Now I remember comrades —
Old playmates on new seas —
Whenas we traded orpiment
Ten thousand leagues to southward,
And thirty years removed —
They knew not noble Valdez,
But me they knew and loved.
Song of Diego Valdez.
Very early in the morning the white tents came down and disappeared as the Mavericks2 took a side-road to Umballa. It did not skirt the resting-place, and Kim, trudging3 beside a baggage-cart under fire of comments from soldiers’ wives, was not so confident as overnight. He discovered that he was closely watched — Father Victor on the one side, and Mr Bennett on the other.
In the forenoon the column checked. A camel-orderly handed the Colonel a letter. He read it, and spoke4 to a Major. Half a mile in the rear, Kim heard a hoarse5 and joyful6 clamour rolling down on him through the thick dust. Then someone beat him on the back, crying: ‘Tell us how ye knew, ye little limb of Satan? Father dear, see if ye can make him tell.’
‘Now, my son, your prophecy of last night has come true. Our orders are to entrain at Umballa for the Front tomorrow.’
‘What is thatt?’ said Kim, for ‘front’ and ‘entrain’ were newish words to him.
‘We are going to “thee War,” as you called it.’
‘Of course you are going to thee War. I said last night.’
‘Ye did; but, Powers o’ Darkness, how did ye know?’
Kim’s eyes sparkled. He shut his lips, nodded his head, and looked unspeakable things. The Chaplain moved on through the dust, and privates, sergeants8, and subalterns called one another’s attention to the boy. The Colonel, at the head of the column, stared at him curiously9. ‘It was probably some bazar rumour10.’ he said; ‘but even then —’ He referred to the paper in his hand. ‘Hang it all, the thing was only decided11 within the last forty-eight hours.’
‘Are there many more like you in India?’ said Father Victor, ‘or are you by way o’ being a lusus naturae?’
‘Now I have told you,’ said the boy, ‘will you let me go back to my old man? If he has not stayed with that woman from Kulu, I am afraid he will die.’
‘By what I saw of him he’s as well able to take care of himself as you. No. Ye’ve brought us luck, an’ we’re goin’ to make a man of you. I’ll take ye back to your baggage-cart and ye’ll come to me this evening.’
For the rest of the day Kim found himself an object of distinguished12 consideration among a few hundred white men. The story of his appearance in camp, the discovery of his parentage, and his prophecy, had lost nothing in the telling. A big, shapeless white woman on a pile of bedding asked him mysteriously whether he thought her husband would come back from the war. Kim reflected gravely, and said that he would, and the woman gave him food. In many respects, this big procession that played music at intervals13 — this crowd that talked and laughed so easily — resembled a festival in Lahore city. So far, there was no sign of hard work, and he resolved to lend the spectacle his patronage14. At evening there came out to meet them bands of music, and played the Mavericks into camp near Umballa railway station. That was an interesting night. Men of other regiments16 came to visit the Mavericks. The Mavericks went visiting on their own account. Their pickets18 hurried forth19 to bring them back, met pickets of strange regiments on the same duty; and, after a while, the bugles20 blew madly for more pickets with officers to control the tumult21. The Mavericks had a reputation for liveliness to live up to. But they fell in on the platform next morning in perfect shape and condition; and Kim, left behind with the sick, women, and boys, found himself shouting farewells excitedly as the trains drew away. Life as a Sahib was amusing so far; but he touched it with a cautious hand. Then they marched him back in charge of a drummer-boy to empty, lime-washed barracks, whose floors were covered with rubbish and string and paper, and whose ceilings gave back his lonely footfall. Native-fashion, he curled himself up on a stripped cot and went to sleep. An angry man stumped22 down the veranda23, woke him up, and said he was a schoolmaster. This was enough for Kim, and he retired24 into his shell. He could just puzzle out the various English Police notices in Lahore city, because they affected25 his comfort; and among the many guests of the woman who looked after him had been a queer German who painted scenery for the Parsee travelling theatre. He told Kim that he had been ‘on the barricades26 in ‘Forty-eight,’ and therefore — at least that was how it struck Kim — he would teach the boy to write in return for food. Kim had been kicked as far as single letters, but did not think well of them.
‘I do not know anything. Go away!’ said Kim, scenting27 evil. Hereupon the man caught him by the ear, dragged him to a room in a far-off wing where a dozen drummer-boys were sitting on forms, and told him to be still if he could do nothing else. This he managed very successfully. The man explained something or other with white lines on a black board for at least half an hour, and Kim continued his interrupted nap. He much disapproved28 of the present aspect of affairs, for this was the very school and discipline he had spent two-thirds of his young life in avoiding. Suddenly a beautiful idea occurred to him, and he wondered that he had not thought of it before.
The man dismissed them, and first to spring through the veranda into the open sunshine was Kim.
‘ ‘Ere, you! ‘Alt! Stop!’ said a high voice at his heels. ‘I’ve got to look after you. My orders are not to let you out of my sight. Where are you goin’?’
It was the drummer-boy who had been hanging round him all the forenoon — a fat and freckled29 person of about fourteen, and Kim loathed30 him from the soles of his boots to his cap-ribbons.
‘To the bazar — to get sweets — for you,’ said Kim, after thought.
‘Well, the bazar’s out o’ bounds. If we go there we’ll get a dressing-down. You come back.’
‘How near can we go?’ Kim did not know what bounds meant, but he wished to be polite — for the present.
‘ ‘Ow near? ‘Ow far, you mean! We can go as far as that tree down the road.’
‘Then I will go there.’
‘All right. I ain’t goin’. It’s too ‘ot. I can watch you from ’ere. It’s no good your runnin’ away. If you did, they’d spot you by your clothes. That’s regimental stuff you’re wearin’. There ain’t a picket17 in Umballa wouldn’t ‘ead you back quicker than you started out.’
This did not impress Kim as much as the knowledge that his raiment would tire him out if he tried to run. He slouched to the tree at the corner of a bare road leading towards the bazar, and eyed the natives passing. Most of them were barrack-servants of the lowest caste. Kim hailed a sweeper, who promptly31 retorted with a piece of unnecessary insolence32, in the natural belief that the European boy could not follow it. The low, quick answer undeceived him. Kim put his fettered33 soul into it, thankful for the late chance to abuse somebody in the tongue he knew best. ‘And now, go to the nearest letter-writer in the bazar and tell him to come here. I would write a letter.’
‘But — but what manner of white man’s son art thou to need a bazar letter-writer? Is there not a schoolmaster in the barracks?’
‘Ay; and Hell is full of the same sort. Do my order, you — you Od! Thy mother was married under a basket! Servant of Lal Beg’ (Kim knew the God of the sweepers), ‘run on my business or we will talk again.’
The sweeper shuffled34 off in haste. ‘There is a white boy by the barracks waiting under a tree who is not a white boy,’ he stammered35 to the first bazar letter-writer he came across. ‘He needs thee.’
‘Will he pay?’ said the spruce scribe, gathering36 up his desk and pens and sealing-wax all in order.
‘I do not know. He is not like other boys. Go and see. It is well worth.’
Kim danced with impatience37 when the slim young Kayeth hove in sight. As soon as his voice could carry he cursed him volubly.
‘First I will take my pay,’ the letter-writer said. ‘Bad words have made the price higher. But who art thou, dressed in that fashion, to speak in this fashion?’
‘Aha! That is in the letter which thou shalt write. Never was such a tale. But I am in no haste. Another writer will serve me. Umballa city is as full of them as is Lahore.’
‘Four annas,’ said the writer, sitting down and spreading his cloth in the shade of a deserted38 barrack-wing.
Mechanically Kim squatted39 beside him — squatted as only the natives can — in spite of the abominable40 clinging trousers.
The writer regarded him sideways.
‘That is the price to ask of Sahibs,’ said Kim. ‘Now fix me a true one.’
I must not go beyond this tree, and there is also the stamp to be considered.’
‘I get no commission on the price of the stamp. Once more, what manner of white boy art thou?’
‘That shall be said in the letter, which is to Mahbub Ali, the horse-dealer42 in the Kashmir Serai, at Lahore. He is my friend.’
‘Wonder on wonder!’ murmured the letter-writer, dipping a reed in the inkstand. ‘To be written in Hindi?’
‘Assuredly. To Mahbub Ali then. Begin! I have come down with the old man as far as Umballa in the train. At Umballa I carried the news of the bay mare43’s pedigree.’ After what he had seen in the garden, he was not going to write of white stallions.
‘Slower a little. What has a bay mare to do . . . Is it Mahbub Ali, the great dealer?’
‘Who else? I have been in his service. Take more ink. Again. As the order was, so I did it. We then went on foot towards Benares, but on the third day we found a certain regiment15. Is that down?’
‘Ay, pulton,’ murmured the writer, all ears.
‘I went into their camp and was caught, and by means of the charm about my neck, which thou knowest, it was established that I was the son of some man in the regiment: according to the prophecy of the Red Bull, which thou knowest was common talk of our bazar.’ Kim waited for this shaft44 to sink into the letter-writer’s heart, cleared his throat, and continued: ‘A priest clothed me and gave me a new name . . . One priest, however, was a fool. The clothes are very heavy, but I am a Sahib and my heart is heavy too. They send me to a school and beat me. I do not like the air and water here. Come then and help me, Mahbub Ali, or send me some money, for I have not sufficient to pay the writer who writes this.’
‘ “Who writes this.” It is my own fault that I was tricked. Thou art as clever as Husain Bux that forged the Treasury45 stamps at Nucklao. But what a tale! What a tale! Is it true by any chance?’
‘It does not profit to tell lies to Mahbub Ali. It is better to help his friends by lending them a stamp. When the money comes I will repay.’
The writer grunted46 doubtfully, but took a stamp out of his desk, sealed the letter, handed it over to Kim, and departed. Mahbub Ali’s was a name of power in Umballa.
‘That is the way to win a good account with the Gods,’ Kim shouted after him.
‘Pay me twice over when the money comes,’ the man cried over his shoulder.
‘What was you bukkin’ to that nigger about?’ said the drummer-boy when Kim returned to the veranda. ‘I was watch-in’ you.’
‘I was only talkin’ to him.’
‘You talk the same as a nigger, don’t you?’
‘No-ah! No-ah! I onlee speak a little. What shall we do now?’
‘The bugles’ll go for dinner in arf a minute. My Gawd! I wish I’d gone up to the Front with the Regiment. It’s awful doin’ nothin’ but school down ’ere. Don’t you ‘ate it?’
‘Oah yess!’
I’d run away if I knew where to go to, but, as the men say, in this bloomin’ Injia you’re only a prisoner at large. You can’t desert without bein’ took back at once. I’m fair sick of it.’
‘You have been in Be — England?’
‘W’y, I only come out last troopin’ season with my mother. I should think I ‘ave been in England. What a ignorant little beggar you are! You was brought up in the gutter48, wasn’t you?’
‘Oah yess. Tell me something about England. My father he came from there.’
Though he would not say so, Kim of course disbelieved every word the drummer-boy spoke about the Liverpool suburb which was his England. It passed the heavy time till dinner — a most unappetizing meal served to the boys and a few invalids49 in a corner of a barrack-room. But that he had written to Mahbub Ali, Kim would have been almost depressed50. The indifference51 of native crowds he was used to; but this strong loneliness among white men preyed52 on him. He was grateful when, in the course of the afternoon, a big soldier took him over to Father Victor, who lived in another wing across another dusty parade-ground. The priest was reading an English letter written in purple ink. He looked at Kim more curiously than ever.
‘An’ how do you like it, my son, as far as you’ve gone? Not much, eh? It must be hard — very hard on a wild animal. Listen now. I’ve an amazin’ epistle from your friend.’
‘Where is he? Is he well? Oah! If he knows to write me letters, it is all right.’
‘You’re fond of him then?’
‘Of course I am fond of him. He was fond of me.’
‘It seems so by the look of this. He can’t write English, can he?’
‘Oah no. Not that I know, but of course he found a letter-writer who can write English verree well, and so he wrote. I do hope you understand.’
‘That accounts for it. D’you know anything about his money affairs?’ Kim’s face showed that he did not.
‘How can I tell?’
‘That’s what I’m askin’. Now listen if you can make head or tail o’ this. We’ll skip the first part . . . It’s written from Jagadhir Road . . . “Sitting on wayside in grave meditation53, trusting to be favoured with your Honour’s applause of present step, which recommend your Honour to execute for Almighty54 God’s sake. Education is greatest blessing55 if of best sorts. Otherwise no earthly use.” Faith, the old man’s hit the bull’s-eye that time! “If your Honour condescending56 giving my boy best educations Xavier” (I suppose that’s St Xavier’s in Partibus) “in terms of our conversation dated in your tent 15th instant” (a business-like touch there!) “then Almighty God blessing your Honour’s succeedings to third an’ fourth generation and” — now listen! —“confide in your Honour’s humble57 servant for adequate remuneration per hoondi per annum three hundred rupees a year to one expensive education St Xavier, Lucknow, and allow small time to forward same per hoondi sent to any part of India as your Honour shall address yourself. This servant of your Honour has presently no place to lay crown of his head, but going to Benares by train on account of persecution58 of old woman talking so much and unanxious residing Saharunpore in any domestic capacity.” Now what in the world does that mean?’
‘She has asked him to be her puro — her clergyman — at Saharunpore, I think. He would not do that on account of his River. She did talk.’
‘It’s clear to you, is it? It beats me altogether. “So going to Benares, where will find address and forward rupees for boy who is apple of eye, and for Almighty God’s sake execute this education, and your petitioner59 as in duty bound shall ever awfully60 pray. Written by Sobrao Satai, Failed Entrance Allahabad University, for Venerable Teshoo Lama the priest of Such-zen looking for a River, address care of Tirthankars’ Temple, Benares. P. M. — Please note boy is apple of eye, and rupees shall be sent per hoondi three hundred per annum. For God Almighty’s sake.” Now, is that ravin’ lunacy or a business proposition? I ask you, because I’m fairly at my wits’ end.’
‘He says he will give me three hundred rupees a year? So he will give me them.’
‘Oh, that’s the way you look at it, is it?’
‘Of course. If he says so!’
The priest whistled; then he addressed Kim as an equal. ‘I don’t believe it; but we’ll see. You were goin’ off today to the Military Orphanage61 at Sanawar, where the Regiment would keep you till you were old enough to enlist63. Ye’d be brought up to the Church of England. Bennett arranged for that. On the other hand, if ye go to St Xavier’s ye’ll get a better education an — an can have the religion. D’ye see my dilemma64? Kim saw nothing save a vision of the lama going south in a train with none to beg for him.
‘Like most people, I’m going to temporize65. If your friend sends the money from Benares — Powers of Darkness below, where’s a street-beggar to raise three hundred rupees? — ye’ll go down to Lucknow and I’ll pay your fare, because I can’t touch the subscription66-money if I intend, as I do, to make ye a Catholic. If he doesn’t, ye’ll go to the Military Orphanage at the Regiment’s expense. I’ll allow him three days’ grace, though I don’t believe it at all. Even then, if he fails in his payments later on . . . but it’s beyond me. We can only walk one step at a time in this world, praise God! An’ they sent Bennett to the Front an’ left me behind. Bennett can’t expect everything.’
The priest leaned forward. ‘I’d give a month’s pay to find what’s goin’ on inside that little round head of yours.’
‘There is nothing,’ said Kim, and scratched it. He was wondering whether Mahbub Ali would send him as much as a whole rupee. Then he could pay the letter-writer and write letters to the lama at Benares. Perhaps Mahbub Ali would visit him next time he came south with horses. Surely he must know that Kim’s delivery of the letter to the officer at Umballa had caused the great war which the men and boys had discussed so loudly over the barrack dinner-tables. But if Mahbub Ali did not know this, it would be very unsafe to tell him so. Mahbub Ali was hard upon boys who knew, or thought they knew, too much.
‘Well, till I get further news’ — Father Victor’s voice interrupted the reverie. ‘Ye can run along now and play with the other boys. They’ll teach ye something — but I don’t think ye’ll like it.’
The day dragged to its weary end. When he wished to sleep he was instructed how to fold up his clothes and set out his boots; the other boys deriding68. Bugles waked him in the dawn; the schoolmaster caught him after breakfast, thrust a page of meaningless characters under his nose, gave them senseless names and whacked69 him without reason. Kim meditated70 poisoning him with opium71 borrowed from a barrack-sweeper, but reflected that, as they all ate at one table in public (this was peculiarly revolting to Kim, who preferred to turn his back on the world at meals), the stroke might be dangerous. Then he attempted running off to the village where the priest had tried to drug the lama — the village where the old soldier lived. But far-seeing sentries72 at every exit headed back the little scarlet73 figure. Trousers and jacket crippled body and mind alike so he abandoned the project and fell back, Oriental-fashion, on time and chance. Three days of torment74 passed in the big, echoing white rooms. He walked out of afternoons under escort of the drummer-boy, and all he heard from his companions were the few useless words which seemed to make two-thirds of the white man’s abuse. Kim knew and despised them all long ago. The boy resented his silence and lack of interest by beating him, as was only natural. He did not care for any of the bazars which were in bounds. He styled all natives ‘niggers’; yet servants and sweepers called him abominable names to his face, and, misled by their deferential75 attitude, he never understood. This somewhat consoled Kim for the beatings.
On the morning of the fourth day a judgement overtook that drummer. They had gone out together towards Umballa racecourse. He returned alone, weeping, with news that young O’Hara, to whom he had been doing nothing in particular, had hailed a scarlet-bearded nigger on horseback; that the nigger had then and there laid into him with a peculiarly adhesive76 quirt, picked up young O’Hara, and borne him off at full gallop77. These tidings came to Father Victor, and he drew down his long upper lip. He was already sufficiently78 startled by a letter from the Temple of the Tirthankars at Benares, enclosing a native banker’s note of hand for three hundred rupees, and an amazing prayer to ‘Almighty God’. The lama would have been more annoyed than the priest had he known how the bazar letter-writer had translated his phrase ‘to acquire merit.’
‘Powers of Darkness below!’ Father Victor fumbled79 with the note. ‘An’ now he’s off with another of his peep-o’-day friends. I don’t know whether it will be a greater relief to me to get him back or to have him lost. He’s beyond my comprehension. How the Divil — yes, he’s the man I mean — can a street-beggar raise money to educate white boys?’
Three miles off, on Umballa racecourse, Mahbub Ali, reining80 a grey Kabuli stallion with Kim in front of him, was saying:
‘But, Little Friend of all the World, there is my honour and reputation to be considered. All the officer-Sahibs in all the regiments, and all Umballa, know Mahbub Ali. Men saw me pick thee up and chastise81 that boy. We are seen now from far across this plain. How can I take thee away, or account for thy disappearing if I set thee down and let thee run off into the crops? They would put me in jail. Be patient. Once a Sahib, always a Sahib. When thou art a man — who knows? — thou wilt be grateful to Mahbub Ali.’
‘Take me beyond their sentries where I can change this red. Give me money and I will go to Benares and be with my lama again. I do not want to be a Sahib, and remember I did deliver that message.’
The stallion bounded wildly. Mahbub Ali had incautiously driven home the sharp-edged stirrup. (He was not the new sort of fluent horse-dealer who wears English boots and spurs.) Kim drew his own conclusions from that betrayal.
‘That was a small matter. It lay on the straight road to Benares. I and the Sahib have by this time forgotten it. I send so many letters and messages to men who ask questions about horses, I cannot well remember one from the other. Was it some matter of a bay mare that Peters Sahib wished the pedigree of?’
Kim saw the trap at once. If he had said ‘bay mare’ Mahbub would have known by his very readiness to fall in with the amendment82 that the boy suspected something. Kim replied therefore:
‘Bay mare. No. I do not forget my messages thus. It was a white stallion.’
‘Ay, so it was. A white Arab stallion. But thou didst write “bay mare” to me.’
‘Who cares to tell truth to a letter-writer?’ Kim answered, feeling Mahbub’s palm on his heart.
‘Hi! Mahbub, you old villain83, pull up!’ cried a voice, and an Englishman raced alongside on a little polo-pony. ‘I’ve been chasing you half over the country. That Kabuli of yours can go. For sale, I suppose?’
‘I have some young stuff coming on made by Heaven for the delicate and difficult polo-game. He has no equal. He — ’
‘Plays polo and waits at table. Yes. We know all that. What the deuce have you got there?’
‘A. boy,’ said Mahbub gravely. ‘He was being beaten by another boy. His father was once a white soldier in the big war. The boy was a child in Lahore city. He played with my horses when he was a babe. Now I think they will make him a soldier. He has been newly caught by his father’s Regiment that went up to the war last week. But I do not think he wants to be a soldier. I take him for a ride. Tell me where thy barracks are and I will set thee there.’
‘Let me go. I can find the barracks alone.’
‘And if thou runnest away who will say it is not my fault?’
‘He’ll run back to his dinner. Where has he to run to?’ the Englishman asked.
‘He was born in the land. He has friends. He goes where he chooses. He is a chabuk sawai [a sharp chap]. It needs only to change his clothing, and in a twinkling he would be a low-caste Hindu boy.’
‘The deuce he would!’ The Englishman looked critically at the boy as Mahbub headed towards the barracks. Kim ground his teeth. Mahbub was mocking him, as faithless Afghans will; for he went on:
‘They will send him to a school and put heavy boots on his feet and swaddle him in these clothes. Then he will forget all he knows. Now, which of the barracks is thine?’
‘Perhaps he will make a good soldier,’ said Mahbub reflectively.
‘He will make a good orderly at least. I sent him to deliver a message once from Lahore. A message concerning the pedigree of a white stallion.’
Here was deadly insult on deadlier injury — and the Sahib to whom he had so craftily85 given that war-waking letter heard it all. Kim beheld86 Mahbub Ali frying in flame for his treachery, but for himself he saw one long grey vista87 of barracks, schools, and barracks again. He gazed imploringly88 at the clear-cut face in which there was no glimmer89 of recognition; but even at this extremity90 it never occurred to him to throw himself on the white man’s mercy or to denounce the Afghan. And Mahbub stared deliberately91 at the Englishman, who stared as deliberately at Kim, quivering and tongue-tied.
‘My horse is well trained,’ said the dealer. ‘Others would have kicked, Sahib.’
‘Ah,’ said the Englishman at last, rubbing his pony’s damp withers92 with his whip-butt. ‘Who makes the boy a soldier?’
‘He says the Regiment that found him, and especially the Padre-sahib of that regiment.
‘There is the Padre!’ Kim choked as bare-headed Father Victor sailed down upon them from the veranda.
‘Powers O’ Darkness below, O’Hara! How many more mixed friends do you keep in Asia?’ he cried, as Kim slid down and stood helplessly before him.
‘Good morning, Padre,’ the Englishman said cheerily. ‘I know you by reputation well enough. Meant to have come over and called before this. I’m Creighton.’
‘Of the Ethnological Survey?’ said Father Victor. The Englishman nodded. ‘Faith, I’m glad to meet ye then; an’ I owe you some thanks for bringing back the boy.’
‘No thanks to me, Padre. Besides, the boy wasn’t going away. You don’t know old Mahbub Ali.’ The horse-dealer sat impassive in the sunlight. ‘You will when you have been in the station a month. He sells us all our crocks. That boy is rather a curiosity. Can you tell me anything about him?’
‘Can I tell you?’ puffed93 Father Victor. ‘You’ll be the one man that could help me in my quandaries94. Tell you! Powers o’ Darkness, I’m bursting to tell someone who knows something o’ the native!’
A groom95 came round the corner. Colonel Creighton raised his voice, speaking in Urdu. ‘Very good, Mahbub Ali, but what is the use of telling me all those stories about the pony? Not one pice more than three hundred and fifty rupees will I give.’
‘The Sahib is a little hot and angry after riding,’ the horse-dealer returned, with the leer of a privileged jester. ‘Presently, he will see my horse’s points more clearly. I will wait till he has finished his talk with the Padre. I will wait under that tree.’
‘Confound you!’ The Colonel laughed. ‘That comes of looking at one of Mahbub’s horses. He’s a regular old leech96, Padre. Wait, then, if thou hast so much time to spare, Mahbub. Now I’m at your service, Padre. Where is the boy? Oh, he’s gone off to collogue with Mahbub. Queer sort of boy. Might I ask you to send my mare round under cover?’
He dropped into a chair which commanded a clear view of Kim and Mahbub Ali in conference beneath the tree. The Padre went indoors for cheroots.
Creighton heard Kim say bitterly: ‘Trust a Brahmin before a snake, and a snake before an harlot, and an harlot before a Pathan, Mahbub Ali.’
‘That is all one.’ The great red beard wagged solemnly. ‘Children should not see a carpet on the loom47 till the pattern is made plain. Believe me, Friend of all the World, I do thee great service. They will not make a soldier of thee.’
‘You crafty97 old sinner!’ thought Creighton. ‘But you’re not far wrong. That boy mustn’t be wasted if he is as advertised.’
‘Excuse me half a minute,’ cried the Padre from within, ‘but I’m gettin’ the documents in the case.’
‘If through me the favour of this bold and wise Colonel Sahib comes to thee, and thou art raised to honour, what thanks wilt thou give Mahbub Ali when thou art a man?’
‘Nay98, nay! I begged thee to let me take the Road again, where I should have been safe; and thou hast sold me back to the English. What will they give thee for blood-money?’
‘What are the letters that the fat priest is waving before the Colonel? Stand behind the stallion as though looking at my bridle100!’ said Mahbub Ali.
‘A letter from my lama which he wrote from Jagadhir Road, saying that he will pay three hundred rupees by the year for my schooling101.’
‘Oho! Is old Red Hat of that sort? At which school?’
‘God knows. I think in Nucklao.’
‘Yes. There is a big school there for the sons of Sahibs — and half-Sahibs. I have seen it when I sell horses there. So the lama also loved the Friend of all the World?’
‘Small wonder the Padre does not know how to unravel103 the thread. How fast he talks to the Colonel Sahib!’ Mahbub Ali chuckled104. ‘By Allah!’ the keen eyes swept the veranda for an Instant — ‘thy lama has sent what to me looks like a note of hand. I have had some few dealings in hoondis. The Colonel Sahib is looking at it.’
‘What good is all this to me?’ said Kim wearily. ‘Thou wilt go away, and they will return me to those empty rooms where there is no good place to sleep and where the boys beat me.’
‘I do not think that. Have patience, child. All Pathans are not faithless — except in horseflesh.’
Five — ten — fifteen minutes passed, Father Victor talking energetically or asking questions which the Colonel answered.
‘Now I’ve told you everything that I know about the boy from beginnin to end; and it’s a blessed relief to me. Did ye ever hear the like?’
‘At any rate, the old man has sent the money. Gobind Sahai’s notes of hand are good from here to China,’ said the Colonel. ‘The more one knows about natives the less can one say what they will or won’t do.’
‘That’s consolin’ — from the head of the Ethnological Survey. It’s this mixture of Red Bulls and Rivers of Healing (poor heathen, God help him!) an’ notes of hand and Masonic certificates. Are you a Mason, by any chance?’
‘By Jove, I am, now I come to think of it. That’s an additional reason,’ said the Colonel absently.
‘I’m glad ye see a reason in it. But as I said, it’s the mixture o’ things that’s beyond me. An’ his prophesyin’ to our Colonel, sitting on my bed with his little shimmy torn open showing his white skin; an’ the prophecy comin’ true! They’ll cure all that nonsense at St Xavier’s, eh?’
‘Sprinkle him with holy water,’ the Colonel laughed.
‘On my word, I fancy I ought to sometimes. But I’m hoping he’ll be brought up as a good Catholic. All that troubles me is what’ll happen if the old beggar-man —’
‘Lama, lama, my dear sir; and some of them are gentlemen in their own country.’
‘The lama, then, fails to pay next year. He’s a fine business head to plan on the spur of the moment, but he’s bound to die some day. An’ takin’ a heathen’s money to give a child a Christian105 education -’
‘But he said explicitly106 what he wanted. As soon as he knew the boy was white he seems to have made his arrangements accordingly. I’d give a month’s pay to hear how he explained it all at the Tirthankars’ Temple at Benares. Look here, Padre, I don’t pretend to know much about natives, but if he says he’ll pay, he’ll pay — dead or alive. I mean, his heirs will assume the debt. My advice to you is, send the boy down to Lucknow. If your Anglican Chaplain thinks you’ve stolen a march on him —’
‘Bad luck to Bennett! He was sent to the Front instead o’ me. Doughty107 certified108 me medically unfit. I’ll excommunicate Doughty if he comes back alive! Surely Bennett ought to be content with —’
‘Glory, leaving you the religion. Quite so! As a matter of fact I don’t think Bennett will mind. Put the blame on me. I— er — strongly recommend sending the boy to St Xavier’s. He can go down on pass as a soldier’s orphan62, so the railway fare will be saved. You can buy him an outfit109 from the Regimental subscription. The Lodge110 will be saved the expense of his education, and that will put the Lodge in a good temper. It’s perfectly111 easy. I’ve got to go down to Lucknow next week. I’ll look after the boy on the way — give him in charge of my servants, and so on.’
‘You’re a good man.’
‘Not in the least. Don’t make that mistake. The lama has sent us money for a definite end. We can’t very well return it. We shall have to do as he says. Well, that’s settled, isn’t it? Shall we say that, Tuesday next, you’ll hand him over to me at the night train south? That’s only three days. He can’t do much harm in three days.’
‘It’s a weight off my mind, but — this thing here?’ — he waved the note of hand — ‘I don’t know Gobind Sahai: or his bank, which may be a hole in a wall.’
‘You’ve never been a subaltern in debt. I’ll cash it if you like, and send you the vouchers112 in proper order.’
‘But with all your own work too! It’s askin’ —’
‘It’s not the least trouble indeed. You see, as an ethnologist, the thing’s very interesting to me. I’d like to make a note of it for some Government work that I’m doing. The transformation113 of a regimental badge like your Red Bull into a sort of fetish that the boy follows is very interesting.’
‘But I can’t thank you enough.’
‘There’s one thing you can do. All we Ethnological men are as jealous as jackdaws of one another’s discoveries. They’re of no interest to anyone but ourselves, of course, but you know what book-collectors are like. Well, don’t say a word, directly or indirectly114, about the Asiatic side of the boy’s character — his adventures and his prophecy, and so on. I’ll worm them out of the boy later on and — you see?’
‘I do. Ye’ll make a wonderful account of it. Never a word will I say to anyone till I see it in print.’
‘Thank you. That goes straight to an ethnologist’s heart. Well, I must be getting back to my breakfast. Good Heavens! Old Mahbub here still?’ He raised his voice, and the horse-dealer came out from under the shadow of the tree, ‘Well, what is it?’
‘As regards that young horse,’ said Mahbub, ‘I say that when a colt is born to be a polo-pony, closely following the ball without teaching — when such a colt knows the game by divination115 — then I say it is a great wrong to break that colt to a heavy cart, Sahib!’
‘So say I also, Mahbub. The colt will be entered for polo only. (These fellows think of nothing in the world but horses, Padre.) I’ll see you tomorrow, Mahbub, if you’ve anything likely for sale.’
The dealer saluted116, horseman-fashion, with a sweep of the off hand. ‘Be patient a little, Friend of all the World,’ he whispered to the agonized117 Kim. ‘Thy fortune is made. In a little while thou goest to Nucklao, and — here is something to pay the letter-writer. I shall see thee again, I think, many times,’ and he cantered off down the road.
‘Listen to me,’ said the Colonel from the veranda, speaking in the vernacular118. ‘In three days thou wilt go with me to Lucknow, seeing and hearing new things all the while. Therefore sit still for three days and do not run away. Thou wilt go to school at Lucknow.’
‘Shall I meet my Holy One there?’ Kim whimpered.
‘At least Lucknow is nearer to Benares than Umballa. It may be thou wilt go under my protection. Mahbub Ali knows this, and he will be angry if thou returnest to the Road now. Remember — much has been told me which I do not forget.’
‘I will wait,’ said Kim, ‘but the boys will beat me.’
Then the bugles blew for dinner.
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1
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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mavericks
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| 未烙印的牲畜( maverick的名词复数 )； 标新立异的人，不合常规的人 | |
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3
trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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4
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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5
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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6
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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7
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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8
sergeants
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| 警官( sergeant的名词复数 )； （美国警察）警佐； （英国警察）巡佐； 陆军（或空军）中士 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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10
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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12
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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13
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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14
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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15
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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picket
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| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
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18
pickets
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| 罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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19
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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20
bugles
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| 妙脆角，一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食； 号角( bugle的名词复数 )； 喇叭； 匍匐筋骨草； （装饰女服用的）柱状玻璃（或塑料）小珠 | |
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21
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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22
stumped
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| 僵直地行走，跺步行走( stump的过去式和过去分词 )； 把（某人）难住； 使为难； （选举前）在某一地区作政治性巡回演说 | |
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23
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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24
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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25
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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26
barricades
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| 路障，障碍物( barricade的名词复数 ) | |
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27
scenting
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| vt.闻到（scent的现在分词形式） | |
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28
disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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32
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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33
fettered
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| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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35
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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37
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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38
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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39
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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40
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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41
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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42
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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43
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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44
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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45
treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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46
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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47
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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48
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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49
invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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50
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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51
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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52
preyed
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| v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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53
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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54
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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55
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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56
condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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57
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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58
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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59
petitioner
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| n.请愿人 | |
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60
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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61
orphanage
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| n.孤儿院 | |
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62
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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63
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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64
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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65
temporize
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| v.顺应时势；拖延 | |
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66
subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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67
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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68
deriding
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| v.取笑，嘲笑( deride的现在分词 ) | |
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69
whacked
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| a.精疲力尽的 | |
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70
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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71
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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72
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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73
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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74
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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75
deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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76
adhesive
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| n.粘合剂；adj.可粘着的，粘性的 | |
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77
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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78
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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79
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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80
reining
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的现在分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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81
chastise
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| vt.责骂，严惩 | |
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82
amendment
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| n.改正，修正，改善，修正案 | |
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83
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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84
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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85
craftily
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| 狡猾地，狡诈地 | |
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86
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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87
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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88
imploringly
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| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
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89
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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90
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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91
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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92
withers
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| 马肩隆 | |
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93
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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94
quandaries
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| n.窘困( quandary的名词复数 )；不知所措；左右为难 | |
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95
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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96
leech
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| n.水蛭，吸血鬼，榨取他人利益的人；vt.以水蛭吸血；vi.依附于别人 | |
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97
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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98
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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99
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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100
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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101
schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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102
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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103
unravel
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| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
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104
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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106
explicitly
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| ad.明确地，显然地 | |
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107
doughty
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| adj.勇猛的，坚强的 | |
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108
certified
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| a.经证明合格的；具有证明文件的 | |
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109
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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110
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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111
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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112
vouchers
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| n.凭证( voucher的名词复数 )；证人；证件；收据 | |
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113
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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114
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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115
divination
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| n.占卜，预测 | |
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116
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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117
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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118
vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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