Part 4 (1/2)

”The sahib is very kind.”

”So will I do, and, perhaps, prepare thy people for thy homecoming. I will tell them that thou hast lost thy feet with the frostbite, but art otherwise well.”

”Nay, sahib, tell them everything but that, for if my people hear that they will neither eat nor drink--nay, nor sleep, for sorrow.”

”Then will I not. But I will tell them that thou art a brave man.”

The Mahratta smiles mournfully.

”And have you heard from your folk at home?” I ask of the others, leaving Smith and the Mahratta together.

”Yea, sahib, the exalted Government is very good to us. We get letters often.” It is a sepoy in the 107th who speaks. ”My brother writes even thus,” and he reads with tears in his eyes: ”'We miss you terribly, but such is the will of G.o.d. I have been daily to Haji Baba Ziarat' (it is a famous shrine in India), 'and day and night I pray for you, and am very distressed. I am writing to tell you to have no anxiety about us at home, but do your duty cheerfully and say your prayers. Repeat the beginning with the word ”Kor” and breathe forty times on your body.

Your father is well, but is very anxious for you, and weeps day and night.'”

”I also have received a letter.” The speaker is a Bengali, and, though a surgeon and non-combatant, must have his say. ”My brother writes that I am to enlight the names of my ancestors, who were tiger-like warriors, and were called Bahadurs, by performing my duties to utmost satisfaction.” This is truly Babu English.

”And you will do the same?”

”Yea, I must do likewise. My brother writes to me, 'If you want to face this side again, face as Bahadur.' And he saith, 'Long live King George, and may he rule on the whole world.' And so say we all, sahib.”

”And you?” This to a s.h.i.+a Mahomedan whose right hand is bandaged.

”Ah, sahib, my people can write to me, but write to them I cannot. Will the honourable sahib send a word for me who am thus crippled?”

”Yea, gladly; what shall the words be?”

”Say, then, oh sahib, these words: 'Your servant is well and happy here.

You should pray the G.o.d of Mercy that the victory may be to our King, Jarj Panjam. And to my lady mother and my lady the sister of my father, and to my brother, and to my dear ones the greetings of peace and prayer. And the sum of fifty rupees which I arranged for my family' (his wife) 'will be paid to you every month.' The sahib is very kind.”

”The sahib would like to hear a story?” The speaker is a jemadar of the 59th. ”So be it. Know then, sahib, that I and twelve men of my company were cut off by the _German-log_, and I, even I only, am left. It was in this wise. My comrades advanced too far beyond the trenches, and we lost our way. And the _German-log_ make signs to us to surrender, but it is not our way and we still advance. And they open fire with a machine-gun--so!” The speaker makes sounds as a man who stutters. ”And we are all hit--killed and wounded, and fall like ripe corn to the sickle. And I am wounded in the leg and I fall. And the German officer, he come up and hitted me in the b.u.t.tock to see if I were dead. But I lay exceeding still and hold my breath. And they pull me by the leg” (can it be that the jemadar is pulling mine?), ”a long way they pull me but still I am as one dead. And so I escaped.” He looks round for approval.

”That was well done, jemadar.” His l.u.s.trous eyes flash with pleasure.

”And how is it with your food?”

”Good” (”_Bahout accha_”), comes a chorus of voices. ”The exalted Government has done great things. We have _ghee_”--a clarified b.u.t.ter made of buffalo or cow's milk--”and _goor_”--unrefined sugar. ”And we have spices for our _dhal_--ginger and garlic and chilli and turmeric.

Yea, and fruits also--apricots, date-palms, and sultanas. What more can man want?”

”It is well.” But it is time for me to go. Smith is still talking to the Mahratta, whose eyes never leave his face. ”Come on, old man,” I say, ”it is time to go.” Smith turns reluctantly away. As I looked over my shoulder the Mahratta was weeping softly.

VI

THE TROOP TRAIN

We were standing in the lounge of the Hotel M---- at the Base. ”I'll introduce you to young C---- of the Guards when he comes in,” the Major was saying to me. ”He is going up to the Front with me to-night by the troop train. You don't mind if I rag a bit, do you, old chap? You see he's only just gazetted from Sandhurst, a mere infant, in fact, and he's a bit in the blues, I fancy, at having to say good-bye to his mother.

He's her only child, and she's a widow. The father was an old friend of mine. Hulloa, C----, my boy. Allow me to introduce you.”

A youth with the milk and roses complexion of a girl, blue eyes, and fair hair, well-built, but somewhat under the middle height--such was C----, and he was good to look upon.