“No, he has furbished up a ruined fort which he found in the mountains, and calls it Sheikhgarh. He has an allowance from us, and he could range all over the province if he liked. It is only his vow that prevents him, and, curiously enough, I have reason to know that it’s not as alarming as it sounds.”
“Why, have you ever seen him?”
“I have, and I have not. I met him out in the desert one night—saw a troop of men riding, and challenged them. When he heard who I was, he came forward to explain that for a person of such sanctity it was easy to dispense himself partially from his vow—so as to let him take his rides abroad at night. He was muffled up to the eyes, and it was dark, besides, so I can’t say I saw him, but I liked his voice. I told him he need fear no molestation from me, that I considered both he and Nasr Ali had been treated scandalously, and that I was on his side if the Government troubled him any more.”
Sir Dugald hid a smile. Major Keeling’s opinion of any government he might happen to serve was never a matter of doubt, and no prudential motives would be likely to induce him to keep it secret.
CHAPTER VII.
EYE-WITNESS.
Sir Henry Lennox had resigned his post, and the military despotism in Khemistan proper was at an end. The Europeans at Alibad journeyed in two detachments to the port on the river to bid farewell to the old warrior, who was making his last triumphal progress amid the tears and lamentations of the people to whom, according to his enemies and their newspapers, his name was a signal for universal execration. The General and his flotilla of steamers passed on, and Major Keeling returned to Alibad, refusing to be comforted. The epoch of the soldier was over, that of the civilian had begun, and, like his old commander, he detested civilians as a class, without prejudice to certain favoured individuals, with a furious hatred. Mr Crayne, the newly appointed Commissioner, was not only a civilian but a man of such an awkward temper that it was said his superiors and contemporaries at Bombay had united to thrust the post upon him. It was not his by seniority, but they would have been willing to see him made Governor-General if it would remove him from their immediate neighbourhood. In him Major Keeling perceived a foeman worthy of his steel, and before the new ruler had fairly arrived in the province, they were embarked upon a fierce paper warfare over almost every point of Mr Crayne’s inaugural utterance. After a hard day’s work, it was a positive refreshment to the soldier to sit down and compose a fiery letter to his obnoxious superior; and since he was one of those to whom experience brings little wisdom, he repeated with zest the old mistake which had made him a by-word in official circles. More than once in former years, when he thought he had made a specially good point in a controversy of this kind, or forced his opponent into a particularly untenable corner, he had sent the correspondence to the Bombay papers, which were ready enough to print it, salving their consciences by printing also scathing remarks on the sender. They gave him no sympathy, and the military authorities sent him stinging rebukes; but as if by a kind of fatality he did the same thing over again as often as circumstances made it possible. His friends and subordinates looked on with fear and trembling, and whispered that the only reason he was still in the service was the fact that no one else could keep the frontier quiet: his enemies chuckled while they writhed, and said that the man was hard at work twisting the rope to hang himself, and it must be long enough soon.
It was unfortunate that Ferrers should have chosen this particular time to ask for leave in order to pay a visit to his uncle. He was heartily sick of the frontier, and the prospect of the Christmas festivities at Bab-us-Sahel was very pleasant. Moreover, he was anxious to bring himself to Mr Crayne’s remembrance. These months of hard service in a detestable spot like Alibad ought to have quite wiped out the memory of his past follies, and the uncle who had refused a request for money with unkind remarks such as made his nephew’s ears tingle still, might be willing to help him in other ways now that he could do so without cost to himself. By dint of studiously respectful and persistent letters congratulating Mr Crayne on his appointment, Ferrers had succeeded in eliciting a sufficiently cordial invitation to spend Christmas at Government House, provided he could obtain leave. His uncle did not offer to pay his expenses; but for the provision of the heavy cost of the journey he relied, in his usual fashion, on the trustfulness of the regimental shroff—an elastic term for an official whose functions included both banking and money-lending. The obstacle came just where he had not expected it, for Major Keeling refused to grant him leave. It was true that Ferrers had already had the full leave to which he was entitled, and had spent it in hunting, but a more prudent man than the Commandant might have felt inclined to stretch a point, with the view of conciliating the ruling power. Not so Major Keeling. If he had felt the slightest inclination to grant Ferrers’ request, the fact that he was Mr Crayne’s nephew would have kept him from doing so; but as it was, he rated Ferrers severely for asking for leave at all when the freebooter Shir Hussein was still at large in his district and foiling all attempts to lay him by the heels. Exasperated alike by the refusal and the rebuke, Ferrers rode back to Shah Nawaz in a towering passion, and casting aside the restraint which he had hitherto maintained, gave vent to his feelings by inveighing furiously against the Commandant in the presence of Mirza Fazl-ul-Hacq. The Mirza listened calmly, and with something like amusement, saying little, but the few words he uttered were calculated to inflame his employer’s rage rather than to allay it.
“Keeling has made up his mind to persecute me for being my uncle’s nephew!” cried Ferrers at last. “I won’t stand it. I’ll appeal to the Commissioner. He can’t refuse to take my side when he sees how I’m treated.”
“It may be he will remove you to another post, sahib,” suggested the Mirza.
“I only wish he would! I’d go like a shot.”