This conversation with FitzGerald gave his housemate ample food for serious reflection. If Krauss was a deep-dyed scoundrel, and his wife a victim of the cocaine habit, what a home for Sophy! If he could only take her away from it! But what grounds had he for hoping that she would marry him? In spite of their pleasant meetings, their rides and dances, he had never ventured to hint at his real feelings, knowing that he was far from being what is called “an eligible match,” and having a surprisingly humble opinion of his own merits. He was now receiving five hundred rupees a month, which, after all, did not go far in expensive Rangoon. Could a man marry on such an income, or on the supposition that what was barely enough for one would be sufficient for two?
As far as he was in a position to judge, Sophy’s ideas were not extravagant, and she would be better almost anywhere than in her present abode; but he had not the slightest right to suppose that she cared two pins for him; on the other hand, he had a hateful and well-founded conviction that not a few of the young men among her acquaintances would be glad to claim Miss Leigh as a wife. There were Fotheringay the A.D.C., Gubbins of the Oil Company, and one or two others, fluttering about her and scorching their wings.
After a month of procrastination and delay, the Rangoon Commissariat Department, under an energetic new official, decided to embark a collection of sixty elephants, which had long been awaiting transport from the neighbourhood of Rangoon, to India. Now a large sailing-ship had been chartered to carry this interesting cargo across the Bay of Bengal to Vizagapatam, where they would be scattered to work in all parts of the country.
The sailing-ship was anchored across the river at Dallah, and, in order to reach their destination, the elephants were called upon to swim the Rangoon River—sixty, no fewer, mostly young animals which had been caught and trained, the property of the Indian Government. The move took place upon Thursday (the Garrison holiday), and a large number of people were assembled to witness this unusual departure. The emigrants were ranged up in groups, two huge tuskers appeared to be in charge of the business of embarkation, and, to do them justice, carried it out with conspicuous success, taking it in turn to convoy select parties across the river, here a mile wide. The “personally conducted” were at first delighted to be in the water. They splashed and played about like huge porpoises, and were smacked and kept in order like naughty children by their great tusker nurse, and eventually guided to a landing. Some, on the other hand, did not enjoy the excursion, were alarmed by the force of the current and turned tail. These were chased, vigorously chastised, herded in the way they should go, and escorted to the other side—all save one, which obstinately refused to quit terra firma, and was accordingly fastened to a launch, in order to be towed across; but the powerful and headstrong brute towed the launch inland and, having utterly smashed it and destroyed several bamboo sheds, effected its triumphal escape.
Meanwhile the fifty-nine were assembled at Dallah, patiently awaiting their fate. A number of people had collected on the landing-stage, close to the big ship, to watch her strange cargo being placed on board. The lower hold of this huge four-master had been entirely cleared, and into this receptacle the devoted elephants were lowered by a gigantic steam crane. Meanwhile they were formed up behind a huge shed in order that none should witness the scheme of departure, or the undignified transfer of its companions. A selected victim was coaxed, flattered, caressed, and then marched proudly down the pier between two deceitful and majestic tuskers, a pair of stern old gentlemen that would stand no nonsense; soothed and bribed by a generous supply of sugar-cane, the unsuspicious traveller was halted directly under the crane; a belly-band encircled his enormous waist, and to this was attached a hook; then, at a given signal, the astonished animal was suddenly hoisted into the air. And what a sight! Trunk waving madly, legs wildly reaching for foothold, a helpless and ridiculous monster, endeavouring to clutch the rigging. Presently the frantic passenger was slowly lowered to the hold, where his own beloved mahout and a pile of luscious lucerne awaited his agitated arrival.
Lookers-on found the spectacle of a helpless elephant struggling in mid-air excessively amusing, and the immediate neighbourhood of the ship was crowded. Here were the Pomeroys, Maitlands, Morgans, Puffles, Mrs. Gregory, Miss Leigh, and numbers of others, including Shafto, who, much interested in this novel sight, had taken several snapshots. Just as he snapped the last elephant, he felt the sharp jerk of a rope round his ankles, and in another second was swept into the racing Irrawaddy.
As the water surged over his head, the sharp shock and the submersion momentarily took away his breath. Shafto was a strong swimmer, but the current was tremendous and not to be denied; it carried him right out into the middle of the river, spinning him round and round like a leaf in a torrent. He realised his danger and that his lease of life could now be counted by seconds. His thoughts flew straight to Sophy; with a sensation of piercing agony he felt that he would never see her again. By extraordinary good fortune a steam launch which was crossing had noticed the swimmer’s dark head, as well as the shouts and the signals from the landing-stage, and promptly overtook him, drew him breathless and half drowned on board, and landed him at Dallah. Shafto had had a miraculous escape, for those who fall into the Irrawaddy rarely emerge alive; his adventure was much discussed and debated for one whole day at Gregory’s and elsewhere.
“How on earth did it happen? Lucky you were clear of the ship, otherwise you would have been sucked underneath and never been found,” remarked a friend; “we cannot imagine how you tumbled in—did anyone shove you?”
“Oh, I just tripped over a rope,” he announced, when questioned at the Club; but to FitzGerald he confided the truth—the whole truth: