A vast crowd, assembled about the south verandah, astonished Mallender,
as he walked up to the General's quarters in order to fetch his horse.
On approaching nearer, he discovered that this gathering was not, as
he had feared, the scene of an accident, but a multitude of the blind,
halt, and lame, all waiting to be treated by the kind hands of Mrs.
Beamish. It proved to be an army composed of woeful cases; here a man
with elephantiasis,--his leg the size and shape of a pillar; there a
woman, with a child in her arms, a prey to ophthalmia, a sickening
spectacle; people suffering from fever, and ague, and even leprosy,
abounded.
Invested in a mushroom topee, and loose white jacket, seated behind a
large table Mrs. Beamish reigned supreme; interviewing and prescribing
for her patients--one by one; whilst two sharp-looking servants
assisted her. Dozens and dozens of bottles of all sorts, and sizes,
from a soda-water to a scent bottle, were being promptly filled,
corked, and delivered.
"This is my dispensary morning," she called out to Mallender, over the
heads of the crowd. "I have a certificate, and know something about the
dispensing of drugs." She beckoned him to come up the steps. "Look at
my clients--has any doctor in Harley Street such a practice?"
"No, I am sure he has not," replied the young man, as his glance swept
over the crowd;--at the moment the eyes of all the patients were
centred on himself.--"What misery!" he exclaimed, "isn't it _too_
awful?"
"Misery? yes, and what patience! I do what I can, but it's not much,"
and she gazed at her surroundings with a wistful expression. "Well now,
I cannot have you taking up my precious time, _you_ do not need to
consult me! The children, and the horses, are waiting for you by the
back verandah, don't let them break any of your bones. My hands, as you
see, are full, I do not want another job!"
"Let us first of all take a turn round the race-course," said Tara, as
the trio pranced out of the compound--the lady riding a beautiful bay
Arab, Tom a sturdy New Zealand cob, and the guest a fine stud-bred from
Ossour.
"Race-course!" he echoed, "I did not think there was one nearer than
Bangalore."
"But there is," replied the girl, "and what is more, I will race you
from the stand to the red Sawmy stone; it is exactly one mile."
"All right," he agreed, "it's a match!"
"The General remembered the whereabouts," explained Tom, "and got the
course a bit cleared for us to exercise on--but it's little better than
the ordinary _maidan_, though it has no nullahs, and not many holes."
"Sounds like good going!" rejoined Mallender, with a laugh, "You'll let
me know when we come to it, won't you?"
This information was necessary, as the course was but vaguely indicated
by a few scattered white posts.
"Here we are," suddenly announced Tara, "that big mound you see over
there, was once the grand stand--shall we make it the starting-post?
Tom, you can start us!"
The trio trotted across the lumpy ground to the so-called "post," and
after a short delay Tom gave a shrill whistle, and the match commenced.
Sepoy, the stud-bred, was boisterously fresh; he bucked and did his
best to get his head down, but it was no use--on this occasion he had
a master on his back--and presently gave up the struggle, and settled
into his stride. He was fast, the blood of Orme was in his veins, and
he had the legs of the bounding bay Arab. As the riders galloped along,
the cool morning wind blowing past their ears sang a gay duet with the
thudding hoofs; and Mallender felt roused to real enjoyment. After all,
his wanderings had now and then _one_ bright moment,--a few gleams of
compensation, such as this! Finally the brown won with ridiculous ease,
passing the post ten lengths ahead of Rustum.
"Oh, dear, so you've beaten us!" and Rustum's rider, looking rather
crestfallen, her linen habit spattered with foam, joined Mallender.
"_I_ have always beaten Tom!" she gasped out breathlessly.
"Yes," added Tom, storming up on the excited cob, "but I'm a couple of
stone heavier than Mallender for one thing, and the brown plays cup and
ball--and goes as he likes, with _me_!"
"Captain Mallender rides as well as Archie," admitted Tara, with a
bright blush.
"Archie," echoed her brother, "is not in the same field--don't hit me,
Tar! but," turning to Mallender, "I expect you have been used to horses
all your life?"
"Yes; and I've hunted, and played a good deal of polo."
"And ridden races, I'll bet?"
"Only regimental," was the modest reply.
"Poor Tar, what a chance _you_ had!" jeered her brother. "Now let us
get away into the open country."
"Then you don't call this open?" questioned the stranger.
"Oh, no, wait till you see the real plains."
In a short time the trio were cantering over the coarse hard grass,
through scrubby jungle, past great red boulders, across sandy
river-beds, and dry water-courses, occasionally avoiding a yawning
nullah, that looked as if it opened into the very bowels of the earth.
Once, on a flat rock, they descried a large bright green snake coiled
up asleep. Once, they skirted a shrine, where a worshipper had just
sacrificed a kid to "Kali." Tara it was who led the way, skimming
along, on her light-footed Arab, riding with a certain wild grace, but
it was not the same horsewomanship as exhibited by Barbie Miller--that
was a masterful, and finished performance!
Walking and talking, cantering and galloping, the little party covered
about twelve miles, and then in the golden morning turned their faces
homewards, Mallender carrying with him the impression of wide yellowish
plains with purple shadows, scattered rocks and jungle, one or two
deserted temples, and a melancholy sense of space and desolation.
"This is the wild side," explained Tara, "at the other, they grow
crops; heaps of cotton, ragi, cholum and oil seed, and send it down
country. This evening we will introduce you to the great bazaar, a
native town--and you will see what rich neighbours we have."
The only bazaar that Mallender had yet explored, was the Gorah Bazaar,
in Madras; this, at Wellunga, was entirely different. In the first
place, although it was teeming with human life, there was not a single
European to be seen, nor even a Eurasian,--all were natives of the
country. Truly here was "India for the Indians!" The stalls displayed
no Western requirements; but grain, condiments, strange sweets,
coloured cottons, and muslins, piles of silk of local manufacture in
vermilion, orange, indigo, pink and green; also turbans, and tinselled
caps of all colours. Here, were working jewellers with their little
braziers; huka makers, weavers of spells, and public letter writers.
The long narrow streets reeked with the intangible but familiar bazaar
odour (a mixture of oil, grain, aromatic spices, and raw cotton).
Crowds were chaffing, gossiping, or strolling along. Here and there, a
tall, bold-looking woman covered with jewellery, and painted with khol,
passed with a defiant glare; gaily caparisoned horses with jewelled
girths, and head-bands--their manes and tails dyed rose colour, were
led snorting by, disturbing the little sacred bulls, who were poking
wet black noses into the open gram baskets.
"Those are Raka's stud!" explained Tom, "he likes to show them off.
They are bitted up, poor brutes, till their necks are nearly broken.
No wonder they are vicious! I hear he is getting two motor-cars from
Madras."
"In that case," declared Tara, "his rival will send for four. Rakar and
he are outward friends, and deadly enemies; both are grain merchants,
money-lenders, and enormously rich. Here is Rakar now!" as an obviously
important individual appeared, riding a prancing horse--held with
evident difficulty by two men,--a gigantic white Khatiawari, his mane
and tail a glowing pink, a band of gold and stones flashed above his
furious eyes; his nostrils were scarlet, figuratively they breathed
fire and slaughter, and the great animal appeared ready to break loose,
and rend the whole bazaar!
Rakar, a keen-looking man of forty, salaamed with both hands as he
passed by on his demonstrative charger.
"In old days, he would have had to get off his horse, when he met
_us_," said Tara, as she scanned him with haughty eyes.
"I think he feels safer where he is; the horse would probably eat him,"
rejoined Mallender. He was secretly uncomfortable, and anxious to get
Miss Beamish out of this highly-spiced, staring crowd,--but he had no
occasion for misgiving and uneasiness. The General and all his house
were held in high favour, and respect, in the native city.
"I think it is time for me to pay my evening visit to your father," he
remarked at last.
"So it is," agreed Tom, "I saw the parents drive home a good while ago;
all right, let us get a move on." For this manœuvre, Tom was always
prepared.
"So I hear you've done the bazaar," said the old man, to Mallender, as
he entered. "What do you think of it?"
"Well, sir, it gives me an idea of what India is--without _us_. It
might still be 1700, for all the signs of advancement--I saw people
wearing horn spectacles, writing with wood, and buying spells! But I
hear that Rakar, the rich merchant, is getting motors,--the roads are
capital, I wonder you never thought of one, you can travel over a good
bit of country, and without fatigue."
"I declare it's strange, that it never occurred to me! but begad, yes,
I'll have one! it will be a change from our three miles out, three
miles in. Why, man, I'll get down to Seringapatam, Mysore, Bangalore!
How can I buy a car, a good one?"
"In Madras. If I go down, I can choose it for you."
"So you can, but you are not gone yet. Tell me your plans, my boy. Have
you made them?--and how are you off for money?"
"All right, thank you."
"Now, that is nonsense," he answered, querulously. "I know your Uncle
cut your income, and the house swallowed your capital. How will you
live?--you must let the old man give you a hand."
"I'll let the place, and get some interest that way; the shooting is
poor, but it's a fine old house and park, and might bring in a few
hundreds a year, so I shan't starve, but I hate having nothing to do.
I'll try and get into the Territorials, or some other billet."
"Yes, and then I suppose you'll marry! Well, take my advice, young man,
benefit by _my_ experience--and look well before you leap!"
* * * * *
The morning rides were sometimes postponed till afternoon,--especially
now that there was a beautiful moon, and one day Tara said:
"This evening, you must come to the haunted battlefield, Captain
Mallender,--then you will hear something that will surprise you."
"Oh, I often hear things that surprise me; no later than this morning
at tennis, Miss Blanche told me, that she was in 'a state of nature!'"
"Poor girl! you must not laugh at her. They have had a scanty
education, but are wonderfully adaptable and quick at picking up
things. When--when," colouring faintly, "I live in the Hills, I shall
ask them on a visit; even a little station will be gay to them."
"Lily will not leave home," declared Tom, "she could not tear herself
away from Perez. That will be a match, you will see."
"Never mind Lily, but do look at the sunset," urged Tara; the little
party had made their way westward, and were approaching the scene
of more than one desperate struggle and conflict. As her companions
raised their eyes, they found themselves contemplating a transcendent
scene--extraordinary even in that land of sunsets: soft roseate clouds
set jewel-wise in an ocean of dazzling gold.
A jealous full moon was stealthily creeping up, and an evening breeze
that accompanied her gently swayed the long coarse grass and cotton
plants. Presently and almost abruptly, the dying sun turned from a
beauteous rose to a vivid and tragic red,--the shade of blood and
death!--it filled the plains and pools of water with its sinister and
terrible reflection, and the soft evening zephyr, struck suddenly chill.
"Here is the place, stand still, my steed!" quoted the girl. "I know
it by the block, that looks like a pillar and is covered with figures.
They say it's an 'Asoka' stone, and very old. It is just about here, on
this sandy stretch, that you can hear them."
"Hear what? Scorpions or snakes?" asked Mallender in a chaffing way.
Tara ignored his question with an air of affronted dignity.
Occasionally she could assume an amazingly proud, exclusive air,--and
turning to her brother, said:
"Tom, if you will hold the horses, Captain Mallender can come with
me. Please to follow," commanded the young lady, as soon as she had
alighted. "You may hear nothing, as you are so unbelieving, but again,
you may hear something that you will never forget."
After they had walked about a hundred yards, she turned abruptly to
face her companion, and said:
"Now, you must take off your cap and kneel down here and listen."
As she spoke, she sank bareheaded on the sand, and without a word,
Mallender meekly followed her example.
What an extraordinary girl! Was she playing him a trick? Tara was given
to mild practical jokes, but it was going rather too far; to bring him
fifteen miles, and plant him on his knees in the middle of an empty
plain. For some time there was no sound, beyond the impatient stamping
of the horses and jingling of their bits, and at the end of ten minutes
Mallender ventured a protest.
"I say, Miss Tara, is not this getting a bit monotonous? I expect they
have another engagement."
"Hush! Hush!" she answered authoritatively. "Don't speak!
Wait!--They--are coming."
Mallender was inclined to whistle, "The Campbells are coming," but
was afraid of the young lady's displeasure. Her occasional air of
aloofness and command impressed and surprised, though it entirely
failed to crush him.
What an awful ass he must look! Why was not Tom roaring with laughter?
As he bent his head nearer to the ground, a noxious carrion bird swept
so obtrusively close to him that he started involuntarily, and was
sensible of an extraordinary sensation of sickening repulsion. What was
that? A bugle-call! Yes, he heard it distinctly; from the far distance
came another, immediately followed by a brisk roll of drums, then drums
and fifes--accompanied by the tramp and thunder of an approaching host.
The ground seemed to tremble and vibrate under the tread of a large
body of troops who were rapidly advancing,--and yet, amazing sensation,
these troops were nowhere to be seen.
Mallender stared about in stupefied bewilderment; not a soldier
was visible, merely the empty moon-flooded plains, that appeared
to be suddenly bereft of all warmth and life--and although there
was not a breath of wind, the long grass and cotton plants, were
shivering.--_Why?_ As gradually as they approached, so gradually did
the sound of tramping feet become fainter, yet fainter, and finally
died away; one far-distant bugle-call sounded a piercing, lingering,
almost agonized challenge--then followed complete, absolute, and
ghastly silence.
Geoffrey Mallender was sensible of being unaccountably chilled and
overawed; he felt as if he had suddenly stirred the springs of some
obscure dread--had been brought to the edge of another sphere! Possibly
the experience would pass, would soon be explained, derided, and
forgotten; but for a moment this glimpse of the unknown had made his
heart beat unusually fast, and his dark hair to lie in damp rings upon
his clammy forehead. As he rose hastily to his feet and looked at his
companion, Tara's hands dropped from her face, her great grey eyes
were fixed upon him with an expression of awe, as they confronted one
another in the mystic brilliancy of moonlight. At last she said:
"Now you know what I mean by _them_."
"I do indeed," he replied with undeniable sincerity. "The most
extraordinary experience; a British column on the march! Did you hear
the drums and fifes?"
"Yes, of course, and always at the time you think the tune is
familiar--and yet never, never,--try as you will, can you recall it."
"But what does it all mean?"
"Who knows? Some say, a body of troops passed here to their death,
others, that that is folly, and the sounds have a natural explanation;
something to do with the air and echoes and refraction. All I can tell
you for certain is, that if you come here when the moon is at the third
quarter, and only then, between sunset and eight o'clock, you can hear
the troops go by. Tom has heard them, so have Mr. Strong and Perez, and
I, and now you! Never Jessie, or the Beauforts, because they cannot
ride at all--much less fifteen miles."
"And you think----?"
"That it is a part of Lord Cornwallis's old army, who were led into an
ambush, and butchered; what do you say?"
"I will let Shakespeare answer, 'There are more things in earth and
heaven, than are dreamt of in our philosophy.'"
"At any rate, you will allow that it is neither scorpions or snakes,
but something uncanny."
"I allow that," said Mallender with emphasis. "I will even admit I felt
thoroughly scared. That last bugle-call made me shake all over!"
"So you heard them?" enquired Tom, as they joined him.
"Yes, and it's the most weird hearing, bar none, I've ever experienced!"
"No doubt there are mysterious happenings in this blessed old country.
Things no one can explain; black magic and spells, and devil worship.
Well, while you two have been listening to the march of ghostly
soldiers, I've had a high old time with these three brutes. Now we must
be getting home. I'm starving, and we have a good fifteen miles between
us and supper." As he concluded, Tom turned about, and put his cob into
a sharp canter.