Читать книгу A Wind from the Wilderness - Mary Gaunt - Страница 4

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HIS UNPROFITABLE REFLECTIONS

"My thoughts hold mortal strife:

I do detest my life."

NOTHING is ever gained by haste. Of course, on occasion a decision must be made quickly, but in that case past experience comes to one's aid, and nine times out of ten all goes well.

That is what I have thought since I can remember giving such things thought at all. And I began rather young. I remember the Gov'nor asking me if I would like to go into the Navy because Tom was going into the Artillery, and he would like to have a son in both services. I must have reached the mature age of eleven, and I wanted to go to sea, but I took a week to think about it, and to his disgust I said "No." That was mother's fault. How she, the daughter of one New England missionary and the sister of another, came to marry an English soldier, heaven only knows. It is only a little less extraordinary than the fact that she made that soldier a devoted wife. And yet she hated war in all its forms, and always, with her tender goodness, her pleasant, kindly, laughing ways, she taught that everything may be dealt with without force. She was sure of it. An unkind word was never heard in our household; I had almost said an unkind thought was never conceived. Such is the influence of a good woman. She wanted me to be a missionary, to follow in the footsteps of her brother, my uncle Irwin. In her eyes and in mine, too, he was martyr and hero. I was never tired of hearing the story of his death in a Chinese rising; he showed the people his pistol and that he could use it, and then tossed it amongst them and let them bind him and lead him away, and on his way to death they met a man badly bleeding from a wound in his thigh, and he prevailed on his captors to allow him to bind it up.

I wanted to go into the Navy, but sailors must fight when occasion arises—my father said angrily that is what they were for, to guard England—and that settled it. I would not be a sailor. Those days will stand out clear in my mind all my life. Never before had I seen the peace of our household disturbed, but that day my father was furious and my mother sad. And the storm did not blow over. Not till she died, I think, when the Gov'nor was heart-broken. It took him months to recover, and afterwards all that my mother had wished was law to him. I believe he would even have made a missionary of Tom. But Tom was not willing, and reminded him that it had always been arranged he should go into the Army, and mother had acquiesced. She had. But she had said it was because she thought the time was come when there would be no more wars, and discipline was good. The Gov'nor agreed I should be a missionary and intended I should take Orders. I intended to, too, until I was about to take my Arts degree. Then I couldn't. There must be dozens of men who start with the intention of being ordained, who before they have taken their degree see a hundred reasons why they should not.

When I broke it to the Gov'nor that I did not intend to enter the Church I expected him to be angry, and he surpassed my expectations. So I stayed for a little with Cherry, my only sister.

Cherry has married a soldier, a veritable fire-eater, but such a good fellow that almost before I knew where I was I had taken the opportunity my Oxford training gave me, and was a soldier, too. It was the line of least resistance; a man must have a career, and all my people were pleased.

For a little this carried me on, and I honestly tried to find interest and purpose in the life.

But I wasn't content. My companions and I had nothing in common. I thought them empty-headed, and they thought me an arrogant young prig. Perhaps I was. Howell, Cherry's husband, would have felt the same probably if it hadn't been for his wife. Cherry is as sweet and lovable as her mother was before her. I discussed the matter at length with her and she agreed with me—never could force and violence mend the misery of the world, but she added she liked a fight because—there she stopped. She could not tell why she liked it; any more than I could tell what I wanted for a career. I was at a loss when it came into my head that I would go and investigate the missionary life for myself. I thought I wanted to right the wrongs of the world. Young fool! What I wanted was to feel myself of some importance. I made up my mind that I would go out to China and join one of the little American missions to which my uncle had belonged. All my family objected, even Cherry, who said it was pure waste, while the Gov'nor and Tom were furious. War threatened, but I could not believe England and Germany would fight; if they did, I preferred to be out of it.

I was wrong, but it took time to make me realise it, and with a heavy heart I defied them, went across to America and gradually made my way to Yang Cheng. This occupied a year, and all the time I have been awfully worried. With my convictions, ought I to have joined up! I ask myself the question every night. I wake in the morning asking the same question. I had answered it by coming away, and I am by no means satisfied with the answer. It has brought me no peace.

After I had been at Yang Cheng three months I asked myself what the missionaries are doing. This faith that they preach—well, I can no more accept it than I could accept the doctrines of the Church of England. On the contrary, there is a dignity about the Church of England that this faith lacks. Not that they are not good and earnest and self-sacrificing. Every one of these people at Yang Cheng, not excepting Henry Maitland, who is aggressively smug, are of the very best. It is the faith they preach that disillusioned me. They are so much better than their faith. Dr. Rosalie Grahame is as self-sacrificing, and she says she has no faith at all, she only came to improve her knowledge of medicine. That makes me smile. Exactly as Sister Luella spends herself for the souls of the people to whom she ministers, so does Rosalie Grahame spend herself for their broken bodies. She has a little stand-off air that is wondrously fetching. She is tall and slender, with her head gracefully set on her shoulders, she has pretty wavy brown hair and brown eyes that always seem to be saying, "Find out a way to make me nice to you. It will be good for both of us." Her complexion is of a clear pallor and her cheeks look whiter than they really are in contrast with her vivid red lips.

But perhaps her greatest charm is her radiant smile. It lights up her whole face. When I found what a wealth of love she expends on her little dog I knew she must be very lonely. I told her so and she only laughed at me mockingly.

"I am not lonely," she said, "only I've learned the value of other affections."

I said something, I forget what, and she turned on me sharply as if she felt it her duty to tell me.

"I was engaged once," and she said it without the ghost of a smile as if it were a matter of the most desperate importance.

"And you chucked him," I said. "Poor beggar!"

She did not smile.

"I beg your pardon. He chucked me!"

"By Jove! No! I don't believe it!"

She went crimson all over. Even her white neck showing at the "V" of her sailor collar was red.

"It is true," she said defiantly, and then why she went on I don't know. "What is more, I have been engaged twice. And each time it was the man who—who—oh, why am I such a fool as to tell you this?" and she made off towards the door. For a wonder we happened to be alone in the Wrights' sitting-room and I managed to stop her.

"No, don't run away, don't, don't. Let's investigate this. Really, Dr. Grahame, really Miss Rosalie, I'm not humbugging. I would have sworn a man would have been your devoted slave for ever and a day once he had kissed——"

She looked at me furiously.

"I hate——" she began, and then she thought better of it, flung herself out of the room and banged the door behind her, and I saw her walking across the compound to the hospital with MacTavish in her arms, and she evidently got some comfort out of kissing the top of his lucky little head.

But that's an amazing story. Twice engaged and each time the man failed her. And she is one of the most attractive women I have ever met—bar none. And yet I'm not in the least in love with her. I'm not the sort of man who falls in love easily. I'm critical and I'm therefore a good judge.

No sooner had she gone out than in came the funny Chinese postman in his funny livery of blue and white, very faded blue and very dirty white, and all, including the peaked cap, about three sizes too large for him. His wildest dreams could never have given him any hope of filling it. I wonder who designed the Chinese postal uniform. It is such a travesty of things European. He brought me a letter from the Gov'nor, and that letter—stung. I felt I must go home. I was mad to go home.

And these good kind people engaged in noon-day prayer!