The Flag of the Adventurer

by Sydney C. Grier

Unfortunately, the added grandeur did nothing to mitigate the inconveniences of the voyage, but the General himself was so absolutely unconscious of these that no one else durst refer to them. Eveleen had her tent on deck as before, and having once made certain that such comfort as was possible was secured to her, Sir Harry dismissed the subject from his mind. If they had only been privates, the officers on board confided ruefully to one another, the General would have thought no pains too much to make them comfortable, but the higher ranks were expected to be content with the meagre accommodation that sufficed for himself. To the honour of his staff be it said that they loved him too much to grumble at hardships shared with him, and it must be confessed that no one who did not love him could have remained in his family for a week.

Eveleen studied him appreciatively day by day, but from a point of view other than that of the quaint companionship of Mahabuleshwar. Half unconsciously, she had acquired something of the Anglo-Indian attitude of mind in her sojourn up the country, and it helped her to understand the alarm and dislike with which he was viewed by old Indians generally. It was perfectly true that he knew nothing of India, and prided himself on the fact, which in some curious way he had brought himself to regard as a merit. In fact, ignorance of India seemed to him an essential qualification for dealing successfully with Indian affairs—a conviction shared with him by many less simple-hearted egoists both before and since. Curiously enough, he was always on the watch to pick up information about things Indian—historical, geological, agricultural, linguistic,—but the information must be surprised and as it were snatched from the people who knew, at moments when they were off their guard. Not only did he keep his eyes open, but he was not too proud to confess he had been mistaken. The little book on the Campaigns of Alexander, to which Brian had alluded, was his constant companion, and he had succeeded to his own complete satisfaction in reconstructing the itinerary of the Greek forces, and identifying the various places mentioned with existing towns. But the whole scheme collapsed under the shock of the discovery that the river was wont to change its course from year to year—sometimes from month to month—and that it would be unreasonable to expect to find a town where it had stood a century ago, much more two thousand years. This was a severe blow, and for a day or two the little book was less in evidence. Brian and Eveleen asked one another wickedly whether the report on the condition of Khemistan—which Sir Harry was compiling at alarming length—would likewise prove to be founded on imagination rather than knowledge of the country, but by degrees they began to perceive a method in the little man’s madness, and to watch for the lightning questions by means of which he would inform himself.

The fame of the General had reached Qadirabad before him, and the anxiety of the Khans to produce a good impression was shown by their assiduity in offering him a welcome. A high official was deputed to meet the steamer before it came in sight of the city, and the river bank was studded with bearers of enormous trays of sweetmeats, so many from each Khan. At the Residency other officials were waiting, with more sweetmeats and a polite offering of ten fat sheep, and it was clear to Richard and his colleagues of the Agency that the rulers were both puzzled and nervous. Here was an abrupt little man of terrible aspect, reputed to be the most ferocious fighter Europe could produce, and a disciple—if not a relative—of the world-famous Wellington. He was armed with vague powers—all that was known was that they were greater than those of any General who had hitherto visited the country,—but how he meant to use them no one could say. It was not even known whether he and the Resident Sahib were friends or enemies—bitterly did the Khans regret that the two men had not met, that sharp eyes unseen might have observed and reported their demeanour—nor whether the Resident was still in authority or not. The one obvious thing seemed to be to make sure of the favour of the alarming Unknown, and the obvious way of doing it was to show him every possible honour. A scarlet palanquin of state, with green velvet cushions, was sent to convey him to the Fort, his staff and that of the Agency following on richly-caparisoned camels. Besides his own escort of fifty Khemistan Horse, he had a guard of honour of Arabit Sardars and their retainers, and at the city gate the younger Khans—each in his palanquin—met him and escorted him in. Curious crowds fought for a sight of him and acclaimed him enthusiastically, and as he mounted the rise to the gateway of the Fort every one salamed to the ground. Khemistan was doing its best to conciliate the intruder.

“And how did he get on with them at all?” asked Eveleen eagerly of her husband, when the procession had returned, and he was thankfully divesting himself of the trappings of full dress.

“So-so. He meant to be all that was charming, but he hasn’t a notion how to take ’em, and they don’t know what to make of him. He looks upon ’em as a set of children, because they would have his spectacles passed round for ’em all to try on, and that’s how he talks to ’em. Of course the Munshi put all he said into proper form, but they judge by the tone much more than the words. That dry hard way he has of barking things out was what impressed ’em, I could see, though he was trying his utmost to put them at their ease. They don’t like him, and they’re precious frightened of him—that’s about it, I should say.”

“If only the Colonel had been here, now!” sighed Eveleen. Richard looked at her queerly.

“What good would that have done? He couldn’t have shortened this man’s huge beak, or got him to go about without spectacles—which frighten them because they think his eyes are so savage that he wears ’em to deaden the expression,—or made him speak soft and slow. It ain’t in the old chap, and he don’t know enough about India to try and cultivate it if he hasn’t got it. And they know well enough that he’s been sent here over Bayard’s head—the only thing they can’t make out yet is whether they’re in it together or not.”

If Sir Harry were aware of the alarming impression he had produced, he showed no sign of it, but continued his journey up the river the next day, leaving with Richard the letter which was to call the Khans’ attention to the breaches of treaty of which they had been guilty, and the advisability of mending their ways forthwith. At Sahar he was to be met by Colonel Bayard, who had been enjoying himself vastly—free from the responsibility and respectability of the Agency—in his mission to the wild country on the Ethiopian border. He had made long journeys on camel-back in disguise, provided for the safety and sustenance of the British force retiring from Iskandarbagh, settled various outstanding matters in connection with the small state of Nalapur—and incidentally embroiled himself with the Governor-General, who was a bad person to quarrel with. The occasion was the affairs of Nalapur. Not only did Lord Maryport consider Colonel Bayard had exceeded his powers in reorganising the government—that was merely presumption,—but he accused him of deluding the durbar deliberately by laying claim to powers he knew he did not possess, and then indeed Colonel Bayard was touched in his tenderest point. An acrimonious correspondence was in progress, of which he assured himself happily that he had so far carried off all the honours; but the drawback in quarrelling with authority is that authority is always in a position to have the last word—and that word had not yet been spoken. Both Colonel Bayard and his friends—to whom he read or repeated what he considered the most telling portions of his letters—forgot this, and when the news came that Sir Harry Lennox and he had taken a fancy to one another at first sight, and were working together in the most amicable way, the Political Establishment in Khemistan forgot its fears, and settled down contentedly in the conviction that, after all, things were going on much in the old way.

The Khans also were hugging this amiable delusion to their souls. Richard was kept busy with visiting them and receiving their Vakils, now delivering the papers sent to him from Sahar for the purpose, and then transmitting the answers. Knowing Colonel Bayard to be their friend—though without feeling it necessary to requite his friendship otherwise than in word,—they were quite happy since he still remained in the country, and bent all their energies, which were small, and their ingenuity, which was infinite, to the task of enabling him on their behalf to hoodwink the intruder. With the aid of a judicious rattling together of shields and tulwars—to give the hint of unpleasant possibilities in the background if things were pressed to extremities—they looked forward to tiding over this crisis as they had done others. Richard was a good deal worried by their attitude. He could not bring them to realise that they had a second person—and a very different one—to deal with now, and whenever he tried it they replied with the warlike demonstrations intended especially for the General’s benefit. It was quite certain that there was an unusual amount of coming and going about the Fort. Fresh bands of Arabit horsemen seemed to be arriving continually, and while some of them departed again, others remained. Moreover, Richard doubted very much whether those who went away returned to Arabitistan. From the reports brought him by his spies, he believed that they were reinforcements for the garrisons of the desert fortresses of which the Khans boasted as unreachable and impregnable, and from which Sahar itself might be assailed in case of need. He could only pass on his observations to Sir Harry, and try to convince the Khans of the seriousness of the situation, while doing his utmost to bring them to reason by peaceful means.

Eveleen had returned from Bab-us-Sahel full of good resolutions, determined to take Mrs Gibbons as her model from henceforth. She would never want to ride at unorthodox hours—virtue was assisted in this respect by the heat,—and she would benefit society by starting a farmyard and kitchen-garden. Unfortunately for her good intentions, Qadirabad was a very different place from Bab-us-Sahel, since mutton, poultry, and vegetables were all easy to get. She relinquished with a sigh the idea of a sheep-farm and chicken-run, but a garden she would have, and achieved—with the aid of the Residency mali and his underlings—success of a sort. The mali had an unfair advantage in the perpetual contests waged between them, since he knew his own mind and did not change it from day to day, while Eveleen’s continual visions of newer and better arrangements led to weird apparitions of onions in the flower-beds and violets among the lettuces. Happily the mali was able, with conscious rectitude, to show that he had a proper supply of vegetables coming on in regions to which the Beebee had not penetrated, and instead of starving the Agency staff, Eveleen escaped with a good deal of teasing on her peculiar horticultural tastes. But those who had planted the garden were not destined to eat its fruits.