Smithy Abroad E-Book

Edgar Wallace

• Herausgeber: Edgar Wallace
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

SMITHY sat on the edge of his cot and sorted his belongings. The solid black trunk that a paternal Government provided for the reception of the soldiers’ worldly possessions was wide open, and the inside of the lid was a picture gallery of cigarette pictures. “When Nobby became my bed chum,” reflected Smithy, “I had three pairs of socks—I had two new blacking brushes and a bit of scented soap—likewise a brand new shavin’ brush.”
Private Clark, stretched full length on the adjoining cot, immersed in the mysteries of an elementary French grammar (Nobby is studying for a first-class certificate) treated the insinuation with silent contempt.

Leseprobe

Edgar Wallace

Smithy Abroad

UUID: bd467ea2-7e74-11e6-b061-0f7870795abd

This ebook was created with StreetLib Write (http://write.streetlib.com)by Simplicissimus Book Farm

Table of contents

I. — THE ARMS STORE

II. — THE BAPTISM OF STEVENS

III. — THE ROTTEN AFFAIR

IV. — THE BACHELORS’ CLUB

V. — WHY "FEATHERWEIGHT JACKSON" ENLISTED

VI. — NOBBY’S LOVE STORY

VII. — THE CHUCKAJEE PLATE

VIII. — THE WANDERER

IX. — THE FIGHT

X. — THE MISER

XI. — NOBBY, LIMITED

XII. — AN ACT OF WAR

XIII. — THE FOOTBALL MATCH

XIV. — THATCHER’S BROTHER

XV. — THE INVENTION CRAZE

XVI. — MARSHY, DETECTIVE

XVII. — THE GHOST OF THE BROOK

XVIII. — SMITHY ON HUMOUR

XIX. — PIKEY’S LUCK

XX. — THE BUGLERS

XXI. — HONOUR

XXII. — SACRIFICE

XXIII. — A SUPPRESSED BOOK

XXIV. — A SOLDIER AND A MAN

I. — THE ARMS STORE

SMITHY sat on the edge of his cot and sorted his belongings. The solid black trunk that a paternal Government provided for the reception of the soldiers’ worldly possessions was wide open, and the inside of the lid was a picture gallery of cigarette pictures. “When Nobby became my bed chum,” reflected Smithy, “I had three pairs of socks—I had two new blacking brushes and a bit of scented soap—likewise a brand new shavin’ brush.”Private Clark, stretched full length on the adjoining cot, immersed in the mysteries of an elementary French grammar (Nobby is studying for a first-class certificate) treated the insinuation with silent contempt. “A man who wastes his time tryin’ to learn a language wot nobody speaks except French people,” complained Smithy, bitterly, “ought to have time to go through his kit, an’ sort out stolen property: a man who can afford to buy——” “I have not the socks of my friend,” interrupted Nobby, dreamily. “I have not seen the socks of my comrade. Ah, nong, jammy.” “I lent you——” disputed Smithy hotly. “Have you the pen of my sister, no but I have the paper of my aunt. Be’old! I have the chalk of my cousin,” murmured Nobby. “Have you got my socks?” demanded the wrathful Smithy. “Nong, mais j’avvy——” “Talk English, you big-footed barman.” “I haven’t got your socks, an’ I’d be very sorry to be seen wearin’ ’em,” said the exasperated Nobby. “If that ain’t English enough, I’ll talk Lal Sahib to you.” Smithy grinned. “Never heard about Lal Sahib, have you?”—he smiled grimly—“he was the chap to talk English.” Smithy waited for his audience to collect and prefaced his narrative with a homily on soldiering. “There’s three kinds of soldiers.” said Smithy. “There’s old soldiers, recruits, an’ soldiers—just soldiers. You can always tell the ‘roosters’ by their silliness: you don’t often see ’em in the streets because they’re mostly in hospital with heart disease, an’ lunacy, an’ any old disease that’ll get ’em a ticket.* The old soldiers you can generally spot: they’re the chaps who come round for the washin’ on Monday mornin’s. They also get charge of fatigue parties that do work that a lance-corporal wouldn’t bemean hisself to do. The soldier—well, anybody can tell a pukka soldier. A fine-lookin’, healthy upstandin’—well, take me for example.* Ticket: i.e., discharge certificate. “Young soldiers spend their time wantin’ things that ain’t good for ’em, and the thing they mostly want is foreign service an’ a war. “Any hour of the day you can hear ’em sayin’ ‘Roll on the big ship an’ the white helmet,’ an’ they’re no sooner abroad than they’re singin’, with tears in their eyes— ‘Motherland. Motherland!See thy exiled children stand,” or words to that effect. “When we was stationed in Peshawar, which is half way between India an’ hell, our second battalion was at Gib. an’ we got a draft of young chaps sent to us. They was the haughtiest draft you could ever imagine. Half a dozen of ’em was sent to ‘B’ Company. One of the chaps, whose name was Sigee, fairly made your head ache to listen to him. “We always try to be nice an’ polite to new chaps, so, just by way of makin’ him feel at home, Nobby told him all the news, how there was a lot of cholera about, an’ how Fatty Pink was down with sunstroke. “‘Heat don’t worry me,’ sez Sigee, very cocky. ‘I’m used to foreign service—been on the Rock a year.’ “‘But this heat,’ sez Nobby. “‘Nothin’ to the Rock,’ sez the young feller. “‘An’ the cholera,’ sez Nobby. “‘Nothin’ to the enteric you get on the Rock,’ sez Sigee. “‘There’s a lot of gun-runnin’,’ sez Nobby. “‘You ought to see the smugglers nippin’ over to La Linea from the Rock,’ sez Sigee, an’ that made Nobby wild. “‘What Rock?’ he sez. “‘Gibraltar,’ sez the other. “‘Where’s that?’ sez Nobby, innocent. ‘In the Isle of Wight?’ “You see,” explained Smithy, “it’s very hard to convince a chap who’s never been further out of England than Douglas, Isle of Man, that Gibraltar ain’t abroad. “We had a long argument about it the night the draft arrived, an’ Nobby said that ‘abroad’ didn’t begin till the nacheral colour of the inhabitants of the place was black, an’ that brought up the question of Black and White. “Sigee was one of them chaps that’s prepared to argue always on the other side. He waited till he saw we was all in agreement about the question, then he hopped in to prove that the native was twenty times a better man than the white. “‘He’s our black brother, too,’ he sez. “‘He ain’t no brother of mine,’ sez Nobby. “What made me an’ Nobby so cross was the way Sigee took up with Lal Ra—‘Lal Sahib’ the natives called him. “He was a pukka Pathan, that some silly old General had found when he was a kid. I forget what expedition it was on, but it was one of them shoot-quick-an’-get-away fights that we’re always havin’ in the hills. The General found this little Pathan an’ took him home. Got to like him, an’ havin’ more money than sense had him educated like a proper sahib. Went to Oxford, this kid did, an’ learnt Greek an’ algebra and mathematics, an’ when the old feller died he come back to Peshawar an’ started a native school in the city. To hear him talk, you would think you was listenin’ to a real gentleman. Somehow our officers didn’t cotton on to him, so he tried the men, an’ we wasn’t takin’ him either. But Sigee stuck on to him like a fly on treacle, and it made us sick to see ’em walkin’ through the bazaar together as thick as thieves. “‘He’s a gentleman, born and bred,’ says Sigee, ‘I’ve seldom met a better.’ “‘That I can quite understand,’ sez Nobby, politely. “What put the tall hat on Sigee was the order that came out that the native town was out of bounds, and that soldiers were practically confined to barracks. “‘It’s a bit of spite,’ sez Sigee, ‘to prevent me meetin’ my friend.’ As a matter of fact, our Colonel, who gave the order, didn’t know anything about Sigee, but what he did know was, that there was going to be a bit of trouble down in that part of the world. “We chaps didn’t know what the game was fully till one afternoon, the order came out that there was to be double guards on all the outlying posts. Then we smelt bloodshed. “An’ it came all right. “That night, when me an’ Nobby was sittin’ outside the canteen with a lot of chaps, an’ watchin’ the twinklin’ lights of the native town down below the hill, we hears a shot, then another, an’ in a minute we heard the sentry on the main guard shout, ‘Guard, turn out!’ “Then the Adjutant came pelting across the square, an’ we could see in the moonlight he had a revolver in his hand. ‘Assembly!’ I heard him shout, then he went off like a streak in the direction of the Arms Store, which is just on the edge of the cantonment. “We didn’t wait for the assembly to sound. Me an’ Nobby jumped for our bungalow. The Colour-sergeant, as white as a sheet, was opening the ammunition locker. “He chucked half a dozen packets at me an’ Nobby. “‘Take your rifles and double as hard as you can to the Arms Store,’ he shouted, and in a minute there was half a dozen of us runnin’ like mad in the direction the Adjutant had taken. “He was there with a file of the guard when we reached him, bending over something on the ground. “It was poor little Jayson, of ‘H.’.... a horrible sight.... They had smashed in the door of the store and got away with a dozen rifles. “There was a double guard on after that night, but the worst was to come. “The Arms Store is a fairly lonely post. Ammunition is stored there, an’ naturally it’s got to be a certain distance away from the barracks. There was a lot of bad Pathans in the Town, who wanted to get rifles. When I say ‘bad Pathans’ I mean extra bad, because I’ve never met a Pathan that was good for anything but murder. “It appears that there was trouble brewin’ on the frontier somebody was preachin’ a Holy war, and rifles was selling at 200 rupees in the town. “‘I’ve known about this for weeks,’ sez Sigee, very proud—he was just goin’ on guard—‘my friend, Lal Sahib, told me that owin’ to the foolish and shortsighted policy of the Government——’ “‘Dry up,’ sez Nobby, ‘we ain’t interested in your nigger pal, nor what he says.’ “Nobby has never forgiven hisself for snappin’ pore old Sigee’s head orf, for next mornin’, when the corporal of the guard went to relieve Sigee an’ his chum, they found ’im stark and dead, with an Afghan knife laying care­lessly round to show how it was done. “We buried poor old Sigee that night, and his black pal, Lal Sahib, sent a wreath with some Greek poetry on it. After that, Arms guard got a bit too jumpy. “Sigee was killed on the Tuesday night. On the Friday night Harry Bayle, of ‘C,’ and young Turner were laid out on the same post, practically in sight of the camp, an’ nobody was any the wiser. At neither time did the Pathans manage to get away with rifles except the guns of the poor chaps they slaughtered. “And the curious thing about it was that although there was a strict battalion order that the sentries were never to separate, but to stick together throughout their guard, they were always found one on one side of the Arms building, and the other poor chap on the other. “On the Sunday night, me and Nobby was sent for to the officers’ quarters. “The Adjutant took us to his room. “‘Smith,’ he sez, ‘I am putting you and Clark on Arms guard to-morrow—and you’ll be first relief. I’ve sent for you two, because, being old soldiers, I can depend on you.’ “‘Yessir,’ sez me an’ Nobby. “‘You can be depended upon to carry out orders,’ he sez, slowly, ‘an’ these are your orders: if anyone approaches your post challenge them once—then fire or use your bayonet.’ “As this was the ordinary regulation, we was puzzled at the Adjutant sendin’ specially for us. “‘Understand,’ he sez more slowly, ‘if you challenge an’ the person you challenge can’t give you the countersign straight off—you’re to kill him.’ “We nodded. “‘Even,’ sez the Adjutant, ‘even if it's me! ’ “Nobby was very troubled as we walked back to our barrack-room. “‘These murders have got a bit on Uncle Bill’s mind,’ he sez, ‘surely he ain’t goin’ dotty?” “I thought it was rum, too. “We fell in for guard at Retreat next night, an’ the Adjutant inspected us. “‘You remember what I told you?’ he sez, ‘an’ don’t forget you are not to separate, even if I order it!’ “‘That’s done it,’ sez Nobby, as we was marchin’ off. ‘Uncle Bill’s been in the sun.’ “But I had my own views about Uncle Bill, an’ I said nothin’ at all. “The first relief was from six to eight, an’ nothin’ happened. It’s not nice to do a guard on a place where four chaps have been murdered—four chaps you knew quite well an’ have laughed an’ joked with. The Arms Store is a little square buildin’ on a risin’ bit of ground, and durin’ the day time there’s two sentry boxes, one each side of the door. When the store’s locked up, the sentry boxes are pushed in front of the door—or had been since the Pathans made their first attack. “‘What I can’t understand,’ sez Nobby, ‘ is why them chaps left each other, an’ I don’t mind tellin’ you, Smithy, that if I catch you tryin’ to leave me, I’ll beat your head off with the butt end of me rifle.’ “We was relieved at eight, an’ nothin’ further happened till just as I was dreamin’ somebody had left me a million pounds an’ a feather bed, the corporal of the guard shook me up. “‘Come on, Smithy,’ he sez, ‘it’s your turn.’ “It was black dark when me an’ Nobby took over the post, and there was only just enough light from the stars to see how dark it was. We walked round the buildin’ twice, and then took up our position in the boxes. “We stood for a long time sayin’ nothin’, for somehow the silence of the night didn’t invite conversation. “By an’ bye Nobby whispered: “‘Smithy, what’s the word again?’ “So I whispers ‘Bristol,’ which was the countersign of the night. “I don’t know how long we stood there, but after a while Nobby sez: “‘Let’s walk round again.’ “I’d just slung my rifle to the slope, when I heard somebody coming along the path. Not stealthily or quietly, but just steppin’ out briskly an’ whistlin’. “We dropped our rifles to the charge and saw a man coming towards us. “We could hear the ‘slap slap’ of his sword as it hit against his leggings. “‘ Halt! Who comes there?’ I shouted. “‘It’s all right,’ he sez, an’ I recognised the Adjutant’s voice. Then like a flash I remembered his warnin’. “‘ Stand, sir!’ I sez, quick, ‘and give the counter­ sign!’ “He laughed. “‘Oh, all right, my man, I’m just looking round—one of you men go to the other side of the building and see if all’s clear.’ “Nobby was startin’ when I grabbed his arm. “‘It’s against, orders, sir,’ I sez. I could see he was comin’ to test us. “Then suddenly at my side I could hear Nobby breathing hard, an’ he started a little forward. “‘Don’t come nearer,’ he sez, harshly, ‘give me the countersign!’ “‘Oh, rot!’ sez the officer, an’ came walkin’ casually toward us. “Before I could stop him, Nobby had shortened his rifle and as the officer came nearer, I saw the flash of Nobby’s bayonet leap out toward him. “It struck him with a soft thud, and I heard him sob as he slid down on his knees. “‘My God!’ I whispered, ‘what have you done?’ “‘Killed him,’ sez Nobby, ‘accordin’ to orders,’ then ‘Look out!’ he shouted and I saw three crouching figures coming up the rise. “I shot the first and got the bayonet home on the second, and the third Nobby settled. “Then we heard the guard runnin’. “‘Smithy,’ sez Nobby, very solemn, ‘I’d give ten million pounds to hear the Adjutant’s voice damning somebody’s eyes.’ He got it for nothin’ in a minute, for well ahead of the guard came the Adjutant in his pyjamas with a little electric lamp in his hand. “‘Halt!’ shouts Nobby, an’ the Adjutant stopped. “‘Thank God,’ I heard the officer mutter ; then he gave the word. “‘Are you all right?’ he sez. “‘We’re all right,’ sez Nobby, anxious. ‘Are you all right?—because, sir, hopin’ there’s no offence, I put eight inches of bayonet through your chest a few seconds ago.’ “The Adjutant flashed his lamp over the dead man at Nobby’s feet. “He was dressed in a proper officer’s uniform, but his face was as black as the ace of spades. “‘Lal Sahib!’ sez the Adjutant.

* * * * *

“‘I always suspected him,’ sez the officer a little while later to the colonel, ‘especially after I’d heard that his voice was so like mine that you couldn’t distinguish the difference in the dark. It was easy enough for him to deceive the men on guard; sending one to the other side of the building where his friends were, whilst he knifed the other. He was the Lord High Gun Runner in this part of the world—you can’t educate a Pathan out of his Pathanism.’”

II. — THE BAPTISM OF STEVENS

THOSE who make a close study of the human mind, and the devious processes of its working, inform me that years of research and study do not return such satisfactory results as a week’s acquaintance with the average regiment of the line.When, as I sometimes do, deliver a lecture on the adventures of war-corresponding, I am invariably asked by somebody at the end of the lecture what, in the course of my wild and questionable career, I might regard as being my most exciting adventure, I invariably reply my introduction to semaphore signalling. For in the early days, when men switched off the wagging flag, and took to waving their arms like windmills to give expression to their thoughts, it chanced that I was practising the new method unconscious of the fact that there was passing on the road below the hill on which I stood, a wild Irish regiment. I thought nothing of the incident save that the men regarded me with scowls and mutterings. That night a picket of the Royal Artillery rescued me from a gang of infuriated Irishers, who had risen to slay “the black-hearted Orangeman who mocked them by crossing himself as good Catholics passed.” Those who understand the gyrations that semaphore signalling calls into play, will appreciate the incident. Discussing this matter with Smithy, passed by easy stages to theology—theology in words of one syllable. Now it is a very serious fact that there are two subjects taboo in a barrack room; the King and religion. There may be regulations, and probably are, which prohibit such discussions, but regulations are nothing where two or three soldiers are gathered together. Rather is it from an innate sense of delicacy that these matters are avoided. As Kipling will tell you, there are other dangerous matters, such as casting doubt upon your comrade being “legitimate issue,” as the lawyers have it. This is an indiscretion invariably settled with bloodshed, great uproar, a hurrying of armed men, and sometimes a frog-marching procession to the guard room. Harking back to religion: “When we was at the Cape,” said Smithy, “we was stationed at Wynberg. ‘B’ Company was detached for duty at Simonstown, which, as everybody knows, is one of the cushiest* stations abroad. There’s a couple of guards, one on the artillery barracks an’ one on the magazine kloof, an’ as in them days there was only room enough outside the barracks to fall in one company, it follered there wasn’t much drill. There’s a few engineer chaps, a lot of Garrison Artillery, an’ whips of sailors.* Cushiest, i.e., easiest. “There was a couple of the medical staff, a corporal of the Army Service Corps, an’ an Army pay chap. It was what Nobby called an ideal Army corps, where nobody did any work, an’ the food was good. “As a matter of fact there wasn’t enough work, an’ the consequence was that one half the detachment took to drink an’ the other half got serious mainly because of Stevens—Jimmy Stevens. Stevens is a chap who’s a big thinker, an’ most of his thinkin’ is about what’s goin’ to happen to him when he dies. I never knew a chap to change his religion as often as Jimmy has. “He started Church an’ turned Wesleyan; then he become a Baptist, an’ then went back to the Church. Then he became a Plymouth Brother, an’ a Congregationalist, an’ a Christian Sciencer, an’ a Unitarian. He’s only had two checks, once when he tried to be a suffragette under the impression it was a new religion, an’ once when he tried to turn R.C. “He went up an’ saw Father O’Leary, an’ pulled a long face, an’ said he’d seen the errer of his ways, but the Father cut him short. “‘Phwat are ye wantin’?’ sez Father O’Leary. ‘Is it religion ye want, ye ecclesiastical chandler’s shop? or is it the flat of me boot ye’re askin’ for?’ “You see, Father O’Leary knew everything about everybody, an’ all he knew about Jimmy wasn’t worth worryin’ about. Soon after that the regiment went to Burma, an’ Jimmy took up Buddhist outfit. Used to sit on his bed cot for hours fixin’ his eye on the ceilin’ an’ saying nothin’. “‘What are you doin’?’ sez Nobby. “‘Searchin’ me soul,’ sez Jimmy, very solemn. “‘You search it very careful,’ sez Nobby, fiercely, ‘an’ if you find a blackin’ brush marked No. 7,143, it belongs to Private Clark.’ “Nobby had been losin’ things. “Well, I was tellin’ you about Simonstown. Three weeks after we arrived Jimmy got mighty serious on the question of his soul. What always worried him was he could never find any kind of sec’, Christian, Mahommedan, or Buddhist, that gave him all the peace of mind he wanted without his havin’ to do somethin’ he didn’t want. “‘I’ve tried ’em all,’ he sez, very melancholy, ‘it’s no good bein’ a Christian because you’ve got to give up drinkin’; no good bein’ a Buddhist, cos you’ve got to give up eatin’; no good bein’ a Jew unless you’re born that way, or made so, and Mahommedism the same. “I don’t know where he got the idea from unless it was from one of them encyclo-who-is-its that used to come out in monthly parts, but he got struck with the idea of bein’ a ‘cynic.’ “It’s a foreign word as far as I can understand that means grouser. The way to be a cynic is to keep on sayin’ ‘Ah, yes! I dessay!’ in a pityin’ kind of voice when anybody makes a pleasant observation. Or suppose you’re writin’ home to your girl an’ Jimmy knew it, he’d talk about absence making the heart grow fonder—fonder of the other feller. He quite enjoyed this sort of thing for a month, an’ used to go cynicin’ round, till one day Nobby an’ him fell out over this question of a bit of cynicisation concernin’ Nobby’s feet. Nobby’s very sensitive about his feet, an’ I must say he’s got a lot to be sensitive about. “Jimmy wasn’t very much hurt, but the wall where his head hit was a bit dented. But it changed Jimmy’s religion. I felt sorry for him in a way. You see, he’d gone through the whole lot, an’ there was nothin’ for him to be except a Socialist—an’ that’s politics. “For a fortnight or more he used to mouch about barracks an’ go wanderin’ about the hills by hisself, an’ then one night, when me an’ Nobby was takin’ a friendly pint in the Artillery canteen Jimmy stuck his head in the door very mysterious, an’ beckoned us out. We went. He was waitin’ for us on the little slopin’ square that leads down to the hospital. “‘Smithy,’ he sez, ‘an’ Clark—I don’t bear no ill-will.’ “‘Quite right,’ sez Nobby. “‘But,’ sez Jimmy, ‘feelin’ you take a bit of an interest in me I want you chaps to do me a favour.’ “‘Owin’,’ sez Nobby, ‘to me bein’ put under stoppages for a new shirt——’ “‘It ain’t money,’ sez Jimmy, bitterly, ‘it’s a sympathisin’ an’ friendly act.’ “‘Certainly,’ sez Nobby, very relieved. “‘You see before you,’ sez Jimmy, mournful, ‘a man that’s misunderstood, a man that’s suspected——’ “‘I found them socks,’ sez Nobby, generously, ‘an’ I beg your pardon for thinkin’——’ “‘A man that’s suspected of tryin’ new religions for what he can get out of ’em,’ sez Jimmy, ‘so I’ve decided to commit suicide.’ “‘Go on?’ sez Nobby, ‘you’re jokin’?’ “‘No,’ sez Jimmy sadly, ‘I’ve seen enough of this life—I’ve had my whack of joys an’ sorrows. I’ve sipped the—the, you know what I mean. I’ve seen the wonders of India, an’ a dam rotten hole it is, too. I’ve been to Burma, I’ve been to Africa, I’ve got me second class certificate—there’s nothin’ worth livin’ for.’ “He went on like this walkin’ back to barracks, an’ kept it up for half an hour, an’ at last he told us his plans. He was goin’ to chuck hisself into the sea, an’ he wanted me an’ Nobby to come along an’ see fair play. “The next mornin’ it was goin’ to be—at four o’clock, before anyone was about. “Nobby was fairly excited, an’ started askin’ questions, an’ makin’ suggestions. “‘How are you goin’ to do it?’ he sez, very anxious. ‘Walk straight in an’ get it over—or go out in a boat an’ drop overboard! A very good way,’ sez Nobby, musin’, ‘is to get two big stones, or pinch a couple of weights from the meat store——’ “‘We’ll see,’ sez Jimmy, rather coldly, I thought; ‘you wait till to-morrer—you don’t mind gettin’ up at four?’ “‘Not a bit,’ sez Nobby, eager, ‘make it three if you like.’ “‘I’ll wake you,’ sez Jimmy, very gloomy. “‘Don’t worry,’ sez Nobby. ‘I’ll stay awake all night so as not to miss this treat—I mean so as not to miss helpin’ a friend.’ “I don’t know whether Nobby did stay awake, but at any rate he was the first one up. We had to move quiet for fear of wakin’ the other chaps. I forgot to tell you that Jimmy was actin’ company storeman, so he had a little room to himself. It took Nobby quite a time to wake him up, an’ when he did, Jimmy sat up rubbin’ his eyes an’ askin’ what was the matter. “‘Come on, old feller,’ whispers Nobby, ‘it’s time for the job.’ “Jimmy didn’t look too pleased, but he struggled into his clothes. He was an awful long time dressin’, but we got him out at last. It wasn’t two minutes walk to the beach, but Jimmy said he thought we’d best go a mile or so along the road where nobody could see us. “‘That’s right,’ sez Nobby, admiringly; ‘we’ll go up by the fort; there’s a rare current there for pullin’ a chap under—can you swim he sez, anxious. “‘Yes, a bit,’ sez he, a bit sulky. “‘Then,’ sez Nobby, ‘we’d better tie your hands.’ “‘You’ll do nothin’ of the sort!’ snarled Jimmy. “He was mighty hard to please was Jimmy. First one place wouldn’t suit because there was no rocks, an’ another place wouldn’t do because it was too near the sewer. Then he wanted a bit of beach near where there was some grass an’ flowers. “‘So,’ he sez, ‘when they find me body it will be reclinin’ just as though I was asleep amidst the simple flowers.’ “‘You get on with the suicide,’ sez Nobby, very short, ‘leave me an’ Smithy to make you ornamental.’ “He was a terrible time before he decided, then he chose a place, an’ started takin’ his coat off. “‘What’s that for?’ sez Nobby. “‘I don’t want to get my clothes wet, do I?’ snaps Jimmy. “‘Of course not,’ sez Nobby, brightenin’ up. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Jimmy—I suppose me an’ Smithy can have our pick, can’t we? I’d like your jacket, if you don’t mind.’ “But Jimmy was slowly peelin’. “‘It’s a far, far better thing that I do—or am goin’ to do—perhaps, than I have ever done before,’ he sez. “‘Hurry up,’ sez Nobby. “‘Here lies one who fought an’ failed,’ sez Jimmy, takin’ off his weskit. ‘One cut off in the prime of his strength, so to speak. A bit of wreckage—human wreckage—driven by a coldhearted world——’ “‘Get your trousis off,’ sez Nobby. “‘I say this,’ sez Jimmy, standin’ on the beach in his shirt an’ shiverin’. ‘I say this, that it would be a brighter, happier universe if love and kindness was shown to the unfortunate——’ “‘Good-bye, old feller,’ sez Nobby. ‘It’s all for the best.’ “Jimmy walked towards the water, an’ a little wave struck his feet an’ he nipped back. “‘My word! it’s cold,’ he sez, with his teeth chatterin'. ‘An’ they call this sunny Africa!’ “‘Go on—don’t lose heart,’ urged Nobby. ‘Them trousis are mine, Smithy,’ he hissed; ‘an’ keep your hand out of the pockets.’ “‘Farewell, life,’ sez Jimmy, ‘farewell, Army; farewell, “B” Company: farewell——’ “‘Say etcetra,’ sez Nobby. “‘Farewell, Captain Umfreville; farewell, Sergeant-Major Towns; farewell, Colour-Sergeant——’ “‘Look here, Jimmy,’ sez Nobby, very angry, ‘you don’t expect me an’ Smithy to sit here whilst you call the roll, do you?’ “‘It’s a far, far better thing that I no now,’ sez Jimmy. “‘Do it!’ sez Nobby. ‘Don’t talk about it. Be a man.’ “Jimmy looked at him an’ looked at the water. “‘I will,’ he sez. ‘I will be a man. Give me them trousis.’ “‘What for?’ sez Nobby. “‘Is it manly?’ sez Jimmy. ‘Is it manly to seek a watery grave? Is it manly to slink out of the world an’ me for duty to-morrer? Is it manly to give everybody a lot of trouble? No! Give me them trousis.’ “Nobby was struck all of a heap. “‘What!’ he sez, very fierce. ‘Do you mean to say that you ain’t goin’ to do it?’ “‘No,’ sez Jimmy, very firm. ‘It’s cowardly. It come over me like a flash when I was lookin’ at the water. Somethin’ seemed to say to me——’ “‘Look here,’ sez Nobby, very earnest. ‘Me an’ Smithy specially got up to give you a hand, didn’t we?’ “‘You did,’ sez Jimmy, ‘for which I’m much obliged.’ “‘Never mind about that,’ sez Nobby. ‘You thought it all over, and considered this was the best thing you could do, didn’t you?’ “‘Yes,’ sez Jimmy, ‘In me excitement I thought—’ “‘Never mind about your excitement,’ sez Nobby; ‘but you lured us down here to see fair play an’ assist, didn’t you?’ “‘I did,’ sez Jimmy, shiverin’ in his shirt. “‘Very well,’ sez Nobby, grabbin’ him by the scruff of his neck. ‘Very well, then, me an’ Smithy are goin’ to assist you.’ “‘Leggo,’ sez Jimmy. “‘Not so,’ sez Nobby, holdin’ him tight. ‘I’m not goin’ to see a chap spoil a good mind. Catch hold of his legs, Smithy.’ “‘Help! Murder!’ yells Jimmy, strugglin’ hard. “‘It’s a far, far better thing,’ sez Nobby, ‘that me an’ Smithy are doin’ now than we have ever done before. In with him!’ “It’s a very easy beach. You can wade out for a dozen yards without wettin’ your knees. But Jimmy got wet because he fell on his back. You might have heard his yell ten miles away as he jumped up an’ made for the beach. “‘No, you don’t,’ sez Nobby. ‘Think of yourself lyin’ as if asleep amongst,’ he sez ‘the buttercups an’ daisies an’ pig lilies.’ “So we chucked him in again. “He yelled blue murder this time, but he might have saved himself the trouble. “‘Nobody can hear you,’ sez Nobby. ‘Farewell, Jimmy; Farewell, Stevens; farewell, Buddhist; farewell, Wesleyan ; farewell, follow-the-band; farewell, passive resister——’ “Jimmy made a dart, an’ Nobby jumped to catch him, an’ missed him, an’ Jimmy scuttled along the beach in his shirt as hard as he could lick. “‘Stop!’ shouts Nobby. Then ‘Pick up them clothes, Smithy,’ he sez. An’ we grabbed Jimmy’s kit an’ pelted after him. “He got on to the main road an’ run like mad me an’ Nobby follerin’. “Through the little bit of town an’ up the hill to the main guard he run, an’ bimeby we could see the sentry an’ the sergeant of the guard comin’ out. “‘Stop that man!’ shouts Nobby. ‘He's an escaped suicide! ’

* * * * *

“No,” reflected Smithy, “solderin’ wouldn’t be very comfortable if chaps was allowed to go in for all kinds of fancy religions every time their livers got a bit out of order. Fellers that think too much about their souls generally don’t think enough about their bodies ; an’ I’ve known a No. 9 pill turn a rank Atheist into a Presbyterian —I’ve known a good kicking to have the same effect. Jimmy Stevens has forgiven Nobby now. “‘Nobby,’ he sez, one day, ‘havin’ a charitable ’art, I believe you when you say that my kit dropped into the sea and was lost. I believe it, although every time I see Smithy wearing my braces, an’ you with my trousis on, it makes me homesick. But you pointed out the right way. A Baptist I am, an’ a Baptist I’ll remain, he sez.”

III. — THE ROTTEN AFFAIR

MY knowledge of India being limited to all that can be acquired in a brief visit to Bombay, I must perforce take my description of Nurpore from Smithy. According to that veracious chronicler, Nurpore is as picturesque as the floor of a baker’s oven—and as hot. Many years ago, when the regiment was stationed in this out-of-the-way corner of India, strange rumours filtered through to the Pall Mall clubs regarding the “unsatisfactory condition” of the battalion—a vague enough stricture, but one which suggested the gravest possibilities. If a good churchman learnt that the Archbishop of Brighton kept a “separate establishment,” or a bank director was informed that his head cashier had lost £20,000 on the St. Leger, the combined agony of their feelings is as nothing to the shame and sorrow that come to men who love their army, when the news is abroad that such and such a regiment is “unsatisfactory.” For it may imply anything from slackness to mutiny, from uncleanliness to cowardice. The “unsatisfactory condition” of the Anchesters had filled me with dismay, and I had sought far and wide for the inner truth of the rumour, going so far as to beard in his den at the War Office, the suave, hand­some gentleman, who administers the internal affairs of the Army. From him I received soothing and comforting assurances. Outside, in Pall Mall, a thought struck me—had not the Anchesters a new colonel? I crossed to my club, and, looking up the back files of the Gazette, I discovered the entry: ‘ Anchester Regiment. To be second in command, Major Fallock-Ruttin, from the 33rd (Duke of Straburg’s Own) Dragoon Guards, April 14th.’ Pursuing my investigations to a later date I learnt that “Lieut.-Col. Samson, C.B., of the 1st Anchester Regiment, had been granted leave of absence for six months,” and putting the two notices together, I drew my own conclusions. I knew the 33rd Dragoon Guards. So does everybody else in the army. Frankly and briefly, it is a rabble. An undisciplined, uncleanly, untrust­worthy, and altogether an undesirable collection of larrikins. It is a tradition that the regiment has always been so; and most ignobly does it live up to its tradition. So that its rank and file are the scourings of the streets, and its officers the groundlings of Sandhurst. Now as to Major Fallock-Ruttin. “When he came to us,” said Smithy, who only recently gave me the full story, “we didn’t grouse because we thought he must be such a decent feller that he couldn’t stick the 33rd any longer. I think, now, that he must have been a bit too thick, even for them! “ We was at Nurpore when he came. It wasn’t much of a station for a soldier an’ there was little or nothin’ to do except a guard or so, an’ a day-break parade every mornin’. “ His comin’ didn’t make much difference for a bit. You see he wasn’t used to a foot-sloggin’ crush like ours an’ he was a bit astray, an’ then, of course, our colonel is one of them chaps that don’t stand any interference from seconds-in-command. So we got along all right till the colonel went on leave. The old man’s train was hardly out of the station before his nibs started in to reorganise the regiment. “ He had us on parade the next mornin’ and gave us an hour’s battalion drill, and when it was all over, he formed us into a hollow square, an’ addressed a few unfriendly remarks to us. “ I can see him sittin’ on his horse now. He was a strong-built chap with one of them sulky faces that gets into the illustrated papers occasionally. He had a heavy, black moustache an’ straight, black eyebrows that ran from one side of his face to the other without stoppin’ at his nose, an’ when he spoke it was like a peacock singin’ the ‘dead march.’ “‘ What I have to tell you, men, is this,’ he sez, ‘your drill is as bad as it can be; you’ve no more idea of smartness than my horse has of playing draughts; the regiment wants waking up—there will be another parade at sunset.’ “ We was flabbergasted at him. “‘ I like that feller’s nerve,’ sez Nobby, as we was goin’ back to the bungalow, ‘why, he ain’t got the smell of the 33rd stables out of him before he comes bargin’ about the decentest regiment he’s ever been in. I wonder what our officers think about it?’ “ Accordin’ to Fatty Wilkes, who’s Umfreville’s servant, what the officers said couldn’t be repeated in respectable society. But this here Major Rotten wasn’t upset by what anybody thought. He was out to make trouble an’ he made it. Two parades a day, all kinds of foolish fatigues, lectures in the hot afternoons, an’ kit inspection as often as was disagreeable. And that wasn’t the worst of it. He took it into his head that the non­commissioned officers was screenin’ the men, and he prowled about lookin’ for crime. Dozens of chaps was run in for little things that ain’t worth talkin’ about. He broke two sergeants an’ a corporal by forcin’ ’em to answer back to him an’ then tryin’ ’em by court martial. He gave us a lecture—‘ B ’ Company—one day on tactics. He asked questions, an’ was particularly down on poor old Spud Murphy. After he’d fairly mixed up Spud with questions about field strategy, he sez: “‘ What is the function of Dragoons?’ “‘ Beg pardon, sir?’ sez poor Spud. “‘ Don’t you understand English!’ he roars. ‘What are Dragoons for?’ he sez. “‘ God knows,’ sez Spud, very earnest. He got ten days for that. “ He ran in Nobby for not salutin’ properly. “‘ The slovenly way you men behave would disgrace a militia regiment,’ he sez. ‘You want smartenin’ up. I’d like to transfer you to the 33rd for a month.’ “‘ If it’s all the same to you I’d rather go to prison, sir,’ sez Nobby. “‘ You’re an impertinent scoundrel,’ shouts Major Rotten, ‘an’ you’ll go to cells for seven days!’ “‘ Thank you, sir,’ sez Nobby. “‘ An’ another three days for your damned cheek,’ sez the Major. “ When Nobby came out of cells he didn’t say much about Rotten. “‘ His ways ain’t our ways,’ he sez, quite philosophic, which wasn’t like Nobby at all. “ The colonel hadn’t been on leave three months before the regiment was as nice a little hell upon earth as you could wish. Full of chaps wishin’ they was dead, an’ you couldn’t talk to a corporal or a sergeant without gettin’ your head snapped off. “ There was a sergeant by the name of Biron, a good-natured, soft kind of chap, who had only recently joined us from the 2nd Battalion. He’d been married about a year an’ brought his wife out with him. When Major Rotten inspected the married quarters, Sergeant Biron was the only N.C.O. that didn’t get nasty remarks thrown at him. In fact, the Major was quite polite to Mrs. Biron. “ She wasn’t what you’d call popular in the regiment. Too fond of complainin’ about the life, an’ talkin’ about the good home she left, an’ how she wished she hadn’t. She was pretty in a slim, white kind of way. I only spoke to her once, before Major Rotten came. Me an’ Nobby was on duty at a gymkhana. To be exact, we was servin’ drinks in the sergeants’ tent, an’ she complained about the claret cup. “‘ It tastes like vinegar,’ she sez. “‘ Very likely,’ sez Nobby, ‘that’s what claret’s supposed to taste like.’ “‘ Not the claret I’m used to,’ she sez, ‘but I suppose you don’t know the difference between good an’ bad?’ “‘ No, m’am,’ sez Nobby, ‘I always make my claret cup out of beer.’ “