Life's Handicap: Being Stories of Mine Own People

  THE HEAD OF THE DISTRICT

  There's a convict more in the Central Jail, Behind the old mud wall; There's a lifter less on the Border trail, And the Queen's Peace over all, Dear boys The Queen's Peace over all.

  For we must bear our leader's blame, On us the shame will fall, If we lift our hand from a fettered land And the Queen's Peace over all, Dear boys, The Queen's Peace over all! THE RUNNING OF SHINDAND.

  I

  The Indus had risen in flood without warning. Last night it was afordable shallow; to-night five miles of raving muddy water parted bankand caving bank, and the river was still rising under the moon. A litterborne by six bearded men, all unused to the work, stopped in the whitesand that bordered the whiter plain.

  'It's God's will,' they said. 'We dare not cross to-night, even in aboat. Let us light a fire and cook food. We be tired men.'

  They looked at the litter inquiringly. Within, the Deputy Commissionerof the Kot-Kumharsen district lay dying of fever. They had brought himacross country, six fighting-men of a frontier clan that he had won overto the paths of a moderate righteousness, when he had broken down at thefoot of their inhospitable hills. And Tallantire, his assistant, rodewith them, heavy-hearted as heavy-eyed with sorrow and lack of sleep. Hehad served under the sick man for three years, and had learned to lovehim as men associated in toil of the hardest learn to love--or hate.Dropping from his horse he parted the curtains of the litter and peeredinside.

  'Orde--Orde, old man, can you hear? We have to wait till the river goesdown, worse luck.'

  'I hear,' returned a dry whisper. 'Wait till the river goes down. Ithought we should reach camp before the dawn. Polly knows. She'll meetme.'

  One of the litter-men stared across the river and caught a faint twinkleof light on the far side. He whispered to Tallantire, 'There are hiscamp-fires, and his wife. They will cross in the morning, for they havebetter boats. Can he live so long?'

  Tallantire shook his head. Yardley-Orde was very near to death. Whatneed to vex his soul with hopes of a meeting that could not be? Theriver gulped at the banks, brought down a cliff of sand, and snarledthe more hungrily. The litter-men sought for fuel in the waste-driedcamel-thorn and refuse of the camps that had waited at the ford. Theirsword-belts clinked as they moved softly in the haze of the moonlight,and Tallantire's horse coughed to explain that he would like a blanket.

  'I'm cold too,' said the voice from the litter. 'I fancy this is theend. Poor Polly!'

  Tallantire rearranged the blankets. Khoda Dad Khan, seeing this,stripped off his own heavy-wadded sheepskin coat and added it to thepile. 'I shall be warm by the fire presently,' said he. Tallantiretook the wasted body of his chief into his arms and held it against hisbreast. Perhaps if they kept him very warm Orde might live to see hiswife once more. If only blind Providence would send a three-foot fall inthe river!

  'That's better,' said Orde faintly. 'Sorry to be a nuisance, but is--isthere anything to drink?'

  They gave him milk and whisky, and Tallantire felt a little warmthagainst his own breast. Orde began to mutter.

  'It isn't that I mind dying,' he said. 'It's leaving Polly andthe district. Thank God! we have no children. Dick, you know, I'mdipped--awfully dipped--debts in my first five years' service. It isn'tmuch of a pension, but enough for her. She has her mother at home.Getting there is the difficulty. And--and--you see, not being asoldier's wife--'

  'We'll arrange the passage home, of course,' said Tallantire quietly.

  'It's not nice to think of sending round the hat; but, good Lord! howmany men I lie here and remember that had to do it! Morten's dead--hewas of my year. Shaughnessy is dead, and he had children; I remember heused to read us their school-letters; what a bore we thought him! Evansis dead--Kot-Kumharsen killed him! Ricketts of Myndonie is dead--and I'mgoing too. "Man that is born of a woman is small potatoes and few inthe hill." That reminds me, Dick; the four Khusru Kheyl villages in ourborder want a one-third remittance this spring. That's fair; their cropsare bad. See that they get it, and speak to Ferris about the canal. Ishould like to have lived till that was finished; it means so much forthe North-Indus villages--but Ferris is an idle beggar--wake him up.You'll have charge of the district till my successor comes. I wish theywould appoint you permanently; you know the folk. I suppose it willbe Bullows, though. 'Good man, but too weak for frontier work; and hedoesn't understand the priests. The blind priest at Jagai will bearwatching. You'll find it in my papers,--in the uniform-case, I think.Call the Khusru Kheyl men up; I'll hold my last public audience. KhodaDad Khan!'

  The leader of the men sprang to the side of the litter, his companionsfollowing.

  'Men, I'm dying,' said Orde quickly, in the vernacular; 'and soon therewill be no more Orde Sahib to twist your tails and prevent you fromraiding cattle.'

  'God forbid this thing!' broke out the deep bass chorus. 'The Sahib isnot going to die.'

  'Yes, he is; and then he will know whether Mahomed speaks truth, orMoses. But you must be good men, when I am not here. Such of you as livein our borders must pay your taxes quietly as before. I have spoken ofthe villages to be gently treated this year. Such of you as live in thehills must refrain from cattle-lifting, and burn no more thatch, andturn a deaf ear to the voice of the priests, who, not knowing thestrength of the Government, would lead you into foolish wars, whereinyou will surely die and your crops be eaten by strangers. And you mustnot sack any caravans, and must leave your arms at the police-post whenyou come in; as has been your custom, and my order. And Tallantire Sahibwill be with you, but I do not know who takes my place. I speak now truetalk, for I am as it were already dead, my children,--for though ye bestrong men, ye are children.'

  'And thou art our father and our mother,' broke in Khoda Dad Khan withan oath. 'What shall we do, now there is no one to speak for us, or toteach us to go wisely!'

  'There remains Tallantire Sahib. Go to him; he knows your talk and yourheart. Keep the young men quiet, listen to the old men, and obey. KhodaDad Khan, take my ring. The watch and chain go to thy brother. Keepthose things for my sake, and I will speak to whatever God I mayencounter and tell him that the Khusru Kheyl are good men. Ye have myleave to go.'

  Khoda Dad Khan, the ring upon his finger, choked audibly as he caughtthe well-known formula that closed an interview. His brother turnedto look across the river. The dawn was breaking, and a speck of whiteshowed on the dull silver of the stream. 'She comes,' said the manunder his breath. 'Can he live for another two hours?' And he pulled thenewly-acquired watch out of his belt and looked uncomprehendingly at thedial, as he had seen Englishmen do.

  For two hours the bellying sail tacked and blundered up and down theriver, Tallantire still clasping Orde in his arms, and Khoda Dad Khanchafing his feet. He spoke now and again of the district and his wife,but, as the end neared, more frequently of the latter. They hoped he didnot know that she was even then risking her life in a crazy native boatto regain him. But the awful foreknowledge of the dying deceived them.Wrenching himself forward, Orde looked through the curtains and saw hownear was the sail. 'That's Polly,' he said simply, though his mouth waswried with agony. 'Polly and--the grimmest practical joke ever played ona man. Dick--you'll--have--to--explain.'

  And an hour later Tallantire met on the bank a woman in a ginghamriding-habit and a sun-hat who cried out to him for her husband--herboy and her darling--while Khoda Dad Khan threw himself face-down on thesand and covered his eyes.

  II

  The very simplicity of the notion was its charm. What more easy to wina reputation for far-seeing statesmanship, originality, and, above all,deference to the desires of the people, than by appointing a child ofthe country to the rule of that country? Two hundred millions of themost loving and grateful folk under Her Majesty's dominion would laudthe fact, and their praise would endure for ever. Yet he was indifferentto praise or blame, as befitted the
Very Greatest of All the Viceroys.His administration was based upon principle, and the principle must beenforced in season and out of season. His pen and tongue had created theNew India, teeming with possibilities--loud-voiced, insistent, a nationamong nations--all his very own. Wherefore the Very Greatest of All theViceroys took another step in advance, and with it counsel of thosewho should have advised him on the appointment of a successor toYardley-Orde. There was a gentleman and a member of the Bengal CivilService who had won his place and a university degree to boot in fairand open competition with the sons of the English. He was cultured,of the world, and, if report spoke truly, had wisely and, above all,sympathetically ruled a crowded district in South-Eastern Bengal. He hadbeen to England and charmed many drawing-rooms there. His name, if theViceroy recollected aright, was Mr. Grish Chunder De, M. A. In short,did anybody see any objection to the appointment, always on principle,of a man of the people to rule the people? The district in South-EasternBengal might with advantage, he apprehended, pass over to a youngercivilian of Mr. G. C. De's nationality (who had written a remarkablyclever pamphlet on the political value of sympathy in administration);and Mr. G. C. De could be transferred northward to Kot-Kumharsen. TheViceroy was averse, on principle, to interfering with appointments undercontrol of the Provincial Governments. He wished it to be understoodthat he merely recommended and advised in this instance. As regarded themere question of race, Mr. Grish Chunder De was more English than theEnglish, and yet possessed of that peculiar sympathy and insight whichthe best among the best Service in the world could only win to at theend of their service.

  The stern, black-bearded kings who sit about the Council-board of Indiadivided on the step, with the inevitable result of driving the VeryGreatest of All the Viceroys into the borders of hysteria, and abewildered obstinacy pathetic as that of a child.

  'The principle is sound enough,' said the weary-eyed Head of the RedProvinces in which Kot-Kumharsen lay, for he too held theories. 'Theonly difficulty is--'

  'Put the screw on the District officials; brigade De with a very strongDeputy Commissioner on each side of him; give him the best assistantin the Province; rub the fear of God into the people beforehand; andif anything goes wrong, say that his colleagues didn't back him up. Allthese lovely little experiments recoil on the District-Officer in theend,' said the Knight of the Drawn Sword with a truthful brutality thatmade the Head of the Red Provinces shudder. And on a tacit understandingof this kind the transfer was accomplished, as quietly as might be formany reasons.

  It is sad to think that what goes for public opinion in India did notgenerally see the wisdom of the Viceroy's appointment. There were notlacking indeed hireling organs, notoriously in the pay of a tyrannousbureaucracy, who more than hinted that His Excellency was a fool, adreamer of dreams, a doctrinaire, and, worst of all, a trifler with thelives of men. 'The Viceroy's Excellence Gazette,' published in Calcutta,was at pains to thank 'Our beloved Viceroy for once more and again thusgloriously vindicating the potentialities of the Bengali nations forextended executive and administrative duties in foreign parts beyondour ken. We do not at all doubt that our excellent fellow-townsman, Mr.Grish Chunder De, Esq., M. A., will uphold the prestige of the Bengali,notwithstanding what underhand intrigue and peshbundi may be set onfoot to insidiously nip his fame and blast his prospects among the proudcivilians, some of which will now have to serve under a despised nativeand take orders too. How will you like that, Misters? We entreatour beloved Viceroy still to substantiate himself superiorly torace-prejudice and colour-blindness, and to allow the flower of this nowOUR Civil Service all the full pays and allowances granted to his morefortunate brethren.'

  III

  'When does this man take over charge? I'm alone just now, and I gatherthat I'm to stand fast under him.'

  'Would you have cared for a transfer?' said Bullows keenly. Then, layinghis hand on Tallantire's shoulder: 'We're all in the same boat; don'tdesert us. And yet, why the devil should you stay, if you can getanother charge?'

  'It was Orde's,' said Tallantire simply.

  'Well, it's De's now. He's a Bengali of the Bengalis, crammed with codeand case law; a beautiful man so far as routine and deskwork go, andpleasant to talk to. They naturally have always kept him in his own homedistrict, where all his sisters and his cousins and his aunts lived,somewhere south of Dacca. He did no more than turn the place into apleasant little family preserve, allowed his subordinates to do whatthey liked, and let everybody have a chance at the shekels. Consequentlyhe's immensely popular down there.'

  'I've nothing to do with that. How on earth am I to explain to thedistrict that they are going to be governed by a Bengali? Do you--doesthe Government, I mean--suppose that the Khusru Kheyl will sit quietwhen they once know? What will the Mahomedan heads of villages say? Howwill the police--Muzbi Sikhs and Pathans--how will THEY work under him?We couldn't say anything if the Government appointed a sweeper; butmy people will say a good deal, you know that. It's a piece of cruelfolly!'

  'My dear boy, I know all that, and more. I've represented it, and havebeen told that I am exhibiting "culpable and puerile prejudice." ByJove, if the Khusru Kheyl don't exhibit something worse than that Idon't know the Border! The chances are that you will have the districtalight on your hands, and I shall have to leave my work and help youpull through. I needn't ask you to stand by the Bengali man in everypossible way. You'll do that for your own sake.'

  'For Orde's. I can't say that I care twopence personally.'

  'Don't be an ass. It's grievous enough, God knows, and the Governmentwill know later on; but that's no reason for your sulking. YOU must tryto run the district, YOU must stand between him and as much insult aspossible; YOU must show him the ropes; YOU must pacify the Khusru Kheyl,and just warn Curbar of the Police to look out for trouble by the way.I'm always at the end of a telegraph-wire, and willing to peril myreputation to hold the district together. You'll lose yours, of course,If you keep things straight, and he isn't actually beaten with a stickwhen he's on tour, he'll get all the credit. If anything goes wrong,you'll be told that you didn't support him loyally.'

  'I know what I've got to do,' said Tallantire wearily, 'and I'm going todo it. But it's hard.'

  'The work is with us, the event is with Allah,--as Orde used to say whenhe was more than usually in hot water.' And Bullows rode away.

  That two gentlemen in Her Majesty's Bengal Civil Service should thusdiscuss a third, also in that service, and a cultured and affable manwithal, seems strange and saddening. Yet listen to the artless babble ofthe Blind Mullah of Jagai, the priest of the Khusru Kheyl, sitting upona rock overlooking the Border. Five years before, a chance-hurled shellfrom a screw-gun battery had dashed earth in the face of the Mullah,then urging a rush of Ghazis against half a dozen British bayonets.So he became blind, and hated the English none the less for the littleaccident. Yardley-Orde knew his failing, and had many times laughed athim therefor.

  'Dogs you are,' said the Blind Mullah to the listening tribesmen roundthe fire. 'Whipped dogs! Because you listened to Orde Sahib and calledhim father and behaved as his children, the British Government haveproven how they regard you. Orde Sahib ye know is dead.'

  'Ai! ai! ai!' said half a dozen voices.

  'He was a man. Comes now in his stead, whom think ye? A Bengali ofBengal--an eater of fish from the South.'

  'A lie!' said Khoda Dad Khan. 'And but for the small matter of thypriesthood, I'd drive my gun butt-first down thy throat.'

  'Oho, art thou there, lickspittle of the English? Go in to-morrow acrossthe Border to pay service to Orde Sahib's successor, and thou shalt slipthy shoes at the tent-door of a Bengali, as thou shalt hand thy offeringto a Bengali's black fist. This I know; and in my youth, when a youngman spoke evil to a Mullah holding the doors of Heaven and Hell, thegun-butt was not rammed down the Mullah's gullet. No!'

  The Blind Mullah hated Khoda Dad Khan with Afghan hatred; both beingrivals for the headship of the tribe; but the latter was feared forbodily as th
e other for spiritual gifts. Khoda Dad Khan looked at Orde'sring and grunted, 'I go in to-morrow because I am not an old fool,preaching war against the English. If the Government, smitten withmadness, have done this, then...'

  'Then,' croaked the Mullah, 'thou wilt take out the young men and strikeat the four villages within the Border?'

  'Or wring thy neck, black raven of Jehannum, for a bearer ofill-tidings.'

  Khoda Dad Khan oiled his long locks with great care, put on his bestBokhara belt, a new turban-cap and fine green shoes, and accompanied bya few friends came down from the hills to pay a visit to the new DeputyCommissioner of Kot-Kumharsen. Also he bore tribute--four or fivepriceless gold mohurs of Akbar's time in a white handkerchief. These theDeputy Commissioner would touch and remit. The little ceremony used tobe a sign that, so far as Khoda Dad Khan's personal influence went,the Khusru Kheyl would be good boys,--till the next time; especiallyif Khoda Dad Khan happened to like the new Deputy Commissioner. InYardley-Orde's consulship his visit concluded with a sumptuous dinnerand perhaps forbidden liquors; certainly with some wonderful tales andgreat good-fellowship. Then Khoda Dad Khan would swagger back tohis hold, vowing that Orde Sahib was one prince and Tallantire Sahibanother, and that whosoever went a-raiding into British territory wouldbe flayed alive. On this occasion he found the Deputy Commissioner'stents looking much as usual. Regarding himself as privileged he strodethrough the open door to confont a suave, portly Bengali in Englishcostume writing at a table. Unversed in the elevating influence ofeducation, and not in the least caring for university degrees, KhodaDad Khan promptly set the man down for a Babu--the native clerk of theDeputy Commissioner--a hated and despised animal.

  'Ugh!' said he cheerfully. 'Where's your master, Babujee?'

  'I am the Deputy Commissioner,' said the gentleman in English. Now heovervalued the effects of university degrees, and stared Khoda Dad Khanin the face. But if from your earliest infancy you have been accustomedto look on battle, murder, and sudden death, if spilt blood affectsyour nerves as much as red paint, and, above all, if you have faithfullybelieved that the Bengali was the servant of all Hindustan, and that allHindustan was vastly inferior to your own large, lustful self, you canendure, even though uneducated, a very large amount of looking over. Youcan even stare down a graduate of an Oxford college if the latterhas been born in a hothouse, of stock bred in a hothouse, and fearingphysical pain as some men fear sin; especially if your opponent's motherhas frightened him to sleep in his youth with horrible stories of devilsinhabiting Afghanistan, and dismal legends of the black North. The eyesbehind the gold spectacles sought the floor. Khoda Dad Khan chuckled,and swung out to find Tallantire hard by. 'Here,' said he roughly,thrusting the coins before him, 'touch and remit. That answers for MYgood behaviour. But, O Sahib, has the Government gone mad to send ablack Bengali dog to us? And am I to pay service to such an one? Andare you to work under him? What does it mean?' 'It is an order,' saidTallantire. He had expected something of this kind. 'He is a very cleverS-sahib.'

  'He a Sahib! He's a kala admi--a black man--unfit to run at the tail ofa potter's donkey. All the peoples of the earth have harried Bengal. Itis written. Thou knowest when we of the North wanted women or plunderwhither went we? To Bengal--where else? What child's talk is this ofSahibdom--after Orde Sahib too! Of a truth the Blind Mullah was right.'

  'What of him?' asked Tallantire uneasily. He mistrusted that old manwith his dead eyes and his deadly tongue.

  'Nay, now, because of the oath that I sware to Orde Sahib when wewatched him die by the river yonder, I will tell. In the first place, isit true that the English have set the heel of the Bengali on their ownneck, and that there is no more English rule in the land?'

  'I am here,' said Tallantire, 'and I serve the Maharanee of England.'

  'The Mullah said otherwise, and further that because we loved Orde Sahibthe Government sent us a pig to show that we were dogs, who till nowhave been held by the strong hand. Also that they were taking awaythe white soldiers, that more Hindustanis might come, and that all waschanging.'

  This is the worst of ill-considered handling of a very large country.What looks so feasible in Calcutta, so right in Bombay, so unassailablein Madras, is misunderstood by the North and entirely changes itscomplexion on the banks of the Indus. Khoda Dad Khan explained asclearly as he could that, though he himself intended to be good, hereally could not answer for the more reckless members of his tribe underthe leadership of the Blind Mullah. They might or they might not givetrouble, but they certainly had no intention whatever of obeying the newDeputy Commissioner. Was Tallantire perfectly sure that in the eventof any systematic border-raiding the force in the district could put itdown promptly?

  'Tell the Mullah if he talks any more fool's talk,' said Tallantirecurtly, 'that he takes his men on to certain death, and his tribe toblockade, trespass-fine, and blood-money. But why do I talk to one whono longer carries weight in the counsels of the tribe?'

  Khoda Dad Khan pocketed that insult. He had learned something thathe much wanted to know, and returned to his hills to be sarcasticallycomplimented by the Mullah, whose tongue raging round the camp-fires wasdeadlier flame than ever dung-cake fed.

  IV

  Be pleased to consider here for a moment the unknown district ofKot-Kumharsen. It lay cut lengthways by the Indus under the line ofthe Khusru hills--ramparts of useless earth and tumbled stone. It wasseventy miles long by fifty broad, maintained a population of somethingless than two hundred thousand, and paid taxes to the extent of fortythousand pounds a year on an area that was by rather more than halfsheer, hopeless waste. The cultivators were not gentle people, theminers for salt were less gentle still, and the cattle-breeders leastgentle of all. A police-post in the top right-hand corner and a tiny mudfort in the top left-hand corner prevented as much salt-smuggling andcattle-lifting as the influence of the civilians could not put down; andin the bottom right-hand corner lay Jumala, the district headquarters--apitiful knot of lime-washed barns facetiously rented as houses, reekingwith frontier fever, leaking in the rain, and ovens in the summer.

  It was to this place that Grish Chunder De was travelling, thereformally to take over charge of the district. But the news of his cominghad gone before. Bengalis were as scarce as poodles among the simpleBorderers, who cut each other's heads open with their long spades andworshipped impartially at Hindu and Mahomedan shrines. They crowdedto see him, pointing at him, and diversely comparing him to a gravidmilch-buffalo, or a broken-down horse, as their limited range ofmetaphor prompted. They laughed at his police-guard, and wished to knowhow long the burly Sikhs were going to lead Bengali apes. They inquiredwhether he had brought his women with him, and advised him explicitlynot to tamper with theirs. It remained for a wrinkled hag by theroadside to slap her lean breasts as he passed, crying, 'I have suckledsix that could have eaten six thousand of HIM. The Government shotthem, and made this That a king!' Whereat a blue-turbaned huge-bonedplough-mender shouted, 'Have hope, mother o' mine! He may yet go theway of thy wastrels.' And the children, the little brown puff-balls,regarded curiously. It was generally a good thing for infancy to strayinto Orde Sahib's tent, where copper coins were to be won for the merewishing, and tales of the most authentic, such as even their mothersknew but the first half of. No! This fat black man could never tell themhow Pir Prith hauled the eye-teeth out of ten devils; how the big stonescame to lie all in a row on top of the Khusru hills, and what happenedif you shouted through the village-gate to the gray wolf at even 'BadlKhas is dead.' Meantime Grish Chunder De talked hastily and much toTallantire, after the manner of those who are 'more English than theEnglish,'--of Oxford and 'home,' with much curious book-knowledge ofbump-suppers, cricket-matches, hunting-runs, and other unholy sports ofthe alien. 'We must get these fellows in hand,' he said once or twiceuneasily; 'get them well in hand, and drive them on a tight rein. Nouse, you know, being slack with your district.'

  And a moment later Tallantire heard Debendra Nath De, who brotherliwisehad follo
wed his kinsman's fortune and hoped for the shadow of hisprotection as a pleader, whisper in Bengali, 'Better are dried fish atDacca than drawn swords at Delhi. Brother of mine, these men are devils,as our mother said. And you will always have to ride upon a horse!'

  That night there was a public audience in a broken-down little townthirty miles from Jumala, when the new Deputy Commissioner, in reply tothe greetings of the subordinate native officials, delivered a speech.It was a carefully thought-out speech, which would have been veryvaluable had not his third sentence begun with three innocent words,'Hamara hookum hai--It is my order.' Then there was a laugh, clear andbell-like, from the back of the big tent, where a few border landholderssat, and the laugh grew and scorn mingled with it, and the lean, keenface of Debendra Nath De paled, and Grish Chunder turning to Tallantirespake: 'YOU--you put up this arrangement.' Upon that instant thenoise of hoofs rang without, and there entered Curbar, the DistrictSuperintendent of Police, sweating and dusty. The State had tossed himinto a corner of the province for seventeen weary years, there to checksmuggling of salt, and to hope for promotion that never came. He hadforgotten how to keep his white uniform clean, had screwed rusty spursinto patent-leather shoes, and clothed his head indifferently with ahelmet or a turban. Soured, old, worn with heat and cold, he waited tillhe should be entitled to sufficient pension to keep him from starving.

  'Tallantire,' said he, disregarding Grish Chunder De, 'come outside.I want to speak to you.' They withdrew. 'It's this,' continued Curbar.'The Khusru Kheyl have rushed and cut up half a dozen of the coolies onFerris's new canal-embankment; killed a couple of men and carried offa woman. I wouldn't trouble you about that--Ferris is after them andHugonin, my assistant, with ten mounted police. But that's only thebeginning, I fancy. Their fires are out on the Hassan Ardeb heights, andunless we're pretty quick there'll be a flare-up all along our Border.They are sure to raid the four Khusru villages on our side of the line;there's been bad blood between them for years; and you know the BlindMullah has been preaching a holy war since Orde went out. What's yournotion?'

  'Damn!' said Tallantire thoughtfully. 'They've begun quick. Well, itseems to me I'd better ride off to Fort Ziar and get what men I canthere to picket among the lowland villages, if it's not too late. TommyDodd commands at Fort Ziar, I think. Ferris and Hugonin ought to teachthe canal-thieves a lesson, and--No, we can't have the Head of thePolice ostentatiously guarding the Treasury. You go back to the canal.I'll wire Bullows to come into Jumala with a strong police-guard, andsit on the Treasury. They won't touch the place, but it looks well.'

  'I--I--I insist upon knowing what this means,' said the voice of theDeputy Commissioner, who had followed the speakers.

  'Oh!' said Curbar, who being in the Police could not understand thatfifteen years of education must, on principle, change the Bengali intoa Briton. 'There has been a fight on the Border, and heaps of menare killed. There's going to be another fight, and heaps more will bekilled.'

  'What for?'

  'Because the teeming millions of this district don't exactly approve ofyou, and think that under your benign rule they are going to have a goodtime. It strikes me that you had better make arrangements. I act, as youknow, by your orders. What do you advise?'

  'I--I take you all to witness that I have not yet assumed charge of thedistrict,' stammered the Deputy Commissioner, not in the tones of the'more English.'

  'Ah, I thought so. Well, as I was saying, Tallantire, your plan issound. Carry it out. Do you want an escort?'

  'No; only a decent horse. But how about wiring to headquarters?'

  'I fancy, from the colour of his cheeks, that your superior officer willsend some wonderful telegrams before the night's over. Let him do that,and we shall have half the troops of the province coming up to seewhat's the trouble. Well, run along, and take care of yourself--theKhusru Kheyl jab upwards from below, remember. Ho! Mir Khan, giveTallantire Sahib the best of the horses, and tell five men to ride toJumala with the Deputy Commissioner Sahib Bahadur. There is a hurrytoward.'

  There was; and it was not in the least bettered by Debendra Nath Declinging to a policeman's bridle and demanding the shortest, thevery shortest way to Jumala. Now originality is fatal to the Bengali.Debendra Nath should have stayed with his brother, who rode steadfastlyfor Jumala on the railway-line, thanking gods entirely unknown tothe most catholic of universities that he had not taken charge of thedistrict, and could still--happy resource of a fertile race!--fall sick.

  And I grieve to say that when he reached his goal two policemen, notdevoid of rude wit, who had been conferring together as they bumped intheir saddles, arranged an entertainment for his behoof. It consisted offirst one and then the other entering his room with prodigious detailsof war, the massing of bloodthirsty and devilish tribes, and the burningof towns. It was almost as good, said these scamps, as riding withCurbar after evasive Afghans. Each invention kept the hearer at workfor half an hour on telegrams which the sack of Delhi would hardlyhave justified. To every power that could move a bayonet or transfer aterrified man, Grish Chunder De appealed telegraphically. He was alone,his assistants had fled, and in truth he had not taken over charge ofthe district. Had the telegrams been despatched many things would haveoccurred; but since the only signaller in Jumala had gone to bed, andthe station-master, after one look at the tremendous pile of paper,discovered that railway regulations forbade the forwarding of imperialmessages, policemen Ram Singh and Nihal Singh were fain to turn thestuff into a pillow and slept on it very comfortably.

  Tallantire drove his spurs into a rampant skewbald stallion withchina-blue eyes, and settled himself for the forty-mile ride to FortZiar. Knowing his district blindfold, he wasted no time hunting forshort cuts, but headed across the richer grazing-ground to the fordwhere Orde had died and been buried. The dusty ground deadened the noiseof his horse's hoofs, the moon threw his shadow, a restless goblin,before him, and the heavy dew drenched him to the skin. Hillock, scrubthat brushed against the horse's belly, unmetalled road where thewhip-like foliage of the tamarisks lashed his forehead, illimitablelevels of lowland furred with bent and speckled with drowsing cattle,waste, and hillock anew, dragged themselves past, and the skewbald waslabouring in the deep sand of the Indus-ford. Tallantire was consciousof no distinct thought till the nose of the dawdling ferry-boat groundedon the farther side, and his horse shied snorting at the white headstoneof Orde's grave. Then he uncovered, and shouted that the dead mighthear, 'They're out, old man! Wish me luck.' In the chill of the dawn hewas hammering with a stirrup-iron at the gate of Fort Ziar, where fiftysabres of that tattered regiment, the Belooch Beshaklis were supposed toguard Her Majesty's interests along a few hundred miles of Border. Thisparticular fort was commanded by a subaltern, who, born of the ancientfamily of the Derouletts, naturally answered to the name of Tommy Dodd.Him Tallantire found robed in a sheepskin coat, shaking with fever likean aspen, and trying to read the native apothecary's list of invalids.

  'So you've come, too,' said he. 'Well, we're all sick here, and I don'tthink I can horse thirty men; but we're bub--bub--bub blessed willing.Stop, does this impress you as a trap or a lie?' He tossed a scrap ofpaper to Tallantire, on which was written painfully in crabbed Gurmukhi,'We cannot hold young horses. They will feed after the moon goes down inthe four border villages issuing from the Jagai pass on the next night.'Then in English round hand--'Your sincere friend.'

  'Good man!' said Tallantire. 'That's Khoda Dad Khan's work, I know.It's the only piece of English he could ever keep in his head, and heis immensely proud of it. He is playing against the Blind Mullah for hisown hand--the treacherous young ruffian!'

  'Don't know the politics of the Khusru Kheyl, but if you're satisfied, Iam. That was pitched in over the gate-head last night, and I thought wemight pull ourselves together and see what was on. Oh, but we're sickwith fever here and no mistake! Is this going to be a big business,think you?' said Tommy Dodd.

  Tallantire gave him briefly the outlines of the case, and Tommy Dodd
whistled and shook with fever alternately. That day he devoted tostrategy, the art of war, and the enlivenment of the invalids, till atdusk there stood ready forty-two troopers, lean, worn, and dishevelled,whom Tommy Dodd surveyed with pride, and addressed thus: 'O men! If youdie you will go to Hell. Therefore endeavour to keep alive. But if yougo to Hell that place cannot be hotter than this place, and we are nottold that we shall there suffer from fever. Consequently be not afraidof dying. File out there!' They grinned, and went.

  V

  It will be long ere the Khusru Kheyl forget their night attack on thelowland villages. The Mullah had promised an easy victory and unlimitedplunder; but behold, armed troopers of the Queen had risen out of thevery earth, cutting, slashing, and riding down under the stars, so thatno man knew where to turn, and all feared that they had brought an armyabout their ears, and ran back to the hills. In the panic of that flightmore men were seen to drop from wounds inflicted by an Afghan knifejabbed upwards, and yet more from long-range carbine-fire. Then thererose a cry of treachery, and when they reached their own guardedheights, they had left, with some forty dead and sixty wounded,all their confidence in the Blind Mullah on the plains below. Theyclamoured, swore, and argued round the fires; the women wailing for thelost, and the Mullah shrieking curses on the returned.

  Then Khoda Dad Khan, eloquent and unbreathed, for he had taken no partin the fight, rose to improve the occasion. He pointed out that thetribe owed every item of its present misfortune to the Blind Mullah, whohad lied in every possible particular and talked them into a trap. Itwas undoubtedly an insult that a Bengali, the son of a Bengali, shouldpresume to administer the Border, but that fact did not, as the Mullahpretended, herald a general time of license and lifting; and theinexplicable madness of the English had not in the least impairedtheir power of guarding their marches. On the contrary, the baffled andout-generalled tribe would now, just when their food-stock was lowest,be blockaded from any trade with Hindustan until they had sent hostagesfor good behaviour, paid compensation for disturbance, and blood-moneyat the rate of thirty-six English pounds per head for every villagerthat they might have slain. 'And ye know that those lowland dogs willmake oath that we have slain scores. Will the Mullah pay the fines ormust we sell our guns?' A low growl ran round the fires. 'Now, seeingthat all this is the Mullah's work, and that we have gained nothing butpromises of Paradise thereby, it is in my heart that we of the KhusruKheyl lack a shrine whereat to pray. We are weakened, and henceforthhow shall we dare to cross into the Madar Kheyl border, as has been ourcustom, to kneel to Pir Sajji's tomb? The Madar men will fall upon us,and rightly. But our Mullah is a holy man. He has helped two score of usinto Paradise this night. Let him therefore accompany his flock, and wewill build over his body a dome of the blue tiles of Mooltan, and burnlamps at his feet every Friday night. He shall be a saint: we shall havea shrine; and there our women shall pray for fresh seed to fill the gapsin our fighting-tale. How think you?'

  A grim chuckle followed the suggestion, and the soft wheep, wheep ofunscabbarded knives followed the chuckle. It was an excellent notion,and met a long felt want of the tribe. The Mullah sprang to his feet,glaring with withered eyeballs at the drawn death he could not see, andcalling down the curses of God and Mahomed on the tribe. Then began agame of blind man's buff round and between the fires, whereof KhurukShah, the tribal poet, has sung in verse that will not die.

  They tickled him gently under the armpit with the knife-point. He leapedaside screaming, only to feel a cold blade drawn lightly over the backof his neck, or a rifle-muzzle rubbing his beard. He called on hisadherents to aid him, but most of these lay dead on the plains, forKhoda Dad Khan had been at some pains to arrange their decease. Mendescribed to him the glories of the shrine they would build, and thelittle children clapping their hands cried, 'Run, Mullah, run! There'sa man behind you!' In the end, when the sport wearied, Khoda Dad Khan'sbrother sent a knife home between his ribs. 'Wherefore,' said Khoda DadKhan with charming simplicity, 'I am now Chief of the Khusru Kheyl!' Noman gainsaid him; and they all went to sleep very stiff and sore.

  On the plain below Tommy Dodd was lecturing on the beauties of a cavalrycharge by night, and Tallantire, bowed on his saddle, was gaspinghysterically because there was a sword dangling from his wrist fleckedwith the blood of the Khusru Kheyl, the tribe that Orde had kept inleash so well. When a Rajpoot trooper pointed out that the skewbald'sright ear had been taken off at the root by some blind slash of itsunskilled rider, Tallantire broke down altogether, and laughed andsobbed till Tommy Dodd made him lie down and rest.

  'We must wait about till the morning,' said he. 'I wired to the Coloneljust before we left, to send a wing of the Beshaklis after us. He'll befurious with me for monopolising the fun, though. Those beggars in thehills won't give us any more trouble.'

  'Then tell the Beshaklis to go on and see what has happened to Curbaron the canal. We must patrol the whole line of the Border. You're quitesure, Tommy, that--that stuff was--was only the skewbald's ear?'

  'Oh, quite,' said Tommy. 'You just missed cutting off his head. _I_ sawyou when we went into the mess. Sleep, old man.'

  Noon brought two squadrons of Beshaklis and a knot of furious brotherofficers demanding the court-martial of Tommy Dodd for 'spoiling thepicnic,' and a gallop across country to the canal-works where Ferris,Curbar, and Hugonin were haranguing the terror-stricken coolies on theenormity of abandoning good work and high pay, merely because half adozen of their fellows had been cut down. The sight of a troop of theBeshaklis restored wavering confidence, and the police-hunted sectionof the Khusru Kheyl had the joy of watching the canal-bank hummingwith life as usual, while such of their men as had taken refuge inthe watercourses and ravines were being driven out by the troopers.By sundown began the remorseless patrol of the Border by police andtrooper, most like the cow-boys' eternal ride round restless cattle.

  'Now,' said Khoda Dad Khan to his fellows, pointing out a line oftwinkling fires below, 'ye may see how far the old order changes. Aftertheir horse will come the little devil-guns that they can drag up to thetops of the hills, and, for aught I know, to the clouds when we crownthe hills. If the tribe-council thinks good, I will go to TallantireSahib--who loves me--and see if I can stave off at least the blockade.Do I speak for the tribe?'

  'Ay, speak for the tribe in God's name. How those accursed fires wink!Do the English send their troops on the wire--or is this the work of theBengali?'

  As Khoda Dad Khan went down the hill he was delayed by an interviewwith a hard-pressed tribesman, which caused him to return hastilyfor something he had forgotten. Then, handing himself over to thetwo troopers who had been chasing his friend, he claimed escort toTallantire Sahib, then with Bullows at Jumala. The Border was safe, andthe time for reasons in writing had begun.

  'Thank Heaven!' said Bullows, 'that the trouble came at once. Of coursewe can never put down the reason in black and white, but all India willunderstand. And it is better to have a sharp short outbreak than fiveyears of impotent administration inside the Border. It costs less. GrishChunder De has reported himself sick, and has been transferred to hisown province without any sort of reprimand. He was strong on not havingtaken over the district.'

  'Of course,' said Tallantire bitterly. 'Well, what am I supposed to havedone that was wrong?'

  'Oh, you will be told that you exceeded all your powers, and shouldhave reported, and written, and advised for three weeks until the KhusruKheyl could really come down in force. But I don't think the authoritieswill dare to make a fuss about it. They've had their lesson. Have youseen Curbar's version of the affair? He can't write a report, but he canspeak the truth.'

  'What's the use of the truth? He'd much better tear up the report. I'msick and heartbroken over it all. It was so utterly unnecessary--exceptin that it rid us of that Babu.'

  Entered unabashed Khoda Dad Khan, a stuffed forage-net in his hand, andthe troopers behind him.

  'May you never be tired!' said he cheerily. 'Well, Sahibs, that wa
s agood fight, and Naim Shah's mother is in debt to you, Tallantire Sahib.A clean cut, they tell me, through jaw, wadded coat, and deep into thecollar-bone. Well done! But I speak for the tribe. There has been afault--a great fault. Thou knowest that I and mine, Tallantire Sahib,kept the oath we sware to Orde Sahib on the banks of the Indus.'

  'As an Afghan keeps his knife--sharp on one side, blunt on the other,'said Tallantire.

  'The better swing in the blow, then. But I speak God's truth. Only theBlind Mullah carried the young men on the tip of his tongue, and saidthat there was no more Border-law because a Bengali had been sent, andwe need not fear the English at all. So they came down to avenge thatinsult and get plunder. Ye know what befell, and how far I helped. Nowfive score of us are dead or wounded, and we are all shamed and sorry,and desire no further war. Moreover, that ye may better listen to us,we have taken off the head of the Blind Mullah, whose evil counsels haveled us to folly. I bring it for proof,'--and he heaved on the floor thehead. 'He will give no more trouble, for I am chief now, and so I sitin a higher place at all audiences. Yet there is an offset to this head.That was another fault. One of the men found that black Bengali beast,through whom this trouble arose, wandering on horseback and weeping.Reflecting that he had caused loss of much good life, Alla Dad Khan,whom, if you choose, I will to-morrow shoot, whipped off this head, andI bring it to you to cover your shame, that ye may bury it. See, no mankept the spectacles, though they were of gold.'

  Slowly rolled to Tallantire's feet the crop-haired head of a spectacledBengali gentleman, open-eyed, open-mouthed--the head of Terrorincarnate. Bullows bent down. 'Yet another blood-fine and a heavyone, Khoda Dad Khan, for this is the head of Debendra Nath, the man'sbrother. The Babu is safe long since. All but the fools of the KhusruKheyl know that.'

  'Well, I care not for carrion. Quick meat for me. The thing was underour hills asking the road to Jumala and Alla Dad Khan showed him theroad to Jehannum, being, as thou sayest, but a fool. Remains now whatthe Government will do to us. As to the blockade--'

  'Who art thou, seller of dog's flesh,' thundered Tallantire, 'to speakof terms and treaties? Get hence to the hills--go, and wait therestarving, till it shall please the Government to call thy people outfor punishment--children and fools that ye be! Count your dead, and bestill. Best assured that the Government will send you a MAN!'

  'Ay,' returned Khoda Dad Khan, 'for we also be men.'

  As he looked Tallantire between the eyes, he added, 'And by God, Sahib,may thou be that man!'