Cupid in Africa Part 5

. . . What would he be fit for on the dreadful morrow if he slept not at all? . . . What a day it had been! Rather amusing about those cooking-pots. It wouldn't be very amusing for _him_ if the situation developed as Murray had prophesied. . . . Rather a good bit of work that he had put in between lunch and dinner with the drill-book and a box of matches. Matches made good sections, companies, and battalions for practising drill-manuvres on a desk-but it would he a different thing to give the orders correctly and audibly to hundreds of men who watched one with inscrutable eyes. . . . How he wished he had declined the invitation of Bludyer to accompany him and Macteith to the theatre. . . .

They had proceeded in a car to the Club and there picked up some other fellows. The play was _The Girl in the Taxi_, and Bertram sat ashamed, humiliated and angry, as a third-rate company of English actors and actresses performed their sorry parts in a travesty of European life and manners, before the avid eyes of hundreds of natives. There they sat, with faces contemptuous, sensual, blank, eager, gleeful or disgusted, according to their respective conditions and temperaments-the while they gathered from the play that English life is a medley of infidelity, dissipation, intrigue and vulgarity.

And, after the play, Macteith had said: "Let's go to the Home-from-Home for a 'drink-and-a-little-music-what-what'?"

Bertram had thought it a somewhat strange proceeding to go to a Home, at eleven o'clock at night, for music, and he would greatly have preferred to go to bed. However, he could not very well say that they must take him back to bed first, nor announce his intention of leaving the party and walking home. . . .

. . . Macteith having given instructions to the Eurasian chauffeur, the taxi sped away and, skirting the sea-sh.o.r.e, turned off into a quiet avenue of giant palms, in which stood detached bungalows of retiring and un.o.btrusive mien. Into the compound of one of these the taxi turned, and a bell rang loudly, apparently of its own volition. As they got out of the car, a lady came out to the brilliantly lighted verandah from the drawing-room which opened on to it. Bertram did not like the look of this lady at all. Her face reminded him of that of a predatory animal or bird, with its fierce eyes, thin, hard lips and aquiline nose. Nor, in his estimation, did the obvious paint and powder, the extreme-fashioned satin gown, and the profusion of jewellery which she wore, do anything to mitigate the unfavourable impression received at first sight of her face.

. . . Really the last person one would have expected to find in charge of a Home. . . . Nor was Macteith's greeting of "Hullo, Fifi, my dear!

Brought some of the Boys along," calculated to allay a growing suspicion that this was not really a Home at all.

Entering the drawing-room with the rest, Bertram beheld a bevy of ladies sitting in an almost perfect circle, each with a vacant chair beside her.

Some of them were young, and some of them presumably had been. All were in evening dress and in the exaggerated extreme of fashion. All seemed to be painted and powdered, and all looked tired and haggard. Another attribute common to the whole party was that they all seemed to be foreigners-judging by their accents as they welcomed Macteith and some of the others as old acquaintances.

Bertram liked the look of these ladies as little as he did that of the person addressed as "Fifi," and he hoped that the party would not remain at the house long. He was tired, and he felt thoroughly uncomfortable, as noisy horse-play and badinage began, and waxed in volume and pungency.

A servant, unbidden, entered with a tray on which stood three bottles of champagne and a number of gla.s.ses. He noticed that the bottles had been opened, that the corks and gold-foil looked weary and experienced, and that the wine, when poured out, was singularly devoid of bubbles and froth. He wished he had not come. . . . He did not want to drink alleged champagne at midnight. . . . There was no music, and the people were of more than doubtful breeding, taste and manners. . . . Macteith had actually got his arm round the waist of one woman, and she was patting his cheek as she gazed into his eyes. Another pair exchanged a kiss before his astonished gaze. He decided to walk out of the house, and was about to do so when the girl nearest to him seized his hand and said: "You seet daown 'ere an' spik to me, sare," as she pulled him towards the chair that stood vacant beside her. In an agony of embarra.s.sment born of a great desire to refuse to stay another minute, and a somewhat unnecessary horror of hurting the young lady's feelings by a refusal, he seated himself with the remark: "Merci, mam'selle-mais il se fait tard. Il est sur les une heure . . ." as she appeared to be a French woman.

"Laissez donc!" was the reply. "Il est l'heure du berger," a remark the point of which he missed entirely. Finding that he knew French, she rattled on gaily in that tongue, until Bertram asked her from what part of France she came. On learning that she was from Alais in Provence, he talked of Arles, Nismes, Beaucaire, Tarascon, Avignon and the neighbourhood, thinking to please her, until, to his utter amazement and horror, she turned upon him with a vile, spitting oath, bade him be silent, and then burst into tears. Feeling more shocked, unhappy and miserable than he had ever felt before, he begged the girl to accept his regrets and apologies-as well as his farewell-and to tell him if he could in any way compensate her for the unintentional hurt he had somehow inflicted.

On her sullen reply of "Argent comptant porte medecine," Bertram dropped a fifty rupee note into her lap and literally fled from the house. . . .

. . . Yes-a rotten night with a beastly anti-climax to the wonderful day on which he had received . . . _he_, of all people in the world! . . .

had received orders to proceed to the Front. . . . Bertram Greene on Active Service! How could he have the impudence-and it all began again and was revolved once more in his weary mind. . . .

Dawn brought something of hope and a little peace to the perturbed soul of the over-anxious boy.

CHAPTER IV _Terra Marique Jactatus_

As he arrayed himself in all his war-paint, after his sleepless and unhappy night, Bertram felt feverish, and afraid. His head throbbed violently, and he had that distressing sensation of being remorselessly urged on, fatedly fury-driven and compelled to do all things with terrible haste and hurry.

Excitement, anxiety, sleeplessness and the conflicting emotions of hope and fear, were taking their toll of the nervous energy and vitality of the over-civilised youth.

He felt alarmed at his own alarm, and anxious about his own anxiety-and feared that, at this rate, he would be worn out before he began, a physical and mental wreck, fitter for a hospital-ship than a troop-ship, before ever he started.

"The lad's over-engined for his beam," observed Murray to himself, as he lay on his camp cot, drinking his _choti hazri_ tea, and watching Bertram, who, with white face and trembling fingers, stood making more haste than speed, as he fumbled with straps and buckles. "Take it easy, my son," he said kindly. "There's tons of time, and then some. I'll see you're not late. . . ."

"Thanks, Murray," replied Bertram, "but-"

"Here-take those belts off at once," interrupted the Adjutant. "Take the lot off and lie down again-and smoke this cigarette. . . . _At once_, d'ye hear?" and the tone was such that Bertram complied without comment.

He sank on to the camp-bed, swung up his long legs, with their heavy boots, shorts, and puttees and puffed luxuriously. He had intended to be a non-smoker as well as a teetotaller, now that he was "mobilised," but it would be as well to obey Murray now and begin his abstinence from tobacco when he got on board. He lay and smoked obediently, and soon felt, if not better, at least calmer, cooler and quieter.

"Blooming old tub won't start till to-night-you see'f she does," said Murray. "Sort of thing we always do in the Army. . . . _Always_. . . .

Harry and hurry everybody on parade at seven, to catch a boat that doesn't profess to sail till two, and probably won't actually do it till midnight."

"I should die of shame if I were late for my first parade," said Bertram anxiously.

"You'd die of the Colonel, if you didn't of shame," was the reply. . . .

"I'll see you're not late. You take things a bit easier, my son. Your King and Country want you in East Africa, not in a lunatic asylum-"

"_Pappa_! _What part did you take in the Great War_?" squeaked a falsetto voice from the door, and looking up, Bertram beheld Lieutenant Bludyer, always merry and bright, arrayed in crimson, scarlet-frogged pyjama coat, and pink pyjama trousers. On his feet were vermilion velvet slippers.

"I'll take a leading part in your dirty death," said the Adjutant, turning to the speaker, or squeaker.

"Thought this might be useful, Greene," continued Bludyer in his natural voice, as he handed Bertram a slab of thin khaki linen and a conical cap of a kind of gilded corduroy. "Make yourself a regimental _puggri_ in the day of battle. Put the cap on your nut and wind the turban over it.

. . . Bloke with a helmet and a white face hasn't an earthly, advancing with a line of Sepoys in _puggris_. The enemy give him their united attention until he is outed. . . ."

"Oh, thanks, awfully, Bludyer," began Bertram.

"So go dirty till your face is like Murray's, grow a h.o.a.ry, hairy beard, an' wear a turban on your fat head," continued Bludyer. "Your orderly could do it on for you, so that it wouldn't all come down when you waggled. . . ."

"Thanks, most awfully. It's exceedingly kind of you, Bludyer,"

acknowledged Bertram, and proceeded to stuff the things into his haversack.

"Wow! Wow!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Bludyer. "Nice-mannered lad and well brought up, ain't he, Randolph Murray?" and seating himself on that officer's bed, he proceeded to use the tea-cosy as a foot-warmer, the morning being chilly.

The Adjutant arose and proceeded to dress.

"Devil admire me!" he suddenly shouted, pointing at Bertram. "Look at that infernal lazy swine! Did you ever see anything like it, Bludyer?

Lying hogging there, lolling and loafing in bed, as if he had all day to finish nothing in! . . . Here, get up, you idle hound, and earn your living. Dress for parade, if you can do nothing else."

And Bertram gathered that he might now get on with his preparations.

"Yes," added Bludyer, "you really ought to get on with the war, Greene.

_Isn't_ he a devil-may-care fellow, Murray? He don't give a d.a.m.n if it snows," and adding that it was his flute-night at the Mission, and he now must go, the young gentleman remained seated where he was.

"You aren't hurrying a bit, Greene," he remarked, after eyeing Bertram critically for a few minutes. "He won't prosper and grow rich like that, will he, Randolph Murray? That is not how the Virtuous Apprentice got on so nicely, and married his master's aunt. . . . No. . . . And Samuel Smiles was never late for parade-of that I'm quite certain. No.

'_Self_-help' was _his_ motto, and the devil take the other fellow. . . .

Let me fasten that for you. This strap goes under not over. . . ." And, with his experienced a.s.sistance, Bertram was soon ready, and feeling like a trussed fowl and a Christmas-tree combined, by the time he had festooned about him his sword, revolver, full ammunition-pouches, field-gla.s.ses, water-bottle, belt-haversack, large haversack, map-case, compa.s.s-pouch, whistle-lanyard, revolver-lanyard, rolled cape, and the various belts, straps and braces connected with these articles.

By the time the last buckle was fastened, he longed to take the whole lot off again for a few minutes, and have a really comfortable breathe. (But he _did_ wish Miranda Walsingham could see him.)

In a corner of the parade-ground stood the Hundred, the selected draft which was to proceed to Africa to fill the gaps that war had torn in the ranks of the Hundred and Ninety-Eighth. On their flank the regimental band was drawn up in readiness to play them to the docks. The men wore khaki turbans, tunics, shorts, puttees and hob-nailed boots, and carried only haversacks, water-bottles, bandoliers, rifles and bayonets. The rest of their kit, each man's done up in a neat bundle inside his waterproof ground-sheet and striped cotton sleeping-_dhurrie_, had gone on in bullock-carts to await them at the wharf.

Around the Hundred stood or squatted the remainder of the battalion, in every kind and degree of dress and undress. Occasionally one of these would arise and go unto his pal in the ranks, fall upon his neck, embrace him once again, shake both his hands alternately, and then return to the eligible site whence, squatting on his heels, he could feast his eyes upon his _bhai_, his brother, his friend, so soon to be torn from him. . . .

As the officers approached, these spectators fell back. Bertram's heart beat so violently that he feared the others would hear it. Was he going to have "palpitations" and faint, or throw a fit or something? He was very white, and felt very ill. Was his ignorance and incompetence to be exposed and manifested now? . . .

"Look fierce and take over charge, my son," said the Adjutant, as the small party of officers came in front of the draft.

"Company!" shouted Bertram, "Shun!"

That was all right. He had hit the note nicely, and his voice had fairly boomed. He had heard that men judge a new officer by his voice, more than anything.

The Hundred sprang to attention, and Bertram, accompanied by the Adjutant and Macteith, walked slowly down the front rank and up the rear, doing his best to look as though he were critically and carefully noting certain points, and a.s.suring himself that certain essentials were in order. He was glad that he had not suddenly to answer such a question as "_What_ exactly are you peering at and looking for?" He wished he had sufficient Hindustani to ask a stern but not unkindly question here and there, or to make an occasional comment in the manner of one from whom no military thing is hid. He suddenly remembered that he knew the Hindustani for "How old are you?" so he asked this question of a man whose orange-coloured beard would obviously have been white but for henna dye. Not in the least understanding the man's reply, he remarked "H'm!"

in excellent imitation of the Colonel, and pa.s.sed on.