Havildar Sunt Singh paused a moment. "Huzoor," he said at last, solemnly. "In a world of illusion it is difficult to reach truth; but one thing is certain, by the blessing of God he was extremely without consciousness. Was it not so, brothers?" he continued, appealing to two naicks and another havildar who were also standing to attention. Their corroborative "Be-shakks" rang out smartly, like a rifle shot.
"That is all very well," I continued, sternly addressing the culprit-in-chief. "If they kidnapped you, they'll have to answer for it; but that is no excuse for you stopping here. You can't pretend you're a prisoner, you know."
I glanced round as I spoke, and Flanigan's eyes followed mine. There was a bed in one corner, a chair, a washhandstand, an assortment of Europe tins, a box of cigars in a rough set of shelves, while on one side of the stage stood a table, elaborately laid for dinner, with a tablenapkin folded into the form of a peacock!
There was a pause. Then candour came to Private Flanigan's aid--almost pathetic candour.
"Well! it weren't exactly uncomfortable, you see, sir," he said, with a deprecating smile; and I had to admit the justice of his plea. It was more comfortable than being packed like a herring in a barrel in a bell tent. I had, moreover, thought the matter out, and had come to the conclusion that the less said about it the better. So I gave Private Flanigan the option of taking the pledge, and returning to duty, making the best excuse he could for his absence, or being sent for officially.
He chose the former, to the great delight of the Sikhs, who, as he had said, were teetotallers to a man, and who naturally did not want to get into trouble over the business.
Next morning Private Flanigan reported himself to my captain. He was bare-foot, travel-stained, weary, and he had the most cock-and-bull story I ever heard of how he had spent the last ten days.
"If there had been any liquor shop within two hundred miles I wouldn't believe him," said my captain in an injured tone, "but there isn't--and no man is such a fool as to stop out in this wild country for nothing."
So the tale passed muster. Had I known, however, of the richness of the culprit's imagination, I doubt whether I should have given him such a field for it; for the story of the "loss of Private Flanigan" became a recognised entertainment, even for the Gherkins, and night after night he gave a different version of it to delighted admirers. I ventured once to remonstrate with him, and hint that capture by cannibals was hardly correct; but his unconsciousness was supreme.
"S'elp me Moses, sir," he said. "You don' know wot I bin through. They'd have eat me, sure enuff, if I 'adn't happen to 'ave my big boots on."