DRIFTWOOD SPARS
THE STORIES OF A MAN, A BOY, A WOMAN, AND CERTAIN OTHER PEOPLE WHO
STRANGELY MET UPON THE SEA OF LIFE
BY
CAPTAIN PERCIVAL CHRISTOPHER WREN, I.A.R.
AUTHOR OF "DEW AND MILDEW", "FATHER GREGORY", "SNAKE AND SWORD", ETC.
"Like driftwood spars which meet and pass
Upon the boundless ocean-plain,
So on the sea of life, alas!
Man nears man, meets, and leaves again"
--MATTHEW ARNOLD
TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED WIFE
NOTE.--This book was written in the year 1912
CONTENTS.
I. THE MAN (Mainly concerning the early life of John, Robin
Ross-Ellison.)
II. THE BOY (Mainly concerning the life of Moussa Isa Somali.)
III. THE WOMAN (And Augustus Grabble; General Murger; Sergeant-Major
Lawrence-Smith; Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius Gosling-Green; Mr. Horace Faggit;
as well as a reformed JOHN ROBIN ROSS-ELLISON.)
IV. "MEET AND LEAVE AGAIN"
CHAPTER I.
THE MAN.
(Mainly concerning the early life of John Robin Ross-Ellison.)
Truth is stranger than fiction, and many of the coincidences of real
life are truly stranger than the most daring imaginings of the
fictionist.
Now, I, Major Michael Malet-Marsac, happened at the moment to be
thinking of my dear and deeply lamented friend John Ross-Ellison, and to
be pondering, for the thousandth time, his extraordinary life and more
extraordinary death. Nor had I the very faintest notion that the
Subedar-Major had ever heard of such a person, much less that he was
actually his own brother, or, to be exact, his half-brother. You see I
had known Ross-Ellison intimately as one only can know the man with whom
one has worked, soldiered, suffered, and faced death. Not only had I
known, admired and respected him--I had loved him. There is no other
word for it; I loved him as a brother loves a brother, as a son loves
his father, as the fighting-man loves the born leader of fighting-men: I
loved him as Jonathan loved David. Indeed it was actually a case of
"passing the love of women" for although he killed Cleopatra Dearman,
the only woman for whom I ever cared, I fear I have forgiven him and
almost forgotten her.
But to return to the Subedar-Major. "Peace, fool! Art blind as Ibrahim
Mahmud the Weeper," growled that burly Native Officer as the zealous and
over-anxious young sentry cried out and pointed to where, in the
moonlight, the returning reconnoitring-patrol was to be seen as it
emerged from the lye-bushes of the dry river-bed.
A recumbent comrade of the outpost sentry group sniggered.
My own sympathies were decidedly with the sentry, for I had fever, and
"fever is another man". In any case, hours of peering, watching,
imagining and waiting, for the attack that will surely come--and never
comes--try even experienced nerves.
"And who was Ibrahim the Weeper, Subedar-Major Saheb?" I inquired of the
redoubtable warrior as he joined me.
"He was my brother's enemy, Sahib," replied Mir Daoud Khan Mir Hafiz
Ullah Khan, principal Native Officer of the 99th Baluch Light Infantry
and member of the ruling family of Mekran Kot in far Kubristan.
"And what made him so blind as to be for a proverb unto you?"
"Just some little drops of water, Sahib, nothing more," replied the big
man with a smile that lifted the curling moustache and showed the
dazzling perfect teeth.
It was bitter, bitter cold--cold as it only can be in hot countries (I
have never felt the cold in Russia as I have in India) and the khaki
flannel shirt, khaki tunic, shorts and putties that had seemed so hot
in the cruel heat of the day as we made our painful way across the
valley, seemed miserably inadequate at night, on the windy hill-top.
Moreover I was in the cold stage of a go of fever, and to have escaped
sunstroke in the natural oven of that awful valley at mid-day seemed but
the prelude to being frost-bitten on the mountain at midnight.
Subedar-Major Mir Daoud Khan Mir Hafiz Ullah Khan appeared wholly
unaffected by the 100° variation in temperature, but then he had a few
odd stone of comfortable fat and was bred to such climatic trifles. He,
moreover, knew not fever, and, unlike me, had not experienced dysentery,
malaria, enteric and pneumonia fairly recently.
"And had the hand of your brother anything to do with the little drops
of water that made Ibrahim the Weeper so blind?" I asked.
"Something, Sahib," replied Mir Daoud Khan with a laugh, "but the hand
of Allah had more than that of my brother. It is a strange story. True
stories are sometimes far stranger than those of the bazaar tale-tellers
whose trade it is to invent or remember wondrous tales and stories,
myths, and legends."
"We have a proverb to that effect, Mir Saheb. Let us sit in the shelter
of this rock and you shall tell me the story. Our eyes can work while
tongue and ear play--or would you sleep?"
"_Nahin_, Sahib! Am I a Sahib that I should regard night as the time
wholly sacred to sleep and day as the time when to sleep is sin? I will
tell the Sahib the tale of the Blindness of Ibrahim Mahmud the Weeper,
well knowing that he, a truth-speaker, will believe the truth spoken by
his servant. To no liar would it seem possible.
"Know then, Sahib, that this brother of mine was not my mother's son,
though the son of my father (Mir Hafiz Ullah Khan Mir Faquir Mahommed
Afzul Khan), who was the youngest son of His Highness the Jam Saheb of
Mekran Kot in Kubristan. And he, my father, was a great traveller, a
restless wanderer, and crossed the Black Water many times. To Englistan
he went, and without crossing water he also went to the capital of the
Amir of Russia to say certain things, quietly, from the King of Islam,
the Amir of Afghanistan. To where the big Waler horses come from he also
went, and to where they take the camels for use in the hot and sandy
northern parts."
"Yes, Australia" I remarked.
"Without doubt, if the Sahib be pleased to say it. And there, having
taken many camels in a ship that he might sell them at a profit, he
wedded a white woman--a woman of the race of the Highland soldiers of
Englistan, such as are in this very Brigade."
"Married a Scotchwoman?"
"Without doubt. Of a low caste--her father being a drunkard and landless
(though grandson of a Lord Sahib), living by horses and camels menially,
out-casted, a jail-bird. Formerly he had carried the mail through the
desert, a fine rider and brave man, but _sharab_[1] had loosened the
thigh in the saddle and palsied hand and eye. On hearing this news, the
Jam Saheb was exceeding wroth, for he had planned a good marriage for
his son, and he arranged that the woman should die if my father, on
whom be Peace, brought her to Mekran Kot. 'Tis but desert and mountain,
Sahib, with a few big _jagirs_[2] and some villages, a good fort, a
crumbling tower, and a town on the Caravan Road--but the Jam Saheb's
words are clearly heard and for many miles.
[1] Wine.
[2] Estates.
"Our father, however, was not so foolish as to bring the woman to his
home, for he knew that Pathan horse-dealers, camel-men, and traders
would have taken the truth, and more than the truth, concerning the
woman's social position to the gossips of Mekran Kot. And, apart from
the fact that her father was a drunkard, landless, a jail-bird,
out-casted by his caste-fellows, no father loves to see his son marry
with a woman of another community, nor with any woman but her with whose
father he has made his arrangements.
"So my father, bringing the fair woman, his wife, by ship to Karachi,
travelled by the _rêlwêy terain_ to Kot Ghazi and left her there in
India, where she would be safe. There he left her with her _butcha_,[3]
my half-brother, and journeyed toward the setting sun to look upon the
face of his father the Jam Saheb. And the Jam Saheb long turned his face
from him and would not look upon him nor give him his blessing--and only
relented when my father took to himself another wife, my mother, the
lady of noble birth whom the Jam Saheb had desired for him--and
sojourned for a season at Mekran Kot. But after I was born of this union
(I am of pure and noble descent) his heart wearied, being with the fair
woman at Kot Ghazi, for whom he yearned, and with her son, his own son,
yet so white of skin, so blue of eye, the fairest child who ever had a
Pathan father. Yea, my brother was even fairer than I, who, as the
Huzoor knoweth, have grey eyes, and hair and beard that are not darkly
brown.
[3] Baby.
"So my father began to make journeys to Kot Ghazi to visit the woman his
first wife, and the boy his first-born. And she, who loved him much, and
whom he loved, prevailed upon him to name my brother after _her_ father
as well as after himself, the child's father (as is our custom) and so
my brother was rightly called Mir Jan Rah-bin-Ras el-Isan Ilderim Dost
Mahommed Mir Hafiz Ullah Khan."
"And what part of that is the name of his mother's father?" I asked, for
the Subedar-Major's rapid utterance of the name conveyed nothing of
familiar English or Scottish names to my mind.
"Jan Rah-bin-Ras el-Isan," replied Mir Daoud Khan; "that was her
father's name, Sahib."
"Say it again, slowly."
"Jan Rah-bin-Ras el-Isan."
"I have it! Yes, but _what_?--John Robin Ross-Ellison? Good God! But _I_
knew a John Robin Ross-Ellison when _I_ was a Captain. He was Colonel of
the Corps of which I was Adjutant, in fact--the Gungapur Volunteer
Rifles.... By Jove! That explains a lot. _John Robin Ross-Ellison_!"
I was too incredulous to be astounded. It _could_ not be.
"_Han_[4] Sahib, _bé shak_![5] Jan Rah-bin-Ras el-Isan Ilderim Dost
Mahommed Mir Hafiz Ullah Khan was his name. And his mother called him
Jan Rah-bin-Ras el-Isan and his father, Mir Hafiz Ullah Khan, called
him Ilderim Dost Mahommed."
[4] Yes.
[5] Without doubt.
"H'm! A Scotch Pathan, brought up by an Australian girl in India, would
be a rare bird--and of rare possibilities naturally," I murmured, while
my mind worked quickly backward.
"My brother was unlike us in some things, Sahib. He was fond of the
_sharab_ called '_Whisky_' and of dogs; he drank smoke from the cheroot
after the fashion of the Sahib-log and not from the hookah nor the
_bidi_;[6] he wore boots; he struck with the clenched fist when angered;
and never did he squat down upon his heels nor sit cross-legged upon the
ground. Yet he was true Pathan in many ways during his life, and he died
as a Pathan should, concerning his honour (and a woman). Yea--and in his
last fight, ere he was hanged, he killed more men with his long Khyber
knife, single-handed against a mob, than ever did lone man before with
cold steel in fair fight."
[6] Native cigarette.
Then it was so. And the Subedar-Major was John Robin Ross-Ellison's
brother!
"He may have been foolishly kind to women, servants and dogs, and of a
foolish type of honour that taketh not every possible advantage of the
foe--but he was very brave, Huzoor, a strong enemy, and when he began he
made an end, and if that same honour were affronted he killed his man.
And yet he did not kill Ibrahim Mahmud the Weeper, who surely earned his
death twice, and who tried to kill him in a manner most terrible to
think of. No, he did not--but it shall be told.... And the white woman
prevailed upon our father to make her man-child a Sahib and to let him
go to the _maktab_[7] and _madressah-tul-Islam_[8] at Kot Ghazi, to
learn the clerkly lore that gives no grip to the hand on the sword-hilt
and lance-shaft nor to the thighs in the saddle, no skill to the fingers
on the reins, no length of sight to the eye, no steadiness to the rifle
and the lance, no understanding of the world and men and things. But our
father corrected all this, that the learning might do him no harm, for
oft-times he brought him to Mekran Kot (where my mother tried to poison
him), and he took him across the Black Water and to Kabul and Calcutta
and showed him the world. Also he taught him all he knew of the horse,
the rifle, the sword, and the lance--which was no small matter. Thus,
much of the time wasted at school was harmless, and what the boy lost
through the folly of his mother was redeemed by the wisdom of his
father. Truly are our mothers our best friends and worst enemies. Why,
when I was but a child my mother gave me money and bade me go prove--but
I digress. Well, thus my brother grew up not ignorant of the things a
man should know if he is to be a man and not a _babu_, but the woman,
his mother, wept sore whenever he was taken from her, and gave my father
trouble and annoyance as women ever do. And when, at last, she begged
that the boy might enter the service of the Sirkar as a wielder of the
pen in an office in Kot Ghazi, and strive to become a leading
_munshi_[9] and then a Deputy-Saheb, a _babu_ in very fact, my father
was wroth, and said the boy would be a warrior--yea, though he had to
die in his first skirmish and ere his beard were grown. Then the woman
wept and wearied my father until it seemed better to him that she should
die and, being at peace, bring peace. No quiet would he have at Mekran
Kot from my mother and his father, the Jam Saheb, while the woman lived,
nor would she herself allow him quiet at Kot Ghazi. And was she not
growing old and skinny moreover? And so he sent my brother to Mekran
Kot--and the woman died, without scandal. So my brother dwelt
thenceforward in Mekran Kot, knowing many things, for he had passed a
great _imtahan_[10] at Bombay and won a _sertifcut_[11] thereby, whereof
the Jam Saheb was very pleased, for the son of the Vizier had also gone
to a _madresseh_ and won a _sertifcut_, and it was time the pride of the
Vizier and his son were abated.
[7] School.
[8] Mohammedan High School.
[9] Clerk.
[10] Examination.
[11] Certificate.
"Now the son of the Vizier, Mahmud Shahbaz, was Ibrahim--and a mean
mangy pariah cur this Ibrahim Mahmud was, having been educated, and he
hated my brother bitterly by reason of the _sertifcut_ and on account of
a matter concerning a dancing-girl, one of those beautiful fat Mekranis,
and, by reason of his hatred and envy and jealousy, my mother made
common cause with him, she also desiring my brother's death, in that her
husband loved this child of another woman, an alien, his first love,
better than he loved hers. But _I_ bore him no ill-will, Huzoor. I loved
him and admired his deeds.
"Many attempts they made, but though my mother was clever and Ibrahim
Mahmud and his father the Vizier were unscrupulous, my brother was in
the protection of the Prophet. Moreover he was much away from Mekran
Kot, being, like our father, a great traveller and soon irked by
whatever place he might be in. And, one time, he returned home, having
been to Germany on secret service (a thing he often did before he became
a Sahib) and to France and Africa on a little matter of rifles for
Afghanistan and the Border, and spoke to us of that very Somaliland to
which this very _pultan_, the 99th Baluch Light Infantry, went in 1908
(was it?), and how the English were losing prestige there and would have
to send troops or receive _boondah_[12] and the blackened face from him
they called the Mad Mullah. And yet another time he returned from India
bringing a Somali boy, a black-faced youth, but a good Mussulman, whom,
some time before, he had known and saved from death in Africa, and now
had most strangely encountered again. And this Somali lad--who was not a
_hubshi_, a Woolly One, not a Sidi[13] slave--saved my brother's life in
his turn. I said he was not a slave--but in a sense he was, for he asked
nothing better than to sit in the shadow of my brother throughout his
life; for he loved my brother as the Huzoors' dogs love their masters,
yea--he would rather have had blows from my brother than gold from
another. He it was who saved Mir Jan Rah-bin-Ras el-Isan from the
terrible death prepared for him by Ibrahim Mahmud. It was during this
visit to Mekran Kot that Mahmud Shahbaz, the Vizier, announced
that he was about to send his learned son, the dog Ibrahim, to
Englistan to become English-made first-class Pleader--what they
called--'_Barishtar-at-Lar_' is it not, Sahib?"
[12] An insulting and contemptuous gesture.
[13] A class of negroes, much employed as sailors and boatmen, and
called Seedeeboys.
"That's it, Mir Saheb," replied I, sitting alert with chattering teeth
and shivering ague-stricken body. "Barrister-at Law.... Sit as close to
me as you can, for warmth.... Hark! Is that a signal?" as a long high
wavering note rose from the dry river-bed before us and wailed
lugubriously upon the night, rising and falling in mournful cadence.
"'Twas a genuine jackal-cry, Huzoor. One can always tell the imitation
if jackals have sung one's lullaby from birth--though most Pathans can
deceive white ears in the matter.... Well, this made things no
pleasanter, for Ibrahim crowed like the dung-hill cock he was, and
boasted loudly. Also my mother urged him to do a deed ere he left Mekran
Kot for so long a sojourn in Belait.[14] And to her incitements and his
own inclination and desires was added that which made revenge and my
brother's death the chiefest things in all the world to Ibrahim Mahmud,
and it happened thus.... But do I weary the Sahib with my babble?"
[14] Europe.
"Nay--nay--far from it, Mir Saheb," replied I. "The sentry of talk
challenges the approaching skirmishers of sleep. The thong of narrative
drives off the dogs of tedium. Tell on." And in point of fact I was now
too credulous to be anything but astounded.... _John Robin
Ross-Ellison_!
"Well, one day, my brother and I went forth to shoot sand-grouse,
tuloor,[15] chikor,[16] chinkara[17] and perchance ibex, leaving behind
this black body-servant Moussa Isa, the Somali boy, because he was
sick. And it was supposed that we should not return for a week at the
least. But on the third day we returned, my brother's eyes being
inflamed and sore and he fearing blindness if he remained out in the
desert glare. This is a common thing, as the Sahib knoweth, when dust
and sun combine against the eyes of those who have read over-many books
and written over-much with the steel pen upon white paper, and my
brother was somewhat prone to this trouble in the desert if he exhausted
himself with excessive _shikar_ and--other matters. And this angered him
greatly. Yet it was all ordained by Allah for the undoing of that
unclean dog Ibrahim Mahmud--for, returning and riding on his white camel
(a far-famed pacer of speed and endurance) under the great gateway of
the Jam's fort--high enough for a camel-rider to pass unstooping and
long enough for a _rêlwêy_-tunnel--he came upon Mahmud Ibrahim and his
friends and followers (for he had many such, who thought he might
succeed his father as Vizier) doing a thing that enraged my brother very
greatly. Swinging at the end of a cord tied to his hands, which were
bound behind his back, was the boy Moussa Isa the Somali, apparently
dead, for his eyes were closed and he gave no sign of pain as Ibrahim's
gang of pimps, panders, bullies and _budmashes_[18] kept him swinging to
and fro by blows of _lathis_[19] and by kicks, while Ibrahim and his
friends, at a short distance, strove to hit the moving body with stones.
I suppose the agony of hanging forward from the arms, and the blows of
staff and stone, had stunned the lad--who had offended Ibrahim, it
appeared, by preventing him from entering my brother's house--probably
to poison his water-_lotah_[20] and _gurrah_[21]--at the door of which
he, Moussa Isa, lay sick. My brother, Mir Jan, sprang from his camel
without waiting for the driver to make it kneel, and going up to
Ibrahim, he struck him with his closed, but empty, hand. Not with the
slap that stings and angers, he struck him, but with the thud that stuns
and injures, upon the mouth, removing certain of his teeth,--such being
his anger and his strength. Rising from the ground and plucking forth
his knife, Ibrahim sprang at my brother who, unarmed, straightway smote
him senseless, and that is talked of in Mekran Kot to this day.
Yea--senseless. Placing the thumb upon the knuckles of the clenched
fingers, he smote at the chin of Ibrahim, and laid him, as one dead,
upon the earth. Straight to the front from the shoulder and not
downwards nor swinging sideways he struck, and it was as though Ibrahim
had been shot. The Sahib being English will believe this, but many
Baluchis and Pathans do not. They cannot believe it, though to me
Subedar-Major Mir Daoud Khan Mir Hafiz Ullah Khan of the 99th Baluch
Light Infantry of the Army of the King Emperor of India, they pretend
that they do, when I tell of that great deed.... Then my brother loosed
Moussa Isa with his own hand, saying that even as he had served Ibrahim
Mahmud so would he serve any man who injured a hair of the head of his
body-servant. And Moussa Isa clave to my brother yet the more, and when
a great Sidi slave entered the room of my brother by night, doubtless
hired by Ibrahim Mahmud to slay him, Moussa Isa, grappling with him,
tore out his throat with his teeth, though stabbed many times by the
Sidi, ere my brother could light torch or wick to tell friend from foe.
Whether he were thief or hired murderer, none could say--least of all
the Sidi when Moussa Isa, at my brother's bidding, loosed his teeth from
the man's throat. But all men held that it was the work of Ibrahim, for,
on recovering his senses that day of the blow, he had walked up to my
brother Mir Jan and said:--
[15] Bustard.
[16] A kind of partridge.
[17] Gazelle.
[18] Bad characters.
[19] Long staves.
[20] Brass cup or vase.
[21] Basin or pot.
"'For that blow will I have a great revenge, O Jan Rah-bin-Ras el-Isan
Ilderim Dost Mahommed Mir Hafiz Ullah Khan, descendant of Mirs and of
_mlecca_ dogs, this year or next year, or ten years hence, or when thou
art old, or upon thy first-born. By the sacred names of God, by the
Beard of the Prophet, by the hilt and blade of this my knife, and by the
life of my oldest son, I swear to have a vengeance on thee that shall
turn men pale as they whisper it. _And may Allah smite me blind_ if I do
not unto thee a thing of which children yet unborn shall speak with
awe.'
"Thus spake Ibrahim, son of Mahmud, for though a dog, a mangy pariah
cur, he was still a Pathan.
"But my brother laughed in his face and said but 'It would seem that I
too have tortured a slave' whereat Ibrahim repeated again 'Yea--_may
Allah smite me blind!_'
"And something of this coming to the ears of our father, now heir to the
Jam of Mekran Kot, as his brothers were dead (in the big Border War they
died), he prayed the Jam Saheb to hasten the departure of the Vizier's
cub, and also told the Vizier that he would surely cut out his tongue
if aught befell Mir Jan. So the Vizier sent Ibrahim to Kot Ghazi on
business of investing moneys--wrung by knavery, doubtless, from litigant
suitors, candidates, criminals, and the poor of Mekran Kot. And shortly
after, the Jam Saheb heard of a new kind of gun that fires six of the
fat cartridges such as are used for the shooting of birds, without
reloading; and he bade Mir Jan who understood all things, and the ways
of the European gun-shop at Kot Ghazi, to hasten forthwith and procure
him a couple, and if none were in Kot Ghazi to send a _tar_[22] to
Bombay for them, or even, if necessary, to Englistan, though at a cost
of two rupees a word. With such a gun the Jam hoped to get better
_shikar_ when sitting on his camel and circling round the foolish
crouching grouse or _tuloor_, and firing at them as they sat. He thought
he might fire twice or thrice at them sitting, and again twice or thrice
at the remnant flying, and perchance hit some on the wing, after the
wonderful manner of the Sahibs. So he sent my brother, knowing him to be
both clever and honest and understanding the speech and ways of the
English most fully.
[22] Telegram.
"Now it is many days' journey, Sahib, across the desert and the
mountains, from Mekran Kot in Kubristan to Kot Ghazi in India, but at
Kot Ghazi is a fine bungalow, the property of the Jam Saheb, and there
all travellers from his house may sojourn and rest after their long and
perilous travel.
"Taking me and Mir Abdul Haq and Mir Hussein Ali and many men and
servants, among whom was the body-servant, the boy Moussa Isa Somali, he
set forth, a little depressed that we heard not the cry of the
partridge in the fields of Mekran Kot as we started--not exactly a bad
omen, but lacking a good one. And sure enough, ere we won to Kot Ghazi,
his eyes became red and inflamed, very sore and painful to use. So, he
put the tail of his _puggri_[23] about his face and rode all day from
sun-rise to sun-set in darkness, his camel being driven by Abdulali
Gulamali Bokhari--the same who later rose to fame and honour as an
outlaw and was hanged at Peshawar after a brave and successful career.
And being arrived, in due course, at Kot Ghazi, before entering the
bungalow belonging to the Jam Saheb, he knelt his camel at the door of
the shop of a European _hakim_--in English a--er--"
[23] Turban.
"Chemist, Mir Saheb," I suggested.
"Doubtless, since your honour says it--of a _kimmish_, and entering, to
the Eurasian dog therein said in English, of which he knew everything
(and taught me much, as your honour knows), 'Look you. I need lotion for
my eyes, eye medicine, and a bath for them' and the man mixed various
waters and poured them into a blue bottle with red labels, very
beautiful to see, and wrote upon it. Also he gave my brother a small cup
of glass, shaped like the mouth of the _pulla_ fish or the eye-socket of
a man. And my brother, knowing what to do, used the things then and
there, to the wonder of Abdul Haq and Hussein Ali, pouring the liquor
into the glass cup, and holding it to his eyes, and with back-thrown
head washing the eye and soothing it.
"'Shahbas!'[24] quoth he. 'It is good,' and anon we proceeded to the
gun-shop and then to the bungalow belonging to the Jam Saheb. And lo
and behold, here we discovered the dog Ibrahim Mahmud, and my brother
twisted the knife of memory in the wound of insult by ordering him to
quit the room he occupied and seek another, since Mir Jan intended the
room for his body-servant, Moussa Isa Somali--the servant of a Mir being
more deserving of the room than the son of a Vizier! This was unwise,
but my brother's heart was too great to fear (or to fathom) the guile of
such a serpent as Ibrahim.
[24] Bravo! Excellent!
"And when he had bathed and prayed, eaten and drunk and rested, my
brother again anointed his eyes with the liquid--which though only like
water, was strong to soothe and heal. And our servants and people
watched him doing this with wonder and admiration, and the news of it
spread to the servants of Ibrahim Mahmud, who told their master of this
cleverness of Mir Jan,--and Ibrahim, after a while, sent a message and a
present to my brother, humbling himself, and asking that he too might
see this thing.
"And Mir Jan, perhaps a little proud of his English ways, sat upon his
_charpai_,[25] and bathed his eyes in the little bath, until, wearying
of the trouble of pouring back the liquid into the bottle, he would
press the bottle itself to his eye and throw back his head. So his eyes
were quickly eased of pain, and in the evening we all went forth to
enjoy.
[25] Native cot or bed.
"On his return to the room, Mir Jan flung himself, weary, upon his
_charpai_ and Moussa Isa lay across the doorway.
"In the morning my brother awoke and sitting on the _charpai_, took up
the blue bottle, drew the cork, and raised the bottle towards his eyes.
As he did this, Moussa Isa entered, and knowing not why he did so,
sprang at his master and dashed the bottle from his hand. It fell to the
ground but broke not, the floor being _dhurrie_[26]-covered.
[26] Carpet.
"In greatest amazement Mir Jan glanced from Moussa Isa to the bottle,
clenching his hand to strike the boy--when behold! the very floor
bubbled and smoked beneath the touch of the liquid as it ran from the
bottle. By the Beard of the Prophet, that stone floor bubbled and smoked
like water and the _dhurrie_ was burnt! Snatching up the bottle my
brother dropped drops from it upon the blade of his knife, upon the
leather of his boots, upon paint and brass and clothing--and behold it
was liquid fire, burning and corroding all that it touched! To me he
called, and, being shown these things, I could scarce believe--and then
I cried aloud 'Ibrahim Mahmud! Thine enemy!... Oh, my brother,--thine
eyes!' and I remembered the words of Ibrahim, '_a vengeance that shall
turn men pale as they whisper it--a thing of which children yet unborn
shall speak with awe_' and we rushed to his room,--to find it empty. He
and his best camel and its driver were gone, but all his people and
servants and _oont-wallahs_[27] were in the _serai_,[28] and said they
knew not where he was, but had received a _hookum_[29] over-night to set
out that day for Mekran Kot. And, catching up a pariah puppy, I
re-entered the house and dropped one drop from the blue bottle into its
eye. Sahib, even _I_ pitied the creature and slew it quickly with my
knife. And it was this that Ibrahim Mahmud had intended for the blue
eyes of my beautiful brother. This was the vengeance of which men should
speak in whispers. Those who saw and heard that puppy would speak of it
in whispers indeed--or not at all. I felt sick and my fingers itched to
madness for the throat of Ibrahim Mahmud. Had I seen him then, I would
have put out his eyes with my thumbs. Nay--I would have used the burning
liquid upon him as he had designed it should be used by my brother.
[27] Camel-men.
[28] Halting-enclosure, rest-house.
[29] Order.
"Hearing Mir Jan's voice, I hurried forth, and found that his white
pacing-camel was already saddled and that he sat in the front seat,
prepared to drive. 'Up, Daoud Khan' he cried to me 'we go
a-hunting'--and I sprang to the rear saddle even as the camel rose.
'Lead on, Moussa Isa, and track as thou hast never tracked before, if
thou wouldst live,' said he to the Somali, a noted _paggi_,[30] even
among the Baluch and Sindhi _paggis_ of the police at Peshawar and Kot
Ghazi. 'I can track the path of yesterday's bird through the air and of
yesterday's fish through the water,' answered the black boy; 'and I
would find this Ibrahim by smell though he had blinded _me_,' and he led
on. Down the Sudder Bazaar he went unfaltering, though hundreds of feet
of camels, horses, bullocks and of men were treading its dust. As we
passed the shop of the European _hakim_, yes, the _kimmish_, my brother
leapt down and entering the shop asked questions. Returning and mounting
he said to me: ''Tis as I thought. Hither he came last night, and,
saying he was science-knowing failed B.Sc., demanded certain acids,
that, being mixed, will eat up even gold--which no other acid can
digest, nor even assail....'"
[30] Tracker.
"_Aqua Regia_, or vitriol, I believe," I murmured, still marvelling ...
_Ross-Ellison!_
"Doubtless, if your honour is pleased to say so. 'He must have poured
these acids into the bottle while we were abroad last night,' continued
my brother. 'Oh, the dog! The treacherous dreadful dog!... 'Twas in a
good hour that I saved Moussa Isa,' and indeed I too blessed that
Somali, so mysteriously moved by Allah to dash the bottle from my
brother's hand.
"'Think you that Ibrahim Mahmud bribed Moussa and that he repented as he
saw you about to anoint your eyes with the acid?' I asked of my brother.
"'Nay--Moussa was with me until I returned,' replied he, 'and returning,
I put the bottle beneath my pillow. Besides, Ibrahim had fled ere we
returned to the bungalow. Moreover, Moussa would lose his tongue ere he
would tell me a lie, his eyes ere he would see me suffer, his hand ere
he would take a bribe against me. No--Allah moved his heart--rewarding
me for saving his life at the risk of mine own, when he lay beneath a
lion,--or else it is that the black dog hath the instincts of a dog and
knows when evil threatens what it loves.' And indeed it is a wonderful
thing and true; and Moussa Isa never knew how he knew, but said his arm
moved of itself and that he wondered at himself as he struck the bottle
from his master's hand. And, in time, we left the city and followed the
road and found that Ibrahim was fleeing to Mekran Kot, doubtless to be
far away when the thing happened, and also to get counsel and money from
his father and my mother, should suspicion fall on him and flight be
necessary. And anon even untrained eyes could see where he had left the
Caravan Road and taken the shorter route whereby camels bearing no heavy
load could come by steeper passes and dangerous tracks in shorter time
to Mekran Kot, provided the rider bore water sufficient--for there was
no oasis nor well. 'Enough, Moussa Isa, thou mayest return, I can track
the camel of Ibrahim now that he hath left the road,' quoth my brother,
breaking a long silence; but Moussa Isa, panting as he ran before,
replied: 'I come, Mir Saheb. I shall not fall until mine eyes have
beheld thy vengeance--in which perchance, _I_ may take a part. He called
me "_Hubshi_".'
"'He hath many hours' start, Moussa,' said my brother, 'and his camel is
a good one. He will not halt and sleep for many hours even though he
suppose me dead!'
"'I can run for a day; for a day and a night I can run,' replied the
Somali, 'and I can run until the hour of thy vengeance cometh. He called
_me_ "Hubshi"' ... and he ran on.
"Sahib, for the whole of that day he ran beside the fast camel, my
brother drawing rein for no single minute, and when, at dawn, I awoke
from broken slumber in the saddle, Moussa Isa was running yet! And then
we heard the cry of the partridge and knew that our luck was good.
"'He may have left the track,' quoth my brother soon after dawn, 'but I
think he is making for Mekran Kot, to get money and documents and to
escape again ere news of his deed--or the suspicion of him--reaches the
Jam Saheb. We may have missed him, but I could not halt and wait for
daylight. He cannot be far ahead of us now. This camel shall live on
milk and meal and wheaten bread, finest _bhoosa_[31] and chosen young
green shoots, and buds, and leaves--and he shall have a collar of gold
with golden bells, and reins of silk, and hanging silken tassels, and he
shall----" and then Moussa Isa gave a hoarse scream and pointed to the
sky-line above which rose a wisp of smoke.
[31] Bran.
"'It is he,' said my brother, and within the hour we beheld the little
bush-tent of Ibrahim Mahmud (made with cloths thrown over a bent bush)
and his camel, near to which, his _oont-wallah_ Suleiman Abdulla had
kindled a fire and prepared food. (Later this liar swore that he made
the fire smoke with green twigs to guide the pursuit,--a foolish lie,
for he knew not what Ibrahim had done, nor anything but that his master
hastened.)
"Moussa Isa staggered to where Ibrahim Mahmud lay asleep, looked upon
his face, and fell, seeming to be about to die.
"Making a little _chukker_[32] round, my brother drove the camel between
Suleiman and the tent and made it kneel.
[32] Circuit, course.
"'_Salaam aleikoum_,[33] Mir Saheb,' said Suleiman, and my brother
replied:--
[33] A Mussulman greeting.
"'Salaam. Tend thou my camel and prepare food for me, and my brother,
and my servant. And if thou wouldst not hang in a pig's skin, be wise
and wary, and keep eyes, ears, and mouth closed.' And we drank water.
"Then, treading softly, we went to the tent where Ibrahim Mahmud slept
and sat us down where we could look upon his face. There he slept,
Sahib, peacefully, like a little child!--having left Mir Jan to die the
death 'whereof men should speak with awe,' as he had threatened.
"We sat beside him and watched. Saying nothing, we sat and watched. An
hour passed and an hour again. For another hour without moving or
speaking we sat and Moussa Isa joined us and watched.
"'Twas sweet, and I licked my lips and hoped he might not wake for
hours, although I hungered. The actual revenge is very, very sweet,
Sahib, but does it exceed the joy of watching the enemy as he lies
wholly at your mercy, lies in the hollow of your hand and is your poor
foolish plaything,--knave made fool at last? Like statues we sat, moving
not our eyes from his face, and we were very happy.
"Then, suddenly, he awoke and his eyes fell on my brother--and he
shrieked aloud, as the hare shrieks when hound or jackal seize her; as
the woman shrieks when the door goes down before the raiders and the
thatch goes up in flame.
"Thus he shrieked.
"We moved not.
"'Why cryest thou, dear brother?' asked Mir Jan in a soft, sweet voice.
"'I--I--thought thou wast a spirit, come to--' he faltered, and my
brother answered:--
"'And why should _I_ be a spirit, my brother? Am I not young and
strong?'
"'I dreamed,' quavered Ibrahim.
"'I too have had a dream,' said my brother.
"''Twas but a dream, Mir Jan. I will arise and prepare some--' replied
Ibrahim, affecting ease of manner but poorly, for he had no real nerve.
"'Thou wilt not arise yet, Ibrahim Mahmud,' murmured my brother gently.
"'Why?'
"'Because thine eyes are somewhat wearied and I purpose to wash them
with my magic water,' and as he held up the blue bottle with the red
label Ibrahim screamed like a girl and flung himself forward at my
brother's feet, shrieking and praying for mercy:--
"'_No, No!_' he howled; 'not _that!_ Mercy, O kingly son of Kings! I
will give thee--"
"'Nay, my brother,--what is this?' asked Mir Jan softly, with kind
caressing voice. 'What is all this? I do but propose to bathe thine eyes
with this same magic water wherewith I bathed mine own, the day before
yesterday. Thou didst see me do it--thou didst watch me do it.'
"'Mercy--most noble Mir! Have pity, 'twas not I. Mercy!' he screamed.
"'But, Ibrahim, dear brother' expostulated Mir Jan, 'why this objection
to my magic water? It gave me great relief and my eyes were quickly
healed. Thine own need care--for see--water gushes from them even now.'
"The dog howled--like a dog--and offered lakhs of rupees.
"'But surely, my brother, what gave me relief will give thee relief?
Thou knowest how my eyes were soothed and healed, and that it is a
potent charm, and surely _it is not changed_?' Mir Jan Rah-bin-Ras
el-Isan was all Pathan then, Sahib, whatever he may have been at other
times. I could not have played more skilfully with the dog myself.
"At last, turning to Moussa Isa he said:--
"'Our brother seemeth distraught, and perchance will do himself some
injury if he be not tended with care and watched over. Bind him, to make
sure that he hurt not himself in this strange madness that hath
o'ertaken him, making him fancy harm even in this healing balm. Bind him
tightly.' And at that, the treacherous, murderous dog found his manhood
for a moment and made to spring to his feet and fight, but as he tried
to rise, Moussa Isa kicked him in the face and fell upon him.
"'Shall I serve thee as I served thy _Hubshi_ hireling, thy Sidi slave?'
he grunted and showed his sharp strong teeth.
"'Perchance 'twould cure him of his madness if we bled the poor soul a
little,' cooed my brother, putting his hand to his cummerbund where was
his long Afghan knife, and Ibrahim Mahmud lay still. Picking up his big,
green turban from beside his rug, I bound his arms to his sides and
then, going forth, got baggage-cords from the _oont-wallah_ and likewise
his _puggri_, and Moussa Isa bound his feet and hands and knees.
"Then my brother called Suleiman Abdulla the _oont-wallah_, and bade
Moussa Isa sleep--which he did with his knife in his hand, having bound
his foot to that of Ibrahim.
"'Look, thou dog,' said Mir Jan to Suleiman, 'should this rat-flea
escape, thy soul and thy body shall pay, for I will put out thine eyes
with glowing charcoal and hang thee in the skin of a pig, if I have to
follow thee to Cabul to do it--yea, to Balkh or Bokhara. See to it.' And
Suleiman put his head upon my brother's feet, poured dust upon it and
said 'So be it, Mir Saheb. Do this and more if he escape,' and we slept
awhile.
"Anon we awoke, ate, drank and smoked, my brother smoking the cheroots
of the Sahib-log and I having to be content with the _bidis_ of Suleiman
as there was no hookah.
"And when we had rested we went and sat before the face of Ibrahim and
gazed upon him long, without words.
"And he wept. Like a woman he wept, and said 'Slay me, Mir Saheb, and
have done. Slay me with thy knife.'
"But my brother replied softly and sweetly:--
"'What wild words are these, Ibrahim? Why should I slay thee? Some
matter of a quarrel there was concerning thy torturing of my
servant--but I am not of them that bear grudges and nurse hatred. In no
anger slay thee with my knife? Why should I injure thee? I do most
solemnly swear, Ibrahim, that I will do thee no wilful hurt. I will but
anoint thine eyes with the contents of this bottle just as I did anoint
my own. Why should I slay thee or do thee hurt?'
"And I chuckled aloud. He was all Pathan then, Sahib, and handling his
enemy right subtly.
"And Ibrahim wept yet more loudly and said again:--
"'Slay me and have done.' Then my brother gave him the name by which he
was known ever after, saying:--
"'Why should I slay thee, _Ibrahim, the Weeper_?' and he produced the
bottle and held it above that villain's face.
"His screams were music to me, and in the joy of his black heart Moussa
Isa burst into some strange chant in his own Somali tongue.
"'Nay, our friends must hear thy eloquence and songs, Ibrahim,' said my
brother, after he had held the bottle tilted above the face of the
Weeper for some minutes. ''Twere greedy to keep this to ourselves.'
"Again and again that day my brother would say: 'Nay--I cannot wait
longer. Poor Ibrahim's weeping eyes must be relieved at once,' and he
would produce the bottle, uncork it, and hold it over Ibrahim's face as
he writhed and screamed and twisted in his bonds.
"'What ails thee, Ibrahim the Weeper?' he would coo. 'Thou knowest it is
a soothing lotion. Didst thou not see me use it on mine own eyes?' Yea,
he was true Pathan then, and I loved him the more.
"A hundred times that day he did thus and enjoyed the music of Ibrahim's
screams, and by night the dog was a little mad. So, lest we defeat
ourselves and lose something of the sport our souls loved, we left him
in peace that night, if 'peace' it is to know that the dreadful death
you have prepared for another now overhangs you. Moussa Isa kept watch
through the night. And in the morning came Abdul Haq and Hussein Ali
and the servants and _oont-wallahs_, save a few who had been sent with
laden camels by the Caravan Road. And, when all had eaten and rested, my
brother held _durbar_,[34] having placed Ibrahim Mahmud in the midst,
bound, and looking like one who has long lain upon a bed of sickness.
[34] Meeting.
"This _durbar_ proceeded with the greatest solemnity and no man smiled
when my brother said: 'And now, touching the matter of my beloved and
respected Ibrahim Mahmud, son of our grandfather's Vizier,--the learned
Ibrahim, who shortly goeth (perhaps) across the black water to Englistan
to become a great and famous pleader,--can any suggest the cause of the
strange and distressing madness that hath come upon him so suddenly?
For, behold, I have to keep him bound lest he do himself an injury, and
constantly he crieth, "Kill me, Mir Saheb, kill me with thy knife and
make an end." And when I go to bathe his poor eyes, so sore and red with
weeping, behold he shrieketh like the _rêlwêy terain_ at Peshawar and
weepeth like a woman.'
"And Abdul Haq spoke and said: 'Is it so indeed, Mir Saheb?' And my
brother said: 'It is so;' and Hussein Ali said: 'Is it so indeed, Mir
Saheb?' And my brother said 'It is so;' and all men said the same thing
gravely and my brother made the same answer.
"Sahib, I shall never forget the joy of that _durbar_ with Ibrahim the
Weeper there, like a trapped rat, in the midst, looking from face to
face for mercy.
"'Yea--it is so. It is indeed so,' again said my brother when all had
asked. 'You shall see--and hear. Behold I will drop but one drop of my
soothing lotion into each of his eyes!' ... and he turned to Ibrahim the
Weeper, with the uncorked bottle in his hand--the bottle from which came
forth smoke, though it was cold. But Ibrahim rolled screaming, and
strove to thrust his face into the ground. 'It is strange indeed,' mused
Abdul Haq, stroking his beard, while none smiled. 'Strange, in every
truth. But thou hast not dropped the drops, Mir Saheb. Perchance he will
arise and thank thee and be cured of this madness when he feels the
healing anointment that so benefited thine own eyes. Oh, the cleverness
of these European _hakims_,' and he raised hands and eyes in wonder as
he sighed piously.
"'Yea--perchance he will,' agreed my brother and bade Moussa Isa hold
him by the ears with his face to the sky while the _oont-wallahs_ kept
him on his back. And Ibrahim's body heaved up those four strong men as
it bent like a bow and bucked like a horse, while my brother removed the
cork once again.
"His shrieks delighted my soul.
"''Tis a marvellous mystery to me,' sighed my brother. 'He knows how
innocent and healing are these waters and yet he refuses them. He saw me
use them on my own eyes--and surely the medicine is unchanged?' And he
balanced the bottle sideways above the face of his enemy and allowed the
devilish acid to well up and impend upon the very edge of the neck of
the bottle, as he murmured: 'But a single drop for each eye! More I
cannot spare--to-day. Perchance a drop for each ear to-morrow, and one
for his tongue on the next day--if his madness spare him to us for so
long.'
"Then, as Ibrahim, foaming, shrieked curses and cried aloud to Allah
and Mohammed his Prophet, he said: 'Nay, this is ingratitude. He shall
not have them to-day at all, but shall endure without them till sunrise
to-morrow. Take him yonder, and lay him on that flat rock, bareheaded in
the sun, that his tears may be dried for him.' ...
"Yea! I found no fault with my brother then, Sahib.
"He was a master in his revenge. And the _durbar_ murmured its applause,
and praised and thanked my brother. Not one of them but had suffered at
the hands of Mahmud Shahbaz, his father, the Vizier, or at the insolent
hands of this his own son.... Then Mir Jan called to Moussa Isa, his
body-servant, and said unto him:--
"'Hear, Moussa Isa, and make no tiny error if thou wouldst see
to-morrow's sun and go to Paradise anon. Feed that carrion well and
pretend to be filled with the pity that is the child of avarice. Ask
what he will give thee to help him to escape. Affect to haggle long, and
speak much of the difficulties and dangers of the deed. At length agree
to put him on my fast camel this night at moon-rise, if thou art left as
his guard and we are wrapt in slumber. Play thy part well, and show thy
remorse at cheating thy master--even for a lakh[35] of rupees--yea, and
show fear of what will happen to thee, and pretend distrust of him. At
length succumb again, and as the moon just shows above the mountains
untie his bonds and do thus and thus--' and he whispered instructions
while a light shone in the eyes of Moussa Isa, the Somali, and a smile
played about his mouth.
[35] One hundred thousand.
"And Mir Jan told the matter that night to all and gave instructions.
"Moussa Isa meanwhile did everything as he was bid and, while we ate, he
carried his own food to the Weeper, as though secretly.
"Long and merrily we feasted, pretending to drink to excess of the
forbidden _sharab_, singing and behaving like toddy-laden coolies, and
in time we staggered to our carpets, put on our _poshteens_,[36] pulled
rugs over our heads and slept--not.
[36] Warm sheep-skin coats.
"From under his rug my brother kept watch. Shortly after, Moussa Isa
arose from beside Ibrahim the Weeper and crawled like a snake to where
the camels knelt in a ring, and there he saddled the swift white camel
of Mir Jan, and I heard its bubbling snarl as he made it rise, and led
it over near to where Ibrahim lay. There he made it kneel again, and,
throwing the nose-rope over its head, he laid the loop thereof, with his
stick, on the front seat of the saddle. This done, he crept back to
Ibrahim Mahmud and feigned sleep awhile. Anon, none stirring, he began
to untie with his teeth and knife-point the cords that bound the
captive, and when, at length, the man was free, Moussa chafed his
stiffened arms and legs, his hands and feet.
"When, after a time, Ibrahim tried to rise, he fell again and
again, and the moon not yet having risen above the mountains, the
avaricious-seeming Moussa again massaged and chafed the limbs of the
villain Ibrahim, who earnestly prayed Moussa Isa to lay him on the
saddle as he was--and depart ere some sleeper awoke. But Moussa said
'twould be vain to start until Ibrahim could sit in the saddle and hold
on, and he continued to rub his arms and legs.
"But when the edge of the moon shone above the mountain, Moussa placed
the arm of Ibrahim around his neck, put his arm round Ibrahim's body,
and staggered with him to where the racing-camel knelt. After a few
steps the strength of Ibrahim seemed to return, and, by the time they
reached the camel, he could totter on his feet and stand without help.
With some difficulty Moussa hoisted him into the rear saddle. Having
done so, he thrust the stirrups upon his feet and commenced to unwind
his puggri.
"'Mount, mount!' whispered Ibrahim.
"'Nay, I must tie thee on,' replied Moussa Isa and, knotting one end of
the _puggri_ to the back of the saddle, he passed it twice round Ibrahim
and tied the other end near the first. This done, and Ibrahim being in a
frantic fever of haste and fear and hope, Moussa Isa commenced to
bargain, Ibrahim agreeing to every demand and promising even more.
"'Anything! anything!' he shrieked beneath his breath. 'Bargain as we
go. You cannot ask too much. I and my father will strip ourselves for
thee.' ... And having tortured him awhile, Moussa sprang into the saddle
and brought the camel to its feet--as my brother's voice said, softly
and sweetly:--
"'Wouldst thou leave us, O Ibrahim, my friend?' and my own chimed in:--
"'Could'st thou leave us, O Ibrahim, my brother's friend?' and the voice
of Abdul Haq followed with:--
"'Shouldst thou leave us, O Ibrahim, my cousin's friend?' and Hussein
Ali's voice added:--
"'Do not leave us, O Ibrahim, my friend's friend.' Like the wolf-pack,
every other voice in the camp in turn implored:--
"'Never leave us, O Ibrahim, our master's friend.'
"'Go! go!' shrieked Ibrahim, kicking with his heels at the camel's sides
and striking at Moussa Isa, as that obedient youth, raising his stick,
caused the camel to bound forward, and drove it, swiftly trotting--to
where my brother lay, and there made it kneel again....
"Dost thou sleep, Huzoor?"
"Nay, Mir Saheb," I replied, "nor would I till your tale be done and I
have seen the return of another reconnoitring-patrol. We might then take
turns.... Nay, I will not sleep at all. 'Tis too near dawn--when things
are wont to happen in time of war."
Little did the worthy Subedar-Major guess how, or why, his tale
enthralled me.
"I have nearly done, Sahib.... On the morrow my brother said: 'To-day I
will make an end. After the evening prayer let all assemble and behold
the anointing of the eyes of Ibrahim the Weeper with the same balm that
he intended to be applied to mine.' And during the day men drove strong
stakes deep into the ground, the distance between them being equal to
the width of Ibrahim's head, which they measured--telling him why. Also
pegs were driven into the ground convenient for the fastening of his
hands and feet, and stones were collected as large as men could carry.
"And, after evening prayer and prostration we took Ibrahim, and forcing
his head between the stakes so that he could not turn it, we tied his
hands and feet to the pegs and weighted his body with the stones, being
careful to do him no injury and to cause no such pain as might detract
from the real torture, and lessen his punishment.
"And then Mir Jan stood over him with the bottle and said, softly and
sweetly:--
"'Ibrahim, my friend, thou didst vow upon me a vengeance, the telling of
which should turn men pale, because I struck thee for torturing my
servant. And now I return good for thine evil, for I take pity on thy
weeping eyes and heal them. These several days thou hast refused this
benefaction with floods of tears, and sobs and screams. Now, behold, and
see how foolish thou hast been,' and he spilt a drop from the bottle, so
that it fell near the face of Ibrahim, but not on it.
"And I was amazed to see that the stone upon which the drop fell did not
bubble and boil. This prolongation and refinement of the torture I could
appreciate and enjoy--but why did not the acid affect the stone? 'Twas
as though mere cold water had fallen upon it. Nor was the bottle smoking
as always hitherto.
"And even as I wondered, my brother quickly stooped and dashed some of
the contents of the bottle in the eyes of Ibrahim the Weeper.
"With a shriek that pierced our ear-drums and must have been heard for
many kos,[37] Ibrahim writhed and jerked so that the stones were thrown
from his body and the pegs that held his feet and hands were torn from
the ground. The stakes holding his head firmly, he flung his body over
until his head was beneath it and then back again, and screamed like a
wounded horse. At last he wrenched his head free, and, holding his hands
to his face--which appeared to be in no way injured--leapt up and ran
round and round in circles, until he was seized, and, by my brother's
orders, his hands were torn from his face.
[37] Kos = two miles.
"And behold, his eyes and face were unmarked and uninjured, and the
liquid that dripped upon his clothing made no mark and did no hurt.
"'_Blind_,' he shrieked,' I am _blind!_ O Merciful Allah, my eyes!' and
he fell, howling.
"'Now that is very strange,' said my brother, 'for I threw pure, plain,
cold water in his face. See me drink of the remainder!' and he drank
from the bottle, and so did I, in fear and wonder. Cold, pure, fair
water it was, and nothing else!
"But Ibrahim the Weeper was blind. Stone blind to his dying day and
never looked upon the sun again. Little drops of water had struck him
blind. Nay, the Hand of Allah had struck him blind--him who had cried:
'_May Allah strike me blind_ if I do not unto thee a thing of which
children yet unborn shall speak with awe". He had tried to do such a
thing and God had struck him blind--though my brother, who was very
learned, spoke of self-suggestion, and of imagination being sometimes
strong enough to make the imagined come to pass. (He told of a man who
died for no reason, on a certain day at a certain hour, because his
father had done so and he believed that _he_ would also. But more likely
it was witchcraft and he was under a curse.)
"Howbeit, little drops of pure water blinded Ibrahim the Weeper. And
there the foreign blood of my poor brother showed forth. He could not
escape the taint and was weak. At the last moment he had wavered and,
like a fool, had forgiven his enemy."
"Was he a Christian?" I asked (and had often wondered in the past).
"_Nahin_, Sahib! He was a Mussulman, my father having had him taught
with special care by a holy _moulvie_,[38] by reason of the fact that
his mother had had him sprinkled with holy water by her priests and had
taught him the tenets of the Christian faith--doubtless a high and noble
one since your honour is of it."
[38] Priest.
"He had been taught the Christian doctrines, then?"
"Without doubt, Sahib. Throughout his childhood; in the absence of his
father. And doubtless this aided his foreign blood in making him act
thus foolishly."
"Doubtless," I agreed, with a smile.
"Yea, at the last moment he had put his vengeance from him and behaved
like a weak fool, throwing away the acid, cleaning the bottle and
filling it with pure water. He had intended to give Ibrahim a fright
(and also the opprobrious title of _the Weeper_), to teach him a lesson
and to let him go--provided he swore on the Q'ran never to return to
Mekran Kot when he left for England.... Such a man was my poor brother.
But the hand of Allah intervened and Ibrahim the Weeper lived and died
stone blind.... A strange man that poor brother of mine, strong save
when his foreign blood and foreign religion arose like poison within him
and made him weak.... There was the case of the English Sergeant
Larnce-Ishmeet whom he spared and sent into the English lines in the
little Border War."
"Lance-Sergeant Smith? What regiment?" I asked.
"I know not, Sahib, save that it was a British Infantry Regiment. (He
was not Lance-Sergeant Ishmeet but Sergeant Larnce-Ishmeet.) We ... I
mean ... they ... slew many of a Company that was doing rear-guard and
their officers being slain and many men also, a Sergeant took them off
with great skill. Section by section, from point to point he retired
them, and our ... their ... triumphant joy at the capture and slaughter
of the Company was changed to gnashing of teeth--for we lost many and
the Company retired safely on the main body. But we got the Sergeant,
badly wounded, and my brother would not have him slain. Rather he showed
him much honour and had him borne to Mekran Kot, and when he was healed
he took him to within sight of the outermost Khyber fort and set him
free.... Yet was he not an enemy, Sahib, taken in war? Strange
weaknesses had my poor brother...."
"I knew a Sergeant-Major Lawrence-Smith," I remarked, as light dawned on
me after pondering "Larnce-Ishmeet." "He shot himself at Duri some time
ago."
"He was a brave man," said Mir Daoud Khan. "Peace be upon him."
"And what became of your brother?" I asked, although I knew only too
well--alas!
"He left Mekran Kot when I did, Sahib, for our father died, the old Jam
Saheb was poisoned, and we had to flee or die. I never saw him again for
he made much money (out of rifles), travelled widely, and became a
Sahib (and I followed the _pultan_[39]). But he died as a Pathan
should--for his honour. In Gungapur jail they hanged him (after the
failure of the foolish attempt by some seditious Sikhs and Punjabis and
Bengalis at a second Great Killing) and I do not care to speak of that
thing even to--"
[39] Infantry Regiment.
A sputter of musketry broke out in the thick vegetation of the
river-bed, crackled and spread, as Subedar-Major Mir Daoud Khan (once
against the civilized, brave and distinguished officer) and I sprang to
our feet and hurried to our posts--I, even at that moment, thinking how
small a World is this, and how long is the long arm of Coincidence. Here
was I, while waiting for what then seemed almost certain death, hearing
from the lips of his own brother, the early history of the remarkable,
secretive and mysterious man whom I had loved above all men, and whose
death had been the tragedy of my life.