As for the Sikhs, they positively bellowed with delight, although Private Flanigan had not paltered with such obvious rhymes as kicks and licks. In fact, the whole audience was so happy and hilarious that we hoped the slight difference of the afternoon was forgotten; but we were mistaken. About midnight Sunt Singh, havildar, began to attribute Jye Kush naick's flat nose to a provision of the All-wise Creator in view of football squashes, and assert magniloquently that God never made an ugly Sikh, whereat strife arose, and kukries and bichwas might have drawn blood had not my captain shown discreet firmness, and sent an exactly equal number of Sikhs and Gurkhas to the guard room.
It was very shortly after this incident that Private Flanigan found himself there also; as usual for patronising the canteen too liberally. But this time he was profusely indignant, and assured me on his Bible oath--as a rule he professed Roman Catholicism--that it was a gross case of mistaken diagnosis. He had not been drunk; still less, disorderly. When the sergeant put him under arrest he was merely giving a realistic and spirited representation of last year's All England match as it had appeared to him. And this he was doing solely for the benefit of his pupils, the little Gherkins; shirkin', lurkin' little Gherkins, who had basely failed to speak up for him when he was comatose from fatigue.
That was about the last time I ever spoke to poor Flanigan; for about a week after he was mysteriously lost. I say mysteriously, because though all sorts of theories were put forward to explain his disappearance, none of them were entirely satisfactory. I myself, inclined to the explanation that, being, according to the Ghurkas' testimony, a little bit on at the time, he lost his life in a sudden spate of the river caused by the melting of the snows in the higher hills. It was a very sudden spate, and caught the working party as they were clearing the southern end of a deep cutting--a tunnel, indeed, for twenty yards or so--which lay just at the end of our section. The Sikhs, however, who were working at the northern end, escaped the flood altogether, and rather jeered at our men who had to scramble for dear life, some regaining the camp and others spending the night in the open; so, each party thinking Flanigan must be with the other, he was not missed till next morning, when it was too late to find his body.
We dragged the river pools to no purpose, then, as the spate had ruined half our work, gave up the search and duly reported his death at headquarters.
With the prospect of the advancing hot weather before us, when we must knock off, there was not much time for amusement, and we were kept pretty close at it. But a Himalaya spring in the uplands was a perpetual temptation to me, and I used to start off at dawn time for a long tramp on the higher murgs or alps, taking my gun with me in case I came across an old cock minawul pheasant. There was a perfect mosaic of flowers beneath one's feet; forget--menots, pansies, white anemones, yellow gillyflowers, scarlet potentilla and half-a-hundred others whose names I did not know. You could not set your foot down without crushing some beautiful thing; you felt that you were ramping through a veritable garden.
Then it was marvellous to see the snow peaks flush red with sunrise while the shadow of night--the shadow of the earth itself!--still lay immovable in the valleys, and you had to bend close over the mosaic to distinguish one flower from another. Even the cock minawul, despite their dazzling metallic lustre, looked shadowy and dark as they rose; rose swiftly to flash out suddenly into copper and green, and silvery goldeny blue as they met the higher sunlight.
One morning, thinking I had hit a splendid specimen of these rocketting fireworks, and being anxious to secure such a perfectly plumaged bird, I followed one over keenly. The result being that I lost my way, and found myself under a blazing hot sun, still seeking for my particular valley. At long last I caught a glimpse of deodar trees below me and began to descend confidently; but half way down a certain strangeness of contour made me pull up and question my judgment.
No! it was not our valley. It was too narrow, too small; besides, there was no lakelet in it. Indeed, there seemed no way out of it; it lay like an extinct crater, absolutely shut in by the high hills, tucked away--right away--No! by Jove! there were people or things in it. I could see a steady white spot of something on the greensward, and a sort of dancing circle of black specks.
Were they men or animals? I was too short-sighted to distinguish; so I started downwards again, impelled by curiosity and a vague feeling that I knew what was coming, to find a point of vantage whence I could see clearly.
I don't think I was in the least surprised at what I did see. I am sure my inner consciousness was aware of it before I was.