About the beginning of May, and just before the final exodus1 of Hill-goers, when the weather was very hot and there were not more than twenty people in the Station, Saumarez gave a moonlight riding-picnic at an old tomb, six miles away, near the bed of the river. It was a “Noah's Ark” picnic; and there was to be the usual arrangement of quarter-mile intervals2 between each couple, on account of the dust. Six couples came altogether, including chaperons. Moonlight picnics are useful just at the very end of the season, before all the girls go away to the Hills. They lead to understandings, and should be encouraged by chaperones; especially those whose girls look sweetish in riding habits. I knew a case once. But that is another story. That picnic was called the “Great Pop Picnic,” because every one knew Saumarez would propose then to the eldest4 Miss Copleigh; and, beside his affair, there was another which might possibly come to happiness. The social atmosphere was heavily charged and wanted clearing.
We met at the parade-ground at ten: the night was fearfully hot. The horses sweated even at walking-pace, but anything was better than sitting still in our own dark houses. When we moved off under the full moon we were four couples, one triplet, and Mr. Saumarez rode with the Copleigh girls, and I loitered at the tail of the procession, wondering with whom Saumarez would ride home. Every one was happy and contented5; but we all felt that things were going to happen. We rode slowly: and it was nearly midnight before we reached the old tomb, facing the ruined tank, in the decayed gardens where we were going to eat and drink. I was late in coming up; and before I went into the garden, I saw that the horizon to the north carried a faint, dun-colored feather. But no one would have thanked me for spoiling so well-managed an entertainment as this picnic—and a dust-storm, more or less, does no great harm.
We gathered by the tank. Some one had brought out a banjo—which is a most sentimental6 instrument—and three or four of us sang. You must not laugh at this. Our amusements in out-of-the-way Stations are very few indeed. Then we talked in groups or together, lying under the trees, with the sun-baked roses dropping their petals7 on our feet, until supper was ready. It was a beautiful supper, as cold and as iced as you could wish; and we stayed long over it.
I had felt that the air was growing hotter and hotter; but nobody seemed to notice it until the moon went out and a burning hot wind began lashing8 the orange-trees with a sound like the noise of the sea. Before we knew where we were, the dust-storm was on us, and everything was roaring, whirling darkness. The supper-table was blown bodily into the tank. We were afraid of staying anywhere near the old tomb for fear it might be blown down. So we felt our way to the orange-trees where the horses were picketed9 and waited for the storm to blow over. Then the little light that was left vanished, and you could not see your hand before your face. The air was heavy with dust and sand from the bed of the river, that filled boots and pockets and drifted down necks and coated eyebrows10 and moustaches. It was one of the worst dust-storms of the year. We were all huddled11 together close to the trembling horses, with the thunder clattering12 overhead, and the lightning spurting13 like water from a sluice14, all ways at once. There was no danger, of course, unless the horses broke loose. I was standing3 with my head downward and my hands over my mouth, hearing the trees thrashing each other. I could not see who was next me till the flashes came. Then I found that I was packed near Saumarez and the eldest Miss Copleigh, with my own horse just in front of me. I recognized the eldest Miss Copleigh, because she had a pagri round her helmet, and the younger had not. All the electricity in the air had gone into my body and I was quivering and tingling15 from head to foot—exactly as a corn shoots and tingles17 before rain. It was a grand storm. The wind seemed to be picking up the earth and pitching it to leeward18 in great heaps; and the heat beat up from the ground like the heat of the Day of Judgment19.
The storm lulled20 slightly after the first half-hour, and I heard a despairing little voice close to my ear, saying to itself, quietly and softly, as if some lost soul were flying about with the wind: “O my God!” Then the younger Miss Copleigh stumbled into my arms, saying: “Where is my horse? Get my horse. I want to go home. I WANT to go home. Take me home.”
I thought that the lightning and the black darkness had frightened her; so I said there was no danger, but she must wait till the storm blew over. She answered: “It is not THAT! It is not THAT! I want to go home! O take me away from here!”
I said that she could not go till the light came; but I felt her brush past me and go away. It was too dark to see where. Then the whole sky was split open with one tremendous flash, as if the end of the world were coming, and all the women shrieked22.
Almost directly after this, I felt a man's hand on my shoulder and heard Saumarez bellowing23 in my ear. Through the rattling24 of the trees and howling of the wind, I did not catch his words at once, but at last I heard him say: “I've proposed to the wrong one! What shall I do?” Saumarez had no occasion to make this confidence to me. I was never a friend of his, nor am I now; but I fancy neither of us were ourselves just then. He was shaking as he stood with excitement, and I was feeling queer all over with the electricity. I could not think of anything to say except:—“More fool you for proposing in a dust-storm.” But I did not see how that would improve the mistake.
Then he shouted: “Where's Edith—Edith Copleigh?” Edith was the youngest sister. I answered out of my astonishment:—“What do you want with HER?” Would you believe it, for the next two minutes, he and I were shouting at each other like maniacs—he vowing25 that it was the youngest sister he had meant to propose to all along, and I telling him till my throat was hoarse26 that he must have made a mistake! I can't account for this except, again, by the fact that we were neither of us ourselves. Everything seemed to me like a bad dream—from the stamping of the horses in the darkness to Saumarez telling me the story of his loving Edith Copleigh since the first. He was still clawing my shoulder and begging me to tell him where Edith Copleigh was, when another lull21 came and brought light with it, and we saw the dust-cloud forming on the plain in front of us. So we knew the worst was over. The moon was low down, and there was just the glimmer27 of the false dawn that comes about an hour before the real one. But the light was very faint, and the dun cloud roared like a bull. I wondered where Edith Copleigh had gone; and as I was wondering I saw three things together: First Maud Copleigh's face come smiling out of the darkness and move towards Saumarez, who was standing by me. I heard the girl whisper, “George,” and slide her arm through the arm that was not clawing my shoulder, and I saw that look on her face which only comes once or twice in a lifetime-when a woman is perfectly28 happy and the air is full of trumpets29 and gorgeous-colored fire and the Earth turns into cloud because she loves and is loved. At the same time, I saw Saumarez's face as he heard Maud Copleigh's voice, and fifty yards away from the clump30 of orange-trees I saw a brown holland habit getting upon a horse.
It must have been my state of over-excitement that made me so quick to meddle31 with what did not concern me. Saumarez was moving off to the habit; but I pushed him back and said:—“Stop here and explain. I'll fetch her back!” and I ran out to get at my own horse. I had a perfectly unnecessary notion that everything must be done decently and in order, and that Saumarez's first care was to wipe the happy look out of Maud Copleigh's face. All the time I was linking up the curb-chain I wondered how he would do it.
I cantered after Edith Copleigh, thinking to bring her back slowly on some pretence32 or another. But she galloped33 away as soon as she saw me, and I was forced to ride after her in earnest. She called back over her shoulder—“Go away! I'm going home. Oh, go away!” two or three times; but my business was to catch her first, and argue later. The ride just fitted in with the rest of the evil dream. The ground was very bad, and now and again we rushed through the whirling, choking “dust-devils” in the skirts of the flying storm. There was a burning hot wind blowing that brought up a stench of stale brick-kilns with it; and through the half light and through the dust-devils, across that desolate34 plain, flickered35 the brown holland habit on the gray horse. She headed for the Station at first. Then she wheeled round and set off for the river through beds of burnt down jungle-grass, bad even to ride a pig over. In cold blood I should never have dreamed of going over such a country at night, but it seemed quite right and natural with the lightning crackling overhead, and a reek36 like the smell of the Pit in my nostrils37. I rode and shouted, and she bent38 forward and lashed39 her horse, and the aftermath of the dust-storm came up and caught us both, and drove us downwind like pieces of paper.
I don't know how far we rode; but the drumming of the horse-hoofs and the roar of the wind and the race of the faint blood-red moon through the yellow mist seemed to have gone on for years and years, and I was literally40 drenched41 with sweat from my helmet to my gaiters when the gray stumbled, recovered himself, and pulled up dead lame42. My brute43 was used up altogether. Edith Copleigh was in a sad state, plastered with dust, her helmet off, and crying bitterly. “Why can't you let me alone?” she said. “I only wanted to get away and go home. Oh, PLEASE let me go!”
“You have got to come back with me, Miss Copleigh. Saumarez has something to say to you.”
It was a foolish way of putting it; but I hardly knew Miss Copleigh; and, though I was playing Providence44 at the cost of my horse, I could not tell her in as many words what Saumarez had told me. I thought he could do that better himself. All her pretence about being tired and wanting to go home broke down, and she rocked herself to and fro in the saddle as she sobbed45, and the hot wind blew her black hair to leeward. I am not going to repeat what she said, because she was utterly46 unstrung.
This, if you please, was the cynical47 Miss Copleigh. Here was I, almost an utter stranger to her, trying to tell her that Saumarez loved her and she was to come back to hear him say so! I believe I made myself understood, for she gathered the gray together and made him hobble somehow, and we set off for the tomb, while the storm went thundering down to Umballa and a few big drops of warm rain fell. I found out that she had been standing close to Saumarez when he proposed to her sister and had wanted to go home and cry in peace, as an English girl should. She dabbled48 her eyes with her pocket-handkerchief as we went along, and babbled49 to me out of sheer lightness of heart and hysteria. That was perfectly unnatural50; and yet, it seemed all right at the time and in the place. All the world was only the two Copleigh girls, Saumarez and I, ringed in with the lightning and the dark; and the guidance of this misguided world seemed to lie in my hands.
When we returned to the tomb in the deep, dead stillness that followed the storm, the dawn was just breaking and nobody had gone away. They were waiting for our return. Saumarez most of all. His face was white and drawn51. As Miss Copleigh and I limped up, he came forward to meet us, and, when he helped her down from her saddle, he kissed her before all the picnic. It was like a scene in a theatre, and the likeness52 was heightened by all the dust-white, ghostly-looking men and women under the orange-trees, clapping their hands, as if they were watching a play—at Saumarez's choice. I never knew anything so un-English in my life.
Lastly, Saumarez said we must all go home or the Station would come out to look for us, and WOULD I be good enough to ride home with Maud Copleigh? Nothing would give me greater pleasure, I said.
So, we formed up, six couples in all, and went back two by two; Saumarez walking at the side of Edith Copleigh, who was riding his horse.
The air was cleared; and little by little, as the sun rose, I felt we were all dropping back again into ordinary men and women and that the “Great Pop Picnic” was a thing altogether apart and out of the world—never to happen again. It had gone with the dust-storm and the tingle16 in the hot air.
I felt tired and limp, and a good deal ashamed of myself as I went in for a bath and some sleep.
There is a woman's version of this story, but it will never be written.... unless Maud Copleigh cares to try.
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1
exodus
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| v.大批离去，成群外出 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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4
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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5
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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8
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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picketed
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| 用尖桩围住（picket的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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11
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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12
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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13
spurting
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的现在分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺； 溅射 | |
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14
sluice
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| n.水闸 | |
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15
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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17
tingles
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| n.刺痛感( tingle的名词复数 )v.有刺痛感( tingle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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18
leeward
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| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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20
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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22
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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24
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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25
vowing
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的现在分词形式） | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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27
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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29
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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30
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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31
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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32
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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34
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reek
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| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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38
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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39
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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40
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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41
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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42
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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43
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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44
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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45
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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46
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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47
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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48
dabbled
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| v.涉猎( dabble的过去式和过去分词 )；涉足；浅尝；少量投资 | |
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49
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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50
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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51
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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52
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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