In The Permanent Way Part 18

Dr. Westlake looked at his a.s.sistant as they pa.s.sed on to the next cot. "They are an incomprehensible people," he said in rather an injured tone. "I never expected to hear a man thank me rapturously for cutting off both his feet."

He did not know that cripples are especially exempted from the duty of pilgrimage, and that the patient was repeating his version of the text: "It is better to enter halt into life, than, having two feet, to be cast into h.e.l.l."

THE KING'S WELL

This is one of poor Craddock's many stories which he told me when we were in the wilderness together, engaged--like another Moses and Aaron--in preparing a way for a Western people across the desert, and dividing its sand waves by a pathway of red-brick ballast edged with steel. In other words, in making the railway on which he afterwards met his death in trying to prevent a survival of past ages from being in the permanent way of civilisation.

We used to sit at the door of my little tent--two Englishmen adrift on a sand sea--and I used to listen while he talked; for the life he had led made him the best of company, and his combined ignorance and knowledge of the East was a perpetual surprise. Some of his stories were grossly, frankly impossible, but this one, despite its strangeness, I believed unhesitatingly; as any one would have done who had seen, as I saw, the indescribable world-tarnish which long years of loose living brings to the kindliest face, leave it clear, bright, and eager to a rejuvenescence of love, and pity, and pain.

The sun had dipped below the rising rim of the great sand-circle whose centre we were, but the sky was still a cloudless expanse of yellow radiance dazzling to the eyes from sheer excess of light. There was nothing far or near to differentiate one part of earth or heaven from another save the thin red line of ridiculous little flags we had been planting out during the day; and I remember thinking that I could not for the life of me tell the exact spot where, five minutes before, I had seen the last curved glint of the sun disappear--for one bit of horizon seemed to the full as bright as another.

"Looks like the yaller bottle in the chemist's shop; don't it, sir?"

remarked Craddock cheerfully--"leastways, as I used to think when I was a boy. Lordy! Lordy! boys is--is boys, I do a.s.sure you. Old Pargiter's shop to our village was over against the public, sir, next the church, an' comin' 'ome o' evenin's from the catechism, sir, it seemed Je-rewsalem the Golden. Expect it was the anathysts, an'

sapphiras, an' rubies, an' them sort o' stones did it, for boys--is boys, you see, sir." He gave an apologetic smear to his corn-coloured moustache as if to wipe away the flavour of his own sentiment--the wrist-smear of those whose hands are habitually soiled.

"It _is_ like a topaz seen against the light," I replied, accepting both confidence and excuse with the calm indifference which always encouraged Craddock to further indulgence. "I don't think I ever saw it quite so dazzlingly clear, did you?"

He paused awhile, and the blue eyes, bloodshot by exposure to unspeakable lights and unspeakable darknesses of all sorts and kinds, grew a trifle absent.

"I dunno but what I 'ave, sir; leastways it looks more light-like from the bottom o' a well. As, savin' your presence, sir, is only nat'ral."

"From the bottom of a well?" I echoed. "When was that, Craddock? you never told me that yarn."

He paused again. "No, sir. It ain't a pleasing interlood, for 'twas in the Mutiny time, sir, w'en we was all mad devils, black an'

white--white an' black----," and then suddenly, as I have said, some past pity and pa.s.sion and pain seemed to come back upon him with a rush, so that he sat staring into that cloudless sky as if he saw a vision, and his voice came at last half to himself, "By the Lord as made me I dunno which was worse, black nor white, white nor black; yet it was white as did for me, Nathaniel James Craddock, at the bottom o'

the King's Well." Then he was silent again, and I sat silent too, for there never was any use in pumping Craddock. His fund of experiences was too vast for you to be sure of bringing what you wanted to the surface. So, after a time, he began again deviously:

"Not as wot it was, so to speak, a well at all, but what they calls, in the lingo, a _bawly_--a thing, you know, sir, with flights o' steps a-leadin' down to the bowels of the yerth--right down to the water as maybe a hundred or a hundred and fifty feet below the surface, as the sayin' is, sir. It was just a large, round, black spot o' ink, that was wot the water was, an' standin' on the stone edge you could see right up the stairs to a round yaller spot of Je-rewsalem the Golden.

Two spots there were, sir, owin' to there being two flights o' steps, an' many a time as I lay like a rabbit in 'is burrow down by the water I'd tell myself luck was in there bein' two--two whites to one black, yet after all it was white as did the business for me, sir, at the bottom o' the King's _bawly_."

"You must have been very young in Mutiny time?" I remarked in casual aid to his lagging confidence.

"One and twenty, sir--more by token I come to man's estate, as the sayin' is, at the bottom o' that there well. Lordy! I can see it now!

A sort o' mist o' light from Je-rewsalem above a-fadin' away half down the stairs, and leavin' the rest to get darker an' darker to the black spot o' water; but it had a glint o' light on it too that come, G.o.d knows how, when the sun was low." As he spoke I had noticed a curious change in his voice; a sort of refining process, as if he were going back to a self that was less rough, less common, and the change was still more marked when, after a pause, he began again: "It was an awful hot year, sir, just a white flame of heat--a burning fiery furnace; but there wasn't none of us come through it praisin' an'

magnifyin'--leastways I didn't, but then I was a wild lot. Run away from home, sir; that is how I came to be in the country, knowing a good bit of the lingo for a youngster. Served my way out before the mast, and then backed my luck. And won it too; for a Rajah fellow paid me to wrestle with his men, and play monkey tricks. Lordy! I remember the first time I got in grips with the champion, and he stood head down expectin' me to go on b.u.t.tin' like a goat. There wasn't one of them could touch me, sir, but that wasn't no protection when the time came. It's an odd sort of thing, I do a.s.sure you, for a man who knows he could lick every one he sees, to be runnin' like a hare for dear life, hidin' by day an' circ.u.mventin' the villages by night; but that was how it was for three weeks before I come plumb--as the sayin'

is--on the King's Well. It was right in the worst country, and I was footsore, and stumblin' like as if I were in liquor with the fever. A queer sort o' place it was as I saw it first in the dawn which come--as the dawns had a trick o' doin' in those times--a deal too soon for Nathaniel James. It was right in the open in the middle o' a lot o' broken bricks and little mounds o' mud--miles and miles of them it had seemed to me, footsore an' stumblin'; for the place had been a big city, so I'm told, sir, in the old times. And now it was nothin'

but a plain o' broken brick an' graves, except for a cl.u.s.ter of tall old houses with the usual mud-huts a-crowdin' up round them. And I knew from what I'd heard that the biggest murdering villains o' the lot lived in them houses, poor _budmarsh_[32] Mohammedans, proud as Lucifer, a-s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the tails o' the ryots for a livin'--though why ryots, sir, is hard to say, for a more peaceable lot o' able-bodied men and women never was. Well, there I was in the worst place I could have chosen, and the dawn comin' sudden all in a blaze. Then, right at my feet I sees the _bawly_; just a hole o' broken masonry, an' the steps leading down like a rabbit burrow. They didn't seem to be much used that side furthest from the village among the graves, for the drifted sand was a-lying thick on the topmost steps, and I didn't see no footmarks to speak of, only a queer sort o' track that might 'ave bin a man's and mightn't. Anyhow I thought I'd risk it, seeing as if any one come down the one stair, I could hoof it up the other, an'

there's generally a lot o' little arched recesses at the bottom o'

_bawlies_ where I could lie low. So I chanced it. An' Lordy! wasn't it cool as I hobbled down them vaulted steps. 'Twas a fine place, sir, when all was said an' done. Half-a-dozen steps or so, and then a landin', as the sayin' is, with a sort o' travellers' rest on either side; but I went right down to the bottom, so as to see what sort o'

trap I'd got into. An' I found it none so bad, for there wasn't no pa.s.sage round as there is in most _bawlies_, but only a' arched room on either side my stairs ending sheer in the drop o' ink which filled up a round sort o' well that was vaulted over up in the dark somewhere. So there wasn't no way of getting from one stair to the other but by a leap such as there wasn't one but Nathaniel James in the country side as could leap it; an' that would give me time. Still I do a.s.sure you, sir, it takes the s.p.u.n.k out of a fellow to go skulkin' round for three weeks with your life in your hand in baggy silk trousers an' a dressin' gown--for I'd put on what they calls a _killit_ as the Rajah give me for smashing up another Rajah's champion--that's a dress o' state, sir, an' _killit_ or not, it nigh killed me, for it was chock full o' embroidery an' that hot; but beggars mustn't be choosers, and that night I run off from the Palace it was all I could lay hands on. An' did its work too--just to give what them surveyor chaps calls the proper contour, as the sayin' is.

Anyhow, what with the stain, a deal more knowledge of the lingo than I have now, sir, an' through my being considerable stronger than the only two fellars as caught me napping, here I was in the King's _bawly_ watching them two round spots o' Je-rewsalem like a man in his grave a-waitin' the last trump; an' the first pair o' feet I saw on the stairs opposite set me a-tremblin' like a ferreted rabbit, even though I knew that wot with the stairs, an' the drop o' ink, I'd 'ave a good five minutes' start. But then I heard the jingles on them, sir, and knew it was only a woman from the village comin' down to fill her water-pot. There was a lot o' them come chatterin' and laughin' during the day, but always down the further stair. And Lordy! it was cool after the fiery furnace! I had a mouthful or two o' corn I'd _looted_, so when dusk came it seemed to me as if I couldn't move on--small blame to me, sir, seein' how cool an' quiet it was, and I so close on done. But just as I was a-callin' myself names for bein' lazy, come a footfall on my stair. Now you know, sir, them _bawlies_ bein' arched an' all that, is awful echo-ey places, an' I do a.s.sure you I made up my mind a man was coming down, slow and deliberate-like. I looked out, an' couldn't see nothing, but there was the footfall just like a procession; an' then somethin' let loose a bellow, and I felt inclined to cut. But then I thought I'd wait a bit seein' I was stronger nor most, an' the drop o' ink was handy for a corpse. So I waited until the bellow come again; an' this time--bein' close as it were, an' out o' the echo--I knew my friend, for I do a.s.sure you, sir, it was nothin' but the biggest bull toad you ever see, coming flop, flop down the stair for his evenin' drink. A great green thing with a yaller waistcoat as sat up on the last step looked at me quite proud-like.

Lordy! how I laughed! It was the first laugh I'd laughed for three week, an' it done me good; that an' seeing the bull toad go douse into the water like a man, for it set me a-longin' for a swim too, an' when I come out o' that drop o' cold ink I was a new man. Slept like a babby in its cradle and woke to see through the maze o' arches a woman on the t'other side a-rinsin' out her bra.s.s pot quite calm-like. She was a-takin' his breakfast to her man in the fields, I expect, for there was a pile o' them flapjacks on a platter beside her. I dun'no, sir, if it was the sleep, or the sight o' food and me ravenin' wolves, or just sheer devilry--for I was a wild lot--but I out o' my rabbit 'utch an' let loose a yell. You may well call 'em _bawlies_, sir, for I do a.s.sure you I felt kind o' queer myself havin' made all that noise. She gave no look, but let loose another yell of her own as she turned tail and ran up them stairs like a lamplighter. It seemed to me as if she was callin' on 'the King--the King,' but I didn't stop to think. Now was my time. I was over the drop o' ink clear on to the second step in my hurry, before she was half-way up to Je-rewsalem, an' I was back again to the 'utch with the flapjacks making ready to run if need be for dear life, when I heard the silver tinkle again an'

women's voices. Every word, sir, I could hear through its bein' a _bawly_, an' I heard her"--he paused sharply, waited a second, and began again--"There was two on them now, disputin' an' half-laughin', half-cryin'; one was pullin' the other an' tellin' her she was a fool; there wasn't no King, more's the pity, and if there was she wasn't afraid seein' he was her _bapdada_;--that's ancestors, sir--but the t'other wouldn't hear of it, an' kept sayin' 'twas well enough for some folk as pretended wisdom, but every one knew the King's footmark on the stair an' had heard his voice after dusk. My friend the bull toad, thinks I, feelin' considerable easier in my mind, for I knew enough o' their ways you see, sir, to know as there wasn't much chance o' any one else comin' down my stairs if a ghost lived there; so I listened to the argufying quite interested-like. But it wasn't no good--the half-laughin' voice hadn't a chance even when it grew sober, and cried shame on bein' frightened at the spirit of the good King, who every day come down to his _bawly_ all alone, so that any pore soul as wanted justice might go down the other stair and tell him what was amiss across the black water with no fear. 'If he was only there now instead o' bein' where saints are,' I heard her say, 'I'd go down this instant an' tell him to stop it all--but there's no one to listen nowadays--no one.' An' with that she come tinkling down the steps alone--a tall girl, sir--but, there--'tain't no good describin' her, for I never see her but in half-light till---- Well! she just rinsed out her pot like the rest o' them and filled it; but afore she went she stood so with it on her head on the t'other side o' the black water for a moment, an' said quite loud an' bold-like, '_Salaam Mahardj_.[33]

[Footnote 32: Bad living.]

[Footnote 33: Greeting or peace to the King.]

"I was that wild sort, as I might have given a bellow just to frighten her for the fun o' the thing, but I kept somehow a-thinkin' o' what she had said of the old King a-trailin' down them steps in his royal robes, and listenin' in that _bawly_ to all the pore folks' troubles, an' a-promisin' never to forsake them but to bring justice with him down the stairs to the end o' all things. Not that he was an old King, sir, as I found out afterwards, but a young sort o' saint, as got killed afore his time. You see I heard a lot o' talk from the women as came down in companies, skeery, and just in a mortal hurry to fill their jars and git home because of the girl as said she had heard the King in the daytime. So that it came to me, sir, that I couldn't do better nor lie hidden a day or two and get strong where I was, for there wasn't no manner o' hurry. Like as not I'd get killed somehow before I got to the river, and I couldn't help anyways, seein' as I couldn't look to get into any o' the places where we was holdin' out against the black devils. An' that evenin', when the old bull toad come down for his swim, I just laughed again quite light-hearted, and says as she said, '_Salaam Maharaj!_'

"Well, she was the only one as come alone after that, but come she did, an' every time she come she would stand an' say loud-like, but a bit wistful, '_Salaam Maharaj!_'

"She was a tall girl, but there--it ain't no use describing her.

"So what with the women coming all together I didn't have much chance o' flapjacks, and what with the village bein' walled in an' full of them murderin' n.o.bility, I wasn't, so to say, successful in thievin', an' at last I see it was time to move on. A bad time, too; for I heard from the women's talk as there was crowds o' sepoys about a-screwin'

the pore folks' tails, an' I heard _her_ say to 'em once as it were their fault. 'If they wasn't so frightened o' the King,' said she, 'maybe he'd come back and give 'em justice.' An' that evenin' when she come down she stood so with her arms spread out lookin' up the stair and said again, bowing down after their fashion, '_Salaam Maharaj!_, your slave waits!'

"There was a pile o' flapjacks on the platter beside her water-pot, an' maybe it was the sight o' them, and knowin' they would be worth gold to me, or maybe because it was my last time o' askin', or maybe the devil that was in me, but I just out o' my rabbit 'utch, in my baggy silk trousers and dressing-gown--in the whole blessed _killit_, sir--and stood quite still on the steps. It was most dark, you see, sir, an' the contours was correc', so 'twas no wonder she give a little cry, half-glad, half-afraid, as she come up from her salaam. I guessed she'd run and leave me the flapjacks, but she wasn't that sort. A tall girl--but there, it ain't no use describin'. Well afore I could think what to do she was at it; such a tale o' wrong, sir, not about herself, though she was one of those pore souls as is born widows, but about Lord knows what of the people. An' I listened. Did you ever listen, sir, to a woman's voice just chock full o' confidence in your bein' a good sort? Well, I did; an' I dunno how 'twas, sir, but the confidence was catchin'. I was a reckless, bold chap, you see, an' I knew she had grit, so the next moment I was over that circle o'

black water and beside her. She give another little cry, but, my Lord!

she _had_ grit, for she drew back quick against the wall and thrust out her hands to keep me off.

"'The King! the King!' she said, 'I thought you was the King!'

"An' with that I caught her by the hands. 'I'm not the King,' says I, 'but don't you be afraid, I'm only a pore man as won't hurt you.'

"'I'm not afraid,' she says, tryin' to make believe. 'You come down the King's stairs o' justice,' she said, 'an' that's enough.'

"Then somehow, I dunno how it was, sir, but all in a moment it come home to me that I'd go my whole pile on her, an' I drop her hands an'

I says:

"'Yes! I come down the King's stairs, and I'll be a King to you for justice if you'll be a Queen to me.'

"And by G.o.d! sir, she was.

"So there we were, lookin' into each other's eyes and sayin' nothin', till she gave a queer little laugh.

"'Why,' she says, 'you're a white man!' and with that she lay her finger quick and confident on my wrist; an' sure enough, what with the swim and the dark it were white indeed--white an' shivery, too, with the touch somehow, so that I couldn't but keep her hand so and say:

"'Yes, my dear, I'm white and you're black; I'm a man and you're a woman, but it shan't make no odds. I'm King and you're Queen in this here _bawly_, and there shan't be nothing but justice atween us, so help me, G.o.d!'

"An' there wasn't, sir. No! though we went our whole pile on each other, I do a.s.sure you, sir."

The a.s.surance was needless; one look at his face was enough--that world-worn face with its bloodshot eyes, fixed on the dazzling glory of the sky as if they saw a vision.

"I used to see her first against Je-rewsalem," he went on in a lower tone. "Then I could hear her come down the stairs ever so soft to stand close to the water's edge and cry, '_Salaam Maharaj!_'--for she called me that, just for fun, you see, sir. An' there weren't much wistfulness in her voice, sir, mostly laughter, an' somethin' better nor laughter, when I come leapin' across that drop o' ink to stand beside her for a little, an' tell her--what folks say to each other when they've set their whole pile on each other, you know, sir. For she wouldn't never come down the King's stairs, sayin' it was unlucky an' what not. Excuses, sir, but I understood 'em and I didn't want her, for you see it was justice between us I'd sworn, and I was a wild lot. She had told her father--a blind old Brahman, sir, awful holy, and nigh bedridden too--and he sent word to say stop where I was. The villagers wouldn't venture down the stairs either, and if they did wouldn't harm me, being, as I say, sir, as peaceable a lot o'

able-bodied men as ever was. But the maraudin', murderin' crew in the big _hawelis_--that's houses, sir--was harbouring those mutinous devils of Jack Pandies, and playin' high old Tommy for miles round, so I'd better lie low till justice came; as it'd sure to do at last, seein' that the Lord was King. They talks a sight, sir, about the heathen and their ignorance, but I do a.s.sure you she knew a deal more nor me; what with being of a king's family an' havin' a bedridden saint of a Brahman for a father. An' they mayn't know much book-learnin' p'r'aps, but some of 'em knows how to make a man put his whole pile on them. And she had grit, my Lord! she had grit!

"Yet there was a catch in her breath that evenin' when I was nigh mad with fear, lest she had come to harm because it was so late, and hearing her footfall on the stair I leapt over, and nearly fell back into the ink-pot through seein' her in a man's dress.