Читать книгу The Dilemma - George Tomkyns Chesney - Страница 17

​

Chapter IX

Table of Contents

CHAPTER IX.

Two days afterwards took place the inspection of the 76th. In the monotony of an Indian cantonment, even the inspection of a native-infantry regiment creates a certain amount of excitement; and before sunrise a small group of ​equestrians were assembled on the parade to witness the spectacle. The regiment itself had been under arms before daylight, and the officers fell in soon afterwards, while Major Dumble—who, with a card of the manœuvres in his hand which had been prepared for him by the adjutant, was going through them in his head for the last time—sat his old trooper with a look of anxious desperation as the fatal moment approached. For now the brigadier might be seen riding at a foot-pace on his grey cob towards the line, attended by his brigade-major and the assistant quartermaster-general, also by Colonel Tartar, who had joined him on his way past the hussar parade. The brigadier and his staff were in blue coats and cocked-hats, all the other military lookers-on in full uniform except Colonel Tartar, who being a colonel of hussars might be considered to be above rule, and indeed sat his Arab pony with an air of easy superiority, as if quite aware of the amount of condescension involved in his coming at all. The ceremony is now about to begin, and Yorke's heart leaps up at seeing the well-known objects advancing rapidly out of the plain from the direction of the residency, as he had seen them come on former occasions, soon to be made out clearly as Colonel Falkland and Miss Cunningham, who canter up and join the group of visitors just as the brigadier arrives in front of the line. Yorke has just time to notice with a pang of jealousy that Colonel Tartar is turning aside to join the new-comers, when the regiment is called to attention, and as the brigadier advances towards it, a general salute is ordered; after which Major Dumble, by dint of kicking his horse and shaking its rein, persuades it to advance a few paces, and hands the brigadier a "present state" of the regiment. The latter passes over the want of style in the major's approach, riding not being laid down in the infantry regulations or a strong point personally, but reserves himself for criticism on the handling of the battalion, an art in which he deems himself to be an authority. And truly the battalion looks a goodly one to handle, over nine hundred and fifty bayonets mustering on the parade, carried by stalwart sepoys, well set up. And now begins the serious business of the morning. The salute delivered, the regiment breaking into open columns of companies marches past in slow and quick time, a feat which, having been practised every morning for the previous six weeks, is performed fairly in automatic fashion, without giving Major Dumble an opportunity for interposing a mistake. "Do believe we shall pull the major through," whispers Poynter the adjutant to Brevet-Major Passey, the senior captain, who was the other mounted officer. The "march past" over, the regiment is again formed into line and put through the time-honoured manual and platoon exercises by Major Passey, a feat to which he and the regiment are quite equal. Major Dumble the while glancing nervously at his card, and recalling for the last time the adjutant's lessons on the coming movements. The first operation, a change of front, went all right; there was little for the commanding officer to do, and the leaders of companies knew their work and made no mistake. And the second movement promised well also. It was an advance by column of double companies from the centre; and Major Dumble, as he surveyed from the rear the companies stepping off and wheeling at due intervals with precision, felt his courage reviving, and began to hope that he should really pull through the inspection. But alas! at this moment, just as the formation was completed, the brigadier called out to him in what was meant for a reassuring tone—"Very good indeed. Major Dumble—very good indeed; now suppose you form square. Don't you hear, sir?" he repeated in a louder voice—"form square."

Now a square was duly entered in the card of manœuvres, but then it was to come off later in the day, and when the regiment was halted in line. For such a change in the programme the major was altogether unprepared, and gazed in dumb anguish at the brigadier, and when the latter in still louder tones repeated his command, adding "Why don't you halt the leading division, sir?" the unhappy major mistaking the word "leading" for "rear," called out in desperation, "Rear division, halt I right about face!"

The companies in question obeyed the order. The rest of the column continued marching on.

The major saw that he had made a blunder, but there was still time to retrieve it, although no time for reflection. Obeying the impulse of despair he gave the word to the centre companies to wheel inwards, and again the order was obeyed, the leading companies still pursuing their fatal march onwards; and although the adjutant at last took upon himself to stop them, the mischief was done. They had ​by this time advanced a long distance to the front. The centre companies had been brought to a halt by coming up against each other, and now stood face to face, the rear division meantime gazing backward into space, from which position our subaltern could witness the merriment of the spectators. The formation of the regiment in fact now resembled the capital letter I, but with the head and tail separated by a long interval from the body. Never had the Mustaphabad parade-ground witnessed such a spectacle.

Although not without a fellow-feeling for the service from which he had risen, this was yet a proud moment for Brigadier Polwheedle. The inspection of the hussars or the horse-artillery was a thing to be done gently, and even deferentially, the brigadier indeed never feeling quite sure on such occasions that Colonel Tartar was not laughing at him the while, and executing manœuvres for his edification not laid down in the queen's regulations; but here he was master of the position, and felt every inch a brigadier. "Take your regiment home, sir," he called out in a loud voice to the miserable Dumble—"that is, if you know how to—and let me see it again as soon as it is fit to be inspected;" and so saying, he turned the grey cob round and rode majestically home.

Whether Major Dumble would have been equal to the feat of taking the regiment home was never proved, for the extrication of it from its melancholy position was effected by the adjutant, the unhappy commandant sitting silent on his horse while the latter gave the needful orders. The operation completed. Major Passey, making the slightest possible salute with his sword to his commanding officer, said, "Shall I march the regiment back to the lines, major?"

"Please do, Passey," replied poor Dumble, meekly; and so saying rode back alone to his own bungalow, whence he did not emerge for the rest of the day.

"Hang it," said Spragge, to a brother sub, after the regiment was broken off, as they mounted their ponies to ride home, "we must buy old Dumble out, sharp, I can't stand being made a fool of in this way. How much do you think the old boy would take to go at once? I'm game to borrow my share; I'm so deep in the banks already that a trifle more won't make much difference."

"No good trying, my dear fellow," replied the other; "the poor old major is in the banks himself: he can't retire with a wife and family at home to provide for. No, no; we have got him fast for another six years at least, till he get the line step, and perhaps even longer."

"A jolly look-out for us," rejoined Spragge; "well, I must positively take to passing in the language and getting a staff-appointment. I'm blessed if I can stand this any longer. I wish I were a dab at languages and things like Yorke; but I'll set to work at the black classics this very day. "And Jerry kept his word so far as to spend the whole of that morning spelling out the first chapter of the Baital Pachisi, with the help of the regimental moonshee, but unfortunately his resolution did not carry him beyond the first day.

Major Dumble's fiasco was naturally the subject of conversation in more circles than one that morning. "Serves him right for an old stupid,"said Mrs. Polwheedle to Captain Buxey, whose buggy was drawn up next to that lady's carriage. "I told the brigadier the first day Dumble came to the station that I was sure he wasn't any good. The government ought to get rid of such fellows. If he were in a queen's regiment now, he'd have to go on half-pay; and serve him right, wouldn't it, colonel?" added the lady in a louder voice to Colonel Tartar, who was riding slowly past.

"Serve whom right, Mrs. Polwheedle?" replied the colonel, stopping his horse, but without coming nearer to the carriage.

"Why, Major Dumble, to be sure. I was just saying to Captain Buxey that such exposés would never be allowed in the queen's service, would they?"

"A little hard, though, on the regiment and the officers, isn't it?" said Tartar, dryly; "but beauty sometimes goes with a hard heart."

"Flatterer!" replied the lady, with a complacent smile on her comely face.

"There's such a thing as a service feeling, too," observed Captain Buxey after the colonel had passed on. "I don't like to see company's officers made fools of in public."

"Oh, as to that," said Mrs. Polwheedle, "I don't regard Polwheedle in the same light as a regular company's officer, now that he commands a station with troops of all kinds; besides, you know, I was brought up to think of the queen's regulations before everything. In Captain Jones's regiment we used never to call on the ladies of company's officers. ​Quite a society in ourselves we were. Of course as a brigadier's lady I show no preferences, but still I have my feelings."

As for Yorke, his first impulse was to hasten to the residency to learn at least the worst, and with a faint hope at the bottom of his heart that Miss Cunningham might have some consolation to offer. A call there was due after the dinner-party, and it had been a struggle for the young man to put it off for so long. Accordingly Nubbee Buksh's buggy and horse were again put into requisition, and soon after breakfast he drove over to the residency, full of a deep yearning, as he controlled the erratic movements of that wayward animal, to give some utterance to the feelings that oppressed him. Did she know of his passionate love for her, then surely any impulse to laugh at him or the regiment would be changed to a feeling of sympathy.

Alas! on driving under the great portico he was met by the announcement that the "door was shut," the Indian version of the more euphemistic "not at home;" and there was nothing left to Yorke but to return to cantonments, downcast and disappointed. Life seemed for the time an utter blank. There was no excuse left for paying another visit, and little chance of meeting the lady anywhere else. There only remained now the steeplechase. In that, at least, he might hope to wipe out the ridicule thrown on the regiment and himself.