The Great Amulet

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Into one of these openings three out of the five tongas finally clattered
and stood still; and a familiar brogue gave them greeting from the
verandah.

"Praise the Powers, ye've got here at last! We'd begun to think you
might be setting up house on a sandbank for the night!"

"We've had our fill of 'em without that, Frank," Desmond answered as he
sprang from his seat.

For the voice was the voice of Mrs Olliver, a rough-cut Irishwoman, whose
short reddish curls, and masculinity of speech and manner, cloaked the
woman's heart that glowed deep down in her,--a jewel crusted with common
clay. Beside her stood Max Richardson, and Colonel Meredith--a big,
broad-shouldered man, extraordinarily like his sister in face and
temperament--who cleared the steps like any subaltern, lifted Honor out
of the tonga, and kissed her on both cheeks.

"You've no earthly business to be here, you know," he reprimanded her by
way of greeting. "I'll tell Theo what I think of him, when I get him
alone!"

"No, please, John, you mustn't," she entreated in a low tone. "He did
his best to prevent me. But I meant to come . . . and I came!"

"I thought as much, when I got his wire!" Then, still keeping hold of
her, he shook hands with Desmond. "Mighty glad to get you back, Theo:
and to see you looking so fit. You'll find your work cut out, I promise
you."

"So much the better. Any cases?"

"Not yet, thank God. We must steer clear of camp, if the thing can be
done. But the fever's bad enough. They're dropping like flies in the
city, poor devils. Our hospital's crammed; and two 'subs' on the
sick-list at well as Wyndham. He's going on all right now; but goodness
knows when he'll be fit for duty."

"I want to see Mackay about getting him over here as soon as possible.
May I borrow Suliman, and ride round at once?"

"When you've got outside a fair allowance of tea and sandwiches. Not a
minute sooner!"

"Tea? Rather not. But I'd sell my immortal soul for an iced peg!"

While they talked, Max Richardson had led his friend into the lofty
shadowed drawing-room, that, in spite of a thermometer at 96 degrees,
struck cool as a grotto after the furnace without: and Frank Olliver,
consigning Honor to the largest arm-chair, herself presided at the tray;
apologising, in characteristic fashion, for having temporarily 'taken
over charge.'

"But bossing the show's one of me few talents; an' I'm not for wrapping
it in a napkin. Geoff swears I took over charge of creation before I'd
cut me first tooth! Any way it struck me that perhaps in the hustle of
starting you'd not thought of sending full instructions; so I just came
over this morning, and made free with your linen cupboard, an' your
bazaar account. For I know how it feels to come back to a dead house at
this time of year.--Lord, there's that Theo man off again; incarnate
whirlwind that he is! He'll get Major Wyndham over here to-morrow, sure
as fate; though the good man refused _my_ pressing invitation a week ago.
And 'tis the first time one o' me own brother officers has denied me the
only kind o' Woman's Rights this child's ever likely to clamour for!"

"Hear, hear, Mrs Olliver!" Meredith and Richardson applauded her, as she
held out both hands for their tea-cups; and Lenox smiled amused approval
from the depths of his chair.

When Desmond returned an hour later, he found Lenox's luggage in the
verandah, awaiting removal, and Lenox himself sitting alone in the
drawing-room with Brutus and his pipe. It rested on his knee, held in
place by the finger-tips emerging from his sling; and as Desmond entered
he was scientifically pressing its contents into place with the ball of
his thumb.

Impulsively the other hurried forward, and laid an arresting hand on his
arm.

"Not that again, surely, old chap," he said, a note of anxiety in his
voice. "Do you quite realise how many times you have filled it in the
last thirty-six hours?"

Lenox's fingers closed like a vice upon his treasure.

"Can't say I've troubled to keep count," he answered in a hard voice.
"And I'm damned if I can see what right you have to take me to task about
it."

"Not a shadow of right," Desmond owned frankly, "Except that I care
immensely what comes to you, and to that plucky wife of yours who has
honoured me with her friendship; and whom I am hoping to welcome here--as
Mrs Lenox before many months are out."

The shot took affect. With a listless movement Lenox let his fingers
fall apart, and the pipe rolled on to the rug at his feet. Here Brutus
lazily investigated it as a possible treasure trove; and after a puzzled
sniff or two lifted inquiring ears to his master, who was looking
absently in another direction.

Then Desmond stooped, and picked it up.

"Will you let me empty it, and fill it from my own pouch?" he asked
quietly: and Lenox gave silent assent.

"No doubt I seem to you a contemptible brute enough," he added bitterly,
while the transfer of tobaccos was in progress. "And no doubt you're not
far wrong either. But if you could get inside my head for a few hours,
you might possibly understand."

"My dear Lenox, it is just because I understand that I'm keen to do what
little I can for you, even at the risk of being damned for officiousness!
If your head's giving you trouble, why not take a genuine dose of the
stuff last thing; and get a night of solid rest before you start work?
That seems to me safer than trifling with poison in the form of tobacco.
You know yourself you'd make a square stand against the naked drug. It's
the little 'nips,' the small capitulations, that do the damage in the
long-run."

He held out the pipe: and Lenox, clenching his teeth upon it, proceeded
to set it alight.

"Say what you please about things in future, Desmond."

He spoke without removing his eyes from the match he was manipulating.
"I swear I won't take it amiss again." Then he rose abruptly. "But I
must be off now. I only waited to see you, and--thank you before
leaving. You've the knack of putting fresh heart into a fellow when he
feels played out."

Desmond eyed the man thoughtfully for a second before replying. Every
line of him proclaimed utter weariness of soul and body.

"Anything ready for you over there?" said he.

"Not that I know of. But Zyarulla will shake things down in no time."

"All the same, as your luggage is handy, why not stop on here? You'd be
uncommonly welcome; and I know Honor would be glad to keep an eye on you
for a while longer."

The invitation, given on the spur of the moment, took Lenox aback.

"But, my good chap, . . . you've got Wyndham coming over."

"Yes. Thank God. To-morrow or next day. No distaste for Paul's
company, have you?"

Lenox smiled, and shook his head.

"Hang it all, Desmond, you know what I mean. You and your wife have done
too much for me already. There _are_ limits to a man's capacity for
sponging on other folks' generosity."

"Well, if that's your only objection, we'll consider the matter settled!
Wyndham goes into my dressing-room; so the boy's nursery is at your
service. My wife is never so happy as when she has her hands full; and
it'll be less trying for you here, than in your own empty bungalow."

The last words flashed a suspicion into Lenox's mind.

"Look here, man," he broke out hotly, his eyes searching Desmond's face.
"Isn't it you yourself who would be glad to keep an eye on me? You're
half afraid I shall knock under to this infernal thing if I'm too much
alone. Is that it?"

Desmond met question and glance four-square.

"You gave me leave just now not to mince matters, and I take you at your
word," said he. "To acknowledge that living alone may make the fight
harder for you is no reflection on your powers of resistance. It is
simple fact; and no earthly good can come of disregarding it. In your
case discretion is the better part of valour.--Now, will you be
reasonable, and accept my suggestion in the spirit in which it was made?"

He held out his hand. Lenox grasped, and wrung it hard.

"Thanks, old chap," he said. "I'll stay for the present. There's no
withstanding you two."

That night he excused himself from mess: and long after the house and
compound had fallen asleep, he and Desmond sat together in the _dufta_,
with pipes and pegs, and softly snoring dogs at their feet, talking
intermittently of all things in earth and heaven, with the rare unreserve
bred of tobacco, and the communicative influence of midnight. Talk of
this kind draws men very close together; and in the course of it Lenox
discovered--as others had done before him--that this man who had become
so intimately linked with the vital issues of his life was no mere good
comrade, but a dynamic force, challenging and evoking the manhood of his
friends.

When they parted Lenox felt more hopeful than he had done since the
arrival of Quita's note; and honest sleep hung heavy on his eyelids.

"Don't believe you need the dose we spoke of after all," Desmond remarked
on a note of satisfaction.

"Not a bit of it. Thanks to you, I believe I shall sleep like a top."

Nor was he disappointed.

For the first time in fifty-six hours he took his fill of natural
dreamless sleep: and, on waking next morning, the first sight that
greeted him was a letter from Dalhousie, propped against the milk-jug on
his early tea tray.

[1] Duster.

[2] It is an order--you understand!

CHAPTER XIX.

"And methought that beauty and terror were only one, not two;
And the world has room for love and death, and thunder and dew;
And all the sinews of Hell slumber in summer air;
And the face of God is a rock; but the face of the rock is fair."
--R.L.S.

That same evening after sunset, a hospital doolie was set down in the
verandah, and from it emerged Paul Wyndham--a long lean figure of a
man, whose most notable features were deep steadfast eyes, neither blue
nor grey; a mouth of extraordinary gentleness and capacity for
endurance; and the grave quietness of movement and speech, that may
mean power in perfect equilibrium or mere dulness.

Desmond and Honor welcomed him with unconcealed affection; and for
himself, his descent into the Valley of the Shadow seemed a small price
to pay for a convalescence cheered by the ministrations of these two,
than whom there were none dearer to him on earth. Of the unalterable
nature of his feeling for Honor, both husband and wife were well aware;
though no word of it ever passed their lips. They were aware, also,
that the love of a man like Paul Wyndham was a thing apart; implying
neither disloyalty to his friend, nor the remotest danger to any of the
three concerned. Conditions inconceivable to the pedestrian order of
mind.

Too weak to fret against enforced inaction at a time of stress, Wyndham
passed his days between sleeping and waking and eating; between rare
talks with Lenox and Desmond, and the restfulness diffused through
heart and brain and body by Honor's constant presence at his bedside.
She had amply fulfilled the promise given him more than four years ago
of close and privileged friendship; and he counted himself more blest
in its possession than many a man who wins the entire woman, to find
her no more than a plaster goddess after all.

Honor herself, apart from the natural woman's pleasure in nursing an
appreciative patient, was thankful for a definite demand upon her time.
For Theo was seldom available now, except for an occasional
after-dinner drive, through darkness two degrees cooler than high noon;
and beneath her surface serenity she suffered keenly from the ache of
empty arms; from the completeness of separation involved in leaving a
child too young to span distance even by hieroglyphs, profusely
decorated with 'kisses,' such as she had seen women treasure in the
days of her young ignorance. Mrs Rivers wrote constantly and
copiously. But can the most unwearied pen set down all that a mother
craves to know about her child?

At the end of a week, Lenox was with them still. To his sole
suggestion of departure, Desmond had merely replied: "My dear man,
don't talk nonsense. When we've had enough of you, we'll let you know
it, without ceremony!" And Lenox, strangely loth to return to his
bachelor quarters, took him at his word, and stayed on.

Yet the two men saw little enough of one another. For on the Frontier
work means work: and when cholera hovers over the station like a bird
of prey, it is carried on with redoubled vigour. Only by constant
occupation can fear and fatalism be held at arm's-length. Only the
infectious mettle of the British officer can infuse into all ranks that
cheerful alertness which, at a time of epidemic, is the finest
safeguard in the world. There is much virtue, also, in mere routine,
one of the wingless good angels of earth; and only those who have
proved its power to drag broken heart or broken body through the things
that must be done, estimate it at its true value.

In Lenox's case, it helped to deaden the prick of anxiety as to the
future and the physical ache of longing; for as Commandant with two out
of four subalterns on the 'sick list,' he had his hands full; and
Desmond, the Colonel's chosen friend and ally in all regimental
matters, was in the same enviable condition. The more so, since he and
Meredith between them had anticipated the modern theory that the spread
of cholera or fever can be partially checked by a determined assault on
flies and mosquitoes, the great disease-breeders of the East; a
suggestion received at that time with a mild amusement, bordering on
scorn. But the two men, zealous for the credit and welfare of the
regiment--the Great Fetish 'that claims the lives of all and lives for
ever'--determined to give the new notion a fair trial in their own
Lines; and Desmond, as may be supposed, flung himself heart and soul
into the organisation of this very novel form of campaign! Plunged
neck-deep again in the work he loved, there seemed no limit to his
tireless energy; and from the Colonel downward, all were heartily glad
to get him back.

Even in an age given over to the marketable commodity, England can
still breed men of this calibre. Not perhaps in her cities, where
individual aspiration and character are cramped, warped, deadened by
the brute force of money, the complex mechanism of modern life: but in
unconsidered corners of her Empire, in the vast spaces and comparative
isolation, where old-fashioned patriotism takes the place of parochial
party politics, and where, alone, strong natures can grow up in their
own way.

It is to the Desmonds and Merediths of an earlier day that we are
indebted for the sturdy loyalty of our Punjab and Frontier troops, for
our hold upon the fighting races of the North. India may have been won
by the sword, but it has been held mainly by attributes of heart and
spirit; by individual strength of purpose, capacity for sympathy and
devotion to the interests of those we govern. When we fail in these,
and not till then, will power pass out of our hands.

That there was no such failure among the little band of Englishmen
throughout that inglorious campaign against an enemy one could never
have the satisfaction of thrashing in the open, the attitude of their
Native officers and men bore ample witness. Light-hearted
subalterns--whisked away from half-fledged love affairs, or the more
serious business of sport--might curse their luck with blasphemous
vigour; older men might grumble openly at extra parades, at the strain
of additional vigilance and discipline; but for all that, the work was
done,--thoroughly, and with a will; not within the station only, but
out there on the open plain, rolling in vast undulations to the naked
spurs of the Saliman range, where the sun smote through the canvas as
if it had been so much brown paper and the stricken regiment strove, by
constantly shifting ground, to shake off the pursuing horror that
steadily thinned its ranks. Here Colonel Stanham Buckley waked each
morning with the cold clutch of fear at his heart; fortified himself
with incessant 'nips' throughout the day; and left the bulk of the work
to a cheery little Adjutant, untroubled by the sorrowful great gift of
imagination. And here, as in the station, all officers were diligent
in visits to the hospital; heartening the sufferers by their presence,
and combating, as far as might be, the Oriental's fatalistic attitude
towards disease and death. Perhaps only those who have had close
dealings with the British officer in time of action or emergency
realise, to the full, the effective qualities hidden under a careless
or conventional exterior:--the vital force, the pluck, endurance, and
irrepressible spirit of enterprise, which--it has been aptly said--make
him, at his best, the most romantic figure of our modern time.

And while indefatigable soldiers fought the enemy in camp and in the
Lines, Dudley Norton, O.S.I., Deputy Commissioner, and ruler-in-chief
of the station, fought him no less energetically in the bazaar and
native city; an even more heart-breaking task. For here was no
disciplined body of men, but a swarm of prejudiced individuals, caring
nothing for infection, and everything for the sanctity of house and
caste. Precautions and sanitary measures had to be carried at the
point of the bayonet; and they were so carried. For Dudley Norton, no
novice at Frontier work, had long since made himself wholesomely feared
and respected throughout the Derajat; while, among the Maliks of his
district, his hawk-like eyes gleaming under heavy brows were accredited
with the power of watching a man's thoughts at their birth. A
reputation too useful to be discouraged!

Like all detached frontier civilians, he practically lived at the
station mess; except on fugitive occasions, when a placidly handsome
woman, bearing his name, vouchsafed him a flying visit from home; for
no other reason--said the evil-minded--than to establish a right-of-way
over her property. At these times Norton welcomed, and entertained his
wife with a scrupulous politeness and concern for her physical
well-being that was a tragedy in itself; and eventually 'saw her off'
at the nearest railway station with a sigh of relief. For, once--in a
former life, it seemed--he had been in love with her; and the ghost of
a dead passion is an ill companion at bed and board. At the present
moment, he had seen neither her nor his only son for more than five
years; and of the small daughter, whose coming had transfigured his
life, there remained only a cross in Kohat cemetery, and a faded photo
of the flagrantly unnatural type that prevailed in the late 'seventies.
But the man who gives his heart to the Indian Borderland must steel
himself to forgo much that, in the arrogance of youth, he has deemed
indispensable to happiness, or even to living at all.

Frontier service begets closer contact between soldier and civilian,
both in work and play, than cantonment life down country; most often to
the uprooting of prejudice on both sides; and Norton was one of the few
men in the station who had achieved comparative intimacy with Lenox.
Those formidable eyes of his had been quick to detect in the taciturn
Gunner, who had done so much, and had so little to say about it, a
coming 'political' of no mean quality, a man of ideas and ambitions,
for whom the great country of his service was something more than a
vast playground, or shooting-box; in effect, a man after his own heart.

Thus, finding Lenox established at the Desmonds, Norton called upon
them soon after Honor's arrival. He was rewarded by a standing
invitation to 'drop in' any afternoon, or evening that he happened to
be free, an invitation which Honor extended to most of the men who came
to bid her welcome; and tea at the Desmonds--with iced coffee or pegs
as alternatives, and smoking a matter of course--soon became a daily
institution; a respite, if only for an hour or two, from the monotony
of mess, parade-ground, and hospital.

"Awfully sporting of Mrs Desmond," was the verdict of grateful
subalterns, who found these tea-drinkings a vast improvement on stale
home papers, and half-hearted gambling at the Club. There was always
music. Honor, besides playing magnificently, could be safely relied
upon for impromptu accompaniments. The Chicken, and an irrepressible
Irishman of the Sikhs, who gloried in the name of O'Flanagan, were
indefatigable on the banjo, and in the construction of topical verses
to vary the programme. Hot-weather audiences are not hypercritical;
and in the red-hot circle of days and nights the mildest innovation is
welcome as a sail on a blank horizon.

Desmond himself was delighted with his wife's spontaneous contribution
to the good spirits of the station; and if the two had little quiet
time together, they had at least a satisfying sense of comradeship in
work; the strongest link that can be added to the strong chain of
marriage.

Frank Olliver, with her big smile, and infectious gaiety, looked in
most days, as a matter of course; till one of the two fever cases she
had managed to lay hands on took a serious turn, and an hour off duty
could only be secured when Honor insisted on relieving guard, and
sending Frank over to play hostess in her stead.

There was also little Mrs Peters, the only other wife in the station; a
square, shapeless cushion of a woman, who would rush in for a
breathless half-hour to pour tales of native cunning, and Eurasian
apathy into Desmond's sympathetic ears. Being both plump and
energetic, she suffered cruelly in the heat; mopped her face without
shame between her sentences; and, according to Frank Olliver, lived
chiefly on lime-squash, and a limitless admiration for her missionary
husband,--a large, ungainly man, with the manners of a shy schoolboy,
and the wrapt gaze of a seer; a man who, in an age of fanaticism, would
have walked smiling to the rack. As it was, he walked with no less
equanimity through the pestilential mazes of the city and bazaar. For
although in this age of tolerance run to seed, a man is not called upon
to die for his beliefs, he is occasionally called upon to live for
them; which is not necessarily the easier of the two. But up to his
lights Henry Peters achieved it. At all possible and impossible hours,
his unwieldy white umbrella, pith hat, and badly-cut drill suit
pervaded the dwellings of his scattered converts; while his wife, torn
between pride in him and mortal dread of infection, grieved in secret
over inadequate meals snatched at odd hours; and supplemented tremulous
prayers for his safety with lumps of camphor, screwed up in paper, and
slipped surreptitiously into the pockets of his coats.

Once or twice she dragged him in triumph to the Desmonds,--a reluctant
dishevelled hero,--and 'showed him off' to that little company of
well-groomed, kindly-natured soldiers, with a naive simplicity that
went to Honor's heart.

"Why is it that some of us have a special licence to be so exquisitely
natural?" she wondered, as she stood beside the tea-table, dispensing
iced coffee, and surveying, with satisfaction, a room full of
tobacco-smoke and contented men. "That's just how I feel tempted to
'show off' Theo, sometimes. And wouldn't the dear man crush me to
powder if I tried!"

She glanced approvingly at him where he sat astride on a reversed
chair, in dusty polo kit, reporting progress of the great 'fly
campaign' to Wyndham, who had been newly promoted to a deck-lounge in
the drawing-room at tea-time.

It was a larger gathering than usual; and, in spite of the fact that
for three days the thermometer had recorded a hundred and twenty in the
shade, spirits ran high. The subalterns--for whose exuberant fooling
Honor had a very tender tolerance--had 'chorussed' themselves hoarse
and thirsty; and were receiving the reward of the public-spirited out
of long misty tumblers, that fizzed and bubbled. Peters had forgotten
his shyness in a discussion with Norton on the vexed question of
cholera infection, and the probable futility of quarantine; while Mrs
Peters, listening anxiously, made inconsequent darts into the argument,
to her husband's obvious discomfiture, and Norton's equally obvious
amusement.

A group of men near Honor were talking of England, tormenting
themselves gratuitously by bare imagination of a feast. Captain Unwin
of the Sikhs was casually unfolding a plan to elude superfluous
creditors, and spend next summer 'at home.' His debts were phenomenal;
and it was six years since he had sighted the funnel of a steamer. He
expatiated yearningly on prospective delights. Cup Day at Ascot; a
July evening on the upper reaches of the Thames; a punt in a backwater;
a pipe and a cushion; just enough breeze to stir the willows; and, with
any luck, a pretty woman in the bows.

"Just a shade better than a sandbank on the Indus, eh?" he wound up
with a chuckle of enjoyment. "And I'll pull it through this time or
perish in the attempt! Lord . . . think of jingling down Piccadilly in
a hansom once again . . ."

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