CHAPTER IV.
TAPE AND SEALING-WAX.
"I can't think," said a good-looking middle-aged man as he petulantlypushed aside a pile of official papers, "where Dashe picks thesethings up. I never come across them. And it is not as if he were in abig station or--or in the swim in any way." He spoke fretfully, as onemight who, having done his best, has failed. And he had grounds forthis feeling, since the fact that the diffident district-officer namedDashe was not in the swim, must clearly have been due to his officialsuperiors; the speaker being one of them.
Fortunately, however, for England, these diffident sons of hers cannotalways hide their lights under bushels. As the biographies of manyIndian statesmen show, some outsider notices a gleam of common senseamid the gloom, and steers his course by it. Now Mr. Dashe's intimateknowledge of a certain jungle tract in this district had resulted in acertain military magnate bagging three tigers. From this to a relianceon his political perceptions is not so great a jump as might appear;since a man acquainted with the haunt of every wild beast in hisjurisdiction may be credited with knowledge of other dangerousinhabitants. So much so that the military magnate, being impressed bysome casual remarks, had asked Mr. Dashe to put down his views onpaper, and had passed them on to a great political light.
It was he who sat at the table looking at a broadsheet printed in thenative character, as if it were a personal affront. The militarymagnate, who had come over to discuss the question, was lounging in aneasy-chair with a cheroot. They were both excellent specimens ofEnglishmen. The civilian a trifle bald, the soldier a trifle gray; butone glance was sufficient to judge them neither knaves nor fools.
"That's the proclamation you're at now, isn't it?" asked the militarymagnate, looking up, "I'm afraid I could only make out a word here andthere. That's the worst of Dashe. He's so deuced clever at thevernaculars himself that he imagines other people----"
The political, who had earned his first elevation from the common herdto the Secretariat by a nice taste in Persian couplets suitable fordurbar speeches, smiled compassionately.
"My dear sir! This is not even _shikust_ [broken character]. It islithographed, and plain sailing to anyone not a fool--I mean to anyoneon the civil side, of course--you soldiers have not to learn thelanguage. But I have a translation here. As this farrago of Dashe'smust go to Calcutta in due course, I had one made for the GovernorGeneral's use."
He handed a paper across the table, and then turned to the nextparagraph of the jeremiad.
The military magnate laid down his cigar, took up the document andglanced at it apprehensively, resumed his cigar, and settled himselfin his chair. It was a very comfortable one and matched theoffice-room, which, being in the political light's private house, wasunder the supervision of his wife, who was a notable woman. Herportrait stood in the place of honor on the mantelpiece and it wasflanked by texts; one inculcating the virtue of doing as you wouldbe done by, the other the duty of doing good without ceasing. Bothrather dangerous maxims when you have to deal with a differentpersonal and ethical standard of happiness and righteousness. Therewas also a semicircle of children's photographs--of the kind known aspositives--on the table round the official ink-pot. When the sun shoneon their glasses, as it did now through a western window, they dazzledthe eyes. Maybe it was their hypnotizing influence which inclined thefather of the family toward treating every problem which came to thatoffice-table as if the first desideratum was their welfare, theirapprobation; not, of course, as his children, but as therepresentative Englishmen and women of the future. Yet he was filledwith earnest desires to do his duty by those over whom he had been setto rule, and as he read, his sense of responsibility was simplyportentous, and his pen, scratching fluently in comments over the halfmargin, was full of wisdom. This sound was the only one in the roomsave, occasionally, voices raised eagerly in the rehearsal going on inthe drawing room next door. It was a tragedy in aid of an orphanasylum in England which the notable wife was getting up; and once hervoice could be heard distinctly, saying to her daughter, "Oh, Elsie,I'm sure you could die better than that!"
Meanwhile the military magnate was reading:
"I, servant of God, the all-powerful, and of the prophet Mohammed--towhom be all praise. I, Syyed Ahmed-Oolah, the dust of the feet of thedescendants of _Huzrut Ameer-Oolah-Moomereen-Ali-Moortuza, the Holy_."He shifted uneasily, looked across the table, appeared discouraged bythat even scratching, and went on:
"I, Syyed Ahmed, after preferring my salaams and the blessings of HolyWar, to all believers of the sect of Sheeahs or the sect of Sunneesalike, and also to all those having respectful regards to the Faith,declare that I, the least of servants in the company of those waitingon the Prophet, did by the order of God receive a Sword of Honor, oncondition that I should proclaim boldly to all the duty of combiningto drive out Infidels. In this, therefore, is there great Reward; asis written in the Word of God, since His Gracious Power is mighty forsuccess. Yea! and if any fail, will they not be rid of all the ends ofthis evil world, and attain the Joys and Glories of Martyrdom? So beit. A sign is ever sufficient to the intelligent, and the Duty of aservant is simply to point the way."
When he had finished he laid the document down on the table, and for aminute or so continued to puff at his cigar. Then he broke silencewith that curious constraint in his tone which most men assume whenreligious topics crop up in general conversation. "I wonder ifthis--this paper is to be considered the sign, or"--he hesitated for amoment, then the cadence of the proclamation being suggestive, hefinished his sentence to match--"or look we for another?"
"Another!" retorted his companion irritably. "According to Dashe thewhole of India is one vast sign-post! He seems to think we inauthority are blind to this. On the contrary, there is scarcely onepoint he mentions which is not, I say this confidentially of course,under inquiry. I have the files in my confidential box here and canshow them to you now. No! by the way, the head clerk has the key--thatproclamation had to be translated, of course. But, naturally, we don'tproclaim this on the housetops. We might hurt people's feelings,or give rise to unfounded hopes. As for these bazaar rumors Dasheretails with such zest, I confess I think it undignified for adistrict-officer to give any heed to them. They are inevitablewith an ignorant population, and we, having the testimony ofa good conscience,"--he glanced almost unconsciously at themantelpiece,--"should disregard these ridiculous lies. Of courseeveryone--everyone in the swim, that is--admits that the native armyis most unsettled. And as Sir Charles Napier declared, mutiny is themost serious danger in the future; in fact, if the first symptoms arenot grappled with, it may shake the very foundations. But we aregrappling with it, just as we are grappling, quietly, with the generaldistrust. That was a most mischievous paragraph, by the way, in the_Christian Observer_, jubilant over the alarm created by those firstwidow remarriages the other day. So was that in _The Friend of India_,calling attention to the fact that a regular prayer was offered up inall the mosques for the Restoration of the Royal Family. We don't wantthese things _noticed_. We want to create a feeling of security byignoring them. That is our policy. Then as for Dashe's political news,it is all stale! That story, for instance, of the Embassy from Persia,and of the old King of Delhi having turned a Sheeah----"
"That has something to do with saying Amen, hasn't it?" interruptedthe military magnate, with the air of one determined to get at thebottom of things at all costs to himself.
The political light smiled in superior fashion. "Partially; butpolitically--as a gauge, I mean, to probable antagonism--Sheeahs andSunnees are as wide apart as Protestants and Papists. The fact thatthe Royal Family of Oude are Sheeahs, and the Delhi one Sunnees, isour safeguard. Of course the old King's favorite wife, Zeenut Maihl,is an Oude woman, but I don't credit the rumors. I had it carefullyinquired into, however, by a man who has special opportunities forthat sort of work. A very intelligent fellow, Greyman by name. He hasa black wife or--or something of that sort, which of cou
rse helpshim to understand the natives better than most of us who--er--whodon't--you understand----"
The military magnate, having a sense of humor, smiled to himself."Perfectly," he replied, "and I'm inclined to think that perhaps thereis something to be said for a greater laxity." In his turn he glancedat the mantelpiece, and paused before that immaculate presence. "Theproclamation, however," he went on hurriedly, "appears to me a bitdangerous. Holy War is awkward, and a religious fanatic is a toughsubject even to the regulars." He had seen a rush of Ghazees once andthe memory lingered.
"Undoubtedly. And as we have pointed out again and again to yourDepartment, here and at home, the British garrisons are too scattered.These large accessions of territory have put them out of touch witheach other. But that again is being grappled with. In fact,personally, I believe we are getting on as well as can be expected."He glanced here at the semicircle of children as if the phrase weresuggestive. "We are doing our best for India and the Indians. Nowhere, in Oude, things are wonderfully ship-shape already. DespiteJackson and Gubbins' tiffs over trifles they are both splendidworkers, and Lucknow was never so well governed as it is to-day."
"But about the proclamation," persisted his hearer. "Couldn't you getsome more information about it? That Greyman, for instance."
"I'm afraid not. He refused some other work I offered him not longago. Said he was going home for good. I sometimes wish I could. It isa thankless task slaving out here and being misunderstood, even athome. Being told in so many words that the very system under which wewere recruited has failed. Poor old Haileybury! I only hopecompetition will do as well, but I doubt it; these new fellows cannever have the old _esprit de corps_; won't come from the same class!One of the Rajah's people was questioning me about it only thismorning--they read the English newspapers, of course. 'So we are notto have sahibs to rule over us,' he said, looking black as thunder.'Any _krani's_ (_lit_. low-caste English) son will do, if he haslearned enough.' I tried to explain--" Here a red-coated orderlyentering with a card, he broke off into angry inquiries why he wasbeing disturbed contrary to orders.
"The sahib bade me bring it," replied the man, as if that weresufficient excuse, and his master, looking at the card, tossed it overthe table to the soldier, who exclaimed: "Talk of the devil! He may aswell come in, if you don't mind."
So James Greyman was ushered in, and remained standing between thecivilian and the soldier; for it is not given to all to have the fineperceptions of the native. The orderly had unhesitatingly classed thevisitor as a "gentleman to be obeyed"; but the Political Departmentknew him only as a reliable source of information.
"Well, Greyman! Have you brought any more news?" asked the civilian,in a tone intended to impress the Military Department with the factthat here was one grapnel out of the many which were being employed inbringing truth to the surface and securing safety. But the soldier,after one brief look at the newcomer, sat up and squared his ownshoulders a bit.
"That depends, sir," replied James Greyman quietly, "whether it paysme to bring it or not. I told you last month that I could notundertake any more work, because I was leaving India. My plans havechanged; and to be frank, I am rather hard up. If you could give meregular employment I should be glad of it." He spoke with the utmostdeliberation, but the incisive finality of every word, taking hishearers unprepared, gave an impression of hurry and left the civilianbreathless. James Greyman, however, having said what he had come tosay, said no more. During the past week he had had plenty of time tomake up his mind, or rather to find out that it was made up. For herecognized frankly that he was acting more on impulse than reason.After he had buried poor little Zora away in accordance with thecustoms of her people, and paid his racing bets and generalliabilities,--to do which he had found it necessary to sell mostthings, including the very horse he had matched against MajorErlton's,--he had suddenly found out, rather to his own surprise, thatthe idea of starting again on the old lines was utterly distasteful tohim. In a lesser degree this second loss of his future and severing ofties in the past had had the same effect upon him as the previous one.It had left him reckless, disposed to defy all he had lost, and provehimself superior to ill-luck. Then being, by right of his Celticbirth, imaginative, in a way superstitious, he had again and againfound himself thrown back, as it were, upon Kate Erlton's appeal forthat chance, to bring which the Spirit might be, even now, moving onthe waters. It was that, that only, with its swift touch on his owncertainty that a storm was brewing, which had made him yield hispoint; which had forced him into yielding by an unreasoning assent toher suggestion that it might bring a chance of atonement with it. Andnow, in calm deliberation, he confessed that he might find his chancein it also; a better chance, maybe, than he would have had in England.His only one, at any rate, for some time to come. Those gray-bluenorthern eyes with the glint of steel in them had, by a few words,changed the current of his life. The truth was unpalatable, but asusual he did not attempt to deny it. He simply cast round for the bestcourse in which to flow toward that tide in the affairs of men whichhe hoped to take at its flood. Political employment--briefly, spy'swork--seemed as good as any for the present.
"Regular employment," echoed the civilian, recovering from his senseof hurry. "You mean, I presume, as a news-writer."
"As a spy, sir," interrupted James Greyman.
The political light disregarded the suggestion. "Your acquirements, ofcourse, would be suitable enough; but I fear there are no nativecourts without one. And the situation hardly calls for excessexpenditure. But of course, any isolated _douceur_----"
His hearer smiled. "Call it payment, sir. But I think you must findjob-work in secret intelligence rather expensive. It produces such acrop of mare's-nests; at least so I have found."
The suspicion of equality in the remark made the official mount hishigh horse, deftly.
"Really, we have so many reliable sources of information, Mr.Greyman," he began, laying his hand as if casually on the papersbefore him. The action was followed by James Greyman's keen eyes.
"You have the proclamation there, I see," he said cheerfully. "Ithought it could not be much longer before the police or someone elsebecame aware of its existence. The Moulvie himself was here about aweek ago."
"The Moulvie--what Moulvie?" asked the military magnate eagerly. Thecivilian, however, frowned. If confidential work were to be carriedout on those lines, something, even if it were only ignorance, must befound out.
"The Moulvie of Fyzabad--" began James Greyman.
"And who--?"
"My dear sir," interrupted the other pettishly. "We really know allabout the Moulvie of Fyzabad. His name has been on the register ofsuspects for months." He rose, crossed to a bookshelf, and coming backprocessionally with two big volumes, began to turn over the pages ofone.
"M--Mo--Ah! Ma, no doubt. That is correct, though transliteration isreally a difficult task--to be consistent yet intelligible in aforeign language is---- No. It must be under F in the first volume. F;Fy. Just so! Here we are. 'Fyzabad, Moulvie of--fanatic, tall, mediumcolor, mole on inside of left shoulder.' This is the man, I think?"
"I was not aware of the mole, sir," replied James Greyman dryly, "buthe is a magnificent preacher, a consistent patriot, a born organizer;and he is now on his way to Delhi."
"To Delhi?" echoed the civilian pettishly. "What can a man of thestamp you say he is want with Delhi? A sham court, a miserablepantaloon of a king, the prey of a designing woman who flatters hisdotage. I admit he is the representative of the Moghul dynasty, butits record for the last hundred and fifty years is bad enough surelyto stamp out sentiment of that sort."
"Prince Charles Edward was not a very admirable person, nor the recordof the Stuarts a very glorious one, and yet my grandfather----" JamesGreyman pulled himself up sharply, and seeing an old prayer-book lyingon the table, which, with the alternatives of a bottle of Ganges waterand a copy of the _Koran_, lay ready for the discriminate swearing ofwitnesses, finished his sentence by opening the volume at a cert
ainOffice, and then placing the open book on the top of the proclamation."It will be no news to you, sir, that prayers of that sort are beingused in all the mosques. Of course here, in Lucknow, they are for mylate master's return. But if anything comparable to the '15 or the '45were to come, Delhi must be the center. It is the lens which wouldfocus the largest area, the most rays; for it appeals to greed as wellas good, to this world as well as the next."
"Do you think it a center of disaffection now, Mr. Greyman?" asked themilitary magnate with an emphasis on the title.
"I do not know, sir. Zeenut Maihl, the Queen, has court intrigues, butthey are of little consequence."
"I disagree," protested the Political. "You require the experience ofa lifetime to estimate the enormous influence----"
"What do you consider of importance, then?" interrupted the soldierrather cavalierly, leaning across the table eagerly to look at JamesGreyman. There was an instant's silence, during which those voicesrehearsing were clearly audible. The tragedy had apparently reached aclimax.
"That; and this." He pointed to the Proclamation, and a small fragmentof something which he took from his waistcoat pocket and laid besidethe paper. The civilian inspected it curiously, the soldier, leavinghis chair, came round to look at it also. The sunny room was full ofpeace and solid security as those three Englishmen, with no lack ofpluck and brains, stood round the white fragment.
"Looks like bone," remarked the soldier.
"It is bone, and it was found, so I heard in the bazaar to-day, at thebottom of a Commissariat flour-sack----"
James Greyman was interrupted by a relieved pshaw! from the Political.
"The old story, eh, Greyman! I wonder what next these ignorantfools----"
"When the ignorant fools happen to be drilled soldiers, and, inBengal, outnumber our English troops by twenty-four to one," retortedJames Greyman sharply, "it seems a work of supererogation to ask whatthey will do next. If I were in their place---- However, if I may tellyou how that came into my hands you will perhaps be able to grasp thegravity of the situation."
"Won't you take a chair?" asked the soldier quickly.
James Greyman glanced at the Political. "No, thanks, I won't be long.There is a class of grain carriers called Bunjarahs. They keep herdsof oxen, and have carried supplies for the Royal troops since timeimmemorial. They have a charter engraved on a copper breastplate. I'veonly seen a copy, for the original Jhungi and Bhungi lived ages ago inRajpootana. It runs so:
"While Jhungi Bhungi's oxen Carry the army's corn, House-thatch to feed their flocks on, House-water ready drawn. Three murders daily shriven, These rights to them are given, While Jhungi Bhungi's oxen Carry the army's corn."
"Preposterous," murmured the civilian. "That's at an end, anyhow."
"Naturally; for they no longer carry the corn. The method is too slow,too Eastern for our Commissariat. But the Oude levies used to employthem. So did I at the stables. This is over also, and when I last sawmy _tanda_--that's a caravan of them, sir--they were sub-contractingunder a rich Hindoo firm which was dealing direct with the Department.They didn't like it."
"Still you can't deny that the growth of a strong, contentedcommercial class with a real stake in the country----" began thecivilian hurriedly.
"That sounds like the home-counties or a vestry board," interruptedhis hearer dryly. "The worst of it, in this case, being that you haveto get your content out of the petty dealers like these Bunjarahs. Icame upon one yesterday telling a circle of admirers, in the strictestconfidence of course, lest the _Sirkar_ should kill him for lettingthe cat out of the bag, that he had found that bit of bone at thebottom of a Commissariat sack he bought to mend his own. The moralbeing, of course, that it was safer to buy from him. But he was onlyhalf through when I, knowing the scoundrel, fell on him and thrashedhim for lying. The audience approved, and assented to his confessionthat it was a lie; but only to please me, the man with the stick. Andas for Jhungi, he will tell the tale with additional embellishments inevery village to which the caravan goes; unless someone is there tothrash him if he does."
"Scoundrel," muttered the soldier angrily.
"Or saint," added James Greyman. "He will be that when he comes tobelieve his own story of having burned the sack rather than use it.That won't be long. Then he will be much more dangerous. However, ifthere is no place vacant for me, sir----"
"If you would not mind waiting a minute----" began the militarymagnate, with a hasty look at the Political.
James Greyman bowed, and retired discreetly to the window. It lookedout upon just such another garden as Kate Erlton's, and theremembrance provoked the cynical question as to what the devil he wasdoing in that galley. Racing was a far safer way of making money thanacting as a spy; to no purpose possibly, at least so far as his ownchance was concerned.
Yet five minutes after, when the Political was writing him out a safeconduct in the event of his ever getting into difficulties with theauthorities, he interrupted the scratching of the pen to say,suddenly:
"If you would make it out in my own name, sir, I should prefer it.James Sholto Douglas, late of the ----th Regiment."
"Hm!" said the military magnate thoughtfully when the new employee inthe Secret Intelligence Department left the room. "So that is JimDouglas, is it? I thought he was a service man by the set of hisshoulders. Jim Douglas. I remember his case when I was in the A.-G.'soffice."
"What was it?" asked the civilian curiously.
"Oh, a woman, of course. I forget the details, she was the wife of hismajor, a drunken beast. There was something about a blow, and shedidn't back him up; saved her reputation, you understand. But he wasan uncommonly smart officer, I know that."