A ROPE TRICK
This conversation with FitzGerald gave his housemate ample food for
serious reflection. If Krauss was a deep-dyed scoundrel, and his wife a
victim of the cocaine habit, what a home for Sophy! If he could only
take her away from it! But what grounds had he for hoping that she
would marry him? In spite of their pleasant meetings, their rides and
dances, he had never ventured to hint at his real feelings, knowing
that he was far from being what is called “an eligible match,” and
having a surprisingly humble opinion of his own merits. He was now
receiving five hundred rupees a month, which, after all, did not go far
in expensive Rangoon. Could a man marry on such an income, or on the
supposition that what was barely enough for one would be sufficient for
two?
As far as he was in a position to judge, Sophy’s ideas were not
extravagant, and she would be better almost anywhere than in her
present abode; but he had not the slightest right to suppose that she
cared two pins for him; on the other hand, he had a hateful and
well-founded conviction that not a few of the young men among her
acquaintances would be glad to claim Miss Leigh as a wife. There were
Fotheringay the A.D.C., Gubbins of the Oil Company, and one or two
others, fluttering about her and scorching their wings.
After a month of procrastination and delay, the Rangoon Commissariat
Department, under an energetic new official, decided to embark a
collection of sixty elephants, which had long been awaiting transport
from the neighbourhood of Rangoon, to India. Now a large sailing-ship
had been chartered to carry this interesting cargo across the Bay of
Bengal to Vizagapatam, where they would be scattered to work in all
parts of the country.
The sailing-ship was anchored across the river at Dallah, and, in order
to reach their destination, the elephants were called upon to swim the
Rangoon River—sixty, no fewer, mostly young animals which had been
caught and trained, the property of the Indian Government. The move
took place upon Thursday (the Garrison holiday), and a large number of
people were assembled to witness this unusual departure. The emigrants
were ranged up in groups, two huge tuskers appeared to be in charge of
the business of embarkation, and, to do them justice, carried it out
with conspicuous success, taking it in turn to convoy select parties
across the river, here a mile wide. The “personally conducted” were at
first delighted to be in the water. They splashed and played about like
huge porpoises, and were smacked and kept in order like naughty
children by their great tusker nurse, and eventually guided to a
landing. Some, on the other hand, did not enjoy the excursion, were
alarmed by the force of the current and turned tail. These were chased,
vigorously chastised, herded in the way they should go, and escorted to
the other side—all save one, which obstinately refused to quit terra
firma, and was accordingly fastened to a launch, in order to be towed
across; but the powerful and headstrong brute towed the launch inland
and, having utterly smashed it and destroyed several bamboo sheds,
effected its triumphal escape.
Meanwhile the fifty-nine were assembled at Dallah, patiently awaiting
their fate. A number of people had collected on the landing-stage,
close to the big ship, to watch her strange cargo being placed on
board. The lower hold of this huge four-master had been entirely
cleared, and into this receptacle the devoted elephants were lowered by
a gigantic steam crane. Meanwhile they were formed up behind a huge
shed in order that none should witness the scheme of departure, or the
undignified transfer of its companions. A selected victim was coaxed,
flattered, caressed, and then marched proudly down the pier between two
deceitful and majestic tuskers, a pair of stern old gentlemen that
would stand no nonsense; soothed and bribed by a generous supply of
sugar-cane, the unsuspicious traveller was halted directly under the
crane; a belly-band encircled his enormous waist, and to this was
attached a hook; then, at a given signal, the astonished animal was
suddenly hoisted into the air. And what a sight! Trunk waving madly,
legs wildly reaching for foothold, a helpless and ridiculous monster,
endeavouring to clutch the rigging. Presently the frantic passenger was
slowly lowered to the hold, where his own beloved mahout and a pile of
luscious lucerne awaited his agitated arrival.
Lookers-on found the spectacle of a helpless elephant struggling in
mid-air excessively amusing, and the immediate neighbourhood of the
ship was crowded. Here were the Pomeroys, Maitlands, Morgans, Puffles,
Mrs. Gregory, Miss Leigh, and numbers of others, including Shafto, who,
much interested in this novel sight, had taken several snapshots. Just
as he snapped the last elephant, he felt the sharp jerk of a rope round
his ankles, and in another second was swept into the racing Irrawaddy.
As the water surged over his head, the sharp shock and the submersion
momentarily took away his breath. Shafto was a strong swimmer, but the
current was tremendous and not to be denied; it carried him right out
into the middle of the river, spinning him round and round like a leaf
in a torrent. He realised his danger and that his lease of life could
now be counted by seconds. His thoughts flew straight to Sophy; with a
sensation of piercing agony he felt that he would never see her again.
By extraordinary good fortune a steam launch which was crossing had
noticed the swimmer’s dark head, as well as the shouts and the signals
from the landing-stage, and promptly overtook him, drew him breathless
and half drowned on board, and landed him at Dallah. Shafto had had a
miraculous escape, for those who fall into the Irrawaddy rarely emerge
alive; his adventure was much discussed and debated for one whole day
at Gregory’s and elsewhere.
“How on earth did it happen? Lucky you were clear of the ship,
otherwise you would have been sucked underneath and never been found,”
remarked a friend; “we cannot imagine how you tumbled in—did anyone
_shove_ you?”
“Oh, I just tripped over a rope,” he announced, when questioned at the
Club; but to FitzGerald he confided the truth—the whole truth:
“I was standing pretty close to the edge of the stage—among a lot of
natives, as it happened—taking snapshots of the elephants, when all of
a sudden I felt a rope twist round my legs; it gave a sort of sharp
pull, and the next moment I was in the water! It’s a nasty experience
to have the Irrawaddy closing over your head; I have its taste in my
mouth still! I’ll swear that there were hands at the end of the rope,
and that I saw no rope about when I first came on the pier, for I
happened to be early—and it was pretty empty. Later, there was a big
crowd and a lot of pushing and hustling. I noticed several Chinamen
hanging round and pressing together; now that I come to think of it,
they surrounded me. The rope was not the usual thick hawser, but
something thinner and more flexible—more like whipcord such as a fellow
could carry in his pocket.”
“What did I tell you?” said FitzGerald, thumping on the table with both
his fists. “We must get a move on and try to corner Krauss; that rope
was a preliminary experiment, and all but landed you in Kingdom Come!”