# Littell's Living Age/Volume 126/Issue 1624/The Dilemma - Part III

From Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine.
THE DILEMMA.
CHAPTER VII.
As Yorke rode home to his bungalow at the other end of the station, after the dinner-party in the eminent personage's camp, smoking his cigar and reviewing the events of the evening, he felt for the time an elation which he had never before experienced. Miss Cunningham, he thought, must surely now understand my feelings. True, I have not said a word which could be taken to mean distinctly what I long to express; but I could not, if I would, disguise the passion I feel. She must see that I worship the very ground she treads on; and, seeing that, she is too noble to trifle with my love. She would have discouraged me ere this if it had been displeasing to her. There would be no such kind greetings if she thought my homage unworthy. But then what, after all, has passed between us that I should dare to build any hopes upon it? We have not spoken more than half-a-dozen times, and only a few words at a time; what is this to build a romance upon? And what am I, with no good looks worth speaking of, no money, no position, to hope to win this noble woman, so beautiful, so accomplished, so well-placed? I may know a little more than other fellows about some things, but I have given her no opportunity to find this out; a donkey's braying were scarcely more inane than my conversation whenever I have been talking to her. Yet, after all, to be sure, women don't choose men for their good looks or their wit. There is Tirtell of the 80th N.I., certainly not much to look at, and about as stupid a fellow as there is in the army, yet he found a pretty woman to fall in love with him, and one with ten times his brains. Look at Grumbull, too, our doctor; what little chance the climate leaves a fellow will be lost if he gets into his hands. And yet if he were a perfect Galen, Mrs. Grumbull could not have a higher opinion of him; and she is a clever woman enough. No; there is no accounting for tastes, as Jerry would say; if only she chooses to fancy a penniless sub, neither face nor empty purse need be against me; and as for fortune, why, after all, every man in India starts in the race of life from "scratch." Lawrence and Outram were once penniless subs, and with no better prospects than I have; and something tells me that if I do ever get a chance, I too shall be able to turn it to good account.
But then, again, whispered conscience, what are your chances in the race you are now running? You may be right in thinking that women throw away their hearts at random, but there must be opportunity — companionship — the means of meeting. Here are you, only a few miles off, 'tis true, but what are your chances and opportunities? A few stray words at a ball or dinner-party. What do you know of her inner life, and thoughts, and feelings? What chance have you, you awkward, shy gowk, of pushing yourself forward, and making the most of such small chances as offer themselves? And do you suppose that the prize will remain unwon forever, or for long? Wake up from your trance of folly, young dreamer that you are.
But no — he argues again. Love needs no rules of time and opportunity. Has not my poor mother often said that she fell in love at first sight with my father, and that they were engaged to be married before they had known each other a week? And is it true that we are even now common acquaintances? Does she greet other men as she greets me? And then, as a vision came up before the young man of a life to be spent in companionship with the woman he loved, with no need to long and look for scanty interviews, a constant presence of her beauty, those eyes always looking into his, his awe at speaking to her exchanged for perfect trust, to learn the secret of her noble mind, to have the sympathy of her noble heart to urge him onwards in his aims for a high career — as the young man, pacing to and fro along the gravel-path in front of his little dwelling, conjured up this picture of a heaven on earth, his step under the excitement became so loud as to arouse his brother subaltern from sleep.
"I say, old fellow," said Spragge, rising on his elbow in bed and looking at his chum through the open door, "you ain't paid for doing watchman, you know. You might let a fellow go to sleep, I think. We've got a parade at gunfire."
Thus rebuked, Yorke retired to his own room, but only to toss about on his bed, recalling time after time the record of each word Miss Cunningham had spoken to him, and picturing incoherent visions for the future, till summoned to rise again by the sound of the morning gun.
The next opportunity for meeting the ​young lady happened a day or two afterwards, on the occasion of the brigadier's half-yearly inspection of the hussars. Alas! it was only an opportunity from which nothing came. Riding to the parade-ground on the morning in question, Yorke was in time to see the regiment drawn up in line awaiting the brigadier's arrival, himself one of the first spectators on the ground. But the inspection was half over before, straining his eyes across the plain in the direction of the city, he was at last rewarded for his patience. This time only two persons could be seen cantering towards the scene, who as they came nearer were made out to be Miss Cunningham and Colonel Falkland. They did not, however, join the other spectators in attendance on the brigadier, but pulled up their horses at some distance off, whence they stood watching the manœuvres of the regiment. Yorke sat irresolute for some time, watching the pair — the colonel's upright figure on his powerful horse, the graceful outline of the young lady as her body swayed with every movement of her high-bred Arab, which, excited by the clatter of the dragoons, was pawing the ground and tossing its little head; and, as the two figures stood out in clear relief against the plain, he could not help thinking what a fitting protector the soldier-like colonel made to his gentle godchild. At last he made bold to join them, a bold movement indeed, involving his complete separation from the group of spectators, and committing himself alone to the naked plain, crossing the gap too at a foot-pace, for to ride faster would have attracted attention. But just as he was approaching the lady and her companion, whose heads were turned the other way, they set off in a gallop after the regiment, now executing a rapid change of front. Yorke's first impulse was to follow in pursuit, but he was restrained by a sense of the absurd figure he would cut, in full uniform, mounted on a diminutive pony, and by a doubt whether the pony could go fast enough to overtake them, and of the undignified appearance he would present, if he did come up with them, looked down upon especially by Colonel Falkland from the height of his big horse. Thus thinking, the youngster pulled up, and wanting self-possession to enable him to rejoin the other lookers-on, remained by himself on the plain, fancying that everybody was noticing his discomfiture. In reality everybody was watching the hussars moving rapidly to and fro. (for Colonel Tartar always went the pace, and was carrying out to the full his subaltern's promise that the inspection would be something of a kind to amuse the ladies); and so Yorke's little expedition passed unobserved.
The inspection over, and the regiment being formed up in three sides of a square, the brigadier addressed some valedictory remarks to it which Colonel Tartar received on the point of his sword, and then rode slowly off the ground. The spectators now began to disperse, making their way across the plain in the direction of their respective lines, and Yorke was just about to ride up to Miss Cunningham, when Colonel Tartar, making over his regiment to Major Winge, cantered up to them. Yorke again pulled up, watching the party as they moved slowly away in the direction of the residency, the little colonel with his legs stuck out, leaning over towards Miss Cunningham on his left, gesticulating with the right hand as if explaining the movements of the day. Yorke felt that his pony would ill compare with the other's high-caste Arab, as it stepped proudly along, excited by the exercise, and tossing its head as if enjoying the rattle of its caparisons. And yet, thought the youngster, bitterly, I am as good as he, for all that he is a colonel of hussars, and I am only subaltern of native infantry, and I would prove it if I only had a chance. Still, what chance shall I have against him if he enters the lists? She says she thinks there is no profession like the army; what more natural than that she should be dazzled with his medals, and his colonelcy, and his money? He is a dapper little fellow too, it must be confessed, and knows how to sit a horse. He is evidently going on to the residency to breakfast, the lucky beggar. But no; Colonel Tartar, after accompanying the other two for a few hundred yards, turned back, and they set off at speed, for the sun was now getting hot; whereupon Yorke turned too and cantered home. But his faithful pony was now an object of contempt, and that very morning he took advantage of the arrival of an itinerant horse-merchant to purchase a more dignified mount. A high-caste Arab would alone have satisfied his aspirations, but as this meant running hopelessly into debt, he was fain to be content with a well-looking animal with strong legs and uncertain pedigree, although having some other good points, ​for which the dealer took the pony in exchange and a promissory note for a sum which would make a formidable inroad on the young man's slender income; but he was just now in a reckless mood. "Poor little Jerry," said he, as he took the saddle off the pony named after his chum, "it seems a shame to turn you adrift after you have done your work, doesn't it? You ain't much to look at, but you know how to go, and you have taught me to ride at any rate. Many is the battle we have had to see who should be master — haven't we, you little beggar?" So saying, he gave the pony a farewell pat — to which the honest beast responded by putting back his ears as if preparatory to a bite or a kick, whichever might come readiest — and saddling his new purchase, rode it home.
The next day or two were passed mainly in looking after the new purchase, trying its paces, getting it shod properly, and teaching it to jump over a hurdle rigged up in the compound; proceedings in which Yorke's chum took as much interest as himself — for the arrival of a new horse is a great event in the household of a native-infantry subaltern; and the two young men might be seen for the greater part of the day before the shed in a corner of their compound which did duty for a stable, superintending the grooming-operations. Spragge might have grown jealous on comparing the good-looking grey with the insignificant occupant of the next stall that owned him as master, but that jealousy did not enter into Jerry's composition. "English blood there, and Arab too, I'll bet anything," said the young critic for the hundredth time, surveying the new purchase with admiration; "by Jove! I only wish I was out of debt, I'd buy a horse too. I say, old fellow, you must give me a mount on him sometimes."
The new horse being somewhat raw to the bit, and scarcely in form for appearance on the mall, Yorke took him for exercise at first to a piece of ragged ground in rear of the cantonments, which being in the vicinity of the station slaughter-houses, afforded perfect seclusion, while a number of small ravines running down to the river offered a variety of broken ground well adapted for breaking in a young horse.
Just as he was returning from this region one evening about dusk, Yorke heard the footstep of a horse coming up behind, and Falkland, cantering past on his Irish mare, on perceiving him pulled up alongside.
The colonel explained that he had been for a ride across country; he did not get enough exercise at the residency, he said, with merely a morning canter. "But what brings you to these unsavoury parts," he asked, "while all the gay world of Mustaphabad are listening to the band?"
Yorke replied that he was breaking in a new horse, and teaching him to jump ditches.
"A new purchase?" said the colonel, eyeing the horse, "and a very nice-looking one too — country-bred, I presume, but with some good blood in him evidently. So you are teaching him to jump? and a very proper thing too. Do you think he could manage this?" And so saying, the colonel turned to one side, and pressing his mare, put her at a small ravine. It was no great thing for the big mare, but a respectable jump for the little country-bred, which, however, Yorke, following the lead, sent across in good style.
"Very well done," said the colonel; "you have a good nag there, and know how to ride him. You ought to enter for the coming steeplechase."
Yorke thought he was joking; the idea of a country-bred running in a race of any sort, was like entering a hack for a flat race in England.
The colonel said he was quite in earnest. It was not a matter of speed or blood. "It is astonishing how few horses in this country can jump; want of practice, I suppose. If any horse succeeds in getting round the course, the chances are it will win, and your horse has some good blood in him, and some capital points for a fencer; but here we are in cantonments. Good evening. I must push on, or I shall be late for dinner;" and the colonel rode off.
CHAPTER VIII.
​"A ticket for soup, by all that's powerful!" cried Spragge. "Well, I thought it was about time for the commissioner to do the civil. Two distinguished officers like us are not to be treated with neglect even by a bloated civilian. It's directed to you, Arty, "he continued, throwing the note across the table, "and from the lovely creature herself. You'd better keep it next your heart, only open it first, my boy, and let's know what's up. Say, oh, say!"
Had Spragge been more observant he would have noticed the blush and confusion of his companion. It was the first letter he had ever received from Miss Cunningham; the first time, indeed, that he had ever seen her handwriting.
He disguised his emotion, however, and rebuked his companion. "I wish you would have a little sense for once in your life, Spragge, "he said pettishly, calling that young officer by his surname, "and keep your foolish jokes for fit subjects."
"Oh! that's the line, is it?" replied the imperturbable Jerry; "some things are not to be talked about, or else we cut up rough, do we? with our Spragges and our Yorkes? We shall be having coffee and pistols next, I suppose? All right, old fellow; you've only got to give me the office, you know, and I'm mum. Still you haven't told us yet what the letter is about; come, out with it! ticket for soup? or a hop?"
Yorke replied that it was an invitation to dinner for the next day but one.
"And me left out," cried Jerry; "well, that is a shame, considering we both called on the same day. You have been making play since to any extent, of course; still there's a want of consideration about the thing; if we had both been asked the same night, we might have taken Nubbee Buksh's buggy between us."
"Consideration!" said Yorke, loftily. "As if Miss Cunningham would be likely to think about such details as the small economies of a subaltern's ménage."
"Ménage, eh? small economies, eh? We are coming it strong, and no mistake. What's the last book we got this out of? This comes of our Shakespeares and our Homers. Beg pardon, old fellow," he added, apologetically, seeing that Yorke was looking angrily towards him; "but don't you think you'd better answer the note, and not keep the sowar waiting? I'll take myself off and have a pipe in the stable, and then perhaps when I come back Richard will be himself again."
How the young man, left alone, discovered that there was no paper or ink in the bungalow fit to write his reply upon, and sent down to the Europe shop for a packet of the best creamlaid, and a bottle of fresh ink, the orderly waiting the while, dismounted, holding his horse under the shade of a tree; how, when the paper and ink arrived, he spoilt half-a-dozen sheets before his answer was ready, in doubt whether to say "My dear Miss Cunningham," or only "Dear Miss Cunningham," — need not be told; nor that he did as a fact deposit the note about his person, taking it out a dozen times in the day to read the contents. Yet they were not of much import, for the note merely ran thus: —
"Dear Mr. Yorke, — Will you give us the pleasure of your company to dinner on Thursday at half-past seven? — Believe me, yours very truly,
"Olivia Cunningham."
Needs not be said that Yorke engaged Nubbee Buksh's buggy for the Thursday evening, nor that, although until now he had never thought much about dress, he made as elaborate a toilet for the occasion as the conditions of undress uniform permitted; but not the less did he feel shy and nervous as he entered the large drawing-room at the residency, although his heart bounded within him at the cordial greeting of the hostess, as she advanced from the group of guests to meet him, and held out her hand with a smile and look of pleasure which sent the young fellow into raptures. There were only twelve persons in all, including the brigadier and Mrs. Polwheedle, and the dinner was served at a round table, permitting of general conversation, and to Yorke a full view of Miss Cunningham, in a perfectly enchanting demi-toilet. Certainly, he thought, it is even more becoming than the ball-dress, or the more costly apparel worn at his Excellency's party. It is the same picture, of course, that sets off any framing — the lovely face, the graceful figure, and the noble folds of rich brown hair.
The conversation turned to the subject then occupying all the dinner-tables in India, the misconduct of a guard of sepoys at Barrackpore.
"For my part,"said Mrs. Polwheedle, "I think the whole regiment ought to have been hanged, the rascally fellows! ​to stand by and see their officer wounded in that way. Disbanding was too good for them."
"But the whole regiment didn't see the thing done," observed the commissioner.
"Oh, that doesn't matter," she replied; "they were all sepoys together, and sepoys always stick by each other, with their nonsense about caste, and their not doing this or doing that. I have no patience with them."
"My dear,"said the brigadier, who sat opposite, in a voice of mild reproach, "you forget that your husband is a sepoy-officer."
"No, I don't," replied the lady; "but I wasn't always the wife of a native-infantry officer, you know; and I have my feelings on this point. Besides, I don't consider that you belong to the native army now that you are a brigadier; you command Europeans and natives too, so you ought to be impartial."
"For my part," observed Major Winge of the hussars, who was one of the company, "I should like to see every black regiment cut down to half its present strength, and a dozen more British regiments sent out."
"Native-infantry regiments, I suppose you mean?" interposed Colonel Falkland.
"Oh, of course," replied the other, "they are dark; same thing, you know."
"The same thing, perhaps, but not the same name; we will keep to the official designation, with your permission, if the thing is to be discussed at all."
"By all means, if you like," returned the major; "no offence was meant."
"You did not mean to be offensive, of course," said the colonel.
And so the conversation dropped, or rather a turn was given to it by the commissioner, who asked Major Winge across the table if his regiment had many horses entered for the coming races.
While it was going on, Yorke felt his face flush at the implied insult to his branch of the service. A feeling of bashfulness, however, kept him silent at first, and then just as he was about at last to burst out. Colonel Falkland had stepped in to the rescue.
That the offensive attack should have been properly put down was satisfactory, but there now succeeded to the indignation a feeling of shame that Miss Cunningham should have been witness of the scene. What must she think of military men, if they were ready to deal in such braggart ways across a dinner-table, till even Falkland, a man who seemed placed above such things by standing and natural dignity, was drawn into the squabble? It was all that horrid Mrs. Polwheedle's doing, and it was just the same on the day of his first call. How could this gentle and refined creature tolerate her society? Even if the commissioner was too good-natured to take care of his daughter in that respect, surely her godfather might interpose to shield her from such vulgarizing contact.
The person referred to, who sat next to him, seemed to be reading his thoughts, for he interrupted the current of them by remarking in an undertone: "I am afraid our hostess will think some of us have been taking our wine before dinner instead of at the proper time. It is a sad world this," he added with a smile; "shut one's self out as we may from all that is disagreeable, still the unpleasant will obtrude itself sometimes. The worst of it is that I am afraid the gentleman opposite had only too much truth on his side."
"Do you really think, sir," asked the youngster eagerly, "that the native army is not to be trusted?"
"I think that it might be reduced with great advantage, and the proportion of European troops brought up again to what it was when I first entered the service."
"Then do you really think that there is any mischief brewing in the native army?"
"It is a mercenary army," replied the colonel, "and it is an army which has nothing to do at present, two conditions which don't go well together. Of course you may keep mercenary troops in order by discipline; but we have merely the semblance of discipline left now. It would not need a very violent shake, I fear, to bring the military fabric to pieces, or at any rate to put it grievously out of joint."
"But surely there is nothing to show that things are worse now than they have been for the last fifty years? There have been repeated instances of misconduct before, but the army has outlived them. And, in the present instance, it seems to have been effectually put down. Why should things be worse now than at any time before?"
"Of course there is a great deal to be said on the optimist side. The men have all their pensions to look to, and then it is not likely that the Hindoos and ​Mahomedans would ever pull together, if either party were to fall out with their masters. And I suppose luck will befriend us in the future as it has in the past. Still a little tighter discipline and a few more European troops would not be bad precautions. But of course," said the colonel, turning towards him with a smile, "I don't want these doubts to go any further. We must put a good face on matters, whatever we may think about them."
"But surely," said Yorke, "holding these views, it would be proper for you at least to urge them on the government."
"Who? I? Oh no; that would be of no use. The headquarter people would pooh-pooh the advice of an alarmist civilian, as they would call me, and would say that they have as good opportunities for judging of these matters as he has, which is quite true, though whether they make use of them is another matter."
After dinner, as soon as the gentlemen came into the drawing-room. Miss Cunningham asked Captain Sparrow, who was of the party, to sing — which, after a little pressing, he consented to do, the lady accompanying him. Captain Sparrow had a tenor voice, which might have been pronounced sweet in quality, only that there was very little of it to judge by, and sang airs from the Italian opera of the more sentimental kind, delivered with a sort of caricature of stage manner, the retardations extra slow, the pathos extra pathetic. As he sang, with one hand resting on the piano and the other on his hip — his hair parted in the middle, a loosely-tied black ribbon under his turned-down collar, his eyes cast down, and face expressing all the pathos which could not find utterance through the voice, while the fair accompanist placidly followed all the changes of time in the performance — Yorke felt as by instinct that although she was perfectly grave and polite, and there was no trace of irony in her thanks to the singer when the performance was concluded, any remaining fear of rivalry in that quarter might now safely be dismissed.
"And now, Miss Cunningham, won't you sing something yourself," said the captain, "especially after I have set you so good an example? I am sure you will be in good voice to-night. There is something in the air conducive to song. I felt it myself."
Just then Yorke came up, and Sparrow moved off, to receive the thanks of the rest of the company.
"Are you fond of music, Mr. Yorke?" asked the lady.
"I should like above everything to hear you sing," replied the young fellow.
"How can you tell you will not be disappointed when you hear me?" she said, with a laugh and slight blush, as she stooped to turn over the loose pieces of music on the stand.
"No, no," rejoined the young man with ardour; "there is no doubt about it. Heaven gave you a sweet voice, and it gave you" — every other charm, he was going to add; but checking himself, continued, "besides, you must know that your fame has preceded you."
Miss Cunningham said nothing in reply, but looking downwards seated herself at the instrument and began to sing. Nor had rumour exaggerated her powers. She sang with the taste and finish given by Italian teaching, while her voice was like her speaking voice, low and rich, and expressing a sort of unconscious pathos, as if asking what romantic fate awaited its possessor in the future.
She sang two songs, the young lover standing by entranced, turning over the pages; one Italian, full of repressed passion — one German, kindling subtle, undefinable emotions. Then at his request she sang a third time; after which, some of the guests who had meanwhile been scattered about the room came up to express their thanks. But presently the two were left alone again, for the room was a very large one, and the young lady still sitting on the music-stool turned round.
"Do you really think," said she, "that the sepoys are not to be trusted? Perhaps I ought not to ask such a question from you; but your men, now, they look such simple honest fellows, and papa seems to have the most perfect confidence in them."
"I would answer for them with my life," replied the young man, earnestly.
"I like to hear you speak like that," said the young lady, with animation; "there is something to my mind quite revolting in discussing the character and loyalty of our soldiers in this way, whether their faces are light or dark."
As she looked up at him with a gleam of admiration in her dark eyes, the young man felt ready to throw himself at her feet in a transport of love. For him to worship her was only natural; but that she should regard him as worthy of respect seemed altogether beyond his ​deserts, so infinitely above him did she always seem to be. Something of this may have appeared in his look of devotion, for she blushed slightly, and turned away her head, and then changing the conversation said, "When is the inspection of your regiment to take place?"
"On Saturday — shall you come to see it?" And the young man hung on her answer as if his very life depended on it.
"I will come, if I possibly can. Papa has not been very well lately, and is often disinclined to ride of a morning; but if Colonel Falkland is still with us, I am sure he will escort me."
"Is Colonel Falkland going away?"
"His month's leave comes to an end to-morrow; but he hopes to get it extended. I don't quite understand the arrangement; it appears there are various contingencies involved, but he expects to hear how the matter is settled early in the morning."
Presently she added, "Colonel Falkland says you ought to be in the cavalry — the irregular cavalry I think he called it — because you are such a good rider."
"Colonel Falkland's praise of any one is valuable, but he seems always to speak kindly of everybody."
"Ah, then I see you have found out his generous nature, and think as highly of him as every one seems to do. I am so glad of that,"said Miss Cunningham, warmly.
"Think highly of him? why he is one of the finest fellows in the army. I always knew he was extremely popular, too, and now I have met him I can understand why he is. What a pity it is that he should be thrown away in civil employ, instead of being at the head of the army, or something of the sort!"
And the two cast their looks in the direction of the person spoken of, a middle-aged, not particularly handsome, and not well-dressed man, standing in another part of the room.
Then she asked him if he was going to take a part in the coming races; and he replied that he was going to enter a young horse he had just bought, for the steeple-chase. Had he still possessed only his old pony Jerry, he would in his present state of infatuation have committed himself to entering that useful animal.
Miss Cunningham asked whether steeplechase-riding was not a very dangerous thing; and Yorke laughingly replied that there was not much danger to be met with in the army nowadays, either in that or any other way; the only danger he ran was of making himself ridiculous by being nowhere in the race.
Here the conversation was interrupted; and, save at parting, when he held her slender hand for a moment in his, Yorke had no opportunity of again speaking to the young lady. But as he drove himself home in the still clear night, he rehearsed the scene of the evening over and over again, dwelling on each gracious look, each radiant smile, calling up each changing expression of the sweet face — now gracious, now arch — anon, when in repose, as he thought, pensive. Surely he could not be wrong in thinking both that she understood his devotion, and was not unprepared to reward it. To no one else, he felt sure, did she appear so tender and gracious. Even to her father she seemed hardly more so. To other persons, as he could not help persuading himself, her bearing, if gentle, was somewhat reserved and distant. Only to himself and Falkland was there shown this confidential manner; but then Falkland was an old friend, and her godfather — old enough indeed to be her father. Nevertheless, uneasy doubts crossed the young man's mind, especially when he reached home, and surveying by the dim light of a single candle the poverty of his little bungalow, contrasted it with the splendour of the residency and the well-lit-up salon, in the vastness of which a dozen guests seemed almost lost, till his heart sank within him. How could he dare to hope to bring that splendid creature to such a lowly roof? Still less possible did it seem to raise himself from his present humble grade to a level with her condition and her father's just expectations. And what if, after all, she were really in ignorance of his feelings, and he merely another Malvolio fancying his countess was in love with him, as much deceived and every whit as foolish? Thus, alternate hopes and fears coursing each other through his mind, the young man paced restlessly the gravel-walk before his bungalow — his usual nightly occupation now — but taking care not to wake his chum, till, tired out in mind and body, he sought his room and found at last the sound sleep of youth and health.
CHAPTER IX.
Two days afterwards took place the inspection of the 76th. In the monotony of an Indian cantonment, even the inspection of a native-infantry regiment creates a certain amount of excitement; and before sunrise a small group of ​equestrians were assembled on the parade to witness the spectacle. The regiment itself had been under arms before daylight, and the officers fell in soon afterwards, while Major Dumble — who, with a card of the manœuvres in his hand which had been prepared for him by the adjutant, was going through them in his head for the last time — sat his old trooper with a look of anxious desperation as the fatal moment approached. For now the brigadier might be seen riding at a foot-pace on his grey cob towards the line, attended by his brigade-major and the assistant quartermaster-general, also by Colonel Tartar, who had joined him on his way past the hussar parade. The brigadier and his staff were in blue coats and cocked-hats, all the other military lookers-on in full uniform except Colonel Tartar, who being a colonel of hussars might be considered to be above rule, and indeed sat his Arab pony with an air of easy superiority, as if quite aware of the amount of condescension involved in his coming at all. The ceremony is now about to begin, and Yorke's heart leaps up at seeing the well-known objects advancing rapidly out of the plain from the direction of the residency, as he had seen them come on former occasions, soon to be made out clearly as Colonel Falkland and Miss Cunningham, who canter up and join the group of visitors just as the brigadier arrives in front of the line. Yorke has just time to notice with a pang of jealousy that Colonel Tartar is turning aside to join the new-comers, when the regiment is called to attention, and as the brigadier advances towards it, a general salute is ordered; after which Major Dumble, by dint of kicking his horse and shaking its rein, persuades it to advance a few paces, and hands the brigadier a "present state" of the regiment. The latter passes over the want of style in the major's approach, riding not being laid down in the infantry regulations or a strong point personally, but reserves himself for criticism on the handling of the battalion, an art in which he deems himself to be an authority. And truly the battalion looks a goodly one to handle, over nine hundred and fifty bayonets mustering on the parade, carried by stalwart sepoys, well set up. And now begins the serious business of the morning. The salute delivered, the regiment breaking into open columns of companies marches past in slow and quick time, a feat which, having been practised every morning for the previous six weeks, is performed fairly in automatic fashion, without giving Major Dumble an opportunity for interposing a mistake. "Do believe we shall pull the major through," whispers Poynter the adjutant to Brevet-Major Passey, the senior captain, who was the other mounted officer. The "march past" over, the regiment is again formed into line and put through the time-honoured manual and platoon exercises by Major Passey, a feat to which he and the regiment are quite equal. Major Dumble the while glancing nervously at his card, and recalling for the last time the adjutant's lessons on the coming movements. The first operation, a change of front, went all right; there was little for the commanding officer to do, and the leaders of companies knew their work and made no mistake. And the second movement promised well also. It was an advance by column of double companies from the centre; and Major Dumble, as he surveyed from the rear the companies stepping off and wheeling at due intervals with precision, felt his courage reviving, and began to hope that he should really pull through the inspection. But alas! at this moment, just as the formation was completed, the brigadier called out to him in what was meant for a reassuring tone — "Very good indeed. Major Dumble — very good indeed; now suppose you form square. Don't you hear, sir?" he repeated in a louder voice — "form square."
Now a square was duly entered in the card of manœuvres, but then it was to come off later in the day, and when the regiment was halted in line. For such a change in the programme the major was altogether unprepared, and gazed in dumb anguish at the brigadier, and when the latter in still louder tones repeated his command, adding "Why don't you halt the leading division, sir?" the unhappy major mistaking the word "leading" for "rear," called out in desperation, "Rear division, halt I right about face!"
The companies in question obeyed the order. The rest of the column continued marching on.
The major saw that he had made a blunder, but there was still time to retrieve it, although no time for reflection. Obeying the impulse of despair he gave the word to the centre companies to wheel inwards, and again the order was obeyed, the leading companies still pursuing their fatal march onwards; and although the adjutant at last took upon himself to stop them, the mischief was done. They had ​by this time advanced a long distance to the front. The centre companies had been brought to a halt by coming up against each other, and now stood face to face, the rear division meantime gazing backward into space, from which position our subaltern could witness the merriment of the spectators. The formation of the regiment in fact now resembled the capital letter I, but with the head and tail separated by a long interval from the body. Never had the Mustaphabad parade-ground witnessed such a spectacle.
Although not without a fellow-feeling for the service from which he had risen, this was yet a proud moment for Brigadier Polwheedle. The inspection of the hussars or the horse-artillery was a thing to be done gently, and even deferentially, the brigadier indeed never feeling quite sure on such occasions that Colonel Tartar was not laughing at him the while, and executing manœuvres for his edification not laid down in the queen's regulations; but here he was master of the position, and felt every inch a brigadier. "Take your regiment home, sir," he called out in a loud voice to the miserable Dumble — "that is, if you know how to — and let me see it again as soon as it is fit to be inspected;" and so saying, he turned the grey cob round and rode majestically home.
Whether Major Dumble would have been equal to the feat of taking the regiment home was never proved, for the extrication of it from its melancholy position was effected by the adjutant, the unhappy commandant sitting silent on his horse while the latter gave the needful orders. The operation completed. Major Passey, making the slightest possible salute with his sword to his commanding officer, said, "Shall I march the regiment back to the lines, major?"
"Please do, Passey," replied poor Dumble, meekly; and so saying rode back alone to his own bungalow, whence he did not emerge for the rest of the day.
"Hang it," said Spragge, to a brother sub, after the regiment was broken off, as they mounted their ponies to ride home, "we must buy old Dumble out, sharp, I can't stand being made a fool of in this way. How much do you think the old boy would take to go at once? I'm game to borrow my share; I'm so deep in the banks already that a trifle more won't make much difference."
"No good trying, my dear fellow," replied the other; "the poor old major is in the banks himself: he can't retire with a wife and family at home to provide for. No, no; we have got him fast for another six years at least, till he get the line step, and perhaps even longer."
"A jolly look-out for us," rejoined Spragge; "well, I must positively take to passing in the language and getting a staff-appointment. I'm blessed if I can stand this any longer. I wish I were a dab at languages and things like Yorke; but I'll set to work at the black classics this very day. "And Jerry kept his word so far as to spend the whole of that morning spelling out the first chapter of the Baital Pachisi, with the help of the regimental moonshee, but unfortunately his resolution did not carry him beyond the first day.
Major Dumble's fiasco was naturally the subject of conversation in more circles than one that morning. "Serves him right for an old stupid,"said Mrs. Polwheedle to Captain Buxey, whose buggy was drawn up next to that lady's carriage. "I told the brigadier the first day Dumble came to the station that I was sure he wasn't any good. The government ought to get rid of such fellows. If he were in a queen's regiment now, he'd have to go on half-pay; and serve him right, wouldn't it, colonel?" added the lady in a louder voice to Colonel Tartar, who was riding slowly past.
"Serve whom right, Mrs. Polwheedle?" replied the colonel, stopping his horse, but without coming nearer to the carriage.
"Why, Major Dumble, to be sure. I was just saying to Captain Buxey that such exposés would never be allowed in the queen's service, would they?"
"A little hard, though, on the regiment and the officers, isn't it?" said Tartar, dryly; "but beauty sometimes goes with a hard heart."
"Flatterer!" replied the lady, with a complacent smile on her comely face.
"There's such a thing as a service feeling, too," observed Captain Buxey after the colonel had passed on. "I don't like to see company's officers made fools of in public."
"Oh, as to that," said Mrs. Polwheedle, "I don't regard Polwheedle in the same light as a regular company's officer, now that he commands a station with troops of all kinds; besides, you know, I was brought up to think of the queen's regulations before everything. In Captain Jones's regiment we used never to call on the ladies of company's officers. ​Quite a society in ourselves we were. Of course as a brigadier's lady I show no preferences, but still I have my feelings."
As for Yorke, his first impulse was to hasten to the residency to learn at least the worst, and with a faint hope at the bottom of his heart that Miss Cunningham might have some consolation to offer. A call there was due after the dinner-party, and it had been a struggle for the young man to put it off for so long. Accordingly Nubbee Buksh's buggy and horse were again put into requisition, and soon after breakfast he drove over to the residency, full of a deep yearning, as he controlled the erratic movements of that wayward animal, to give some utterance to the feelings that oppressed him. Did she know of his passionate love for her, then surely any impulse to laugh at him or the regiment would be changed to a feeling of sympathy.
Alas! on driving under the great portico he was met by the announcement that the "door was shut," the Indian version of the more euphemistic "not at home;" and there was nothing left to Yorke but to return to cantonments, downcast and disappointed. Life seemed for the time an utter blank. There was no excuse left for paying another visit, and little chance of meeting the lady anywhere else. There only remained now the steeplechase. In that, at least, he might hope to wipe out the ridicule thrown on the regiment and himself.
CHAPTER X.
The coming steeplechase was a novelty imported for the first time into the Mustaphabad annual race-meeting. That favourite station being situated in a sandy plain which extended in perfect flatness for many days' journey in every direction, covered at one season of the year with luxuriant corn in fields quite unenclosed, and separated by marks distinguishable only by the villagers, and for the rest a sandy desert dotted with villages and thinly sprinkled with acacia-trees — a country of this sort was not favourable for the development of hunting, and had witnessed hitherto no more lively sport than coursing. The race had been got up indeed mainly at the instance of a couple of sporting subalterns in another native-infantry regiment, joint proprietors of an aged Australian mare, known to be sure at her fences if her legs would only hold out; and it was to come off as the final event of the second day's meeting, Colonel Tartar having offered a cup for the winner in addition to the stakes.
The entries were comparatively numerous, considering that not many horses at the station had ever had the opportunity of being put at a jump, and that a rumour that Colonel Falkland meant to run his Irish mare had kept out several intending competitors, as nothing would have had a chance against her. And when the entries were closed, at the race-ordinary held at the subscription-rooms the evening before the meeting, no less than six entries were declared for this particular event. Lunge, the riding-master of the hussars, had entered an old Cape horse reputed to have been good with the Meerut fox-hounds; Stride, of the horse artillery, a stud-bred horse, his second charger; Chupkin, of the irregulars, a country-bred mare, usually ridden by his wife — if Mrs. Chupkin would ride it herself, said the knowing ones, she would be sure to win — a feather-weight, and with nerve for anything; young Scurry, the moneyed man of the hussars, a newly-purchased chestnut Arab, the handsomest charger in the regiment, but a trifle impetuous; the confederates, Messrs. Egan and M'Intyre of the 80th N.I., the Australian mare above referred to, which had arrived mysteriously at the station a few days before; the list being closed by a friend's horse.
Yorke had never been present at a race-ordinary before, his experience having been confined hitherto to what are known as single-corps stations, garrisoned by one regiment of native infantry, where race-meetings were unknown; and he felt a little nervous as he entered the barnlike assembly rooms where the meeting was held, with fifty rupees in his pocket for the entrance-stakes. His announcement evidently took the company by surprise; for although the hurdles in his compound told a tale to his neighbours, his recent purchase had not attracted much attention, and the fact of his ownership of a horse of any sort was not generally known. "It's not a tattoo race, young man," observed M'Intyre, who was standing by the little table at which Westropp of the irregulars, the honorary secretary, was recording the entries; "ain't you making a mistake?"
"There's nothing against tats in the rules," said Westropp, before Yorke had time to speak; "you may enter a donkey if you like, M'Intyre; "whereat the laugh was turned against M'Intyre, and Yorke felt grateful to Westropp for coming to ​his help before a suitable repartee had occurred to himself.
The entries concluded, the company sat down to dinner, after which they proceeded to the lotteries, the serious business of the evening. Several other officers now dropped in, among them Colonel Tartar, with whose dignity it was hardly compatible to partake of a race-ordinary, but who patronized the races in an affable way, as became a man with a reputation in the shires and noted lightweight rider in his younger days, and indeed was not above employing the evening in making a little book. "How do, Yorke?" said the little colonel with a friendly nod; "so you have got something in for my cup. I suppose that's the little horse Falkland was speaking about — a tidy jumper, he tells me; well, I wish you all luck, but I am afraid I sha'n't be able to back you this time."
Proceedings were interrupted at first by an objection lodged against the confederates' horse, it being a condition that all horses entered for the cup should be bonâ fide the property of officers at the station; while the known impecunious state of the partners, whose domestic embarrassments in connection with the local shopkeepers constituted the principal business at the monthly sittings of the cantonment small-cause court, rendered it matter of question how they should have come by such a property. The production of their entrance-money in hard cash had indeed occasioned some little surprise; but the objection was disposed of on Egan's producing a letter from the late owner accepting the joint promissory note of himself and M'Intyre at six months' date, for a sum, the amount of which was concealed from the referee by a dirty thumb placed over the figures, whereon the company proceeded to make out the lotteries. The drawing of these, with the interpolated betting, occupied a considerable time, Egan and M'Intyre both going into the work like millionaires; while it was observable that, notwithstanding the doubt previously thrown upon their credit, no one declined to bet with these gentlemen, even Colonel Tartar booking more than one transaction of the kind. The steeplechase lottery came last. It was the only one to which Yorke subscribed, and as there were fifty lots and only six horses, it was not surprising that he drew a blank. In the auction which followed the drawing. Scurry's horse was clearly declared the favourite, being bought in by the owner for thirty gold mohurs, while Lunge's fetched only fifteen; the confederates' mare was purchased by her owners for ten, and Yorke's horse by Colonel Tartar for five. "Can't do much harm by losing twenty chicks," observed the colonel, in Anglo-Indian argot, as the lot was knocked down to him; "and after all, there is a good deal of uncertainty about steeple-chasing."