Читать книгу Hussein - Patrick O’Brian - Страница 7

They marched all the way, as there was no urgent need for them. The journey took several weeks; Hussein and Mustapha stayed with Jehangir, and on the way Mustapha recited long suras, in a high chanting voice, so as to improve Hussein’s mind. Sometimes, when Mustapha dozed on Jehangir’s neck, Hussein would slip off, and go back through the dust to the slow bullock carts where Zeinab sat among the pots and bundles. At each stopping-place she made a little fire, and prepared kebabs, which she wrapped in cool leaves for Hussein to eat on the way. Every day was like the one before. They marched, with halts, from dawn until sunset, when the soldiers pitched their tents, and a complete camp sprang up within an hour. Hussein and his cousins slept on a great soft pile of fodder that smelt sweet and fresh, like new-mown hay.

Before dawn the bugles went, and the tents disappeared like snow in summer. By sunrise they would be on the march again.

It was a splendid journey from Hussein’s point of view — there were always new things to be seen, and new people to talk to. On one memorable evening some villagers tried to creep into the camp and steal a rack of rifles, but they were caught, amid great tumult and shouting; once a leopard took a straggling goat; and once Hussein lay down on a fat snake in the fodder heap.

But at last they came to the place where the regiment was stationed, and the mahouts went on alone. They had an escort of the Indian Police, as they were going through a very wild part of the country, where there were bands of dacoits. One night they camped half-way through a great forest, and in the night they heard the trumpeting of wild elephants. The tame elephants trumpeted back, and Kali, Amir Khan’s elephant, broke her picket-rope and vanished into the forest; she went for ever, and though most of the mahouts thought it a good riddance, Amir Khan was inconsolable. He wandered into the jungle calling for Kali, and he got lost. They spent a day in finding him; he had stumbled into a wild bees’ nest, and he was in a lamentable state.

At length they came to Rajkot, where the road was being made right through the jungle. The hills nearby abounded in game, from wild elephants and tigers to sand-grouse. The young ‘Stant Sahib’ who commanded the Police was a very keen shikar; and Hussein soon developed a great admiration for him.

He was a big, red-headed man, with a face burnt brick-red by the sun. This prevailing redness gave his blue eyes a startling intensity which impressed the natives tremendously; in fact, there was a rumour current that he had a tail, being a sort of djinni. Hussein used to gaze at him for long periods; he had never seen anything like it before. ‘I wonder’, he thought, ‘whether his tail is red, too?’

He often used to hold the Stant Sahib’s pony, so as to look at him more closely, but he never saw a vestige of a tail, red or otherwise. After a while the Englishman began to notice Hussein, and sometimes he spoke to him. At this time Hussein was a tall, thin boy of about sixteen — a young man by Indian standards.

One day the Stant Sahib, whose name was Gill, heard of a leopard that had made a kill about half a day’s journey into the jungle. According to the report the leopard was a very large one, which had been harrying the cattle in a little Ghond village in the jungle for some time. Gill wanted to pot a good-sized leopard, but the journey would have to be made on an elephant, as it would take much too long to cut a way through the virgin jungle. So he went to the Englishman in charge of the mahouts, and asked him if he could spare him an elephant.

‘I can let you have an elephant all right,’ said this man, ‘but I’m afraid I really can’t spare a single mahout; you see, four of my best men have gone on leave for some damned funeral or festival or something, and I need every man I can lay my hands on for this tricky stretch of road by the stream.’

‘That’s a pest, because I particularly want to get out to that part of the jungle — it isn’t so much on account of the leopard, but because the dacoits have been rather busy in that direction, and I’ve an idea that a bit of reconnoitring might do some good.’

‘I’m awfully sorry, old man, but no can do. I’ve got to get past that awkward patch before the big-wigs come out and make remarks about inefficiency and lamentable lack of drive.’

‘Oh well, I daresay I can make it on a pony, but it’ll mean carrying a hell of a lot of kit. I suppose you’re coming over for bridge to-night?’

‘Yes, of course; look here, I tell you what, perhaps you can get hold of a chap who knows which end of an elephant goes first, and then I can let you have one, if you’ll take full responsibility and all that.’

‘That’s definitely an idea. I daresay I’ll be able to get hold of someone, if it’s only my syce — an elephant will make all the difference. By the way, don’t forget to bring over some sodawater to-night, I’ve run clean out of it.’

The next day Gill’s khitmutgar went among the mahouts to find someone who could take the Englishman’s elephant. After a good deal of discussion a man suggested Hussein.

‘He is very young,’ objected the khitmutgar.

‘Yes,’ said Mustapha, ‘but he knows Jehangir almost as well as I know him myself, and moreover, he handled him when he was mûsth, which not many would have done.’ All the mahouts supported him in this.

‘He would have to take a lesser wage,’ said the khitmutgar, ‘on account of his youth.’

‘And a certain khitmutgar would get a larger share of it,’ replied Mustapha.

‘No such thought entered my mind,’ said the khitmutgar, ‘for I am a virtuous man; he will get eight annas, which is a princely sum for a youth.’

‘Allah! Behold this virtuous khitmutgar — he would sell his grandmother’s shroud! Hussein shall have one rupee and four annas, not a pice less.’

‘These Muslims! I am fallen among thieves! Fourteen annas and two pice.’

‘By no means; one rupee and one anna.’

‘Very well, one rupee.’ They haggled a little longer, and at length Mustapha got one rupee two pice for Hussein, who had not said a word. He had a curiously exalted feeling in his heart, as he had never officially been in full charge of an elephant before.

He wanted to have a howdah on Jehangir, that he should look the more glorious, but Gill only wanted a pad. Long before dawn Hussein prepared Jehangir. He scrubbed the great forehead, so that it seemed grey against the blackness of the rest of his body, and he polished the silver bands about the fore-shortened tusks. Zeinab wrapped up some chupatties for him, and Amir Khan lent him an ancient iron ankus.

At daybreak he brought Jehangir round to Gill’s bungalow. Gill had his breakfast while the khitmutgar and Hussein put his things on the pad. He only expected to be gone three days, so he had cut down his baggage to the minimum. When everything was ready, Jehangir knelt so that Gill could get up, and they set off down a little thin path.

The sun had not yet come up over the trees, and there was only a curious greenish light. It was quite cold. A slight silver mist floated about the tall grass and the trees. Everything was quiet.

Jehangir made very little sound as he went along; his great round feet were padded like thick rubber, so that he seemed like a moving shadow. Presently Hussein, who had been awake nearly all night, fell asleep as he sat a-straddle on the elephant’s neck. Gill was not sufficiently used to the elephant’s rolling walk to be able to sleep, but he dozed now and then. It was rather like being in a boat when there is a swell on the sea, and the tall, waving elephant grass rippled like water. At length they came to a place where the path joined three others: Jehangir stopped for guidance. Hussein awoke with a start; he turned to Gill, who was looking at a sketch map on the back of an envelope. It showed a vague path — indicated by a wavy pencil line — that led to the Ghond village.

‘Hm,’ he said, ‘it doesn’t show any other paths. Still, the place lies almost dead east of the road-head, so we had better steer by compass.’

According to the compass none of the paths would do, so they struck into the jungle. It was not long after the rains just then, and the jungle was very thick, so thick that a man on the ground would have had to go down on his hands and knees to creep through it in places; but Jehangir made his own way.

Hussein carried his cousin’s ankus with him, so as to look like a great mahout; but he never used it, because his grandfather had said that the best mahouts never needed to — but it looked well. He had soon got tired of holding it, and had put it down behind him, just in front of the compass by which Gill was going. Naturally the iron affected the compass, so that by noon they found themselves before a river that ran between a hillside covered with bamboo and a great reddish expanse of rocky hills that faded away into thin jungly country in the distance.

‘This is all wrong,’ said Gill. ‘We are miles out. This river isn’t shown at all on the map.’

‘It is the Jhelunga, huzoor,’ said Hussein.

‘You’re right; I remember it now; I was here for pig-sticking some time ago. We’d better have lunch now we’re here.’

Hussein tapped Jehangir on the forehead, and the elephant knelt. Gill got off, and they pitched a little tent, for the sun was at its height. Gill fed from a tin of peaches and some biscuits, while Hussein retired behind a rock and ate his chupatties and some cold lamb’s tail, carefully wrapped in a vine leaf by Zeinab. Jehangir found a flowering mimosa bush, which he ate as far as the roots. Gill slept for a while in his tent, and Hussein wandered about until he found a wild mango. He called Jehangir, and was lifted up into the tree; he threw some mangoes down for the elephant, and had a few himself; then he swam in the river. It was a swiftly flowing stream, with a gravelly bed, so there was no danger of crocodiles. He swam about until Gill awoke and called him.

‘We had better cross the river,’ said Gill, after they had folded up the tent and got underway again; ‘if we strike due south we may get in by about moonrise.’

So Hussein led Jehangir down to the bank: there was a little sandy beach, and the elephant went over it very cautiously, for he knew that if once he got into a quicksand nothing would save him. As soon as the water was deep enough for him to swim, the elephant surged along at a surprising rate: Hussein swam beside him, for he knew that Jehangir must be feeling nervous. The strong current swept them down-stream quite a long way, but they got over without any mishap.

As Hussein was scrambling up the bank he cut his foot on a sharp-edged stone; Gill, on the elephant’s back, did not see it, or he would have put iodine and a bandage on it. They had followed the river for some way when they saw some black-buck feeding under a clump of trees. They were up-wind of the elephant, so they had not smelt the men. Gill whispered to Hussein to make Jehangir kneel, as he wanted to stalk one for the pot. Hussein was to wait with Jehangir by the river, where he could easily be found. Accordingly, as soon as Gill had slipped away among the bushes, Hussein turned Jehangir back to the river. He went along the bank until he reached a grove of bamboos. Here he got off Jehangir, and plucked some broad leaves, which he wrapped round his foot, to cool it.

Then he wandered in the shade, vaguely looking for fruit trees. Jehangir went back to the river, but Hussein knew that he would come back at a call. Quite soon he found a very large mango tree standing among the bamboos. Its smooth trunk stretched high up without a branch within reach, so he had to get up by means of a rather shaky bamboo that was growing beside it. He was waving about alarmingly at the top of the bamboo by the time he reached the lowest branch, but he managed to reach it in safety. The mangoes were very good, but monkeys had eaten most of them. Hussein climbed to a comfortably broad crotch, where he lay along a branch with his head to the trunk. The deep green shade of the myriads of leaves was very restful: millions of insects buzzed, making a deep, steady note all together.

A mynah came and whistled in a branch over his head, but a small grey monkey chattered at it, and it flew away. A brilliant green tree-frog clung to the underside of a broad leaf above him: it looked as though it had been glued there and painted. Suddenly its neck swelled, and it made an utterly disproportionate noise like the yapping of a small dog. Hussein threw a mango stone at it, and it vanished to another leaf, where it yapped again. Another mango stone flew, and it was quiet. Far away he could hear Jehangir splashing in the river, and once he trumpeted, perhaps to a wild elephant, for they lived in those parts. A sowar of wild pig grunted among the fallen mangoes for a while, but soon they went. A minute, gem-like beetle crawled laboriously on to his big toe, and flew away. Hussein slept.

Away by the bank where they had crossed, a dhole sniffed at the stone on which Hussein had cut his foot. The wild dog put back his head and howled. Another dhole answered him, and soon there were half a dozen of them on the little beach. Now and again one of them would raise his muzzle and give the calling cry to the rest of the pack. Far away, from among the red sandstone of the caves, where the pack lived, an answering howl came back.

More dholes came, and they followed the scent until it became confused at the place where Hussein had mounted Jehangir. The wild dogs scattered, and cast about until one of them picked up the trail again at the spot where Hussein had wandered off by himself. The dholes came together again; the scent of blood was easy to follow, so they ran along the trail. They were fierce red wild dogs — bushy-tailed, stoutly built, and rather smaller than wolves. They hunted in much larger packs than wolves, and there was nothing that could withstand them; a tiger or a wild boar would run from them, and even an elephant would turn aside when they passed.

Hussein heard a sound in his sleep, and stirred uneasily; then he yawned, and opened his eyes. In the open space beneath the tree there were about a dozen dholes. More were coming quietly through the undergrowth: they were all watching him.

He started to his feet, and instantly the nearest dhole leapt up at him, snapping his teeth just under the branch. As they reached the end of the trail the wild dogs had kept silent, but now they gave tongue. Several more leapt up, but fortunately for Hussein the branch was about a foot out of their reach. Many more came through the bushes and sat beneath the tree. Hussein counted fifty of them.

At intervals they howled; it was something between the howl of a jackal and that of a wolf, but more fierce than either. Hussein reached up and grasped a branch above his head; he swung himself higher, and the dholes stopped jumping up at him: they sat in a wide circle round the tree. They were quite capable of waiting there until he dropped from exhaustion.

Hussein heard a sound like an old rusty watch ticking very loud and fast: with a shock he realised that it was his own heart beating. He climbed higher and higher. Every time he seized a higher branch he felt a wave of fright go through him; he had never felt anything like it when he had been climbing before, but now his nerves were upset by the certain knowledge that if he lost his hold and fell, the dholes would be there. At length he crept out to the end of a long branch from which he could see a part of the river, and he called, ‘Ohé, Jehangir.’ His voice was rather squeaky and wavering. He waited a moment, and then called again, ‘Hitherao, hathi-raj. Ohé Jehangir!’

The dholes howled beneath him, and suddenly he felt giddy: he lay flat along the bough, and gripped it with all his strength. He shouted until his voice grew hoarse, and at length it failed him altogether — when he shouted only a croak came; but he saw no sign of the elephant. He crawled back along the branch, and sat with his back to the trunk, a-straddle the crotch.

Hussein pulled himself together, feeling rather angry at his weakness; but, indeed, the great circle of dholes, all glaring up at him with furious eyes, and all lusting hotly to eat his flesh, was enough to make the bravest man shiver a little.

A strong musty odour drifted up to him — the smell of the dholes — and he spat down at them. He called again — his voice had come back — and this time there was a despairing note in his cry, and the dholes sensed it: they howled.