Cupid in Africa Part 3

Murray noticed his intelligent and attentive silence, and counted it for righteousness unto the boy, that he could "keep his head shut," at any rate. . . .

And next day The Blow fell!

For poor Captain and Adjutant Murray, of the Hundred and Ninety-Ninth Infantry, it dawned like any ordinary day, and devoid of baleful omens.

There was nothing ominous about the coming of the tea, toast, and oranges that "Abdul the d.a.m.ned," his bearer, brought into the big, bare and comfortless room (furnished with two camp-beds, one long chair, one _almirah_ {30} and a litter on the floor) in which he and Bertram slept.

Early morning parade pa.s.sed off without unusual or untoward event.

Breakfast was quite without portent, omen, or foreshadow of disaster.

The Colonel's silence was no more eloquent than usual, the Major's remarks were no ruder, the Junior Subaltern's no sillier, and those of the other fellows were no more uninteresting than upon other days; and all unconscious of his fate the hapless victim strayed into his office, followed by his faithful and devoted admirer, Second-Lieutenant Bertram Greene, who desired nothing better than to sit at his feet and learn. . . .

And then it came!

It came in the shape of a telegram from the Military Secretary, and, on the third reading of the fair-writ type, Murray had to realise that the words undoubtedly and unmistakably were:

_To O.C. 199th Infantry_, _A.A.A._

_Second-Lieutenant Greene_, _I.A.R._, _to proceed to Mombasa forthwith in charge of your draft of one hundred P.M.'s and one Native Officer_, _by s.s. Elymas to-morrow and report to O.C._, _One Hundred and Ninety-Eighth immediately_. _A.A.A._ _Military Secretary_, _Delhi_.

He read it through once again and then laid it on his table, leant his head on his hand and felt physically faint and sick for a moment. He had not felt quite as he did then more than three or four times in the whole of his life. It was like the feeling he had when he received the news of his mother's death; when his proposal of marriage to the one-and-only girl had been rejected; when he had been bowled first ball in the Presidency Match, and when he had taken a toss from his horse at the Birthday Parade, as the beast, scared at the _feu-de-joie_, had suddenly bucked and bounced like an india-rubber ball. . . . He handed the telegram to Bertram without comment.

That young gentleman read it through, and again. He swallowed hard and read it once more. His hand shook. He looked at the Adjutant, who noticed that he had turned quite pale.

"Got it?" enquired Murray. "Here, sit down." He thought the boy was going to faint.

"Ye-e-s. I-er-think so," was the reply. "_I_ am to take the draft from the Hundred and Ninety-Ninth to the Hundred and Ninety-Eighth in East Africa! . . . Oh, Murray, I _am_ sorry-for you. . . . And I am so utterly inadequate and incompetent. . . . It is cruel hard luck for you.

The Adjutant, a really keen, good soldier, said nothing. There was nothing to say. He felt that his life lay about him in ruins. At the end of the war-which might come anywhen now that Russia had "got going"-he would be one of the few professional soldiers without active service experience, without a medal or decoration of any sort whatever. . . . Children who had gone straight from Sandhurst to the Front would join this very battalion, after the war, with their honours thick upon them-and when he, the Adjutant, tried to teach them things, they'd smile and say: "We-ah!-didn't do it like that at the Marne and Ypres. . . ."

He could go straight away and shoot himself then and there. . . . And this pink civilian baby! This "Cupid"! No, there was nothing to say-apart from the fact that he could not trust himself to speak.

For minutes there was complete silence in the little office. Bertram was as one in a dream-a dream which was partly sweet and partly a nightmare.

_He_ to go to the Front to-morrow? To go on Active Service? He whom fellows always ragged, laughed at, and called Cupid and Blameless Bertram and Innocent Ernest? To go off from here in sole charge of a hundred of these magnificent fighting-men, and then to be an officer in a regiment that had been fighting for weeks and had already lost a third of its men and a half of its officers, in battle? He, who had never fired a gun in his life; never killed so much as a pheasant, a partridge, a grouse or a rabbit; never suffered so much as a tooth-extraction-to shoot at his fellow-men, to risk being horribly mangled and torn! . . . Yes-but what was that last compared with the infinitely greater horror, the unspeakable ghastliness of being _inadequate_, of being too incapable and inexperienced to do his duty to the splendid fellows who would look to him, the White Man, their Officer, for proper leadership and handling?

To fail them in their hour of need. . . . He tried to moisten dry lips with a dry tongue.

Oh, if only he had the knowledge and experience of the Adjutant-he would then change places with no man in the world. Why had the England that had educated him so expensively, allowed him to grow up so hopelessly ignorant of the real elemental essentials of life in the World-As-It-Is?

He had been brought up as though the World were one vast Examination Hall, and nothing else. Yes-he had been prepared for examinations all his life, not prepared for the World at all. Oh, had he but Murray's knowledge and experience, or one-tenth part of it-he would find the ability, courage, enthusiasm and willingness all right.

But, as it was, who was _he_, Bertram Greene, the soft-handed sedentary, the denizen of libraries and lecture-rooms, the pale student, to dare to offer to command, control and guide trained and hardy men of war? What had he (brought up by a maiden "aunt"!) to do with arms and blood, with stratagems and ambuscades, with gory struggles in unknown holes and corners of the Dark Continent? Why, he had never shouted an order in his life; never done a long march; never administered a harsh reprimand; never fired a revolver nor made a pa.s.s with a sword. (If only he _had_ had more to do with such "pa.s.ses" and less with his confounded examination pa.s.ses-he might feel less of an utter fraud now.) At school and at Oxford he had been too delicate for games, and in India, too busy, and too interested in more intellectual matters, for shikar, sport and hunting. He had just been "good old Blameless Bertram" and "our valued and respected Innocent Ernest," and "our pretty pink Cupid"-more at home with antiquarians, ethnologists, Orientalists and scientists than with sportsmen and soldiers. . . .

The fact was that Civilisation led to far too much specialisation and division of labour. Why shouldn't fellows be definitely trained and taught, physically as well as mentally? Why shouldn't every man be a bit of an artisan, an agriculturalist, a doctor, and a soldier, as well as a mere wretched book-student? Life is not a thing of books. . . .

Anyhow, in the light of this telegram, it was pretty clear that his uncle, General Sir Hugh Walsingham, K.C.S.I., had described him more optimistically than accurately when forwarding his application for admission to the Indian Army Reserve of Officers, to the Military Secretary. . . . Another awful thought-suppose he let Uncle Hugh down badly. . . . And what of his father? . . .

Well-there was one thing, he would do his absolute utmost, his really ultimate best; and no one could do more. But, oh, the fathomless profundity of his ignorance and inexperience! Quite apart from any question of leading men in battle, how could he hope to avoid incurring their contempt on the parade-ground? They'd see he was an a.s.s, and a very ignorant one to boot, before he had been in front of them for five minutes. . . . One thing-he'd know that drill-book absolutely by heart before long. His wretched examination training would stand him in good stead there, at any rate. . . .

"Must tell the Colonel," said Murray suddenly, and he arose and left the office.

A few minutes later the Quartermaster, Lieutenant Macteith, entered.

Instead of going to his desk and settling down to work, he took a powerful pair of field-gla.s.ses from their case on Murray's table and carefully examined Bertram through them.

Bertram coloured, and felt quite certain that he did not like Macteith at all.

Reversing the gla.s.ses, that gentleman then examined him through the larger end.

"Oh, my G.o.d!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed at last, and then feigned unconquerable nausea.

He had heard the news, and felt personally injured and insulted that this miserable half-baked rabbit should be going on Active Service while Lieutenant and Quartermaster Macteith was not.

An orderly entered, saluted, and spoke to him in Hindustani.

"Colonel wants you," he said, turning to Bertram, as the orderly again saluted, wheeled about, and departed. "He wants to strain you to his breast, to clasp your red right hand, to give you his photograph and beg for yours-or else to wring your neck!" And as Bertram rose to go, he added: "Here-take this pen with you."

"What for?" asked Bertram.

"To write something in his autograph-alb.u.m and birthday-book-he's sure to ask you to," was the reply.

Bertram turned and departed, depressed in spirit. He hated anyone to hate him, and he had done Macteith no harm. But in spite of his depression, he was aware of a wild little devil of elation who capered madly at the back of his brain. This exuberant little devil appeared to be screaming joyous war-whoops and yelling: "_Active Service_! . . .

_You are going to see service and to fight_! . . . _You will have a war-medal and clasps_! . . . _You are going to be a real war-hardened and experienced soldier_! . . . _You are going to be a devil of a fellow_! . . . _Whoop and dance_, _you a.s.s_! . . . _Wave your arms about_, _and caper_! . . . _Let out a loud yell_, _and do a fandango_!

. . ." But in the Presence of the Colonel, Bertram declined to entertain the little devil's suggestions, and he neither whooped nor capered. He wondered, nevertheless, what this cold monument of imperturbability would do if he suddenly did commence to whoop, to caper and to dance before him. Probably say "H'm!"-since that was generally reported to be the only thing he ever said. . . .

Marching into the room in which the Colonel sat at his desk, Bertram halted abruptly, stood at attention stiffly, and saluted smartly. Then he blushed from head to foot as he realised that he had committed the ghastly _faux pas_, the horrible military crime, of saluting bare-headed.

He could have wept with vexation. To enter so smartly, hearing himself like a trained soldier-and then to make such a Scarlet a.s.s of himself!

. . . The Colonel gazed at him as at some very repulsive and indescribable, but very novel insect.

". . . And I'll make a list of the cooking-pots and other kit that they'll have to take for use on board, sir, and give it to Greene with a letter to Colonel Rock asking him to have them returned here," the Adjutant was saying, as he laid papers before the Colonel for signature.

"H'm!" said the Colonel.

"I have ordered the draft to parade at seven to-morrow, sir," he continued, "and told the Bandmaster they will be played down to the Docks. . . . Greene can take them over from me at seven and march them off. I have arranged for the kits to go down in bullock-carts beforehand. . . ."

"H'm!" said the Colonel.

"I'll put Greene in the way of things as much as possible to-day," went on the Adjutant. "I'll go with him and get hold of the cooking-pots he'll take for the draft to use on board-and then I'd better run down and see the Staff Embarkation Officer with him, about his cabin and the men's quarters on the _Elymas_, and. . ."

"H'm!" said the Colonel, and taking up his cane and helmet, departed thence without further remark.

". . . And-I hope you'll profit by every word you've heard from the Colonel, my lad," the Adjutant concluded, turning ferociously upon Bertram. "Don't stand there giggling, flippant and indifferent-a perfect picture of the Idle Apprentice, I say," and he burst into a peal of laughter at the solemn, anxious, tragic mask which was Bertram's face.

"No," he added, as they left the room. "Let the Colonel's wise and pregnant observations sink into your mind and bring forth fruit. . . .

Such blossoming, blooming flowers of rhetoric _oughter_ bring forth fruit in due season, anyhow. . . . Come along o' me."

Leaving the big Mess bungalow, the two crossed the _maidan_, wherein numerous small squads of white-clad recruits were receiving musketry-instruction beneath the shady spread of gigantic banyans. The quickly signalled approach of the dread Adjutant-Sahib galvanised the Havildar and Naik instructors to a fearful activity and zeal, which waned not until he had pa.s.sed from sight. In one large patch of shade the Bandmaster-an ancient Pathan, whose huge iron-rimmed spectacles accorded but incongruously with his fierce hawk face, ferocious curling white moustache and beard, and bemedalled uniform-was conducting the band's tentative rendering of "My Bonnie is over the Ocean," to Bertram's wide-eyed surprise and interest. Through the Lines the two officers made a kind of Triumphal Progress, men on all sides stiffening to "attention"

and saluting as they pa.s.sed, to where, behind a cook-house, lay nine large smoke-blackened cooking-pots under a strong guard.

"There they are, my lad," quoth the hitherto silent Adjutant. "Regard them closely, and consider them well. Familiarise yourself with them, and ponder."