Sec. 3. SERGEANT-MAJOR LAWRENCE-SMITH.
Mrs. Pat Dearman was sceptical.
"Do you mean to tell me that _you_, a man of science, an eminent medicalman, and a soldier, believe in the supernatural?"
"Well, you see, I'm 'Oirish' and therefore unaccountable," repliedColonel Jackson (of the Royal Army Medical Corps), fine doctor, finescholar, and fine gentleman.
"And you believe in haunted houses and ghosts and things, do you?_Well_!"
The salted-almond dish was empty, and Mrs. Dearman accused her otherneighbour, Mr. John Robin Ross-Ellison. Having already prepared to meetand rebut the charge of greediness he made passes over the vessel and itwas replenished.
"Supernatural!" said she.
"Most," said he.
She prudently removed the dish to the far side of her plate--andColonel Jackson emptied it.
Not having prepared to meet the request to replenish the store a secondtime, it was useless for Mr. Ross-Ellison to make more passes whencommanded so to do.
"The usual end of the 'supernatural,'" observed Mrs. Dearman withcontempt.
"Most usual," said he.
"More than 'most,'" corrected Mrs. Dearman. "It is the invariable end ofit, I believe. Just humbug and rubbish. It is either an invention, pureand simple, or else it is perfectly explicable. Don't you think so,Colonel Jackson?"
"Not always," said her partner. "Now, will you, first, believe my word,and, secondly, find the explanation--if I tell you a perfectly true'supernatural' story?"
"I'll certainly believe your word, Colonel, if you're serious, and I'lltry and suggest an explanation if you like," replied Mrs. Dearman.
"Same to me, Mrs. Dearman?" asked Mr. Ross-Ellison. "I've had'experiences' too--and can tell you one of them."
"Same to you, Mr. Ross-Ellison," replied Mrs. Dearman, and added: "Butwhy only one of them?"
Mr. Ross-Ellison smiled, glanced round the luxuriously appointed tableand the company of fair women and brave men--and thought of afar-distant and little-known place called Mekran Kot and of a phantomcavalry corps that haunted a valley in its vicinity.
"Only one worth telling," said he.
"Well,--first case," began Colonel Jackson, "I was once driving past acottage on my way home from College (in Ireland), and I saw the old ladywho lived in that cottage come out of the door, cross her bit of garden,go through a gate, scuttle over the railway-line and enter a fencedfield that had belonged to her husband, and which she (and a good manyother people) believed rightly belonged to her.
"'There goes old Biddy Maloney pottering about in that plot of groundagain,' thinks I. 'She's got it on the brain since her law-suit.' I knewit was Biddy, of course, not only because of her coming out of Biddy'shouse, but because it was Biddy's figure, walk, crutch-stick, andpatched old cloak. When I got home I happened to say to Mother: 'I sawpoor old Biddy Maloney doddering round that wretched field as I camealong'.
"'What?' said my mother, 'why, your father was called to her, as she wasdying, hours ago, and she's not been out of her bed for weeks.' When myfather came in, I learned that Biddy was dead an hour before I sawher--before I left the railway station in fact! What do you make ofthat? Is there any 'explanation'?"
"Some other old lady," suggested Mrs. Dearman.
"No. There was nobody else in those parts mistakable for Biddy Maloney,and no other old woman was in or near the house while my father wasthere. We sifted the matter carefully. It was Biddy Maloney and no oneelse."
"Auto-suggestion. Visualization on the retina of an idea in the mind.Optical illusion," hazarded Mrs. Dearman.
"No good. I hadn't realized I was approaching Biddy Maloney's cottageuntil I saw her coming out of it and I certainly hadn't thought of BiddyMaloney until my eye fell upon her. And it's a funny optical illusionthat deceives one into seeing an old lady opening gates, crossingrailways and limping away into fenced fields."
"H'm! What was the other case?" asked Mrs. Dearman, turning to Mr.Ross-Ellison.
"That happened here in India at a station called Duri, away in theNorthern Presidency, where I was then--er--living for a time. On the dayafter my arrival I went to call on Malet-Marsac to whom I had letters ofintroduction--political business--and, as he was out, but certain toreturn in a minute or two from Parade, I sat me down in a comfortablechair in the verandah----"
"And went to sleep?" interrupted Mrs. Dearman.
'"I _nevah_ sleep,'" quoted Mr. Ross-Ellison, "and I had no time, if anyinclination. Scarcely indeed had I seated myself, and actually while Iwas placing my _topi_ on an adjacent stool, a lady emerged from adistant door at the end of the verandah and walked towards me. I cantell you I was mighty surprised, for not only was Captain Malet-Marsac alone bachelor and a misogynist of blameless life, but the lady looked asthough she had stepped straight out of an Early Victorianphonograph-album. She had on a crinoline sort of dress, a deep lacecollar, spring-sidey sort of boots, mittens, and a huge cameo brooch.Also she had long ringlets. Her face is stamped on my memory and Icould pick her out from a hundred women similarly dressed, or herpicture from a hundred others...."
"What did you do?" asked Mrs. Dearman, whose neglected ice-pudding wasfast being submerged in a pink lake of its own creation.
"Do? Nothing. I grabbed my _topi_, stood up, bowed--and looked silly."
"And what did the lady do?"
"Came straight on, taking no notice whatsoever of me, until she reachedthe steps leading into the porch and garden.... She passed down theseand out of my sight.... That is the plain statement of an actual fact.Have you any 'explanation' to offer?"
"Well--what about a lady staying there, unexpectedly and unbeknownst (tothe station), trying on a get-up for a Fancy Dress Ball. Going as 'Myancestress' or something?" suggested Mrs. Dearman.
"Exactly what I told myself, though I _knew_ it was nothing of thekind.... Well, five minutes later Malet-Marsac rode up the drive and wewere soon fraternizing over cheroots and cold drinks.... As I wasleaving, an idea struck me, and I saw a way to ask a question--which wasburning my tongue,--without being too rudely inquisitive.
"'By the way,' said I, 'I fear I did not send in the right number ofvisiting cards, but they told me there was no lady here, so I only sentin one--for you.'
"'There _is_ no lady here,' he replied, eyeing me queerly. 'What madeyou think you had been misinformed?'
"'Well,' said I bluntly, 'a lady came out of the end room just now,walked down the verandah, and went out into the garden. You'd bettersee if anything is missing as she's not an inhabitant!'
"'No--there won't be anything missing,' he replied. 'Did she wear acrinoline and a general air of last century?'
"'She did,' said I.
"'Our own private ghost,' was the answer--and it was the sort ofstatement I had anticipated. Now I solemnly assure you that at that timeI had never heard, read, nor dreamed that there was a 'ghost' in thisbungalow, nor in Duri--nor in the whole Northern Presidency for thatmatter....
"'What's the story?' I asked, of course.
"'Mutiny. 1857,' said Malet-Marsac. 'Husband shot on the parade-ground.She got the news and marched straight to the spot. They cut her inpieces as she held his body in her arms. Lots of people have seenher--anywhere between that room and the parade-ground.'
"'Then you have to believe in ghosts--in Duri, or how do you account forit?' I asked.
"'I don't bother my head,' he replied. 'But I have seen that poor lady agood many times. And no one told me a word about her until after I hadseen her.'"
And then Mrs. Dearman suddenly rose, as her hostess "caught" thecollective female eye of the table.
"Was all that about the 'ghosts' of the old Irishwoman and the EarlyVictorian Lady true, you fellows?" asked John Bruce, the Professor ofEngineering, after coffee, cigars and the second glass of port hadreconciled the residue or sediment to the departure of the sterner sex.
"Didn't you hear me say my story was true?" replied Colonel Jacksonbrusquely. "It was absolutely and perfectly t
rue."
"Same here," added Mr. Ross-Ellison.
"Then on two separate occasions you two have seen what you can onlybelieve to be the ghosts of dead people?"
"On one occasion I have, without any possibility of error or doubt, seenthe ghost of a dead person," said Colonel Jackson.
"Have you ever come across any other thoroughly substantiated cases ofghost-seeing--cases which have really convinced you, Colonel?" queriedMr. Ross-Ellison--being deeply interested in the subject by reason ofqueer powers and experiences of his own.
"Yes. Many in which I fully believe, and one about which I am _certain_.A very interesting case--and a very cruel tragedy."
"Would you mind telling me about it?" asked Mr. Ross-Ellison.
"Pleasure. More--I'll give you as interesting and convincing a 'humandocument' about it as ever you read, if you like."
"I shall be eternally grateful," replied the other.
"It was a sad and sordid business. The man, whose last written wordsI'll give you to read, was a Sergeant-Major in the Volunteer Rifles(also at Duri where I was stationed, as you know) and he was a gentlemanborn and bred, poor chap." ["Lawrence-Smith," murmured Mr. John RobinRoss-Ellison with an involuntary movement of surprise. His eyebrows roseand his jaw fell.] "Yes, he was that rare bird a gentleman-ranker whoremained a gentleman and a ranker--and became a fine soldier. He calledhimself Lawrence-Smith and owned a good old English name that you'drecognize if I mentioned it--and you'd be able to name some of hisrelatives too. He was kicked out of Sandhurst for striking one of thesubordinate staff under extreme provocation. The army was in his bloodand bones, and he enlisted."
"Excuse me," interrupted Mr. Ross-Ellison, "you speak of thisSergeant-Major Lawrence-Smith in the past tense. Is he dead then?"
"He is dead," replied Colonel Jackson. "Did you know him?"
"I believe I saw him at Duri," answered Mr. Ross-Ellison with anexcellent assumption of indifference. "What's the story?"
"I'll give you his own tale on paper--let me have it back--and, mindyou, every single word of it is Gospel truth. The man was a _gentleman_,an educated, thoughtful, sober chap, and as sane as you or I. I got toknow him well--he was in hospital, with blood-poisoning frompanther-bite, for a time--and we became friends. Actual friends, I mean.Used to play golf with him. (You remember the Duri Links.) In mufti,you'd never have dreamed for a moment that he was not a Major or aColonel. Army life had not coarsened him in the slightest, and he keptsome lounge-suits and mess-kit by Poole. Many a good Snob of myacquaintance has left my house under the impression that theLawrence-Smith he had met there, and with whom he had beenhail-fellow-well-met, was his social equal or superior.
"He simply was a refined and educated gentleman and that's all there isabout it. Well--you'll read his statement--and, as you read, you maytell yourself that I am as convinced of its truth as I am of anything inthis world.... He was dead when I got to him.
"The stains, on the backs of some of the sheets and on the front of thelast one, are--blood stains...."
And at this point their host suggested the propriety of joining theladies....
Colonel Jackson gave Mr. Ross-Ellison a "lift" in his powerful motor asfar as his bungalow, entered, and a few minutes later emerged with along and fat envelope.
"Here you are," said he. "I took it upon myself to annex the papers as Iwas his friend. Let's have 'em back. No need for me to regard them as'private and confidential' so far as I can see, poor chap. Good-night."
Having achieved the haven of loose Pathan trousers and a muslin shirt(worn over them) in the privacy of his bed-room, Mr. Ross-Ellison,looking rather un-English, sat on a camp-cot (he never really likedchairs) and read, as follows, from a sheaf of neatly-written (andbloodstained) sheets of foolscap.
* * * * *
I have come to the point at which I decide to stop. I have had enough.But I should like to ask one or two questions.
1. Why has a man no right to quit a world in which he no longer desiresto live? 2. Why should Evil be allowed to triumph? 3. Why should peoplewho cannot see spirit forms be so certain that such do not exist, whennone but an ignorant fool argues, "I believe in what I can see"?
With regard to the first question I maintain that a man has a perfectright to "take" the life that was "given" him (without his own consentor desire), provided it is not an act of cowardice nor an evasion ofjust punishment or responsibility. I would add--provided also that hedoes not, in so doing, basely desert his duty, those who are in any waydependent on him, or those who really love him.
I detest that idiotic phrase "while of unsound mind". I am as sound inmind as any man living, but because I end an unbearable state ofaffairs, and take the only step I can think of as likely to give mepeace--I shall be written down mad. Moreover should I fail--in myattempt to kill myself (which I shall not) I should be prosecuted as acriminal!
To me, albeit I have lived long under strict discipline and regard truediscipline as the first essential of moral, physical, mental, and socialtraining, to me it seems a gross and unwarrantable interference with theliberty of the individual--to deny him sufficient captaincy of his soulfor him to be free to control it at the dictates of his conscience, andto keep it Here or to send it There as may seem best. Surely theimplanted love of life and fear of death are sufficient safeguardswithout any legislation or insolent arrogant interference between a manand his own ego? Anyhow, such are my views, and in perfect soundness ofmind and body, after mature reflection and with full confidence in myright so to do, I am about to end my life here.
As to the second question, "Why should Evil be allowed to triumph?" Iconfess that my mind cannot argue in a circle and say, "You are bornfull of Original Sin, and if you sin you are Damned"--a vicious circledrawn for me by the gloomy, haughty, insincere and rather unintelligentyoung gentleman whom I respectfully salute as Chaplain, and who regardsme and every other non-commissioned soldier as a Common, if not Low,person.
He would not even answer my queries by means of the good old loop-hole,"It is useless to appeal to Reason if you cannot to Faith" and so begthe question. He said that things _were_ because the Lord said theywere, and that it was impious to doubt it. More impious was it, Igathered, to doubt him, and to allude to Criticisms he had never read.
His infallible "proof" was "It is in the Bible".
Possibly I shall shortly know why an Omnipotent, Omniscient, ImpeccableDeity allows this world to be the Hell it is, even if there be no actualHell for the souls of his errant Creatures (in spite of the statementsof the Chaplain who appears to have exclusive information on thesubject, inaccessible to laymen, and to rest peacefully assured of aReal Hell for the wicked,--nonconforming, and vulgar).
At present I cannot understand and I do not know--though I am informedand infused with a burning and reverent desire to understand and toknow--why Evil should be allowed to triumph, as in my own case, as wellas in those of millions of others, it does. And thirdly, why does theman who would never deny beauty in a poem or picture because he failedto see it while others did, deny that immaterial forms of the deadexist, because he has never seen one, though others have?
I know of so many many men who would blush to be called"I-believe-what-I-see men," who yet laugh to scorn the bare idea of thematerialization and visualization of visitants from the spirit world,because they have never seen one. I have so often met the argument, "Theghost of a man I might conceive--but I can _not_ conceive the appearanceof the ghost of a pair of trousers or of a top-hat," offered as thoughit were unanswerable. Surely the spirit, aura, shade, ghost, soul,ego--what you will--can permeate and penetrate and pervade clothing andother matter as well as flesh?
Well, once again, I do not know,--and yet I have seen, not oncebut repeatedly, not by moonlight in a churchyard, but under theIndian sun on a parade-ground, the ghost of a man _and of all hisaccoutrements,--of a rifle, of a horse and all a horse's trappings_.
I have been a teetotaller for years, I have nev
er had sunstroke and I amas absolutely sane as ever a man was.
And further I am in no sense remorseful, repentant, or "dogged by thespectre of an evil deed".
I killed Burker intentionally. Were he alive again I would kill himagain. I punished him myself because the law could not punish him as hedeserved, and I in no way regret or deplore my just and judicial action.There are deeds a gentleman must resent and punish--with the extremepenalty. No, it is in no sense a case of the self-tormented wretchdriven mad by the awful hallucinations of his guilty, unhinged mind. Iam no haunted murderer pursued by phantoms and illusions, believinghimself always in the presence of his victim's ghost.
All people who have read anything, have read of the irresistiblefascination that the scene of the murder has for the murderer, of theway in which the victim "haunts" the slayer, and of how the truth that"murder will out" is really based on the fact that the murderer is hisown most dangerous accuser by reason of his life of terror, remorse, andterrible hallucination.
My case is in no wise parallel.
I am absolutely without fear, regret, remorse, repentance, dread orterror in the matter of my killing Sergeant Burker. Exactly how and whyI killed him, and how and why I am about to kill myself, I will now setforth, without the slightest exaggeration, special pleading or any otherdeviation from the truth....
I am to my certain knowledge the eighth consecutive member of my family,in the direct line, to follow the profession of arms, but am the firstto do so without bearing a commission. My father died young in the rankof Captain, my grandfather led his own regiment in the Crimea, mygreat-grandfather was a Lieutenant-General, and, if I told you my realname, you could probably state something that he did at Waterloo.
I went to Sandhurst and I was expelled from Sandhurst--very rightly andjustly--for an offence, or rather the culminating offence of a series ofoffences, that were everything but mean, dishonest or underhand. I waswild, hasty, undisciplined and I was lost for want of a father to thrashme as a boy, and by possession of a most loving and devoted mother whoworshipped, spoiled--and ruined me.
I enlisted under an assumed name in my late father's (andgrandfather's) old Regiment of Foot and quickly rose to the rank ofSergeant-Major.
I might have had a commission in South Africa but I decided that Ipreferred ruling in hell to serving in heaven, and declined to be agrey-haired Lieutenant and a nuisance to the Officers' Mess of the CorpsI would not leave until compelled.
In time I _was_ compelled and I became Sergeant-Major of the VolunteerRifle Corps here and husband of a--well--_de mortuis nil nisi bonum_.
Why I married I don't know.
The English girl of the class from which soldiers are drawn neverattracted me in the very least, and I simply could not have married one,though a paragon of virtue and compendium of housewifely qualities.
Admirable and pretty as Miss Higgs, Miss Bloggs, or Miss Muggins mightbe, my youthful training prevented my seeing beyond her fringe,finger-nails, figure, and aspirates, to her solid excellences;--and fromsergeants'-dances I returned quite heart-whole and still unplighted tothe Colonel's cook. But Dolores De Souza was different.
There was absolutely nothing to offend the most fastidious taste in herspeech, appearance, or manners. She was convent-bred, accomplished,refined, gentle, worthless and wicked. The good Sisters of the Societyof the Broken Heart had polished the exterior of the Eurasian orphanvery highly--but the polish was a thin veneer on very cheap andunseasoned wood.
It is a strange fact that, while I could respect the solid virtues ofthe aspirateless Misses Higgs, Bloggs or Muggins, I could never havemarried one of them; yet, while I knew Dolores to be a heartless flirt,and more than suspected her to be of most unrigid principle, I wasinfatuated with her dark beauty, her grace, her wiles and witchery--andasked her to become my wife.
The good Sisters of the Society of the Broken Heart had taught Doloresto sing beautifully, to play upon the piano and the guitar, toembroider, to paint mauve roses on pink tambourines and many otheruseful arts, graces and accomplishments--but they had not taught her_practical_ morality nor anything of cooking, marketing, plain sewing,house-cleaning or anything else of house-keeping. However, having beenbred as I had been bred, I could take the form and let the substance go,accept the shapely husks and shout not for the grain, and prefer apretty song, and a rose in black hair over a shell-like ear, to a squaremeal. I fear the average Sergeant-Major would have beaten Dolores withina week of matrimony, but I strove to make loss, discomfort, anddisappointment a discipline,--and music, silk dresses and daintiness anaesthetic re-training to a barrack-blunted mind.
In justice to Dolores I should make it clear that she was not of theslatternly, dirty, lazy, half-breed type that pigs in a _peignoir_ fromtwelve to twelve and snores again from midnight to midday. She was trimand dainty, used good perfume or none, rose early and went in thegarden, loathed cheap and showy trash whether in dress, jewellery, orfurniture; and was incapable of wearing fine shoes over holey stockingsor a silk gown over dirty linen. No--there was nothing to offend thefastidious about Dolores, but there was everything to offend the goodhouse-keeper and the moralist.
Frequently she would provide no dinner in order that we might becompelled to dine in public at a restaurant or a hotel, a thing sheloved to do, and she would often send out for costly sweets and pastry,drink champagne (very moderately, I admit), and generally behave asthough she were the wife of a man of means.
And she was an arrant, incorrigible, shameless flirt.
Well--I do not know that a virtuous vulgar dowd is preferable to awicked winsome witch of refined habits and person, and I should probablyhave gone quietly on to bankruptcy without any row or rupture, but forBurker. Having been bred in a "gentle" home I naturally took theattitude of "as you please, my dear Dolores" and refrained from bullyingwhen quiet indication of the inevitable end completely failed. Whethershe intended to act in a reasonable manner and show some wifely traitswhen my L250 of legacy and savings was quite dissipated I do not know.Burker came before that consummation.
A number of gentlemen joined the Duri Volunteer Corps and formed aMounted Infantry troop, and, though I am a good horseman, I was notcompetent to train the troop, as I had never enjoyed any experience ofmounted military work of any kind. So Sergeant Burker, late of the 54thLancers, was transferred to Duri as Instructor of the Mounted InfantryTroop. Naturally I did what I could to make him comfortable and, tillhis bungalow was furnished after a fashion, gave him our spare room.
Sergeant Barker was the ideal Cavalryman and the ideal breaker ofhearts,--hearts of the Mary-Ann and Eliza-Jane order.
He was a black-haired, blue-eyed Irishman with a heart as black as hishair, and language as blue as his eye--a handsome, plausible, selfish,wicked devil with scarcely a virtue but pride and high courage. Idisliked him at first sight, and Dolores fell in love with him equallyquickly, I am sure.
I don't think he had a solitary gentlemanly instinct.
Being desirous of learning Mounted Infantry work, I attended all hisdrills, riding as troop-leader, and, between close attention to him andclose study of the drill-book, did not let the gentlemen in the ranksknow that, in the beginning, I knew as little about it as they did.
And an uncommonly good troop he soon made of it, too.
Of course it was excellent material, all good riders and good shots, andwell horsed.
Burker and I were mounted by the R.H.A. Battery here, and the threedrills we held, weekly, were seasons of delight to a horse-lover likemyself.
Now the horse I had was a high-spirited, powerful animal, and hepossessed the trait, very common among horses, of hating to be pressedbehind the saddle. Turning to look behind while "sitting-easy" one day Irested my right hand on his back behind the saddle and he immediatelylashed out furiously with both hind legs. I did not realize for themoment what was upsetting him--but quickly discovered that I had only topress his back to send his hoofs out like stones from a sling. I thenremembered other simi
lar cases and that I had also read of this curiousfact about horses--something to do with pressure on the kidneys Ibelieve.
One day Burker was unexpectedly absent and I took the drill, findingmyself quite competent and _au fait_.
The same evening I went to my wife's wardrobe, she being out, to try andfind the keys of the sideboard. I knew they frequently reposed in thepocket of her dressing-gown.
In the said pocket they were--and so was a letter in the crude largehandwriting of Sergeant Burker.
I did not read it, but I did not see the necessity of a correspondencebetween my wife and such a man as I knew Sergeant Burker to be. They metoften enough, in all conscience, to say what they might have to say toeach other.
At dinner I remarked casually: "I shouldn't enter into a correspondencewith Burker if I were you, Dolly. His reputation isn't over savouryand--" but, before I could say more, my wife was literally screamingwith rage, calling me "Spy," "Liar," "Coward," and demanding to knowwhat I insinuated and of what I accused her. I replied that I hadaccused her of nothing at all, and merely offered advice in the matterof correspondence with Burker. I explained how I had come to find theletter and stated that I had not read it.
"Then how do you know that we--" she began, and suddenly stopped.
"That you--what?" I inquired.
"Nothing," she said.
At the next Sergeants' Dance at the Institute I did not like Burker'smanner to my wife at all. It was--well, amorous, and tinged with a shadeof proprietorship. I distinctly heard him call her "Dolly," and equallydistinctly saw an expressively affectionate look in her eyes as hehugged her in the waltzes--whereof they indulged in no less than five.
My position was awkward and unpleasant. I loathe a row or a sceneunspeakably--though I delight in fighting when that pastime islegitimate--and I was brought into daily contact with the ruffian and Idisliked him intensely.
I was very averse from the course of forbidding him the house and thusinsulting my wife by implication--since she obviously enjoyed hissociety--and descending to pit myself against the greasy cad in astruggle for a woman's favour, and that woman my own wife. Nor could Iconscientiously take the line of, "If she desires to go to the Devil lether," for a man has as much responsibility for his wife as for hischildren, and it is equally his duty to guide and control her and them.Women may vote and may legislate for men--but on men they will everdepend and rely.
No, the position of carping, jealous husband was one that I could notfill, and I determined to say nothing, do nothing and bewatchful--watchful, that is, to avoid exposing her to temptation. I didmy best, but I was away from home a good deal, visiting the out-stationdetachments of the Corps.
Then, one day, the wretched creature I called "butler" came to me withan air of great mystery and said: "Sahib, Sergeant Burker Sahib sendingMem Sahib bundle of flowers and _chitti_[53] inside and diamond ringyesterday. His boy telling me and I seeing. He often coming here toowhen Sahib out. Both wicked peoples."
[53] Note.
I raised my hand to knock his lies down his throat--and dropped it. Theywere not lies, I knew, and the fellow had been faithful to me for manyyears and--the folly of childish human vanity--I felt he knew I was a"gentleman," and I liked him for it.
I paid him his wages then and there, gave him a present and a goodtestimonial and discharged him. He wept real tears and shook with sobsof grief--easy grief, but very genuine.
When Dolores came home from the Bandstand I said quietly: "Show me thejewellery Burker sent you, Dolly. I am very much in earnest, so don'tbluster."
She seemed about to faint and looked very frightened--perhaps my facewas more expressive than a gentleman's should be.
"It was only a little thing for my birthday," she whined. "Can't I keepit? Don't be a tyrant or a fool."
"Your next birthday or your last?" I asked. "Please get it at once.We'll settle matters quietly and finally."
I fear the poor girl had visions of the doorstep and a closed door. Two,perhaps, for I am sure Burker would not have taken her in if I hadturned her out, and she may have thought the same.
It was a diamond ring, and the scoundrel must have given a couple ofmonths' pay for it--if he had paid for it at all. I thrust aside thesudden conviction that Burker's own taste could not have beenresponsible for its choice and that it was selected by my wife.
"Why should he give you this, Dolores?" I asked. "Will you tell me ormust I go to him?" And then she burst into tears and flung herself at myfeet, begging for mercy.
Mercy!
_Qui s'excuse s'accuse_.
What should I do?
To cast her out was to murder her soul quickly and her body slowly, andI could foresee her career with prophetic eye and painful clearness.
And what could the Law do for me?
Publish our shame and perhaps brand me that wretched thing--thewillingly deceived and complaisant husband.
What could I do by challenging Burker?
He was a champion man-at-arms, a fine boxer, and a younger, strongerman, I should merely experience humiliation and defeat. What _could_ Ido?
If I said, "Go and live with your Burker," I should be committing abigger crime than hers, for if he did take her in, it would not be forlong.
I sat the night through, pondered the question carefully, looked at itfrom all points of view and--decided that Burker must die. Also that hemust not drag me to jail or the scaffold as he went to his doom. If Ishot him and was punished, Dolores would become a--well, as I have said,her soul would die quickly and her body slowly. I had married Doloresand I must do what lay in my power to protect Dolores. But I simplycould not kill the hound in some stealthy secret manner and wait forthe footsteps of warrant-armed police for the rest of my life.
What could I do? Or rather--for the question had narrowed to that--howcould I kill him?
And as the sun struck upon my eyes at dawn, an idea struck upon my mind.
I would leave it to Fate and if Fate willed it so, Burker should die.
_If Burker stood behind my charger, Fate sat with down-turned thumb_.
I would not seek the opportunity--but, by God, I would take it if itoffered.
If it did not, I would go to Burker and say to him quietly: "Burker, youmust leave this station at once and never see or communicate with mywife in any way. Otherwise I have to kill you, Burker--to execute you,you understand." ...
A native syce from the Artillery lines led my charger into the littlecompound of my tiny bungalow.
Having buckled on my belt I went out, patted him, and gave him a lump ofsugar. He nuzzled me for more, and, as he did so, I placed my hand onhis back, behind the saddle, and pressed. He lashed out wildly.
I then trotted across the _maidan_[54] to the Volunteer Headquarters andparade-ground.
[54] Plain; level tract of ground.
Several gentlemen of the Mounted Infantry were waiting about, somestanding by their horses, some getting bandoliers, belts, and rifles,some cantering their horses round the ground.
Sergeant Burker strode out of the Orderly Boom.
"Morning, Smith," said he. "How's the Missus?"
I looked him in the eye and made no reply.
He laughed, as jeering, evil, and caddish a laugh as I have ever heard.I almost forgot my purpose and had actually turned toward the armouryfor a rifle and cartridge when I remembered and controlled my rage.
If I shot him, then and there, I must go to the scaffold or to jailforthwith, and Dolores must inevitably go to a worse fate. Had I beensure that she could have kept straight, Burker would have been shot,then and there.
"Fall in," he shouted, but did not mount his horse.
The gentlemen assembled with their horses and faced him in line,dismounted, I in front of the centre of the troop. How clearly I can seeevery feature and detail of that morning's scene, and hear every wordand sound.
"Tell off by sections," commanded Burker.
"One, two, three, four--one, two, three, four...."
There were exactly six sections.
"Flanks of sections, proof."
"Section leaders, proof."
"Centre man, proof."
"Prepare to mount."
"Mount."
"Sections right."
"Sections left."
The last two words were the last words Burker ever spoke. Passing onfoot along the line of mounted men, to inspect saddlery, accoutrements,and the adjustment of rifle-buckets and slings, he halted immediatelybehind me, where I sat on my charger in front of the centre of thetroop.
I could not have placed him more exactly with my own hands. _Fate satwith down-pointing thumb_.
Turning round, as though to look at the troop, I rested my hand on myhorse's back--just behind the saddle--and pressed hard. He lashed outwith both hoofs and Sergeant Burker dropped--and never moved again.
The base of his skull was smashed like an egg, and his back was brokenlike a dry stick....
The terrible accident roused wide sympathy with the unfortunate man, thelocal reporter used all his adjectives, and a military funeral was givento the soldier who had died in the execution of his duty.
On reaching home, after satisfying myself at the Station Hospital thatthe man was dead, I said to my poor, pale and red-eyed wife:--
"Dolores, Sergeant Burker met with an accident this morning on parade.He is dead. Let us never refer to him again."
She fainted.
I spent that night also in meditation, questioning myself and examiningmy soul--with every honest endeavour to be not a self-deceiver.
I came to the conclusion that I had acted rightly and in the only way inwhich a gentleman could act. I had snatched Dolores from his foulclutches, I had punished him without depriving Dolores of my protection,and I had avenged the stain on my honour.
"You have committed a treacherous cowardly murder," whispered the Fiendin my ear.
"You are a liar," I replied. "I did not fear the man and I took thiscourse solely on account of Dolores. I was strong enough to accept thisposition--and to risk the accusation of murder, from my conscience, fromthe Devil, or from man."
Any doubt I might otherwise have had was forestalled and inhibited bythe obvious Fate that placed Burker in the one spot favourable to myscheme of punishment.
God had willed it?
God had not prevented it.
Surely God was consenting unto it....
And Dolores? I would forgive her and offer her the choice of remainingwith me or leaving me and receiving a half of my income andpossessions--both alternatives being contingent upon good conduct.
At dawn I prepared tea for her, and entered our bedroom. Dolores hadwound a towel round her neck, twisted the ends tightly--and suffocatedherself.
She had been dead for hours....
At the police inquiry, held the same day, I duly lied as to the virtuesof the "deceased," and the utter impossibility of assigning any reasonfor the rash and deplorable act. The usual smug stereotyped verdict waspronounced, and, in addition to expressing their belief that the suicidewas committed "while of unsound mind," the officials expressed muchsympathy with the bereaved husband.
Dolores was buried that evening and I returned to an empty house.
I believe opinion had been divided as to whether I was callous or"stunned"--but the sight of her little shoes caused pains in my throatand eyes. Had Burker been then alive I would have killed him with myhands--and teeth. Yes, teeth.
I spent that night in packing every possession and trace of Dolores intoher boxes, and then in trying to persuade myself that I should haveacted differently.
I could not do so. I had acted for the best--so let God who gave mefree-will, intelligence, conscience and opportunity, approve the deed ortake the blame.
And let God remember how that opportunity came so convincingly--soimpellingly--and if He would judge me and ask for my defence I would askhim who sent Burker here, and who placed him on that fatal spot?
Does God sit only in judgment?
Does God calmly watch His creatures walking blindfold to thePit--struggling to tear away the bandage as they walk? Can He onlyjudge, and can He never help?
"_Pray_?"
Is God a petty-minded "jealous" God to be propitiated like the gods ofthe heathen?
Must we continually ask, or, not asking, not receive?
And if we know not to ask aright and to demand the best and highest?
Cannot the well-fed, well-read, well-paid Chaplain give advice?
"_God knoweth best. Ask unceasingly. Pray always_."
_Why_?--if. He knows best, is All Merciful, All Powerful?
"_Praise_?"
Is God a child, a savage, a woman? Shall I offer adulation that wouldsicken _me_.
"_God is our Father which art in heaven_."
Would I have my son praise me to my face continually--or at all. Would Icompel him to pester me with demands for what he desired,--good, bad andindifferent?
And would I give him what he asked regardless of what was best forhim--or say, "If you ask not, you receive not?" Give me a God finer andgreater and juster and nobler than myself--something higher than theChaplain's jealous, capricious, inconsequent and illogical God.Anthropomorphism!
Is there a God at all?
I shall soon know.
If so--
Oh Thou, who man of baser earth didst make And ev'n with Paradise devised the Snake, For all the Sin the face of wretched man Is black with--Man's forgiveness give--and take!
At dawn I said aloud:--
"This Chapter is closed. The story of Burker and Dolores is written. Imay now strive to forget."
I was wrong.
Major Jackson of the R.A.M.C. came to see me soon after daylight. Hegave me an opiate and I slept all that day and night. I went on paradenext morning, fresh, calm, and cool--and saw _Burker riding toward thegroup of gentlemen who were awaiting the signal to "fall in"_.
I say I was fresh, calm, and cool.
I was.
And there was Burker--looking exactly as in life, save for a slightnebulosity, a very faint vagueness of outline, and a hint oftransparency.
I had been instructed by the Adjutant to assume the post of Instructor(as the end of the Mounted Infantry drill season was near)--and I blewthe "rally" on my whistle as many of the gentlemen were riding about,and shouted the command: "Fall in".
Twenty living men and one dead faced me, twenty dismounted and onemounted. I called the corporal in charge of the armoury.
"How many on parade?" I asked.
He looked puzzled, counted, and said:--
"Why--twenty, ain't there?"
I numbered the troop.
Twenty--and Burker.
"Tell off by sections."
Five sections--and Burker.
"Sections right."
A column of five sections--and Burker, in the rear.
I called out the section-leader of Number One section.
"Are the sections correctly proved?" I asked, and added: "Put the troopback in line and tell-off again".
"Five sections, correct," he reported.
I held that drill, with five sections of living men, and a single fileof dead, who manoeuvred to my word.
When I gave the order "With Numbers Three for action dismount," or"Right-hand men, for action dismount," Burker remained mounted. When Idismounted the whole troop, Burker remained mounted. Otherwise hedrilled precisely as Number Twenty-one would have drilled in a troop oftwenty-one men.
Was I frightened? I do not know.
At first my heart certainly pounded as though it would leap from mybody, and I felt dazed, lost, and shocked.
I think I _was_ frightened--not of Burker so much as of the unfamiliar,the unknown, the impossible.
How would you feel if your piano suddenly began to play of itself? Youwould be alarmed and afraid probably, not frightened of the piano, butof the fact.
A door could not frighten you--but you would surely be alarmed at it
spersistently opening, each time you shut, locked, and bolted it, if itacted thus.
Of Burker I had no fear--but I was perturbed by the _fact_ that the deadcould ride with the living.
When I gave the order "Dismiss" at the end of the parade Burker rodeaway, as he had always done, in the direction of his bungalow.
Returning to my lonely house, I sat me down and pondered this appallingevent that had come like a torrent, sweeping away familiar landmarks ofexperience, idea, and belief. I was conscious of a dull anger againstBurker and then against God.
Why should He allow Burker to haunt me?...
Why should Evil triumph?...
_Was_ I haunted? Or was it, after all, but a hallucination--due togrief, trouble, and the drug of the opiate?
I sat and brooded until I thought I could hear the voices of Burker andDolores in converse.
This I knew to be hallucination, pure and simple, and I went to see myfriend (if he will let me call him what he is in the truest and highestsense) Major Jackson of the R.A.M.C.
He took me for a long ride, kept me to dinner, and manufactured a jobfor me--a piece of work that would occupy and tire me.
He assured me that the Burker affair was pure hallucination and stakedhis professional reputation that the image of Burker came upon my retinafrom within and not from without. "The shock of the deaths of your wifeand your friend on consecutive days has unhinged you, and very naturallyso," he said.
Of course I did not tell him that I had killed Burker, though Ishould have liked to do so. I felt I had no right to put him in theposition of having to choose between denouncing me and condoning amurder--compounding a felony.
Nor did I see any reason for confessing to the Police what I had done(even though Dolores was dead) and finishing my career on the scaffold.
One owes something to one's ancestors as well as to oneself. Well,perhaps it was a hallucination. I would wait.
At the next drill Burker was present and rode as Number Three in SectionSix.
As there were twenty-three (living) on parade I ordered NumberTwenty-three to ride as Number Four of his section and leave a blankfile.
Burker rode in that blank file and drilled so, throughout--save that hewould not dismount.
Once, as the troop rode in column of sections, I fell to the rear and,coming up behind, struck with all my might at that slightly nebulousfigure, with its faint vagueness of outline and hint of transparency.
My heavy cutting-whip whistled--and touched nothing. I was as one whobeats the air. Section Six must have thought me mad.... Twice again thedead man drilled with the living, and each time I described whathappened to Major Jackson.
"It is a persistent hallucination," said he; "you must go on leave."
"I won't run from Burker, nor from a hallucination," I replied.
Then came the end.
At the next drill, twenty-one gentlemen were present and NumberTwenty-one, the Sessions Judge of Duri, a Scot, kept staring with looksof amazement and alarm at Burker, who rode as Number Four on his flank,making an odd file into a skeleton section. I was certain that he sawBurker.
As the gentlemen "dismissed" after parade, the Judge rode up to me and,with a white face, demanded:--
"Who the devil was that rode with me as Number Twenty-four? It was--itwas--like--Sergeant Burker."
"It _was_ Sergeant Burker, Sir," said I.
"I knew it was," he replied, and added: "Man, you and I are fey."
"Will you tell Major Jackson of this, Sir?" I begged. "He knows I haveseen Burker's ghost here before, and tells me it is a hallucination."
"I'll go and see him now." he replied. "He is an old friend of mine,and--he's a damned good doctor. Man--you and I are fey." He rode towhere his trap, with its spirited cob, was awaiting him, dismounted anddrove off.
As everybody knows, Mr. Blake of the Indian Civil Service, SessionsJudge of Duri, was thrown from his trap and killed. It happened fiveminutes after he had said to me, with a queer look in his eyes, and aqueer note in his voice, "Man! you and I are fey".... So it is nohallucination and I am haunted by Burker's ghost. Very good. I willfight Burker on his own ground.
My ghost shall haunt Burker's ghost--or I shall be at peace.
Though the religion of the Chaplain has failed me, the religion of myMother, taught to me at her knee, has implanted in me an ineradicablebelief in the ultimate justice of things, and the unquenchable hope of"somehow good".
I am about to go before my Maker or to obliteration and oblivion. If theformer, I am prepared to say to Him: "You made me a man. I have playedthe man. I look to you for justice, and that is--compensation and not'forgiveness'. Much less is it punishment. You have treated me ill andgiven me no help. You have bestowed free-_will_ without free-_dom_.Compensate me or know Yourself unjust."
To a servant or child who spoke so to me and with equal reason, I wouldreply:--
"Compensation is due to you and not 'forgiveness'--much lesspunishment," and I would act accordingly.... Why should I cringe toGod--and why should He love a cringer more than I do?
God help Men and Women--and such Children as are doomed to grow up to beMen and Women.
As I finish this sentence I shall put my revolver in my mouth and seekJustice or Peace....
* * * * *
"Bad luck," murmured Mr. Robin Ross-Ellison, "that was the man of allmen for me! A gentleman, wishful to die.... That is the sort that _does_things when swords are out and bullets fly. Seeks a gory grave and getsa V.C. instead. He and Mike Malet-Marsac and I would have put a polishon the new Gungapur Fusiliers.... Rough luck...."
He was greatly disappointed, for his experiences in the bazaars,market-places, secret-meeting houses, and the bowers of Hearts'Delights,--the Rialtos of Gungapur (he disguised, now as an Afghanhorse-dealer, now as a sepoy, now as a Pathan money-lender, again as agold-braided, velvet waistcoated, swaggering swashbuckler from theBorder)--his experiences were disquieting, were such as to make him pushon preparations, perfect plans, and work feverishly at the "polishing"of his re-organized Corps.
Also the reports of his familiar, a Somali yclept Moussa Isa, weredisquieting, disturbing to a lover of the Empire who foresaw the Empireat war in Europe.
Moussa Isa also knew that there was talk among Pathan horse-dealers and_budmashes_ of the coming of one Ilderim the Weeper, a mullah of greatinfluence and renown, and talk, moreover, among men of other race, of aGreat Conspiracy.
Moussa was bidden to take service as a mill-coolie in one of ColonelDearman's mills, and to report on the views and attitude of thethousands who laboured therein. This he did and there learnt manyinteresting facts.