Cupid in Africa Part 2

An uncomfortable five minutes followed. Bertram, longing with all his soul to say something correct, natural, and pleasant, could only stand dumb and unhappy, while the perspiration trickled; the Havildar stood stiffly at attention and wondered whether the Sahib were as old as his son, Private Mahommed Afzul Khan, new recruit of the One Hundred and Ninety-Ninth; and the Guard, though dismissed, stood motionless in solemn row beside the bench (on which they would sit as soon as the Sahib turned his back), and, being Indian Sepoys, emptied their minds of all thought, fixed their unseeing gaze upon Immensity and the Transcendental Nothingness-of-Non-existent-Non-ent.i.ty-in-Oblivion, and tried to look virtuous.

Returning and saluting, the young Sepoy wheeled about and plodded heavily down the road, walking as though each hob-nailed boat weighed a ton. But pride must suffer pain, and not for worlds would this young man (who had, until a few months ago, never worn anything heavier than a straw-plaited sandal as he "skipped like a young ram" about his native hill-tops) have been without these tokens of wealth and dignity. What he would have liked, had the Authorities been less touchy about it, would have been to wear them slung about his neck, plain for all to admire, and causing their owner no inconvenience.

Following his guide through the lines of mud huts, saluted every few yards by pa.s.sing Sepoys and by groups who sat about doorways and scrambled to their feet as he pa.s.sed, Bertram found himself in a broad sandy road, lined by large stone European bungalows, which ran at right-angles across the ends of the Sepoys' lines. Each bungalow stood in a large compound, had a big lawn and flower-gardens in front of it, and was embowered in palm-trees. Turning into the garden of the largest of these, the young Sepoy pointed to the big house, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed: "Arfeecers' Mess, Sahib," saluted, performed a meticulously careful "about turn," the while his lips moved as though he were silently giving himself the necessary orders for each movement, and solemnly marched away.

A pair of large old-fas.h.i.+oned cannon and a white flagstaff gave the place an important and official appearance. Beyond the big porch stretched to left and right a broad and deep verandah, in the shady recesses of which Bertram could see a row of chairs wherein lay khaki-clad figures, their feet, raised upon the long leg-rests, presented unitedly and unanimously towards him. Indeed, as he advanced with beating heart and sense of shy discomfort, all that he could see of the half-dozen gentlemen was one dozen boot-soles backed by a blur of khaki. Up to the time he had reached the flight of steps, leading up from the drive to the verandah, no one had moved. Mounting the steps, and coming to the level of the rec.u.mbent figures, ranged along the rear wall of the verandah and on each side of an open door, the unhappy Bertram, from this new standpoint, saw that the face of each officer was hidden behind a newspaper or a magazine. . . . Profound silence reigned as he regarded the twelve boot-soles, each crossed by a spur-chain, and the six newspapers.

Another embarra.s.sing and discomfortable situation. What should he do?

Should he cough-as the native does when he wishes to attract your attention, or to re-affirm his forgotten presence? It seemed a rather feeble and ba.n.a.l idea. Should he pretend he had not seen the six stalwart men lying there in front of his nose, and shout: "_Qui hai_!" as one does to call an invisible servant? And suppose none of them moved, and a Mess servant came-he had no card to send in. He couldn't very well tell the man to announce in stentorian voice and the manner of a herald: "Behold! Second-Lieutenant Bertram Greene, of the Indian Army Reserve, standeth on the threshold!" And supposing the man did precisely this and _still_ n.o.body moved, _what_ a superlative a.s.s the said Second-Lieutenant Bertram Greene would feel! . . . But could he feel a bigger a.s.s than he did already-standing there in awkward silence beneath the stony regard, or disregard, of the twelve contemptuous boot-soles? . . .

Should he walk along the row of them, giving each alternate foot a heavy blow? That would make them look up all right. . . . Or should he seize a couple of them and operate them in the manner of the young lady in the Railway Refreshment Rooms or the Village Inn, as she manipulates the handles of the beer-engine? The owners of the two he grabbed and pulled would come from behind their papers fast enough. . . . Bertram moved, and his sword clanked sharply against a pillar. None of the readers had looked up at the sound of footsteps-they were resting from the labours of breakfast, and footsteps, as such, are of no interest. But, strange to say, at the sound of a sword clanking, they moved as one man; six papers were lowered and six pairs of eyes stared at the unhappy Bertram. After three seconds of penetrating scrutiny, the six papers rose again as one, as though at the sound of the ancient and useful military order, "_As you were_."

Major Fordinghame beheld a very good-looking boy, who appeared to be taking his new sword and revolver for a walk in the nice suns.h.i.+ne and giving the public a treat. He'd hardly be calling on the Mess dressed up in lethal weapons. Probably wanted the Adjutant or somebody. He was quite welcome to 'em. . . . These "planter" cheroots were extraordinarily good at the price. . . . Lieutenant and Quartermaster Macteith wondered who the devil _this_ was. Why did he stick there like a stuck pig and a dying cod-fish? Still-if he wanted to stick, let him stick, by all means. Free country. . . . Captain Brylle only vaguely realised that he was staring hard at some bloke or other-he was bringing all the great resources of his brain to bear upon a joke in the pink paper he affected. It was so deep, dark and subtle a joke that he had not yet "got" it. Bloke on the door-mat. What of it? . . . Captain Tavner had received a good fat cheque that morning; he was going on ten days' leave to-morrow; he had done for to-day; and he had had a bottle of beer for breakfast. _He_ didn't mind if there were a rhinoceros on the doorstep. Doubtless someone would take it into the Mess and give it a drink. . . . Cove had got his sword on-or was it two swords? Didn't matter to him, anyway. . . .

Captain Melhuish idly speculated as to whether the chap would be "calling" at so early an hour of the morning. It was the Mess President's business, anyhow. . . . Why the sword and revolver? And mentally murmuring: "Enter-one in armour," Captain Melhuish, the _doyen_ of the famous Madrutta Amateur Dramatic Society, returned to his perusal of _The Era_. . . Lieutenant Bludyer didn't give a d.a.m.n, anyhow. . . .

And so none of these gentlemen, any one of whom would have arisen, had he been sitting there alone, and welcomed Bertram hospitably, felt it inc.u.mbent upon him to move, and the situation resumed what Bertram privately termed its formerness.

Just as he had decided to go to the nearest reader and flatly request him to arise and direct him to the Colonel, another officer came rus.h.i.+ng from the room whose open doorway faced the porch. In his mouth was a quill pen, and in his hands were papers.

"Lazy perishers!" he remarked as he saw the others, and added: "Come along, young Macteith," and was turning to hurry down the verandah when Bertram stepped forward.

"Excuse me," he said, "d'you think I could see the Colonel? I have been ordered to report to this regiment."

"You _could_ see the Colonel," replied this officer, "but I shouldn't, if I were you. I'd see the Adjutant. Much pleasanter sight. I'm the Adjutant. Come along to my office," and he led the way down the verandah, across a big whitewashed room, simply furnished with a table, a chair, and a punkah, to a smaller room, furnished with two of each of the above-mentioned articles.

Dropping the pen and papers upon the table, the Adjutant wheeled round upon Bertram, and, transfixing him with a cold grey eye, said, in hollow voice and tragic tones:

"Do not trifle with me, Unhappy Boy! Say those blessed words again-or at once declare them false. . . . _Did_ I hear you state that you have been ordered to join this corps-or did I not?"

"You did, sir," smiled Bertram.

"Shake," replied the Adjutant. "G.o.d bless you, gentle child. For two d.a.m.ns, I'd fall on your neck. I love you. Tell me your honoured name and I'll send for my will. . . ."

"I'm glad I'm welcome," said the puzzled and astonished Bertram; "but I'm afraid I shan't be very useful. I am absolutely ignorant-you see, I've not been a soldier for twenty-four hours yet. . . . Here's the telegram I got yesterday," and he produced that doc.u.ment.

"Good youth," replied Captain Murray. "I don't give a tinker's curse if you're deaf, dumb, blind and silly. You are my deliverer. I love you more and more. I've been awaiting you with beating heart-lying awake for you, listening for your footprints. Now you come-_I_ go."

"What-to the Front?" said Bertram.

"You've guessed it in once, fair youth. East Africa for little Jock Murray. We are sending a draft of a hundred men to our link battalion there-awfully knocked about they've been-and I have it, straight from the stable, that I'm the lad that takes them. . . . They go in a day or two.

. . . I was getting a bit anxious, I can tell you-but my pal in the Brigade Office said they were certain to send a Reserve man here and relieve me. . . . Colonel _will_ be pleased-he never _says_ anything but '_H'm_!' but he'll bite your ear if you don't dodge."

"I suppose he'll simply hate losing an experienced officer and getting me," said Bertram, apprehensively.

"He'll make himself perfectly miserable," was the reply, "but nothing to what he'll make you. I'm the Adjutant, you see, and there'll be a bit of a muddle until my successor has picked up all the threads, and a bit of extra bother for the Colonel. . . . Young Macteith'll have to take it on, I expect. . . . He'll bite your other ear for that. . ." and Murray executed a few simple steps of the _can-can_, in the joy of his heart that the chance of his life had come. No one but himself knew the agonies of mind that he had suffered, as he lay awake at night realising that the war might he a short one, time was rus.h.i.+ng on, and hundreds of thousands of men had gone to fight-while he still sat in an office and played C.O.'s lightning conductor. A usually undemonstrative Scot, he was slightly excited and uplifted by this splendid turn of Fortune's wheel. Falling into a chair, he read the telegram:

_To Second-Lieutenant Bertram Greene_, _A.A.A._

_You have been appointed to Indian Army Reserve of Officers with rank of Second-Lieutenant_, _and are ordered to report forthwith to O.C. One Hundred and Ninety-Ninth Regiment_, _Madrutta_. _A.A.A._ _Military Secretary_.

"Any relation to Major Walsingham Greene?" enquired Murray.

"Son," replied Bertram, "and nephew of General Walsingham."

"Not your fault, of course," observed Murray. "Best to make a clean breast of these things, though. . . . Had any sort of military training?" he added.

"Absolutely none whatever. Soon after war broke out I felt I was a disgrace to my family-they are all soldiers-and I thought of going home and enlisting. . . . Then I thought it was a pity if nearly twenty years of expensive education had fitted me for nothing more useful than what any labourer or stable-boy can do-and I realised that I'm hardly strong enough to be of much good in the trenches during a Belgian winter-I've been there-so I wrote to my father and my uncle and told them I'd like to get into the Indian Army Reserve of Officers. I thought I might soon learn enough to be able to set free a better man, and, in time, I might possibly be of some good-and perhaps go to the Frontier or something. . . ."

"Goo' _boy_," said the merry Murray. "I could strain you to my bosom."

"Then I received some papers from the Military Secretary, filled them up, and returned them with a medical certificate. I bought some kit and ordered a uniform, and studied the drill-book night and day. . . . I got that wire yesterday-and here I am."

"I love you, Bertram," repeated the Adjutant.

"I feel a dreadful fraud, though," continued the boy, "and I am afraid my uncle, General Walsingham, thinks I am 'one of the Greenes' in every way, whereas I'm a most degenerate and unworthy member of the clan. Commonly called 'Cupid' and 'Blameless Bertram,' laughed at . . . . Really he is my father's cousin-but I've always called him 'Uncle,'" he added ingenuously.

"Well-sit you there awhile and I'll be free in a bit. Then I'll take you round the Lines and put you up to a few things. . . ."

"I should be most grateful," replied Bertram.

Macteith entered and sat him down at the other desk, and for half an hour there was a _va et vient_ of orderlies, clerks, Sepoys and messengers, with much ringing of the telephone bell.

When he had finished his work, Murray kept his promise, gave Bertram good advice and useful information, and, before tiffin, introduced him to the other officers-who treated him with cordial friendliness. The Colonel did not appear at lunch, but Bertram's satisfaction at the postponement of his interview was somewhat marred by a feeling that Lieutenant Macteith eyed him malevolently and regarded his advent with disapproval.

CHAPTER II _And is Ordered to East Africa_

That afternoon the Adjutant very good-naturedly devoted to a.s.sisting Bertram to remedy his utter nakedness and ashamedness in the matter of necessary campaigning kit. Taking him in his dog-cart to the great Madrutta Emporium, he showed him what to buy, and, still better, what not to buy, that he might be fully equipped, armed and well prepared, as a self-supporting and self-dependent unit, provided with all he needed and nothing he did not need, that he might go with equal mind wheresoever Fate-or the Military Secretary-might suddenly send him.

After all, it was not very much-a very collapsible camp-bed of green canvas, hardwood and steel; a collapsible canvas washstand to match; a collapsible canvas bath (which was destined to endanger the blamelessness of Blameless Bertram's language by providing more collapses than baths); a canteen of cooking utensils; a green canvas valise which contained bedding, and professed to be in itself a warm and happy home from home, even upon the cold hard ground; and a sack of similar material, provided with a padlock, and suitable as a receptacle for such odds and ends of clothing and kit as you might choose to throw in it.

"Got to remember that, if you go on active service, your stuff may have to be carried by coolies," said the Adjutant. "About forty pounds to a man. No good trying to make one big package of your kit. Say, one sack of spare clothing and things; one bundle of your bed, bath, and was.h.i.+ng kit; and the strapped-up valise and bedding. If you had to abandon one of the three, you'd let the camp-bed, bath and wash-stand go, and hang on to the sleeping-valise and sack of underclothes, socks, boots, spare uniform and sundries," and much other good advice.

To festoon about Cupid's person, in addition to his sword, revolver, water-bottle and haversack, he selected a suitable compa.s.s, map-case, field-gla.s.ses, ammunition-pouch, whistle and lanyards, since his earnest and anxious protege desired to be fitted out fully and properly for manuvres, and as though for actual active service.

a.s.surance being received that his purchases would be forthwith dispatched to the Adjutant's bungalow, Bertram drove back to the Mess with that kindly officer, and gratefully accepted his invitation to dine with him, that night, at the famous Madrutta Club.

"What about kit, though?" enquired Bertram. "I've only got what I stand up in. I left all my-"

"That's all right," was the reply. "Everybody's in khaki, now we're mobilised-except the miserable civilians," he added with a grin, whereat Bertram, the belted man of blood, blushed and smiled.

At dinner Bertram sat respectfully silent, collecting the pearls of wisdom that fell from the lips of his seniors, fellow-guests of the Adjutant. And his demeanour was of a gravity weighty and serious even beyond his wont, for was he not now a soldier among soldiers, a uniformed, commissioned, employed officer of His Majesty the King Emperor, and attached to a famous fighting regiment? Yes-a King's Officer, and one who might conceivably be called upon to fight, and perhaps to die, for his country and for those simple Principles for which his country stood.

He was a little sorry when some of his bemedalled fellow-guests joked on solemn and sacred subjects, and spoke a little slightingly of persons and principles venerable to him; but he comforted and consoled himself with the recollection and reflection that this type of man so loathed any display, or even mention, of sentiment and feeling, that it went to the opposite extreme, and spoke lightly of things weighty, talked ribaldly of dignitaries, and gave a quite wrong impression as to its burning earnestness and enthusiasm.

After dinner, when the party broke up for bridge, billiards or the bar, he sat on, listening with all his ears to the conversation of the Adjutant and an officer, who seemed exceedingly well informed on the subject of the battle of Tanga, in German East Africa, concerning which the general public knew nothing at all.