struck up quaveringly. "Lo! _sahibân_! it is enough for us that we have
done _durshan_ ere death. It brings contentment, even though both
sieges of Bhurtpore is denied to some of us."
As, led by Rex, they marched out to the verandah, the two officials
looked at one another.
But they said nothing for a minute. Then John Carruthers burst out:
"Damn the cipher! I told you it wasn't safe. Look here, sir, we must
keep this quiet for the time."
Horace Alexander nodded.
THERE AROSE A MAN
This was one of the many stories which Nathaniel James Craddock told me
in the cab of his engine while we used to go up and down that ribbon of
red brick metalling edged with steel which was slowly laying itself out
over a wide sandy desert.
Some of these were tragic, some comic, some betwixt and between; but
most of them were worth the re-telling, especially as told by him. But
the discursiveness of his method does not lend itself to print, so they
all suffer in the process; even though, as I write, I seem to hear the
steady grind of the engine, to feel the fine fretting of a sand storm
on my cheek, and see the clear blue eyes looking at me with a keenness
which always came as a surprise out of that bleared dissipated face.
"It was 'arter I 'ad that peep o' the Noo Jerusalem, sir, at the bottom
o' the King's Well, 'as I come upon pore old 'Oneyman. I was a bit on
the loose, you see, sir; them sort o' peeps wakes up the spiritooal
nater o' a man, an' it's heads I win, tails you lose, if 'e takes to
prayers or to drink. I tuk to the latter"--here he gave a slight cough,
and added gently--"more nor usual. An' so I come across 'Oneyman. 'E'd
'ad a peep o' hell, sir, for 'e'd seen 'is wife's dead body lyin' where
he'd left 'er safe an' sound waitin' for 'er baby to be born in doo
time." There was always a biblical twang about Craddock's recitations
which gave them a mournfully dignified tone. "'E 'ad friends in 'igh
places, sir, an' one o' them, w'en he come through 'is brain fever,
made 'im Conservancy Inspector down Bandelkhand way. It wasn't the
place for 'im. They was wot they call Suckties, sir, down there, though
there was precious little o' the babe an' sucklin' about _their_
methods, but contrariwise, battle an' murder an' sudden death. They was
for ever killin' goats an' kids, an' smearin' ole Mother Kâli with
blood--never knew such chaps for paintin' the town red! So the
_Khush-boo sahib_,[3] as they call him in their topsy turvey way, since
it weren't perfoom but real stinks down by them temple steps, couldn't
never forget the sights he see in Mutiny time. When 'e was in 'is cups,
'e'd sit an' cry about it; for 'e was a little bit of a man, sir, the
smallest man as ever I see, an' all wrinkled like an' wizened; just for
all the world the same as the monkeys as used to come down in crowds on
feast days, an' leg it with the orferings folk used to bring to ole
Mother Kâli. That's 'ow 'Oneyman come on reduction, as the sayin' is;
tho', pore chap, them as look on 'is face might a-seen that 'e wasn't
for long; not even if they'd made 'im Guv'ner-General-in-Council; for
what with--savin' your presence, sir--a galloping consumption, both o'
drink an' lungs, 'e was wearin' away like snowdrifts in summer."
Here Craddock paused to whistle a familiar tune. "Beg pardin, sir, but
it comes home to me so, for he was awful fond of 'is wife. Well!
whether it was 'is name--'Oneyman, you know, sir, being the God o'
monkeys[4]--or whether it was 'is nater, he was uncommon kind to the
_bunder logue_. Used to say they was the only Christians in the place,
'cos they wouldn't 'ave no meat offered to hidols, sir. An' it's true
as gospel, sir, they wouldn't. You should a' seen them waitin' in the
trees, and hover the arches an' crocketty things on the temples, while
three or four smug Brahmins was going the rounds with a party o'
country folk, full up o' sugar candies, an' parched rice, an' platters
o' curds to leave at each 'oly spot. It was a rare sight; for, you see,
the monkeys were 'oly too, an' the priests dursn't even 'eave a brick
at 'em.
"They 'ad just to lump it when the beasts 'oofed away with all the best
things afore their very eyes. An' 'Oneyman used to amoose himself of an
evening by sittin' on the steps an' larfin' fit to split. I told 'im it
weren't perlite; but there! it ain't no use talkin' to a man as has
seen 'is wife lyin' dead.
"Then one day an ole buck monkey 'oofed it with a bag of rupees, an'
dropped it, as 'e was climbin' a tree, above 'Oneyman's 'ead. And
'Oneyman, being in no state to know 'is own 'and, much less wot it
'eld, gathered some of 'em up, an' swore 'e'd keep 'em. That's 'ow it
was. So 'e got the sack: though anyone as had eyes might a-seen it was
the weddin' garment o' a shroud _he_ was wantin', pore chap.
"I was runnin' ballast then on a bit o' new line that was cuttin' its
way through jungle land, yard by yard an' inch by inch. It give one a
sorter shock, sir, every day, as I come up with my trucks, to find the
engine goin' so much further, an' yet to get 'eld up at last by the
same ole blocking o' trees an' creepers an' butterflies an' all that.
Seemed as though there wasn't nothin' else before one, and as if it
wasn't no use trying to get through with it. But they give me good
wage, specially after they tuk to runnin' o' nights too, so I was able
to put my hand into my breeches pocket when 'Oneyman said, 'You don't
'appen to 'ave a five-rupee about you, do'ee Craddock, for I ain't got
a feather to fly with.' Then my stoker tuk sick an' I managed ter get
'Oneyman as _local demon_. It didn't 'urt no one, you see, sir, for I
done both works without turnin' more 'airs than 'ad to turn with two
shirts, one dryin' the other; an' it give 'Oneyman time to die
respectable an' quiet like at the back o' the lamp room in the junction
where I 'ad my diggings. Not that it was much of a 'quiet and secluded
'ome for an invalid,' sir, specially after orders come to push on the
work as much as may be before His Honner the Guv'ner or some such
bigwig, I disremember which, come on tower. Still, 'e got a sight
better, an' I used to tote 'im about as stoker up an' down the line,
an' many a time as 'e see me 'angin' out my shirt to dry, 'e'd say,
pitiful like, 'It had ought ter be mine; but I'd do as much for
Nathaniel James Craddock if I could.' And he done it, sir, in the end,
for I should a' lost my billet but for 'im.
"This is 'ow it 'appened. The monkeys weren't no better after 'Oneyman
left, but rather the worse. They was more Christian-like than ever, an'
wouldn't 'ave no bowings down in the house of Rumnings. It got so bad
as the Suckties couldn't stand 'em no more; but it was some leeches as
a down-country man brought as done the trick at last. I don't mean
proper blood leeches, sir, but them whited-sepulcre-the-other-way-round
fruits as is marocky leather outside, an' my golly! in--Well! the 'ead
bottlewasher Brahman, 'im as they called the Gossoon--though w'y, I
can't say, since the only gossoon I ever 'eard tell on was a Hirish
gentleman in the Colleen Bawn--was dead on leeches--'e was a real blood
leech 'imself, if you like--but, though 'e kep 'is eye on them all the
time 'e was palavering away about Mai Kâli an' Shiv-_jee_, the ole buck
monkey was too much for 'im, an' 'e 'ad nothin' but the marocky leather
trimmings as come floatin' down peaceful-like on 'is bald 'ead and big
stummick as he stud dancin' with rage while _bunder-jee_ was eatin' the
my golly.
"That, as I said, done the trick. There was a gold-printed letter come
from Mai Kâli ter say she was lonesome away in the jungles without 'er
Hunoomân--or some such rot. Then 'is Honner the bigwig was coming, an'
so on, an' so on. It ain't 'ard to do that sort o' thing, sir, w'en you
don't have no Ten Commandments an' everyone is so accustomed to lying
that it don't strike 'em as odd.
"How they done it, I don't know. All I know is that one moonlick night
I saw the signal against me as I was running through to the junction
with sand I'd bin far to fetch. And I didn't like it. I'd bin away two
days without 'Oneyman, and bein' a bit lonesome I'd perraps had a drop
too much. Or perraps it was the moonlick night as done it." Here
Craddock's voice took on a hushed tone. "It wasn't like the Noo
Jerusalem, sir, or them yaller bottles in the chimist's shop as I used
to think was 'eaven when I was learning my dooty to my neighbour. There
wasn't nothin' glittery about it, nothin' to make you think of the far
away. It was there, right down beside you on the engine, cold an'
clear, taking the colour out of every mortal thing, till there weren't
no difference a'twixt earth an' sky; till the pin point of the pole
star wasn't no brighter than--than the safety valve; for I keeps 'em
bright, you see, sir." Here he laid his hand affectionately on the
throttle. "So I wasn't that pleased at 'aving to 'old up, specially as
I was a bit late and 'ad to get through the junction afore tha Bigwig's
train was due--for 'e was comin' that night.
"'Wot's up?' I sings out to the station-master, with an oath.
"'E laughed. 'Two truck load caged monkeys, zoological specimens rate,
attendant priests in charge, consigned to Mai Kâli. We'll hitch 'em on
behind in no time. Superintendent's orders.'
"Well, sir! it was no use swearin'; so they was 'itched up, and I went
on full steam, givin' them Brahmins a bit o' a swing, wot with the
'eavy sand in front an' the cages behind. The junction was all lit up
an' decorated for the Bigwig, flags a-flying an' red baize all along
the platform. 'E was to dine there, and the refreshment room looked
A 1--a reg'lar spread, I call it. An' there was the Superintendent,
waitin' in 'is best uniform----" Craddock paused as if to emphasise
further remarks. "'E was a real bone-silly man--there ain't no other
word for 'im, sir--bone-silly down to the last drop o' marrow. I dunno
if it was the sight o' 'im, or the drink I 'ad on board, but I forgot
to choke 'er down in time, an' we went over the points at a rattlin'
pace.
"The sand, being 'eavy, took 'em steady, but the zoological
consignment, being light, didn't. It ran off the rail, lurched into a
shed, upset, and before you cud say 'knife' there was a matter of two
'undred or more o' the specimens let loose in that there junction."
He paused again and shook his head sorrowfully. "It ain't no use tryin'
to describe it, sir. All you got to do is say ''ell an' tommy' and
leave it alone.
"'Craddock!' shrieks the Superintendent, as I stud laughin' fit to
split, as I see limber-legs at their old games, 'make that brute give
up my helmet or I'll--I'll----' Then 'e got speechless, save for bad
words, sir. You never see such a huproar. Red baize, tore to strips,
festooning the roof, 'God bless our Bigwig' flutterin' in bits like a
paperchase down the platforms, an' the mail train due in 'arf an hour.
"'You--you brought 'em 'ere, you scoundrel!' shrieks the
Superintendent, 'take 'em away again or I'll--I'll----' an' again he
refrained even from good words, sir. But 'e was bone-silly. Not as
anyone cud do anything; leastways, not till 'Oneyman step out of the
lamp room in 'is pyjamas, lookin' more dead nor alive. But there was
somethin' in his hair, sir, as made me feel as a man had arose in
Israel, for all he was so small.
"'You leave it to me,' he says, confident like; then he turns to the
bone-silly Superintendent as stood dumbfounded, staring at 'im as if 'e
were Lazarus noo raised. 'There's five an' twenty minutes yet, sir,' he
says, 'afore His Honner's train's doo. On _my_ honner as Josiah
'Oneyman, I'll 'ave 'em safe out by then--only I won't 'ave no one
a-interfering--everyone's got to obey my horders, and mine honly.'
"The bone-silly one hadn't a word to say, there was somethin' so awful
majestic about the little man in 'is pyjamas, pore chap.
"Lordy, sir! you should 'ave 'eard him next with they Suckti Brahmins
as was rubbing their bruises an' calling on Mai Kâli for assistance.
"'She ain't in it, sonnies, nor the chaps as you bamboozle, neither,'
he said, said he. 'It's you as 'ave to make a offerin' yourselves this
time, so it'll make a 'ole in your _pockets_ as well as your
_stummicks_, my boys. An' it's no use your saying you ain't got no
rupees--your credit's good enough for that.' An' here he waved 'is
'and, sir, to the row o' sweetmeat-sellers' booths and stalls as was
sot just outside the iron railings. You seen 'em, sir. You know 'ow
they looks at night. Harf a dozen trays piled up full o' treacle
stuff an' greese, with a hoil _butti_ flaring an' smoking on the
top of a pile o' their beastly toffee an' dribbling through it to
give the dead flies a-stickin' to it a flavour. Yes! you've seen the
'_met-aiy-yen-shee-yen_'"--here he gave an excellent rendering of the
sweetmeat sellers' cry--"an' so've I--an' 'ad to eat it, too, w'en I
was 'ard put to it. Well! 'e got the lot in, brass platters an' all,
an' then began the rummiest go you ever see. W'en I was a boy, sir, in
quires an' places w'ere they sing, parson use ter make us run through
the service so as to get the Amens right up to time--it's 'arder nor
runnin' a mail train, though you wouldn't believe it, sir. Well! they
Suckti Brahmans 'ad to do the 'ole caboodle, same as if ole Mother Kâli
was sitting like a spider with 'er eight red legs an' harms on the top
of each sand-truck. For you see, sir, they was standin' fair an' square
on the lines, engine's steam up, et cetera. It was a rare sight. The
monkeys was fine an' pleased with the red baize an' the flags an' the
motters, but the moment they 'eard them Brahmans begin to chant, they
cock their tails an' listen, an' the ole buck monkey 'e clomb crafty
along the girders so's to be ready to drop down so soon's he could. But
'Oneyman 'ad 'is views, an' wasn't goin' to be give away prematoor; so
'e kep a Suckti gennoflexing by each platter o' toffee until every
truck 'ad its altar. Then 'e clumb up to the engine, an' beckon me to
foller.
"I was standin' with one fut on the step when he shouted to the
Suckties, 'Hands off.' I give you my word, sir, it weren't 'arf a
minute before them trucks was covered as black as flies with
them monkeys, grabbing an' yelling an' searchin' out for
_met-aiy-en-sher-een_ like all possessed, for they were main hungry,
'avin' bin shut up all the arternoon. So there was our chanst, an' I
was just leapin' in to put on steam, w'en that bone-silly ass of a
Superintendent says, says 'e, 'You 'aven't got the baton.' An' sure
'nuff I 'adn't. For it was a single line, you see, sir, an' we 'ad to
run a mile or two through a signal station afore branchin' off. Of
course, I didn't ought to 'ave noticed 'is remark, but took the chance;
but there it is! I was a bit on, an' I'd laughed fit to split my sides,
let alone my 'ead. So I putt down my fut agin, an' made to go fetch it,
when the engine she gave a screech an' started full speed. Whether
'Oneyman thought I was aboard, or whether he thought 'e 'ad no time to
lose, I never knew, for after that 'twas no laughin' matter, I can tell
you. But there wasn't much time, for as I run down the platform to
'urry up the baton, I see some o' the platters nigh empty already, an'
they monkeys looking as if they were makin' ready to 'oof it. So when
the screech come I turn back; but I was too late. She 'ad ten mile an
hour on her afore I lep upon the back buffer, seeing there wasn't no
other way o' getting along. An' then, sir"--Craddock drew his hand over
his mouth, thoughtfully--"what come next sobered me in a jiffy. Talk o'
the ride to Khiva! it wasn't in it to the ride I 'ad on the back buffer
o' those sand trucks! Thirty, forty, fifty mile an hour, trundlin'
along a consignment of A 1 devils from the nethermost 'ell. It was 'arf
fright with them, sir, an' 'arf fury. As we scud past the signal
station, full speed, I see the _babu_ fall on 'is face, an' cry
'_dohai! dohai!_' as if 'twere the Day o' Judgment.
"An' then, sir, I begun to think o' that blockin' o' trees an' creepers
an' butterflies, as was sure to crop up somewhere, closer or furder,
and to wonder if 'Oneyman knew w'en to put on the brake; for 'e was
only a stoker an' not one at that. Lordy, sir, we must a-bin a queer
sight, rushin' through the moonlick night, with the engine flarin' fit
to bust, a full cargo of devils from 'ell dancin' an' whoopin' an'
'owlin' like all possessed, an' Nathanial James Craddock astride the
hoff buffer. I tell you, sir, if any one 'ad said 'whip be'ind,' I'd
a-got down; but I didn't want to leave pore old 'Oneyman off my own
bat.
"So there we were; but the little fireflies didn't seem to care. I see
'em from the buffer as we flew past, eddyin' up an' down, an' round an'
round, just twinklin' among the trees like the stars up aloft--just as
unreasonable-like an' careless as if there wasn't nothin' to worry
about in this world--and there ain't, sir, since all flesh is grass, as
the man said to the vegetarian. And then we come to the beginning of
the end o' the line, but there weren't no slackenin' down o' steam; so
I prepare to jump----
"An' jump I did. When I come to myself the moonlick was as peaceful as
the grave. The engine 'ad cooled down, an' there weren't no sign o'
life anywhere. Only a 'eap of wreckage. I found pore old 'Oneyman lying
dead, chucked clean out o' the cab. 'E 'adn't no mark on 'im, an'
somehow it seemed to me as if 'e 'ad died natural afore we run slap
bang into the blockin' o' trees. For 'e knew enuff about stokin', sir,
to turn off steam. I wouldn't a-took 'im on if 'e 'adn't.
"But there weren't a sign o' them monkeys, sir; an' wot's more, there's
never bin one seen in that there jungle since."
Here Craddock rose, yawned, and passed over to the cranks and handles
and valves. The next instant an ear-piercing whistle rang through the
dust-laden air, seeming to set it a-quiver.
"That's to rouse old Meditations, sir," he said cheerfully; "but it
won't do it. 'E's petrified to 'is place, an' I shall 'ave to lift 'im
out o' the way, as per usual."
From afar I could see, like a speck upon the receding ribbon of rail,
an immovable figure on the Permanent Way.
DRY GOODS
"Mr. Blooker, sir," said the head clerk severely, "no one whose chest
measurement is under thirty-two inches has any right to beat time to
'Rule, Britannia,' even when it is played by a German band in the
street."
A small man whose desk stood nearest the office window, against which a
City fog lay like yellow cotton wool, blushed, apologised incoherently,
and returned to fair general averages.
The other clerks tittered, since this was a recurring criticism. For,
though Alexander Blooker's chest measurement made active patriotism
impossible, the heart within it was full of that sentiment. This was
unmistakable when he boomed forth solid songs of the past, such as the
"Death of Nelson" and the "Soldier's Tear," in his big solid bass
voice; the more modern ditties about "beggars" and "gurls" and "kids"
and "khaki" being, he assured his club, "unsuitable to his organ." And
Alexander Blooker was very proud of his organ.
"_Never, never, never will be slaves_."
Quite unconsciously his dutiful pen punctuated each quaver and
semi-quaver, though in his heart of hearts he knew that he himself had
been a slave all his life. First to an old aunt who had lately died
full of self-satisfaction because she left him fifty pounds out of the
money she had saved from the earnings he had brought home to her all
his working life; and secondly to the head clerk, Mr. Mossop. Such a
kind, good----
"Blooker, please!" chanted the office boy, showing round the glass
screen.
It was the voice of Fate. Wondering vaguely whether this unusual
call to the innermost Holy of Holies, "Our Firm," presaged
dismissal--possibly for punctuating patriotism--he went meekly.
And he returned as he went, to sit down solidly once more to fair
general averages. The other clerks waited for a remark, but none came;
so the pens scraped and scraped until time was up.
Then, when the office was empty, save for himself and Alexander, Mr.
Mossop, the head clerk, went over to the latter's desk.
"We can finish that for you, Mr. Blooker," he said, "you have much to
do."
"Thank you, sir," came the solemn reply, "I am much obliged to you,
sir, but I would rather complete it myself, sir, before going to----"
Then decorum gave way. "Mr. Mossop, sir," he continued wildly, "am I on
my 'ed or on my 'eels? I can't believe it--and it is all your doing,
sir. I feel sure 'Our Firm' wouldn't never have done it if you hadn't
spoken for me, and--and--I don't know whether I am on my 'ed or my
'eels!"
As a rule Alexander Blooker struggled successfully with the accent of
Cockaigne, but in times of stress, and especially when using certain
set phrases, he adhered to it as if he felt it added forcefulness of
expression.
There was a suspicion of a tear in his pale blue eye, and Mr. Mossop
felt inclined to brace him up by telling him the truth; namely, that
"Our Firm" contemplated in the near future closing the Distant Depot to
the charge of which he had been appointed. Briefly, it did not pay:
Germany had got at the markets in the way that Germany has, when
competition is old-fashioned. But Alexander Blooker's face came up from
the ledger over which it had bent itself for a moment with an
expression on it that startled Mr. Mossop out of contemptuous
compassion.
"I am going to run this job on my own, sir," he began eagerly; "I'm
going to work it on Imperial lines----"
"H'm--we are not at the debating club, Mr. Blooker," interrupted the
head clerk; but Alexander was beyond recall; his voice took on the
blatant tone of the public speaker.
"Shrinkage in trade follows shortage in piece goods, and our piece
goods is short. Germany's ain't. I don't say that 'Our Firm' is as bad
as most, but there's a cool quarter yard out of the forty for rubbage
border and all that. Besides, mind you, some of 'em goes as far as
three-quarters!--a _cool_-three-quarters!!--and why not? If you tike a
hinch why not tike a hell!"
This was apparently quite conclusive, for the head clerk hastily
changed the subject to the necessary preparations. But two days could
be allowed, as the Distant Depot lay up a river that was only navigable
for six months in the year; and four of these were already overpast. It
was rather a rush, but the present occupant of the post had
unexpectedly accepted the agency of a liquor shop; and the half-yearly
market must not find "Our Firm" without a representative. So the first
mail--it was a journey of six or seven weeks--must be the one. If any
money was wanted--"Thank you, sir," replied Alexander Blooker; "the
fifty pounds of my own that my aunt left me will do for the present:
by-and-by perhaps----"
He looked mysterious, but he said no more to anyone; unless he
whispered something to the glass case illustrating cotton manufactures
in the Imperial Institute, which had always had an especial fascination
for him. Despite his hurry, he was looking at the peculiarly broad
borders of a pile of piece goods and muttering under his breath, "If
you tike a hinch you may as well tike a hell," when a man of gold lace
and buttons found him, after closing time, and hustled him by corridors
of Imperial pickle bottle into the Sahara of Exhibition Road.
Within two months he was--to use his own expression--"taking down the
shutters" in a very different desert. For the "Distant Depot" lay at
the Back o' Beyont. Whereabouts in the World-Circle matters nothing.
Briefly, it was one of those advancing tentacles of civilisation
boasting the Mission-House, the Dry-Goods-Store or two and the
Whisky-Shop, which carry between them civilisation to the aboriginal.
Beyond it lay desolation, except for a single telegraph wire which
spanned the void towards the west, instead of following the tortuous
curves of the river (now sinking into sandbanks), which after a long
course south-eastward eventually found itself at the same goal--the
sea-board. There was no town to speak of; only a cluster of leaf-huts,
besides the Mission-House and Chapel, the two Stores and the
Liquor-Shop. And these were so close clustered that to Alexander
Blooker, when he rose to look out over his new world on the morning
after his arrival, it seemed as if the bell which was being rung from
the Chapel was a general invitation to pray, and buy, and drink.