A POLITICAL OFFICER IN THE MAKING
The lightning spattered the heavens and tore the black sky into a thousand fragments, the thunder crashed in appalling peals of terrifying sound which echoed again and again from the invisible mountains. The rain fell in ropes of water that sent the brown, foam-flecked torrents surging full-fed down every gully and ravine in the mist-wrapped hills. The single, steep road of Ranga Duar was now the rocky bed of a racing flood inches deep that swirled and raged round Wargrave's high rubber boots as he waded up towards the Mess clad in an oilskin coat, off which the rain splashed. He was glad to arrive at the garden gate, turn in through it, climb the verandah steps, and reach his door. Here he flung aside his coat and kicked off the heavy boots.
Entering his room he pulled on his slippers, filled his pipe with tobacco from a lime-dried bottle and sat down at his one rickety table at the window. Then he took out of his pocket and laid before him a manuscript book filled with notes on the frontier dialects taken at the lesson with Colonel Dermot from which he had just come. He opened it mechanically but did not even glance at it. His thoughts were elsewhere.
Months had elapsed since the day on which he had seen his first tiger killed. Not long afterwards the Rains had come to put a stop to descents into the jungle. But his interest in the preparation for his new work compensated him for the imprisonment within walls by the terrible tropical storms and the never-ceasing downpour. He had flung himself enthusiastically into the study of the frontier languages, of which Colonel Dermot proved to be a painstaking and able teacher. Miss Benson, who had returned to Ranga Duar and remained there longer than she had originally intended, owing to fever contracted in the jungle, joined him in these studies and astonished her fellow-pupil by her aptitude and quickness of apprehension. But her presence proved disastrous to him. Thrown constantly together as they were, spending hours every day side by side, the subaltern realised to his dismay that he was falling in love with the girl.
It would have been strange had it been otherwise so pretty and attractive was she. Often Mrs. Dermot, peeping into her husband's office and seeing the dark and the fair head bent close together over a book, smiled to herself, well-pleased at the thought of her favourites being mutually attracted. To her husband the thought never occurred. Men are very dull in these matters.
But to Wargrave the realisation of the truth was unbearable. He was pledged to another woman, whose heart he had won even if unconsciously, who was willing for love of him to give up everything and face the world's censure and scorn. He could not play her false. He had given her his word. He could not now be disloyal to her without utterly wrecking all her chances of happiness in life and dishonouring himself for ever in his own eyes. Muriel Benson had left the station ten days ago to rejoin her father; and Wargrave had instantly felt that he dared not see her again until he was irrevocably and openly bound to Violet. So he had written to her on the morrow of the girl's departure and, without giving her the real reason for his action, begged her to come to him at once, enclosing, as he was now able to do, a cheque for her expenses. It seemed to him that only by her presence could he be saved from being a traitor to his word.
As soon as he had sent the letter he went to his Commanding Officer and told him everything. It was not until he was actually explaining his conduct that he realised that he should have obtained his permission before inviting Violet to come, for Major Hunt, as Commandant of the Station, had the power to forbid her residing in or even entering it.
The senior officer listened in silence. When the subaltern had finished he said:
"I've known about this matter since you came, Wargrave. Your Colonel wrote me—as your new C.O.—what I considered an unnecessary and unfair letter giving me the reason of your being sent here. But Hepburn, whom I know slightly, discovered I was here and also wrote explaining matters more fully and, I think, more justly."
The subaltern looked at him in surprise; but his face brightened at the knowledge of his former commander's kindness.
"Now, Wargrave, we've got on very well together so far, you and I. I have always been satisfied with your work, and was glad to help you by agreeing to Colonel Dermot's application for you. I believe that you will make a good political officer, otherwise I wouldn't have done so—even though I'm your debtor for saving me from that snake——."
"Oh, Major, that was nothing," broke in the subaltern. "Anyone would have done it."
"Yes, I know. But it happened that you were the anyone. Now, I'm going to talk to you as your friend and not as your commanding officer. Frankly, I am very sorry for what you have just told me. I was hoping that Time and separation were curing you—and the lady—of your folly. Believe me, only unhappiness and misery can come to you both from it."
"Perhaps so, sir; but I'm bound in honour."
The older man shook his head sadly.
"Is honour the word for it? I'll make a confession to you, Wargrave. You consider me a bachelor. Well, I'm not married now; but I was. When I was a young subaltern I was thrown much with a married woman older than myself. I was flattered that she should take any notice of me, for she was handsome and popular with men, while I was a shy, awkward boy. She said she was 'being a mother' to me—you know what a married woman 'mothering' boys leads to in India. She used to tell me how misunderstood she was, neglected, mated to a clown and all that." (Frank grew red at certain memories.) "Women have a regular formula when they're looking for sympathy they've no right to. I pitied her. I felt that her husband ought to be shot. Looking back now I see that he was just the ordinary, easy-going, indifferent individual that most husbands become; but then I deemed him a tyrant and a brute. Well, I ran away with her."
He paused and passed his hand wearily across his brow.
"There was the usual scandal, divorce, damages and costs that plunged me into debt I'm not out of yet. We married. In a year we were heartily sick of each other—hated, is nearer the truth. She consoled herself with other men. I protested, we quarrelled again and again. At last we agreed to separate; and I insisted on her going to England and staying there. I couldn't trust her in India. Living in lodgings and Bayswater boarding-houses wasn't amusing—she got bored, but I wouldn't have her back. She took to drinking and ran up debts that I had to pay. Then—and I selfishly felt glad, but it was a happy release for both—she died. Drank herself to death. Now you know why I'd be sorry that another man should follow the path I trod."
He was silent. Wargrave felt an intense sympathy for this quiet, kindly man whose life had been a tragedy. He had guessed from the first that his senior officer had some ever-present grief weighing on his soul. He would have given much to be able to utter words of consolation, but he did not know what to say.
Major Hunt spoke again.
"You must dree your own weird, Wargrave. If the lady wishes to come here—well, I shall not prevent her; but the General, when he knows of it, will not permit her to remain. But you have to deal with Colonel Dermot. You had better tell him. You might go now."
Without a word the subaltern left the bungalow. He went straight to the Political Officer and repeated his story. Colonel Dermot did not interrupt him, but, when he had finished, said:
"I have no right and no wish to interfere with your private life, Wargrave, nor to offer you advice as to how to lead it. Your work is all that I can claim to criticise. Of course I see, with Major Hunt, the difficulty that will arise over the lady's remaining in this small station, where her presence must become known to the Staff. If you are both resolved on taking the irretrievable step it would be wiser to defer it until you were elsewhere. I don't offer to blame either of you; for I don't know enough to judge."
"Well, sir, I—perhaps you won't want me under you—and Mrs. Dermot—you mightn't wish me to——," stammered the subaltern, standing miserably before him.
"Oh, yes; you'll make a good political officer none the less," said the Colonel smiling. "And you need not be afraid of my wife turning away from you with horror. If she can be a friend to the lady she will. As for you, well, you saved our children, Wargrave"—he laid his hand on the young man's shoulder—"you are our friend for life. I shall not repeat your story to my wife. Perhaps some day you may like to tell it to her yourself."
Wargrave tried to thank him gratefully, but failed, and, picking up his hat, went out into the rain.
That was days ago; and no answer had come from Violet, so that the subaltern lived in a state of strain and anxious expectation. Indeed, some weeks had passed since her last letter, as usual an unhappy one; and, sitting staring out into the grey world of falling rain turned to flame every minute by the vivid lightning, he racked his brains to guess the reason of her silence.
A jangle of bells sounded through the storm. Glancing out Wargrave saw a curiously grotesque figure climb the verandah steps from the garden and stand shaking itself while the water poured from it. It was an almost naked man, squat and sturdy-limbed, with glistening wet brown skin, an oilskin-covered package on his back, a short spear hung with bells in his hand. It was the postman. For a miserable pittance he jogged up and down the mountains in fine weather or foul, carrying His Majesty's Mails, passing fearlessly through the jungle in peril of wild beats, his ridiculous weapon, the bells of which were supposed to frighten tigers, his only protection.
Wargrave opened the door and went out to him. The man grinned, unslung and opened his parcel. From it he took out a bundle of letters, handed them to the subaltern, and went on to knock at Burke's door with his correspondence. Frank returned to his room with the mail which contained the official letters for the detachment, of which he was still acting as adjutant. He threw them aside when he saw an envelope with Violet's handwriting on it. He tore it open eagerly.
To his surprise the letter was addressed from a hotel in Poona, the large and gay military and civil station in the West of India, a few hours' rail journey inland from Bombay. He skimmed through it rapidly.
She wrote that, utterly weary of the dullness of Rohar, she had gone to Poona to spend part of the festive and fashionable season there and was now revelling in the many dances, dinners, theatricals and other gaieties of the lively station. Everybody was very kind to her, especially the men. She was invited to the private entertainments at Government House, and His Excellency the Governor always danced with her. Her programme was crowded at every ball; and she had been asked to take one of the leading parts in "The Country Girl" to be produced by the Amateur Dramatic Society. She had two excellent ponies with which to hunt and to join in gymkhanas. She wished Frank could be with her; but probably he was enjoying himself more with his wild beasts and Tiger Girls. As to his proposal that she should go to him at once in that little station he must have been mad when he made it. For had they not discussed the matter thoroughly and decided that they must wait? She presumed that he had not suddenly come into a fortune. From his description of Ranga Duar and its inhabitants it could be no place for her under the circumstances. No; there was nothing to do but to wait. Besides, it was so very jolly now at Poona. Frank must not be an impatient boy; and she sent him all her love. His cheque she had torn up.
The subaltern whistled, read the letter again very carefully, folded and put it away. What had come to Violet? This was so unlike her. Still, he had to confess to himself that he was relieved at not yet having to cross the Rubicon. Perhaps she was right; it might be better to wait. He was glad to know that for a time at least she was away from the uncongenial surroundings of Rohar and again enjoying life. He went through the official correspondence, shoved it in his pocket, put on coat and boots and splashed through the water down the road to the Commanding Officer's bungalow. When they had discussed the official letters and drafted answers to them Wargrave told Major Hunt of the gist of Violet's reply. The senior officer nodded, but said nothing about it and went on to talk of other matters.
Next day the subaltern informed Colonel Dermot, who made no comment and did not refer to the matter again. His wife, ignorant of Mrs. Norton's existence, delighted to talk to Wargrave about Muriel, a topic always interesting to him, dangerous though it was to his peace of mind. His thoughts were constantly with the girl, and he sought eagerly for news of her when occasional letters came to Mrs. Dermot from her, touring their wide forest district with her father.
Frank had never been able to fathom Burke's feelings towards her. The Irishman's manner to her in public was always light-hearted and cheerfully friendly; but the subaltern suspected that it concealed a deeper, warmer feeling. He betrayed no jealousy of Frank's constant companionship with her when she took part in his studies; and his friendly regard for his younger brother officer never altered. On her side the girl showed openly that she shared the universal liking that the kindly, pleasant-natured doctor inspired.
The weary months of the rainy season dragged by; but the subaltern spent them to advantage under Colonel Dermot's tuition and, possessing the knack of readily acquiring foreign languages, made rapid progress with Bhutanese, Tibetan and the frontier dialects, his good ear for music helping him greatly in getting the correct accent. Another accomplishment of his, a talent for acting, was of service; for the Political Officer wished him to be capable of penetrating into Bhutan in disguise if need be. So he taught him how to be a merchant, peasant, nobleman's retainer or a lama Red or Yellow, of the country—but always a man of Northern Bhutan and the Tibetan borderland, for his height and blue eyes were not unusual there, though seldom or never seen in the south. Frank was carefully instructed in the appropriate manners, customs and expressions of each part that he played, how to eat and behave in company, how to walk, sit and sleep. But he specialised as a lama, for in that character he would meet with the least interference in the priest-ridden country. He was taught the Buddhist chants and how to drone them, how to carry his praying-wheel and finger a rosary to the murmured "Om mani padmi hung" of the Tibetans, and—for he was something of an artist—how to paint the Buddhist pictorial Wheel of Life, the Sid-pa-i Khor-lô or Cycle of Existence that the gentle Gautama, the Buddha, himself first drew and that hangs in the vestibule of every lamasery to teach priest and layman the leading law of their religion, Re-birth.
Colonel Dermot was helped in his instruction of his pupil by his chief spy and confidential messenger, an ex-monk from a great monastery in Punaka, the capital of Bhutan. This man, Tashi, before he wearied of the cloistered life and fled to India, had been always one of the principal actors in the great miracle plays and Devil Dances of his lamasery, for he was gifted with considerable histrionic talent. He delighted in teaching Wargrave to play his various rôles, for he found the subaltern an apt pupil.
As soon as the rains ended the Political Officer began to take his disciple with him on his tours and patrols along the frontier. Alone they roamed on Badshah among the mountains on which the border ran in a confusedly irregular line. Sometimes with or without Tashi they crossed into Bhutan in disguise and wandered among the steep, forest-clad hills and deep, unhealthy valleys seamed with rivers prone to sudden floods that rose in a few hours thirty or forty feet. Wargrave marvelled at the engineering skill of the inhabitants who with rude and imperfect appliances had thrown cantilever bridges over the deep gorges of this mountainous southern zone. Among the dull-witted peasants in the villages he practised the parts that he had learned, speaking little at first and taking care to mingle Tibetan and Chinese words with the language of Bhutan to keep up the fable of his northern birth. He soon promised to be in time as skilfull in disguise as his tutor.
Colonel Dermot was anxious to investigate the activities of the Chinese Amban, reputed to reach their height in the territory just across the Indian border ruled by the Tuna Penlop and lying west of the Black Mountain range that divides Bhutan. This great feudal chieftain was reputed to be completely under the influence of Yuan Shi Hung and both anti-British and disloyal to his overlord the Maharajah or Tongsa Penlop. The close watch that his myrmidons kept on the stretch of frontier between his territories and India prevented Dermot from learning what went on behind the screen; for the spies of the Political Officer's Secret Service could not penetrate it and bring back news.
Wargrave was present when the last sturdy-limbed Bhuttia emissary reported his failure to cross the line. As the man withdrew the Colonel turned to Frank and said:
"We'll go ourselves. I wanted to avoid it if possible; for it wouldn't do for me to be caught. Not only because it would cause political complications, for I'm not supposed to trespass on Bhutanese territory uninvited, but also because fatal accidents might happen to us if Yuan Shi Hung and his friends get hold of us. I'm not anxious to die yet. Be ready to start at midnight."
"Do you really think we'll be able to get through, sir?" queried the subaltern. "How shall we do it?"
"Wait and see," was the curt reply.
Before the sun rose next day Badshah was deep in the forest, bearing the two officers and Tashi on his back. He moved rapidly along animal paths through the jungle in a direction parallel with the mountains. Jungle fowl whirred up from under his feet, deer crashed away through the undergrowth as he passed; but never a shot was fired at them, though rifles and guns were in the riders' hands. Little brown monkeys peeped down at them from the tree-tops or leapt away along the air lanes among the leafy branches, swinging by hand or foot, springing across the voids, the babies clutching fast to their mothers' bodies in the dizzy flights.
In the afternoon a distant crashing, which told of trees falling before the pressure of great heads and the weight of huge bodies, made Wargrave ask:
"Wild elephants, sir?"
Dermot nodded.
"Sounds as if they were right in our path. Shall we see them?"
"Yes. Don't touch that!" said the Colonel sharply; for the excited subaltern, who had never yet seen a wild herd, was reaching for his rifle. Wargrave obeyed, remembering Miss Benson's remark on the Political Officer's love of the great animals.
Soon unmistakable signs showed that they were on the track of a herd; and presently Frank caught sight of a slate-coloured body in the undergrowth, then another and another. As he was wondering how the animals would receive them Badshah emerged on an open glade filled with elephants of all ages and sizes, from new-born woolly calves a bare three feet at the shoulder to splendid tuskers nine feet ten inches in height and lean, ragged-eared old animals a hundred and thirty years of age. All were regarding the newcomer and their trunks were raised to point towards him, while from their throats came a low purring sound, which appeared to the subaltern to have more of pleasure than menace in it. Instead of seeming hostile or alarmed they behaved as though they had expected and were welcoming their domesticated brother. This was so evident that Frank felt no fear even when they closed in on Badshah and touched him with their trunks.
Dermot, smiling at his companion's amazement, said:
"This is Badshah's old herd, Wargrave, and they're used to him and me. I've come in search of them, for it is by their aid that I propose to enter Bhutan."
And the subaltern was still more surprised when the animals, which numbered over a hundred, fell in behind Badshah—cows with calves leading, tuskers in rear—and followed him submissively in single file as he headed for the mountains. When night fell they were climbing above the foot-hills under the vivid tropic stars.
A couple of hours before midnight the leader halted, and the line behind him scattered to feed on the bamboos and the luscious grasses, though the younger calves nuzzled their mothers' breasts. Badshah sank to his knees to allow his passengers to dismount and relieve him of his pad. The three men ate and then wrapped themselves in their blankets, for it was very cold high up in the mountains, and stretched themselves to sleep, as the great animals around them ceased to feed and rested. Badshah lowered himself cautiously to the ground and lay down near his men.
Before Wargrave lost consciousness he marvelled at Dermot's uncanny power over the huge beasts around them—a power that could make these shy mammoths thus subservient to his purposes. He began to understand why his companion was regarded as a demigod by the wild jungle-folk and hill-dwellers.
When at daybreak the herd moved on again, climbing ever higher in the mountains, the three men lay flat on Badshah's back and covered themselves with their grey blankets lest vigilant watchers on the peaks around might espy them. Thus do the mahouts of the koonkies, or trained female elephants employed in hunting and snaring wild tuskers, conceal themselves during the chase.
But darkness shielded them effectively when the herd swept at length through a rocky pass on the frontier-line between India and Bhutan, and with cries of fear and dismay armed men seated around watch-fires fled in panic before the earth-shaking host. The screen was penetrated.
Daylight found them on the banks of a broad, swift-flowing river in a valley between the range of mountains through which they had passed and a line of still more formidable and snow-clad peaks. The elephants swam the wide and rushing water, for of all land animals their kind are the best swimmers. The tiniest babies were supported by the trunks of their mothers, on to whose backs older calves climbed and were thus carried across. Without stopping the herd plunged into the awful passes of the next range, of which they were not clear until the evening of the following day. Then they halted in dense forest.
Next morning Dermot took from the pockets of Badshah's pad the dresses and other things that they needed for their disguises, and instead of replacing the pad concealed it carefully. Then he said:
"We'll leave our escort here, Wargrave, and carry on by ourselves; for we are not far from inhabited and cultivated country, and indeed fairly near the Jong (castle) of our enemy the Penlop of Tuna."
The wild elephants were feeding all around, paying no heed to them. The Colonel turned to Badshah and pointing to the ground said one word:
"Raho! (Remain!)"
Then he continued to Wargrave:
"We'll find them, or they'll find us, whenever we return."
An hour later two elderly lamas in soiled yellow robes and horn-rimmed spectacles, followed by a lame coolie carrying their scanty possessions, emerged, rosary and praying-wheel in hand, from the forest into the cultivated country.
For some weeks they wandered unsuspected through the Tuna Penlop's dominions and even penetrated into his own jong, where they were entertained and their prayers solicited by his cut-throat retainers. They learned enough to realise that the Amban was endeavouring by the free supply of arms and military instructors to form here the nucleus of a trained force to be employed eventually against India, backed up by reinforcements of Chinese troops and contingents from other parts of Bhutan.
Their investigations completed they returned safely to the forest in which they had left the herd; and, much to Wargrave's relief, they had not been many hours camped on the spot where they had parted with them when Badshah and his wild companions appeared. The spies returned to India as they had come, unseen and unsuspected.
This excursion was but the first of many that Wargrave made with the Colonel and the herd; and he soon began to know almost every member of it and make friends, not only with the solemn but friendly little calves, but even with their less trusting mothers. He was now thoroughly at home in the jungle and no longer needed a tutor in sport. His one room in the Mess began to be overcrowded with trophies of his skill with the rifle. Other tiger-skins had joined the first; and, although he had not secured a second bison, several good heads of sambhur, khakur and cheetul, or spotted deer, hung on his whitewashed stone walls.
Thus with sport and work more fascinating than sport Wargrave found the months slipping by. From Raymond he learned that Violet had returned to Rohar before she wrote herself. When she did she seemed to be in a brighter and more affectionate, as well as calmer, mood than she had been before her visit to Poona. But gradually her letters became less and less frequent; and Frank began to wonder—with a little sense of guilty, shamed hope—if she were beginning to forget him.
Christmas came; and with its coming Ranga Duar woke again to life. Besides the Bensons and Carter, who now brought his wife, Mrs. Dermot's brother—a subaltern in an Indian cavalry regiment—and five planters, old friends of his from the district in which he had once been a planter himself, came to spend Christmas in the small station. Major Hunt's bungalow and the Mess took in the overflow from the Political Officer's house.
Brian and Eileen had the gayest, happiest time of their little lives. Presents were heaped on them. Muriel and Frank initiated them into all the delights of their first Christmas tree, and Burke introduced them to a real Punch and Judy Show. On Christmas Day Badshah, his neck encircled with a garland of flowers procured from the Plains, was led up solemnly by his seldom-seen mahout to present Colonel Dermot with a gilded lime and receive in return a present of silver rupees which passed into the possession of the said mahout. Then he was fed with dainties by the children; and Eileen insisted on being tossed aloft by the curving trunk, to the detriment of her starched party frock.
The weather was appropriate to the season, cold and bright, and although no snow fell so low down, it froze at night, so that the Europeans could indulge in the luxury—in India—of gathering around blazing wood fires after dinner.
All, young and old, thoroughly enjoyed this almost English-like Christmas—all except one. Burke's attentions to Muriel became more marked and more full of meaning than they had ever been before; and it was patent that he intended to put his fate to the touch during this visit of hers. He did so without success, it seemed; for before she left there was an evident sense of constraint between them and they tried to avoid sitting beside each other or being left alone together, even for a moment. Shortly after the departure of the visitors Burke contrived to effect an exchange to another station, to the regret of all in the little outpost, and he was replaced by a young Scots surgeon, named Macdonald, his opposite in every way.