good woman, a good woman! My third wife, country born, country bred,
no country blood--just an apothecary's daughter, and a trained nurse;
but I did not marry her for _that_. No, no. Come now, young fellow,
draw your chair nearer, for I want to question you about England, and
the Army, and many other things."
"All right, sir, but I left the Army this time last year."
"And you could desert the colours, you a fine, strong young man?" and
he considered his visitor with reproachful blue eyes.
"I had no choice, sir," replied Mallender. "I was terribly sorry to go.
I hate being out of the Service."
"Aye, my lad, and when I hung up my sword after nearly fifty years, it
broke my heart. I am very old, look at me. I'm ninety-five! I was born
in the year of our Lord 1818, when people talked of Waterloo, and Bony
was on St. Helena! When I first arrived, a 'Griffin' as they called us
then, I met an officer who had known Clive--think of it! He told me, he
seemed silent and morose, it was his last spell out here, and he was
full of trouble and disappointment--the man who won India!"
"He put an end to himself, did he not?"
"Yes, in his house in Berkeley Square, with a penknife. I've seen great
things in my day, but if I related them, people would say I was in my
dotage, and I have no witnesses _now_ to bear me out; I just sit here
and look out over the plains that never change, and think of all the
fine comrades I had, and their lives and deaths, and wonder if we will
ever fall in together again? Well, I'll know before long--I may get the
route any day! I'm just waiting for death."
Mallender hastened to turn the old man's mind to a more cheerful
subject, and said:
"You must have seen a lot of service, sir?"
"Yes," and he touched his medals. "I put these on to do you honour. I
only wear 'em Sundays, and Mrs. Beamish she got out her fine brooch.
Here, you see, Moodkee--Aliwal--Rangoon--Pegu--and the Mutiny medals, I
was all through that," he paused, and looked fixedly before him.
"Yes, I marched up to Delhi, with the first Madras Regiment, and I
was in the first Brigade, under McNeil. McNeil was a hard man; hard
on himself, as well as others; the forced marches were terrible; and
in those days we wore shakos--no pith helmets then! At most of our
halts, we had a firing-party, and left a couple or more graves. I
served at the Siege of Delhi--I saw Cawnpore, when one hundred and
sixty-five women and children were in the well. I--Well, young man, for
all our sakes, native and British, those times are best _forgotten_.
Afterwards, I served in Afghanistan, and was recommended for the Cross,
but the Brigadier knew I was hard up, and I took a sum of money, and
sold my glory, to pay bazaar bills."
"But surely, sir, you have had good appointments?"
"Oh, yes, after a time I had fine billets; but I was always up to my
neck in debt, and half my pay went to the soucars. I was like a man
in a quicksand, the more I struggled, the deeper I went. Well, now
I want to hear from one who has been on the spot, what is going on
at head-quarters at home? Tell me about the Army--begad, it's only a
handful,--this brand-new Army of the day. I read, and I'm read to, but
I want to hear by word of mouth."
The old officer then proceeded to put his companion--who patiently
submitted--to a severe, not to say drastic, examination on the subject
of the new guns, new regulations, and drill; the uniform, soldiers'
kit, the benefit, or otherwise, of Royal Commissions; particulars of
the new signalling, and airships. He listened as to a fairy-tale, when
Mallender described a field instrument that can tap, or interrupt a
telegraph message--as well as telephone!
"Oh, if we'd had that in my time, we'd have done real wonders,
miracles--sir, miracles!"
"Yes, and you had not a rifle warranted to kill at two miles, had you?"
said Mallender.
"No, only good old brown Bess. And those motors and aeroplanes that I
shall never see--no more than if I had lived in the Middle Ages!"
"You could easily see a motor, sir," replied his visitor, "but I'm not
so sure of an aeroplane," and as he had made an ascent, he proceeded
to relate his experience. To this, the old man listened with hands on
knees, parted lips, and an air of almost passionate attention.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, as he leant back with a sigh of satisfaction, "at
last I seem to understand the hang of the thing; you have put it before
me, and I can almost imagine, that I'm sitting on a nasty cramped seat,
rising steadily into the air, while all the world is falling away below
me. Here is Mrs. Beamish coming to tell us that supper is waiting, and
I've been keeping you. We are punctual folk--military time, sir! Come
to-morrow, come to tiffin. Sally, my dear, this young fellow has done
me no end of good; my mind is chock full of brand-new ideas." Then
rising with tremulous difficulty, assisted by his wife, and a servant,
the old veteran nodded his head, and tottered out of the verandah.
When Mallender was ushered into the dining-room, he was rather
surprised to find the table almost surrounded, and supper already well
started. Tom, who was apparently master of the ceremonies, jumped up
and said, "Hello--here you are at last! the governor froze on to you.
Captain Mallender, this is Tara, my youngest sister,"--the girl he had
encountered in the cemetery--"and this is Jessie," indicating a thin
plain young woman, with high cheek bones, and a bright pink blouse,
actively engaged in carving a piece of cold beef. Jessie nodded,
and beamed--she had her mother's smile. "Let me introduce Captain
Beaufort," continued Tom waving his hand towards an enormously stout,
bullet-headed man, with a massive red face, and heavy grey moustache.
Captain Beaufort gave the visitor a martial look--rose, as it were at
attention, shuffled his feet, and muttered a greeting.
"Miss Blanche and Miss Lily Beaufort," resumed Tom, glancing at two
pretty tittering girls, with dusky complexions, elaborate white
blouses, and coral necklaces and earrings.
"Now we are all acquainted, what will you have?" enquired Jessie. "Cold
hump, curried fowl, or stuffed tomatoes?"
"Try the cold hump, Captain," urged Beaufort,--Beaufort was thoroughly,
and aggressively, at home--"and this mango chutney is not to be sneezed
at, I can tell you! and the beer is A1."
The board was spread with an ample repast, and decorated with vases of
zinnias and marigolds. Miss Tara was officiating with an old French
coffee-pot of the time of Louis XV., that would have brought tears
of envy to the eyes of Fanny Tallboys. In fact, the appointments
and surroundings were a curious and remarkable mixture; here, were
rat-tailed spoons, Charles the First sugar bowls, superb candelabra,
holding cheap candles (twelve to the pound), a coarse mission
table-cloth, and bazaar crockery. The aristocratic side-board, and a
book-case, were undoubtedly of the days of Count Lally, and seemed
to shrivel up, and hold themselves aloof from the coarse "maistrey"
furniture, and jail carpets,--their associates.
The company was also strangely assorted. The two Beaufort girls with
the black tresses, and lovely liquid eyes, had unquestionably "four
annas in the rupee." Their parent was a rough-hewn ranker. Mrs.
Beamish, Jessie and Tom were a kindly commonplace trio, of the lower
middle class, and Tara, who did not bear even the faintest resemblance
to her relations, was of a totally different type and race, evidently a
"throw back" to some of the General's ancestors. She carried her slight
figure with grace, her small stag-like head was set on a long neck, her
little proud face was illuminated by a pair of dark granite-grey eyes;
she had beautiful taper hands,--whilst those of Jessie looked as if her
fingers had been cut off at the second joint.
"I think we met this morning," said the guest, addressing her, as she
paused from her labours.
"Oh, yes, in the cemetery. I go there every other day to put flowers on
the graves of Daddy's friends. At first, I thought _you_ were one of
them--one of the young men who had come back to look for something."
"You startled me too, I must confess. I understood Wellunga was
entirely deserted."
"Not at all, Captain, not at all!" broke in Beaufort, speaking with
his mouth full. "We are quite a nice little family party here; besides
the General,--who is our Commander-in-Chief, and his good lady, and
belongings; there is myself, and my girls, and my subordinate Perez.
Then we have a Police Officer, who comes and goes, a very smart good
sort of fellow."
"Indeed," exclaimed Mallender, who was evidently expected to say
something.
"Oh, yes, and a Chaplain two or three times in the cold weather; I read
the Service on Sunday, since the General resigned, and an inspecting
Engineer, my boss, not much of a chap, in _my_ humble opinion; all for
new jims and ways and worrying his subordinates."
"Have you no doctor?" enquired the new-comer.
"No, but a first-rate native apothecary and dresser,--Dorosawny is as
clever as they make them!"
"My mother is the doctor," put in Tom. "She's first-class, had a
training in hospital, got diplomas, and all that sort of thing."
"What do you think of the place?" softly enquired Blanche, whose brown
velvet eyes had never been removed from the stranger.
"He has not seen it yet!" rejoined Mrs. Beamish, who had just bustled
in, found a seat, and was being pressed to partake of her own good
things by Captain Beaufort, "and I'm afraid there is very little to
see."
"I hear you take photographs," said Tara. "I do wish, you would do my
horse Rustum, he is such a beauty."
"The General got him down from Bombay," announced Captain Beaufort,
"a Damascus Arab, out of Abdul Rayman's stables. They wanted him for
racing, and so I need not tell you his price was pretty _stiff_!"
"Tara is crazy about him," supplemented her sister. "As for me, I do
not ride."
"Only your hobby, buff cochins!" put in her brother.
"Now do be quiet, Tom; you are too silly!"
"The General has a stable full of splendid animals," continued
Beaufort, who evidently desired to impress the visitor. "He was a fine
rider once, so was _I_," and he gave a laugh that shook not only his
whole frame--but also the table. "Who'd think it!"
"You come from Madras, I believe?" murmured Blanche; who was
irresistibly fascinated by this stranger, who had dropped into their
circle, as from the skies.
"Yes, I arrived yesterday evening."
"Everyone is still in the Hills," observed Tara. "I know Ooty well, I
was at school there for seven years."
"Oo-ah, yes, and so accomplished," volunteered Blanche, with effusion.
"Tara can do lovelee lace work, and play the piano, and sing--oh, soa
beautifullee!"
"There, that will do, Blanche," interrupted Tara, impatiently. To
Mallender, "I'm not really accomplished, not like the girls at home."
"At home!" echoed Blanche the irrepressible, "that, of course, is
another thing, oh, my! how I do long to go home!"
"You'd hate it," declared the youngest Miss Beamish, with startling
abruptness, and poor Blanche was once more chastened and crushed. Her
father, who had finished an excellent and hearty meal, now broke in.
"You must see our great bazaar and native city, Captain, down by the
river; if the cantonment is dead, the bazaar is alive and kicking,
that I can tell you; it's chock full of money and rich natives. There
is one chap called Rakar, who is rolling in rupees and gold mohurs. He
has grand nautches--I've seen them," and he winked expressively, "the
best girls from Travancore; and he keeps fighting cocks, and fighting
partridges, and all sorts of horses. One of them is a holy terror; he
got him from some big Rajah, a sort of processional brute, seventeen
hands high, a splendid animal to look at, but a man eater, he has
killed half a dozen--at least, so I'm told."
"The native city is tremendously old," broke in Tom, anxious to
contribute information. "People give it fifteen hundred years, it's
said to be full of _loot_. I've seen some wonderful coins and jewels
myself. It was right in the middle of lots of fighting, and grew rich
on plunder--of course no Europeans live there."
"I can't say I'm surprised at that," remarked Mallender, dryly.
"But there were plenty here once," said Jessie. "Two or three
regiments; first there was a mutiny, then cholera, after that the
county became settled, and all the soldiers went away."
"I like Wellunga," announced Tara; "I was born here; but I must admit
that it is an outlandish place."
"We have queer stories about the big battles around," added her
brother. "There was a heap of fighting all over this country, and the
natives say, it is full of hidden treasure--guarded by devils."
"Yes," agreed Beaufort, "there is the grave of an English officer about
twenty miles out, with the date 1809; I've seen it. He is worshipped as
a demon, and natives bring him brandy and cheroots."
"That is true," corroborated Tara. "I sometimes ride that way, but I
think they only offer arrack, and bazaar tobacco _now_."
"And I can tell you something," added Blanche, with wide-open eyes
(Blanche who was extremely superstitious). "It is said, that in some
directions, at sundown, or by moonlight, you can see great big camps,
with men, and horses, and elephants, and standards, and hear shouts and
bugles, and drums," and as she concluded, she gazed at Mallender, and
shuddered affectedly.
"I've heard the drums!" was Tara's unexpected remark.
"Tara child, what nonsense you are telling," protested her mother, "you
make me quite ashamed."
"No, no Mummy, no fear of that, you will never be ashamed of _me_," and
she patted her arm affectionately. "Now shall we go into the next room
and play bridge--we can have two tables to-night, no cut-throat!"
"Oh, all right, that will be so nice," agreed the Beaufort girls, in
a breath, rising precipitately; but alas, their expectations were
speedily extinguished.
"Let me see how we will play?" said Tara, looking about her. "Captain
Mallender, Captain Beaufort, Jessie and I, and you two girls may have
Tom and mother," and so it fell out! It was evident by many little
signs and tokens, that the youngest Miss Beamish dominated the company,
and was the lawgiver in her own household. They all seemed devoted to
the girl, and so naïvely proud of her grace and beauty.
Two card tables were quickly arranged, and as they sat down and cut for
partners, Tara announced:
"We play four annas a hundred, we used to play only for love--but love
is _so_ stupid!"
"Tar, I'm surprised at you! Is that your opinion?" shouted her brother,
who had overheard this speech.
"Now, Tom," said she, blushing deeply, "do not mind us--please attend
to your company, or--I will talk to you about Miss _M_."
This threat had the immediate effect of silencing Tom, who sat upon
his hands,--a trick of his, and looked excessively sheepish and out of
countenance.
Tara's command might well have been addressed to the Misses Beaufort,
whose eyes were fixed on the young lady and her partner, with long
looks of unrestrained interest, and low be it spoken--envy.
Bridge, at Wellunga, was played with impressive gravity, and not a
little ignorance; here, there was no joking, no scolding, no glances of
interrogative dismay. The only thing that upset the composure of the
players was, when an enormous black, able-bodied insect, came booming
in from outside, and endeavoured to dash itself against the candle
shades.
"If my ayah were here," screamed Blanche, whose attention was almost
entirely given to this quartette, "she would say that was the spirit of
one who had lived in this bungalow long ago----"
"I'm glad to say your ayah is _not_ here!" retorted Tara, turning her
head, and speaking with indignation, "_we_ don't entertain the sweeper
caste!" and poor Blanche was once more temporarily quenched.
At the end of an hour, Tara and Geoffrey rose, the losers of one rupee.
The beautiful and imperious Tara was distinctly ruffled; she liked and
always expected to be victorious, and first.
"Here, Jessie," she said to her sister, with a lofty air, "I give you
the price of two fine fowls. Well, you must make the most of your
gambling time, for when you are married to Samuel, you won't even _see_
a card!"
"Tara, you wild girl!" protested Jessie, now a brick-dust colour, "how
can you say such foolish things? You know, I shall go my own way, as to
games."
"But it's true; your only cards will be collecting cards--you will see."
Mrs. Beamish now interposed her pleasant personality, saying:
"Tara, what a tease you are!" Then to Mallender, "She was always
so, since she was a baby. She gets all her fun out of other people.
Remember we expect you over to-morrow--as early as ever you please."
The party was breaking up, the Misses Beaufort and Tom were laughing
and scuffling about their wraps, and eventually Mallender and Tom
escorted the ladies home. This attention appeared to be a fixed
custom--as was also the bi-weekly supper and bridge.
Mallender and Captain Beaufort paired off together, despite the bold
manœuvres of the Captain's daughters, and indeed it was outrageously
selfish of him, to appropriate the company of the interesting
new-comer! Between Papa and Tara, these unfortunate damsels had no
opportunities of improving their acquaintance with the handsome
stranger.
As the two men walked ahead, Beaufort said, in a bluff off-hand way:
"Of course, I'm not a 'pucka' Captain; they just give me the rank here.
I was a military man--now I'm in civil employ. Since the old General
has failed, _I_ take things in hand a bit. What was your regiment?"
"The Warlock Hussars."
"Oh, indeed," slightly abashed. "I never came across them. Well, if you
are making any stay, I hope I and my girls will see a _lot_ of you. A
new face up here does us _all_ good."
When they had arrived at their domain, once the Chaplain's
Quarters, the Misses Beaufort--their father making a spacious
background--overwhelmed the recent arrival with a loud and simultaneous
invitation "to tea, pot luck--or tennis, whatever he pleased," to which
he returned a polite, but indefinite reply. Such was the clamour and
urgency of talk, that it was some time before he and Tom were able to
effect their departure, and as they turned towards the Dâk Bungalow,
Tom said:
"Those two are a topping good sort, and stand any amount of chaff. The
most kind-hearted girls in India; they can dance and play tennis, and
make scrumptious native sweets and curries. Captain Beaufort has to do
with the Roads, his wife is never on show, I fancy she is a bit too
dark--these people get darker as they age. It's awfully rough on them,
I must say!"
"Have your sisters no other companions?" enquired Mallender.
"Not in Wellunga, but lots in the Hills. I may as well tell you, they
won't be here long. Jessie is engaged to a missionary in Tinnevelly,
and Tara is going to marry a young planter--a friend of my own. As
the baby of the family, she may strike a stranger as a little bit
spoiled--but she's as good as gold, and as good as she looks."
"She is uncommonly handsome, if you do not mind my saying so."
"No, why shouldn't you? Sometimes she carries on like a great lady, and
has uncommonly high notions, I can tell you! and where she _gets_ them,
beats me."
This remark brought them to the Dâk Bungalow, where a yawning Anthony
awaited his master, and as his master took leave of Tom Beamish, he
said:
"Can you help me to get a trap and ponies, that will take me back to
the railway?"
"To be sure I can," he replied, "but not yet. You must stop with us for
a little, and talk to the General; you brighten him up, and give him
such pleasure,--and he has so little pleasure in life now, poor old
boy. After a bit, I'll lay a dâk for you, and drive you the sixty miles
myself--yes, and with the General's best horses. Come now, don't say
no, see you to-morrow!" and before Mallender could argue or reply, he
received a heavy thump on the back,--suggestive of ease and intimacy,
and Tom Beamish was gone.