Читать книгу The Flag of the Adventurer - Sydney C. Grier - Страница 5

Table of Contents

The famous city of Qadirabad, the seat of such government as Khemistan possessed, was not reached from Bab-us-Sahel without difficulty. There was a ride across the desert first, which was so much to Eveleen’s taste that she begged they might go the whole way by land. But there was no camping equipment available, and Khemistan was destitute of rest-houses, and there at the Bunder lay the steamer, booked to make the journey in four days—what more could reasonable woman desire? But Colonel Bayard had been right in saying that if the steamers plying between Bombay and Bab-us-Sahel were small and uncomfortable, those on the river were worse. Owing to her light draught, the passenger accommodation of the Asteroid was limited to a single cabin, the berths in which—so a friendly subaltern confided to Mrs Ambrose—were constructed of a wood specially selected for its hardness. Had not Colonel Bayard come to the rescue by having a tent pitched for her on deck, Eveleen must have turned every one else out, and as it was, she felt guilty of grievously restricting the space available for exercise. The salient characteristic of the scenes through which they passed—as of all else that she had yet encountered in Khemistan—was mud. Sometimes they were steaming through a country so absolutely level that there seemed no reason why the river should remain where it was instead of overflowing on either side—and derelict channels and stretches of marsh showed that the river itself was of the same mind. More often they found themselves passing between banks of mud which formed a kind of natural aqueduct, confining the river in a course high above the general level of the country, and the wash of the steamer caused portions of these banks to dissolve and slide gently into the water. Sometimes one bank was high and the other low—looking for all the world as though the river were being softly tilted sideways to allow the water to run off, and in this case the higher bank was generally wooded, with tall spindly trees above and a mass of dense undergrowth below. These woods were the famous shikargahs of the Khans—their hunting paradises, formed artificially like the New Forest, and by similar methods, as the many remains of ruined and deserted villages showed. They were strictly preserved, and such villages as still existed were at a discreet distance from them—dismal collections of mud-heaps surrounded by a network of irrigation canals. The canals were shockingly kept up, but the crops were wonderful, and Colonel Bayard pointed out to Eveleen the obvious fertility of the soil, giving so much in return for so little. He sighed as he remarked that under a civilised government the whole land might be a garden, and then changed the subject by telling her droll anecdotes of his friends the Khans.

Despite the waste of a good deal of powder and shot on various crocodiles and aquatic birds—which invariably escaped unscathed—the four days passed in such hot and confined quarters were long and wearisome, and the passengers beheld joyfully the palms and greenery which marked the approach to Qadirabad. The place was surrounded by a belt of gardens, above which, as the steamer rounded a bend of the river, rose in the distance a vast battlemented wall and great round tower, bearing an absurd resemblance to Windsor Castle. This was the Fort—or rather, fortress—palace of the Khans, dominating the city proper, but the British Agency was closer at hand, in a garden overhanging the river. It was a settlement rather than a house, for besides the large block of buildings erected by Colonel Bayard—in which the humorous detected a resemblance to a champagne-case set on end, its divisions represented by the arches of the several tiers of verandahs—some of his subordinates had built bungalows for themselves, and the native servants and hangers-on had a village of their own. There were quarters for the guards, a bazar, gardens and orchards, and the whole was surrounded by a wall some five feet high, of the usual mud-brick. Eveleen was astonished by the size of the community, for the work of the Agency required the services of a large number of resident Europeans, while there were fifty or sixty more, employed at Sahar or other places higher up the river, who made it their headquarters on occasion. Some of the local white men were married, but mostly to country-born women, so that Eveleen was unquestionably the Burree Beebee. Had her claims needed support, it would have been supplied by the chivalry of Colonel Bayard, who insisted that the Ambroses should take up their quarters in his own house, and consider him as their guest while he was there. For the next few months, he said, he would be little in Qadirabad, as duty called him up the river, to look after the supply arrangements for the British forces returning—or more literally retreating—from Ethiopia, and he was sure his wife would like to think the rooms he had prepared for her were in the occupation of his friends. As Richard Ambrose acted as Resident in his chief’s absence, the arrangement seemed natural, but Eveleen had qualms when she saw the elaborate and expensive furniture—not lest she should spoil it, but lest Mrs Bayard should think it had not been treated with proper respect. One trial was spared her. Almost with tears in his eyes, her husband implored Colonel Bayard not to impose upon her the task of housekeeping on so large a scale, and she was saved from the certainty of disgracing herself by reducing the Resident to bankruptcy. It is true that she considered the arrangements of the responsible secretary to be at least as lavish as her own had been, but at any rate he was in the habit of keeping accounts.

It had not occurred to her that in the absence of all household duties time might hang a little heavy on her hands. There were plenty of people to ride with her morning and evening, but in office hours she was the only idle person in a hive of industry. That, at least, was her husband’s view, of which she was irreverently scornful. The native clerks might be hard worked, but she declined to believe it of the Europeans, who did nothing, so she declared, but sit and smoke, and now and then sign their names to the documents that were put before them. How much better for them to spend the pleasant hours of mid-morning and late afternoon—which would so soon become too hot for outdoor exercise—in healthful cross-country gallops! But the Indian official day was far too firmly established to be overthrown by one mutinous Irishwoman, and Eveleen had to make her own occupations. She was training the little horse Bajazet—to the mingled amazement and scandal of her neighbours, who pointed out unsparingly defects of form and action which betrayed his mixed blood. He had a horror of natives—probably due to ill-treatment in his youth—and his mistress went through stormy scenes with half a dozen syces, dismissing one after another before she found one who would do as he was told. This was a meek patriarch who was content to sit by, shrouded in the horse-blanket, while Bajazet was put through his paces and learned to follow Eveleen about like a dog. Once he came up the verandah steps after her, but he was ruthlessly ejected by the orders of her husband, who vowed he would not have the place turned into an Irish cabin, and she was obliged to content herself thereafter with teaching him to ask for dainties without coming in search of them.

The unwritten law which restricted her unescorted rides within the limits of the Agency was naturally a challenge to the Irish mind, and Eveleen never rested until it was abrogated in her favour. It was not as if she wanted to go into the town, she said—who would? And indeed, Qadirabad—for all its imposing appearance and historic renown—was a sadly uninteresting place. Very soon after her arrival, Eveleen was taken up to the Fort gate, to look thence down the long line of the Grand Bazar, and obtain a general view of the city. A wilderness of mud hovels, broken in places by the dome of a mosque or the blunted pyramidal tower of a Hindu temple, with a two-storied house within high walls here and there, but never a tree to relieve the monotony until the eye hailed the grateful greenery of the encircling gardens on the horizon—all was squalid, mean, miserable. The Bazars—famous throughout Asia for their manufactures—seemed to have fallen upon evil days, for such pottery and lacquered ware as was to be seen was of the poorest, and the gold and silver work and precious stuffs of old were hardly to be found nowadays. A reason might be discovered for this in the bands of armed men constantly to be seen in the narrow streets, eyeing the peaceable craftsmen as inferior beings permitted to exist in order to minister to the needs of their superiors, but by no means to lay up wealth for themselves. The Khans were not Khemis by race. A century ago they had come from Arabitistan, across the mountains to the north-west, swooping down resistlessly upon a people “quiet and secure” and practically defenceless. They had parcelled out the country among their rude retainers, who remained as feudal chiefs, and Khans and Sardars alike drew upon the inexhaustible reservoir of Arabitistan for warriors of their own race to maintain and extend their dominion. Without this continual reinforcement, the soft life of the plains and inter-marriage with the conquered people might have enfeebled the ruling caste, but with fresh hordes of wild Arabit horsemen to be summoned at need, they remained a power to be respected—if not particularly respectable. With tulwar and shield and lance, the wild men swaggered where they would, responsible only to the Khans—and not always very amenable to them—and caring nothing for anybody else. Eveleen admired their showy little active horses, the ease and grace of the riders, and the bright silks and embroidered shawls of their apparel, but she had sense enough to realise that they were not people it would be desirable to meet if she were riding alone.

But if the town was barred, the garden-belt outside it was surely a very different thing. The Arabit horsemen were seldom to be found in the neighbourhood of the Agency—unless one of the Khans should happen to be paying a state visit to Colonel Bayard—and the country was fairly open. What danger could there be for Eveleen if she did not go too far away, respected shikargahs, and avoided growing crops? Yes, she would take a mounted orderly—it would only be like a groom—but not—oh, please not!—an escort of the irregular force known as the Khemistan Horse, which had been enrolled as the Resident’s guard. How could she ride at her ease if she had always to tag about with an army behind her? Playing the part of the Importunate Widow, she succeeded at last in imposing her will on Colonel Bayard, and that unfortunate man, most unfairly cast for the part of the Unjust Judge, found that he had carefully cultivated a thorn for his own side.

He was in his office one day, discussing weightily with Richard Ambrose the various matters of importance which might arise during his absence, when sounds of dispute outside interrupted their deliberations. Some one was demanding to be allowed to enter, and was being respectfully but firmly repulsed by the scandalised attendants—and the voice left no doubt who the intruder was.

“Mrs Ambrose, as I live!” exclaimed Mrs Ambrose’s husband in unflattering disgust. “What bee has she got in her bonnet now? Excuse me one moment.”

“Mrs Ambrose appears to wish to see me,” said Colonel Bayard, with his unfailing kindness. “We can’t let an English lady be turned away by the chobdars. Come! Good morning, ma’am; is there something you want me to do for you? Good heavens! what has happened? Has any one dared——?” for Eveleen’s face was flushed and tearful, and her lips trembled too much to speak. She wrung her hands together wildly.